#but those points were technically not even supposed to be counted anyway

[rolandkaros]

i think the thing that’s silliest about the mandatory 0 rule is how it replaces your worst result- so since iga didn’t lose r1 in any tournaments she did play, she’s losing more points than aryna who lost her first match in dubai. obviously it’s not “unfair” because the players know, it is what it is, but i just think that if the rule rewards or incentivizes (for lack of a better word) tanking… it’s not a good rule. i hope next year they make the requirement 3 or 4 500s because 6 is just absurd for top players who go deep in 1000s and slams lol

I don't think it incentivizes tanking though because the ideal is to not drop any of the 1000 tournaments...if a player doesn't get any mandatory zeros then they hypothetically get to include all of their 1000 results, where it's a lot easier to earn more points than in the 500s. Plus, if Iga had tanked in Miami for example and only gotten 10 points, she still would have lost those 10 points, and ended up at the same point total she's at now – it only seems like she's lost more than Aryna because they've only just now decided to apply the mandatory zeros.

I also think we're not taking into account the fact that these calculations are all made in hindsight. No high-level player is going to roll up to a 1000 tournament and decide to tank for the purpose of having a smaller point total to drop, because a) they're probably not aiming to have any mandatory zeros anyway, and b) they'd much rather replace their current lowest point gain. Aryna was only able to drop Dubai because she performed better in later 1000s. If she had lost first round of Wuhan, for example, she would have had to count one of those +10 values. So, I understand the thought process but I don't think that's actually an issue in practice. The players who actually need to worry about mandatory zeros are never going to settle for early exits anyway.

But I 100% agree, 6 500s is too many, especially considering the 1000s are all mandatory now. Even just the placement of the 500s in the schedule makes it difficult to fit 6 in – players are being forced to commit themselves to long stretches of back to back to back to back tournaments. I think it's also even harder for Iga because it was an Olympic year, so no chance of making DC (and ended up missing Canada as well).

But on a much more serious level I think it's just the scheduling issues, again and again and again. The season is too long, 10 mandatory 1000s and 6 mandatory 500s is ridiculous, the way that the mandatory zeros were applied was weird.

[maddilynmuse]

Memory Of Helplessness

CW: Gore, Crushing, Temporary Character Death, Guilt, Vomit.

Hurt, no comfort. Isabeau POV. Technically everyone is there but only Isabeau and Siffrin are mentioned in much depth.

I saw this post for @mari-lair ‘s “Siffrin, more like Sif’s Out” AU and immediately got possessed by angst demons. Please note this post might have spoilers for upcoming comics in that AU, though also, this story isn’t going to make much sense without it.

Also, spoilers for the base game of In Stars and Time too. You’ve been warned!

The King’s Speech washed over Isabeau for the whatever-eth time only to be cut off by Mirabelle for the whatever-eth time. As much as Isa was actually good with numbers, he’d long ago given up on counting these loops, all of them had. It’d just make you go insane. There were enough things driving them insane, including the pit in their guts—snack time had stopped filling it a long time ago, this loop they didn’t even bother.

“Flower for you,” Siffrin said, giving it to their greatest enemy like it was nothing.

It meant nothing. It was just random (at least so Isa liked to tell himself).

Mirabelle put up their Adorable Moving Shield as the King charged his attack. However many loops ago, Isabeau would’ve started buffing defenses, but they were well past the need for that… mostly. Siffrin hadn’t even gotten to level 47 this loop, and maybe they could’ve done a better job of letting him feel useful, but that was fine. It’d reset and he wouldn’t remember a thing. As much as it’d hurt the first few times they did this, it was easier on everyone just to let Siffrin stay down.

Anyways, Isabeau punched at the king with his Paper Mache gloves. There was no triumph to it anymore even as hit points got shaved off like they were fighting a Tristess. Odile followed up with Paper Alpha V. Already down a third. It wasn’t always so easy to beat him. The King’s attack washed over all of them, the majority of it bouncing harmlessly off the shield. Siffrin was almost down. It stung Isabeau’s heart to see the way Sif’s one eye looked to Bonnie, to Mirabelle, then to the rest of them, just like it had the last few times they came here, so he didn’t look. He didn’t look their way at all. No one did.

Maybe they could’ve stopped him if they had.

Isabeau instead braced himself for a blow from the King, eyes screwing shut by instinct….

“I CAN HELP!”

c r A C K

The smell of copper. A horrible drip of blood on stone as the King raised an oversized fist. The feeling of something warm and sticky sprayed on Isabeau’s legs, his torso, maybe just a bit on his face. His eyes opened before his mind could tell them it was a bad idea.

“… Sif?”

Was that Sif? It was hard to tell. There was almost no darkless left. Or any face. Or distinctly human features at all. Mostly just fabric and pulp. The hat, also no longer darkless, floated down from the King’s fist, landing in the puddle of blood and bone dust.

This…

Hah. This was probably what he looked like under the rock. The King is a rock type, after all.

A hysteric laugh at the not-funny not-a-joke escaped Isabeau’s laugh as he tried to take in what he was seeing. His hand went down to tug at the suddenly-stained fabric as though he could still pick them up. “Siffrin?”

How? How did this happen? This wasn’t supposed to happen! It never happened before! Siffrin was supposed to be knocked out! To end up hitting the floor, maybe busted up, maybe bleeding a little, but only normal battle wounds! The King couldn’t kill them until the end, right?

Right?

And, well, sure! Siffrin got the Memory of Useless Idiot. It lowered their stats, but that was fine! With Mirabelle’s Memory of Sadness, they barely needed to fight. And, yeah, they’d been trying to read those Headache Books any time the rest of them looked away for even a second, but it’d come back at snack time, right? Which they… skipped…

“ooooooh….. you must’ve known this would happen. though that look on your face…… perhaps I was mistaken…… either way, Vaugaurde will be preserved.”

They drove him to this. They all drove him to his death. They were supposed to protect him, supposed to make sure he at least lived, and now he was a splatter on the floor again-

“Siffarooni?”

Isabeau reached out once more to the pile of meat and cloth and-

START AGAIN START AGAIN PLEASE START AGAIN-

He awoke to see his hands, free of blood, hovering above grass.

[Isabeau got Memory of Helplessness! When equipped, it makes Siffrin more likely to take damage for him in battle!]

Isabeau threw up.

[har-rison-s]

whatever you need | coryo snow x fem!reader

a/n: don't mind me, just eating pomelo and writing smut. i daydream about this piece every and all work day i have rn, it's pretty unhinged bcs i'm working as a gift wrapper for the holiday season and just staring ahead thinking of.... things. i'm technically an atheist, but i would need forgiveness for those thoughts. ANYWAY JEEZ. this took me like four days, help. i'm so insecure abt my smut writing, tho so ooohhh god am i actually dreading posting this. i'll just publish and run away from tumblr for a week. happy reading

talk to me about coryo here

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coryo masterlist main masterlist

word count: 7.2k (sawrry)

themes: smut

warnings / disclaimers: smut, unprotected p in v, brief mutual masturbation, cum eating (SCREAMING), fingering, crying, ENJOY jsdfjhsadsd

gif credit goes to owner <3

something strange was happening in the arena. something was being done to the camera feeds that were supposed to livestream every second of what was happening in it. only because something seemed to have gone wrong in the games y/n was stuck to the television screen in her living room slash lounge. her parents were called into urgent work in district three a few hours ago, so it was only her and some of the maids in the house. they kept to themselves, though, and were probably asleep in their quarters at the mansion’s far-end wing. except for the main housekeeper, who was adamantly guarding the entrance of the house, in case anyone came by.

her parents were counting on someone coming by - with the way she was recently behaving at school and with the rebel bombs, they were real worried about her well-being. she was always alone at home, because there was no one to bring home. except the dean, but he came by himself and only to serve his usual scolding and threats about y/n’s rebellious nature and behaviour at school. her parents hadn’t felt such worry for their daughter as they felt now since the war days. 

what soothed her mother’s worried heart and mind was the presence of the maids and the housekeeper. y/n appreciated their staying around and liked hearing noises made by someone else in the mansion, even if it was only a far-away creak of floorboards or a door closing. but she didn’t need anything from them, ever, she’d been very independent since her early childhood, and maids seemed like such an excess right now, an even backwards concept for y/n. her family employing them, unable to live without them, made her feel like the rich princess everyone deemed her being. 

y/n had felt fine being home alone until the feed from the arena turned strange. darker, blacker, and the audio seemed warped or otherwise manipulated. she’d caught sight of a familiar figure entering the arena – who was that? how did he get inside? who can tell... – and then the feed changed. there was nothing much she could see, but her eyes had been glued to the screen of her television for the past half hour, anyway. all the while she was straining her eyes to try to see who it was, and at some point that figure was joined by another by Sejanus’ tribute Marcus’ bruised and wounded body, and then the feed darkened nearly completely. 

she sat in her sofa in an embryo pose, blanket over her stressed form, covering her back and the bare feet and legs that the knitted bedtime jumper couldn’t. she realized the gamemakers or the Capitol were trying to hide something, nothing else could explain the feed changing and audio going wobbly and earning static in the process. 

the bell ringing at the front door startled her so bad that y/n gasped and jerked in her position on the sofa. her head whipped in its direction and she watched two figures entering her family’s mansion from the far end of the hallway. she could already tell who the two were, but she remained sat on the sofa, her legs unmoving out of anxiety. she shut off the television and just watched them walk towards her through the unlit hallway, arms wrapping around her knees underneath her beloved blanket.

“ms y/l/n, a mister Snow is here, for you,” the housekeeper announced as she and Coriolanus entered the living room, Coriolanus stumbling into the room more than walking into it. he looked like he was falling to pieces. his breath was heavy, hair and academy uniform in disarray, face just... bewildered. y/n nodded at her housekeeper, extended her arms towards Coryo like a child reaching for its favourite toy and sniffled quietly.

“thank you, Nora,” she told the housekeeper, “please leave us. you can go to bed, i won’t need anything else for the night.” she said in a hushed voice and the housekeeper nodded, knowing to listen to the child of her employers. y/n hated giving anyone orders, much less this spectacular lady, but she did want to be alone with Coryo. and by the look of him, she could tell he couldn’t be around anyone else but her. he was a man of privacy, after all.

as soon as Nora shut the door behind her and left for the maids’ quarters, Coryo accepted the plea in y/n’s extended arms and stumbled over to her on the sofa. “i—i’m sorry,” he said the first words out of breath, in a voice so broken and frail that y/n’s lips twitched downwards and she felt the need to cry, “i didn’t know where else to go, i couldn’t... i couldn’t f-face anyone else...” as he sat down before y/n’s bare feet peeking out from the blanket, she noticed in the poor lighting of the room that his clothes were dirty. there were cuts in his shirt, dirt, gravel, sand... blood. 

“what happened?” her voice wouldn’t go any louder than a whisper, and her lips were turning into a pout as she looked Coryo over, her meek hands reaching out for him but unsure whether she should touch him or not. he could fall apart like the frailest glass, it seemed, if anything touched him right now. his face was bruised. there were small cuts on his cheek, blood on his chin. she noticed how they had already been taken care of.

Coryo still took heavy breaths, but finally he felt like his vision was real and not fooling him, and he took in his surroundings. the dim lighting in the posh room, y/n’s bare feet touching his red academy pant leg, her legs pulled up to her chest under a cute throw-blanket in the pastel colour of chocolate milk, her small hands reaching out to him, unsure, unsteady. he lifted his head to look at her, and the expression on her face made his heart lurch in his chest. her glassy eyes – no doubt matching his –, the pout on her lips, her rosy cheeks, eyebrows scrunched in worry and confusion. he could never decline that face. “dr Gaul sent me inside the arena to get Sejanus out,” he finally said, and he spoke in a whisper tone that could only be meant for secrets, “but the tributes heard us... i’m not sure i should even be telling you about this at all,” he admitted.

y/n shook her head. “your secret’s safe with me,” she assured with a gentle nod.

“yes, but dr Gaul—” Coryo began, but she interrupted him in the voice of a faint whisper. 

“i know how terrifying she is,” y/n persisted, “she won’t know that i know.” she said even quieter and looked, really looked, into Coryo’s eyes, and nodded gently again at him. he searched her eyes for a few seconds, weighing the risk of her knowing this, trying to decide if he should tell her more or just cut short here. but really. she’s a loose end and she knows it. it’s not like dr Gaul was in high thoughts of y/n or deemed her more valuable than any other student, and her nature played a big part in that opinion of the young girl. how would she know that y/n found out about this night in the arena? she wouldn’t. it would never come up in conversation. y/n wasn’t part of this.

“the tributes heard us,” Coryo started to say as he sat closer to y/n, his body turned to face her, and almost loomed over her. he’s always been much taller than her, and sometimes that played a part in their dynamic. he took her hands in his above her bent knees and the blanket. he licked his lips and y/n searched his eyes, his... stoic blue eyes. there was a change in them, “they came after us and i...” he shook his head, “i didn’t want to hurt him,” Coryo’s voice broke and his head dropped onto y/n’s covered knees. 

she heard a sob from him, and it shook her entire form, making her gasp quietly. she’d never seen him cry before. the night on the rooftop, in the garden, she knew he was close to it, but she knew he’d never let his pride down so much that he’d let anyone see him cry. and Coryo didn’t feel so good about crying now, about opening himself up to her like this, he felt disgusted with himself. but he also couldn’t stop. and he couldn’t hide everything from her, after all. 

y/n shuffled around until her legs were tucked under herself and she moved closer to Coryo, taking his scarred cheeks between her small hands and lifting his face up so he would see her. she knew she made him nervous usually, but she calculated that that effect flipped around on itself when he was in this state, or one similar to this. breaking apart. feeling vulnerable. beaten down. she looked into his eyes and he back into hers, not really having any other choice. she had this compelling power over him, even if he didn’t want to admit it, and he didn’t want to hide from her. not really.

his breathing slowed down as he just looked into her wondering beautiful orbs, full of so much determination, courage and kindness. she was almost smiling at him, even though she wanted to cry, too, and her eyes were glassy with produced tears, but she wanted to appear strong for him. because right now he really needed a strong anchor to hold onto, he was the one in need of support. y/n took that role mainly in their friendship-relationship, especially at school, when she got herself in trouble, or at home, when her parents were giving her an earful about her irresponsibility and all the jazz they usually gave her an earful about.

last time Coryo and y/n saw each other, she realized he had the ability to ground her. and now she realized she had the ability to ground him, because by looking into his eyes she could see his emotions and mood changing by the second. and all because she’s holding him, and he’s looking into her eyes. he didn’t need much more than that. 

and yet maybe he did. he didn’t know which part of him had the urge, but all of him acted on it by ducking forward and kissing her on the lips. he could taste the sweat she had made on her lips out of stress, and the blueberry tartlet she must have had as a late snack not too long ago. and his hands couldn’t keep away anymore, either, they were taking hold of her face like hers was holding his cheeks between them. y/n would have gasped at his sudden action if she had any air to breathe, and she sighed heavily when he did give her a split second of air after fiery kisses to her delicious lips. 

he kept his eyes on her as he pulled his academy blazer off and threw it to the ground beside the couch, then came back closer to her, one hand on her cheek and the other pulling the adorable blanket off her legs. y/n placed a palm on that hand of his, which made Coryo furrow his eyebrows and look at her with puzzled eyes. didn’t she want this, too? she gulped, eyes averted from his shyly. “i’d rather we talked about it, Coryo,” she admitted and looked back at him carefully, eyes so un-knowing and yet more clever than most people’s. Coryo tilted his head slightly at her words. 

his hands took the bull by its horns, pulling the blanket fully away and welcoming the night air of the mansion upon y/n’s bare legs, making her gasp again. Coryo used the moment of surprise to his advantage and pushed her down on the sofa, sneaking in between her legs like the slippery mastermind he was, and he slid a hand under her knitted jumper, raising goose-bumps in his wake across her stomach and waist. y/n hated that she felt aroused, meaning she felt exactly how he wanted her to, was right where he wanted her, but she couldn’t exactly pull away. she hated being at someone’s mercy, but.... it was Coryo.

she surprised him when he found she wasn’t wearing a bra under her jumper, nothing was standing between his greedy hands and her naked breasts now, though her not wearing a bra at home wasn’t exactly a surprise. it’s just that his inexperienced self was shocked to find a part of her naked, and right there, at his disposal. watching her face, he placed his palm over one of her breasts and ran his thumb over her nipple, which hardened immediately under his touch. and her face, oh, the expression on it was to die for. eyes softly shut, eyebrows gently spasming as she was feeling something very new to her, her teeth biting her lower lip, cheeks turning more red and no doubt burning up. Coryo placed a kiss on her bare stomach, just above the elastic of her underwear, and watched her still as she whimpered for the first time. her thighs fidgeted around him, feet unsurely digging into the soft cushions of her couch—she really didn’t know what to do with herself and these sensations she was experiencing. 

“i’d rather we didn’t,” he said to her finally, though his actions were more than enough of a response to what she said, but she hardly heard him now. there was a gentle static in her ears, and heat all over her writhing form. her pure, supple, untouched form. all for him to touch, to explore. Coryo took his shirt off in a hurry, as if y/n might disappear if he had his hands off her for a second longer, and returned to her half-naked body a hungrier man. hands raking the insides of her thighs, he kissed her again, hot lips making their conversation just moments ago seem like the far past, making her almost forget it happened. y/n could hardly feel her legs, though she knew this was just the beginning, and she wrapped her arms around Coryo’s frame and held onto him as he moved his slender torso against her chest. she could feel the bones of his hips jutting against her own, his growing crotch pressing against her panty-covered soaking cunt, teasing her, making her pant heavily and whimper like a kitten. 

having her like this satiated the hunger that rose from the deep hole he’d created inside himself, gnawing at him like a big black hole with eager, starving claws. every stroke of his hips against hers beat the monster down but dangled the bait in front of it at the same time, leaving him in quite the paradox. this was more than enough, yet Coryo knew he could go further with y/n, further than enough, and that she’d let him. everything in him wanted to, and he couldn’t stop himself. adrenaline was pumping blood from his heart into his veins, she was available and the only one who could help with the hole growing inside him. 

but y/n couldn’t go further without another word spoken. he was avoiding her question, he was avoiding the whole last hour of this night. “Coryo,” she whispered softly as his lips kissed at her neck, tongue sweeping over a particularly bruised-with-kisses spot on her sculpture-like skin, he was an animal let loose. and his affections almost made her forget what she wanted to ask, and she thought maybe she doesn’t really want to know. but y/n sighed, trying to clear her mind, “tell me what happened,” she plead in a quiet voice and it made Coryo raise his head and look into her eyes again. 

he framed the side of her face with only a hand, his thumb on her chin and the rest of his palm splayed across her burning cheek. he loved seeing the look of lust and confusion on her face, in her eyes most of all. the pads of his fingertips softly pushed into her skin. “no,” he remained stubborn, and y/n would have been surprised to have him do otherwise. she gulped softly, hoping he wouldn’t feel it, but no, he felt every motion any part of her made now. his mind came up with a new idea as he slid a hand of his across her stomach, making a wave across her supple body, and then he reached her underwear. he knew, like everyone else did sort of matter-of-factly, that women were to be touched there. he knew it was the spot in her with which he could get her full attention. and he also knew he’d have to fabricate having experience in this field for y/n. he didn’t want her to think him inexperienced, which he was exactly, or least of all that he’s experimenting with her—which was also what he was doing. so he improvised by cupping her warmest place in the body, and he felt an immediate reaction. her thighs fidgeted around his waist again and her stomach lurched. her eyes shut, but he wanted to see them, “open your eyes,” Coryo urged her, and y/n had to force herself to comply, her beautiful eyes looking into his again. they held eye contact as he ran his middle finger in a straight line between her clothed folds, and he watched as her face contorted, caused by the new strange and pleasant feelings. she felt like warm honey on his fingers, “right now all i need is to feel you,” he told her and did the same motion with his finger again, only this time slower, making it pleasurably agonizing for her, coaxing quiet whimpers from her lips, “and this tells me you need it, too.” 

god, she hated that he was right. at first it was want, she wanted him to stay over, to touch her, to feel her, to do things to her that no one else had ever before. now, she felt so desperate for it that she felt she could explode if she didn’t get what seemed to be promised to her. the want grew to need. she wanted to shake her head, wanted to push him off—that would really be characteristic to her. but instead she brought herself to really look into his eyes and nod in response. Coryo’s lips almost made a smile or a grin, almost, she caught the ghost of it in the corner of his lips before he kissed her again. “alright, Coryo,” she whispered against his lips, “but if you don’t touch me properly right now, i willkick you out of my home.” she said surely, admitting to her desperation without shame and in turn – with pride, and now Coryo grinned. her feistiness was one of the things he liked about her, and it coming out in this setting was more than he could have asked for. in a weird way it got him going. 

y/n placed both of her hands on the sides of his face and kept him close to her as he reached his hand into her underwear, breaching into unexplored territory. she was all the warmer for him, and soaking wet. he hummed, their lips nearly touching, but not completely. it was torture for him. he wanted to devour her lips, her whole face, her whole existence. her lips were like the food of life for him, the sounds she made music to his ears and air in his lungs. “you’re just perfect for me,” he confessed to her in a shudder and y/n smiled lightly. his fingers ran through her naked warm folds, just testing the waters, until they found the opening between them, where the wetness and warmth were seeping from. Coryo would have dropped his head onto her shoulder if her hands weren’t holding it up right, but he just felt like he lost his damn mind at how incredible her walls felt around his fingers, and he could collapse right there on top of her. 

“Coryo,” she sang his nickname in a beautiful moan when two fingers prodded inside her, beating any expectations she had about this beforehand. they were long and thick, touching every inch of her, it felt like, and reaching just far enough. she was barely holding onto him, and her body was reacting to his touches immediately. hips moving, back arching, thighs squeezing his body between them, breaths shuddering. 

“no one’s done this to you before, have they?” Coryo asked, but he hardly needed an answer. by the way she was reacting, he could tell that she’d never felt like this before. y/n shaking her head at his question was merely the last dot on the confirmation, yet it still made him more aroused. knowing he was the first one to do this to her, with her. he grazed her upper wall with his finger pads, being careful not to let his nails scrape her, and it brought a moan from her that he’d never heard anyone make. guttural, coming from the very depths of her lungs, her vocal cords, from her very core. it made him shudder. he repeated the motion, slower one time, then faster the next, all the while watching her reaction. he loved seeing her eyes shut, her cheeks become redder, her lips parting, stretching, pushing breaths and whimpers out from between them. Coryo felt one of her hands sliding up into his hair, and he groaned. her hips bucked and she grabbed onto his perfect curls between her fingers when he reached farther inside her with his two fingers, and it made them both moan into each other’s mouths, y/n letting his lips rest over hers. he’d reached that great point inside her, feeling her hot and spongy against his digits. it’s almost like she was sucking him in. “you’re so good for me,” Coryo told her and y/n whimpered at the praise. 

“more, please,” she begged with no shame and Coryo obliged, picking up the pace of his fingers and massaging over her folds with his thumb all the while. when he accidentally grazed over her clit, y/n made a high-pitched moan of the utmost sensitivity, and he knew he’d done the right thing. and by accident, no less. he was on the winning team, “Coryo,” she cried with her eyes shut and he noticed a tear on her cheek, kissing over it immediately. next his lips were on hers again, lapping at her tongue with his own like the starving man he was, knowing nothing of tomorrow or the next hour, just so engulfed in her that he knew nothing else. she was the perfect getaway.

he could feel her body behaving in a different way, thighs trembling around him, walls squeezing his hand in, hands nearly powerless, chest shuddering. she wasn’t far off her release, he guessed. with another press to the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her cry, Coryo once again watched her reaction in amazement. but he didn’t want to feel her release like this, he needed them both different. Coryo pulled his fingers away, once again making y/n cry out, this time in the most desperation she could manage, and she looked up at him with pleading, tearful eyes. he offered her a gentle smile and moved down her body, dragging her underwear with him. down her legs and away, the light pink garment went, and y/n bit her plump lip in anticipation as she watched him. 

Coryo tucked her underwear into the trousers of his academy uniform that he was still wearing and returned to her body, laying kisses across her thighs on his way up to her. y/n squirmed under and around him, mewled, muttering his name in a mewl here and there, relishing in the feeling of his lips on her untouched skin and his hands roaming all over her body, under her jumper, over it, trying to cover every inch of her. she hated that he had stopped touching her right when she was closest to that one sacred edge she wanted so badly to reach, he was teasing her, taunting her, testing her waters. it was clear to her that he had never done this to another girl before. Coryo was just like her, and yet he’d put up a different façade. 

he dug his fingers into the flesh of her naked hips, which made y/n throw her head back into the sofa cushions, baring her delicious-looking neck to Coryo. he used that to his advantage, licking and kissing at the skin of her neck which he had already bruised marked with his lips just moments ago, he was devouring her with a hunger only she could really satiate, and yet he couldn’t get enough of her. his growing crotch pressed against her bare cunt, and y/n gasped at the feeling. eyebrows scrunched, cheeks and lips red and puffy, she looked up at Coryo again, and he returned the gesture. he took one of her hands in his and guided it down to between them, where he was growing harder and in size, it seemed, watching her face all the while and taking notice of her biting down on her lower lip in anticipation. Coryo made her feel him through his trousers, and he couldn’t hide the effect her touch had on him - shuddering throughout his whole body, eyelids fluttering, he was barely able to utter the next words, but he did so in a quiet voice. “feel what you do to me?” 

y/n nodded with lustful eyes, hungry like the wolf for the boy above her. her boldness came back and with it y/n unzipped Coryo’s custom-made trousers and reached into his boxers to really feel him. he had girth and he was solid, she could feel that all with her hand on him. she was making him a panting mess, giving his length a sure stroke, Coryo’s head falling into the crook of her neck and him moaning, though she knew the piece of his pride that died for him to do that. he hardly let anyone see his inner world, his true feelings, so for him to be this vulnerable with her took a great deal of courage. “do i make you... feel like this often?” y/n asked quietly, and Coryo nodded with a whimper as her finger flicked over his tip, pink and sensitive. y/n wrapped her fingers around his shaft and stroked up and down, slowly, looking at his face all the while, wishing she could see his beautiful eyes now, see the emotions swimming around in the blue of them.

Coryo fisted the pillow right beside her, heavy breaths leaving his parted lips, “yes, yes, yes, god, yes,” he chanted in her ear as the pace of her strokes grew faster, and y/n could feel each breaths in his lungs against her own, his chest rising and hitting against her so intensely. she’d made him crumble beneath her so quickly, it surprised her, “i need you, y/n, i need to feel you,” Coryo confessed and managed the strength to raise his head and look at her again. he was too afraid to utter the phrase i need to be inside you, feeling just too shy all of a sudden to say that. the look on his face was pure desperation, he looked like he could start crying the next moment, and y/n’s heart lurched in her chest at seeing that. seeing and recognising that she could make him as desperate as he’d made her. that she could make him small, “no one’s ever made me feel like this before,” he confessed more, breaking his own façade down, and y/n smiled at him sheepishly. she knew, of course, that what he said was true. she knew everything about him.

“you have me,” she assured him and brought him out of the confine of his boxers, making Coryo breathe in relief. he had felt so restricted in his own clothes, “but god, Coryo, will you fit? you feel too big in my hand,” y/n said shyly and bit down on her lip again, a habit that Coryo had noticed her having for quite a while now, and he looked down between them two. y/n knew her comment went straight to his growing ego, but she just couldn’t resist teasing him a little. and when he caught onto it, he looked at her again, with a smile on his lips this time. she grinned wide and giggled before she took his face in her hands and kissed his lips, as if it was her first time doing so. simple, loving, affectionate. 

suddenly she fully took in the look of his naked torso, his amazingly sculpted shoulders and arms, his pearly chest... the sight of him was so breath-taking and delicious that she nearly forgot all her other surroundings. Coryo, though the look her eyes were giving him flattered him so, took the bull by its horns again and pushed the very tip of his hard length through her folds, where her warm opening welcomed him. y/n felt a strain while Coryo felt the beginning of a true release, but he noticed her awkward expression, felt her hold on his face falter, and he paused his movements to just check in. 

“alright?” he asked quietly, as he couldn’t tell what to do next by her face, “too big for you?” he teased and it made them both smile, then erupt into mad giggles in unison. y/n would never have expected Coryo to have humour in a moment like this, but she was relieved that he did, and god did it make the whole thing easier. she wasn’t worried, wasn’t anxious anymore, wasn’t feeling insecure about any aspect of herself anymore. except the thing she’d heard that happened to most women on their first time – the bleeding, the pain, his reaction to it. those were the few things she wanted to avoid happening. but if Coryo was his sweetheart-self, then she had no bad reaction to worry about. she was glad he was the person she was doing it for the first time with, she’d really lucked out.

“just a little,” she finally answered after their giggle fit while holding each other in their arms, “try going deeper,” she urged in a hushed voice, and Coryo complied, adjusting his hips forward, slowly, not to accidentally hurt her more. he couldn’t deny how incredible this felt, how incredible she felt around him, her walls sucking him right in so tightly, “ohmygodohmygod,” y/n pushed the words out in a quick breath, feeling a burn and stretch inside of her at the size of him. she didn’t have anyone to compare Coryo to, and no one else had been inside her before, but he felt big enough. 

Coryo appreciated her arm on his back, her nails digging half-moons into his pearly skin, and her other hand splayed across his cheek, thumb almost digging a hole in his cheek. “you feel so perfect around me,” Coryo praised against her parted lips, and y/n could only look at him with strain and tears in her eyes as he inched himself further and further inside, her face changing by every inch, it seemed, until he had bottomed out with a groan and she’d only felt a momentary sting of pain. and the worst part was over—what a miracle it was that it had been so quick for her, she’d expected otherwise. Coryo could see the immediate relaxation on her features, and he smiled. 

he kissed away her fallen tears, but more kept falling from her eyes and y/n could only explain them as being happy tears, though she scolded herself for being so emotional in a meaningful moment like this. but maybe it was just right. Coryo smiled at her and she could see his orbs being glossy, too, and she was glad. it was no wonder, really, taking how shaken he was when he came into her home and sat down on her couch beside her. he was still in turmoil, but that didn’t matter now. he had her. 

“can i try... moving? you feel alright?” he asked her in a whisper. this slow thrust inside her had already felt like heaven, he couldn’t wait to repeat it over and over and over. 

y/n nodded, “yeah, go ahead,” she said and Coryo complied. she took in the feeling of him pulling out gently, slowly... teasingly. he was grinning, she saw, and she shook her head in disbelief as a beautiful smile adorned her features. and then he thrust inside her again, stuffing her walls with his great length, making her back arch and moans that she’s never made before escape her lips. he could hardly concentrate, but he didn’t want to miss all the different facial expressions she would make, the look in her eyes, while he made love to her now. he made himself keep his eyes open as he began to move rhythmically now. 

y/n’s legs wrapped around his waist, engulfing him in her more and more, and each of his thrusts earned him a squeak from her from the movements. god, he just adored her beyond measure. she was everything he needed now, and later, and forever. Coryo kissed her neck, licked at it, as he had before, and it only made her moan more, each moan in its own unique high or low pitch, and dig her fingers into whichever part of his skin she was holding. Coryo adored her touches, they turned him on, and he wanted her hands on him always, they were a lifeline. his hands gripped her waist, her sweater bunched just above them, only covering her arms and her breasts, though barely even those from how much Coryo was moving her.

“you're doing so good for me,” he breathed into her ear, and the praise only spurred her on. she clenched around him, and it made Coryo break his focus completely, his head dropping onto y/n’s chest, where he breathed hot air onto her skin, “i’m sorry, i think i’m close,” he confessed, and y/n raised his face with her hands, looking at him with puzzlement across her face. 

“me too, it’s okay,” she assured him and then took one of his hands in hers and lead it down to where their bodies met. she laid his palm over the bulge that had formed in her lower stomach from him. the sight and feel of it made Coryo groan, getting him all the more closer to his release. 

“fuck, that’s amazing,” he said into her neck, and y/n nodded.

“you’re so big, Coryo,” she complimented him again and felt his dick twitch inside her at the words, “made a bump in me,” she put it into words and it made the boy nearly lose his mind. then she guided his hand just a little lower and pressed his hand onto her clit, where he recalled was her most vulnerable point, “come on, touch me. we’ll do it together,” she urged him on in the sweetest of angel voices and Coryo didn’t need to think twice before complying. he loved her ordering him around a little, it was much needed tonight especially. 

he pressed his thumb against her clit as his hips had nearly reached their fastest pace, and watched as her face twisted in pleasure. eyes shutting, lips spasming, closing, opening, teeth biting, voice singing out to him. “oh, Coryo,” she called his name and he felt it go straight to his heart. there wasn’t much more that he needed in order to come now, and he prided in himself for lasting so long at all, all the while feeling a little ashamed about it. he wanted this to last longer. but since he could tell she was coming, too, his thumb drawing harsh circles on her clit to bring it on, he revelled in them both finishing at once. 

“fuuuck, y/n, i love you,” he whimpered into her ear as he spilled himself inside her tightly-squeezing walls while y/n all but chanted his nickname like a mantra. her hands almost drew blood on his back from how tightly she held onto him, and she shuddered around him at the feeling of her own release coating his entire length. her thighs trembled and she panted heavy breaths against his neck. she’d almost missed his quiet confession, she’d actually heard it amidst their joined euphoria, but she had thought it a hallucination. 

but that assumption dissipated as she came to and looked up at Coryo, whose eyes were worriedly, with tears streaming from them, looking down at her. she quickly moved her hands to his cheeks and tried to sit up in their awkward position. best she could do was position herself higher on her pillow against the sofa’s armrest, and she gulped. “you love me?” she echoed in the smallest of voices, searching his eyes. they were worried, fearful. what if he’d said the wrong thing? what if she felt different about him, different than what he felt about her? what if he’d said it too soon? what if he’d just ruined all this with her? 

but he did love her. he was sure of it. so he nodded, his curls bouncing with the confirming movement. y/n ran her hand over them and smiled wide at him. 

“you love me,” she said again, surely this time, in a happy tone of voice. as if she’d discovered the best, most well-wishing secret in the whole world. and perhaps that’s what it was. her favourite secret about Coryo was that she knew he loved her, “i love you, too,” y/n told him before he could assume otherwise, and kissed his trembling lips. Coryo felt on top of the world. he had said the right thing, he’d played his cards right, he’d told her how he felt. of course, his actions spoke volumes, but hearing him say it in words meant the world to y/n. 

“thank god, you had me worried there for a bit,” Coryo half-joked between their kisses, and it made her laugh. she pulled back from his lips and admired the boy above her. forehead glistening from sweat in the dim lighting, curls messily falling over his beautiful face, his pearly chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. 

“who would i be without a little suspense, huh?” she asked and smiled at him again. she could see complete love and devotion in his eyes, two things she’d seen on his face only partly or half-meant before, and only towards herself. Coryo used the moment of silence to pull out of her and stuff himself back into his trousers. sitting against the sofa cushions to do it, he glanced at her cunt and saw it leaking with his white substance. y/n looked at him with sultry eyes and her teeth biting her lower lip, arms crossed over her chest, and she spread her legs just a little further to tease him with a wider look, “like what you see?” she asked quietly.

he just gave her eyes of total surrender, he was waving the white flag for giving up and he took a deep breath. y/n giggled as Coryo shook his head in disbelief and lowered his face down to her center, once again giving her anticipation. “you look so pretty,” he complimented and ran a finger through her folds, making her shudder as more of the snow-white liquid pooled out and coated her cunt, “pretty with me dripping out of you,” Coryo sneaked a glance up at her and saw the clear-as-day lust in her eyes. feeling that animalistic urge take over him again, he brought out his tongue and lapped up each drop coming out of her. y/n felt sensitive, sore, and Coryo was giving her a mix of both pleasure and pain as he drank at her. she had him right where she wanted him. the question was – would he stay there? 

his tongue prodded at her entrance just a tad, heightening her sensitivity, and he moaned against her folds at her shudder under him, giving her folds a kiss over once he was done. he wanted to leave most of his spill inside her, only having lapped up and gulped down what was excess. sitting up before her, between her legs, Coryo licked his lips and leaned over her form. y/n pulled him in for a kiss, and could taste something salty and something sweet all at once on his lips and tongue. it was both of them. 

“will you please stay?” y/n asked her in her small voice again, looking into Coryo’s eyes. she hoped to not find any resistance or decline, and her hopes were fulfilled. “please,” she plead more as he teased her with his silence. he nodded, and it made her smile wider than ever. he would stay over, like he promised her he would someday. it meant he didn't view her only as a secret anymore. maybe they could even go to Heavensbee hall tomorrow together, maybe hand in hand... “why did you say sorry? about being close?” she reminded him of the few moments before their euphorias. Coryo bent his head low for a moment. 

“just felt embarrassed,” he answered, “about not lasting long. i just... i just wanted this to last longer for you,” he told her and managed to look at her again. y/n made a comforting face and stroked the side of his face. she understood. 

“yeah, but it’s okay,” she assured him, “there will be other times,” she pointed out and laid a kiss to his cheek, “it was your first time, so please don’t worry your beautiful head over it.” Coryo managed a ghost of a smile just for y/n to kiss him and make his smile more life-like. “you did good, Coryo.” those words of praise went straight to his dick again, and he blushed. she had made him blush. y/n giggled. 

“you did great, too,” Coryo told her and kissed her hair, “thank you. i never would have wanted to do this with anyone else but you,” he confessed as they held tight eye contact. y/n’s heart surged at his words. 

“me too. i’m glad it was you,” she said and it made Coryo smile with shut lips, “now, can i get my underwear back?” she’d made a joke again, and Coryo felt like playing along further. 

“no, i’m keeping it,” he said in a hushed voice, shaking his head and y/n made a playful pout. she’d want to make him think he could keep it and that she’d steal it back later, but she couldn’t. Coryo having her underwear in the pocket of his academy trousers made her feel somehow proud. a piece of her with him wherever he goes. and if he went home and stashed them somewhere in his wardrobe cabinet, that would be fine, too. she loved knowing her underwear was a token for him. 

she only said, “alright,” and took his hand in hers, “let’s go shower and then to bed. you’ve exhausted me.” she admitted and Coryo took it as a compliment. he wanted this treacherous-turned-great day to end, too, and she was the cherry on top of it all. he wouldn’t have gone home tonight for anything. 

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[so-so-woso]

i wanna be the one | part 1

Edit: Changed title. Thanks to Dru for the suggestion. From the song "Things We Never Say" by the Bad Bad Hats. Great song, potentially relevant maybe who knows.

Summary: Reader is an English-American GK who joins the Arsenal squad and ends up in an interesting back and forth with Leah Williamson. This chapter is mainly set-up for the future. The vibes will probably be very different going forward lol

Warnings: Angst, swallowing self-doubt, and mentions of parental death in the first section.

Word Count: 3,284

London felt just like Seattle. You were expecting it to feel different, more European (whatever that meant), but when you stepped out of the airport and that familiar January rain hit your skin, it was a welcome feeling. It wasn’t quite Home – you hadn’t had one of those in a long time – but it was definitely welcoming, and nice enough that you didn’t bother with an umbrella. It would’ve been hard enough trying to carry one along with all your bags anyway, although by the look on your driver’s face he really wished you had at least tried. It was nice that the team had sent a car to meet you, especially since you didn’t really know anyone here that well, but you supposed they would do that for any new signing. The driver helped you get your bags into the car and then you were off to the club to dot some Is and cross some Ts to make everything truly official.

Wistful thoughts crept into the back of your mind as you were chauffeured through the streets of London, and you decided for the first time in a long time not to fight them. Not here, anyway – not now. Not after everything it took to get you here. Get you here again, technically. You were born in London after all, and raised in Sheffield where your mother had grown up. Your father was an American, from Dallas, who came to England for graduate school and stayed for the woman he fell in love with. He often teased her about “real (American) football” but she converted him to Sheffield United fan, though he would never admit it – at least not until you were born. Match days became a family event as soon as you could stand up on your own, even though you were still too young to really remember anything at that point, but by the time you could run you wanted nothing more than to play. You were always bigger than the other kids so they made you play with the boys, but you knew a lot of the women’s national team players had played on boys’ teams growing up, so you didn’t mind it. You were never upset about that, but you were upset when they made you move to the goalkeeper position when you were eight. It was the boring position and you never got to do anything, but you were the only kid on the team who didn’t seem scared of the ball when it came flying at you, so the job fell to you. Many years later, it would prove to be the right choice, but for a while you thought it felt like a punishment from the universe. Then you found out what that kind of punishment actually felt like.

You were only eleven when your parents died. It was a car accident; your mom was driving. She took the brunt of it and was gone by the time the ambulance arrived. Your dad was in the hospital for two days, but he never woke up. You had been in the back seat. Heavy bruising, a busted ribs, broken collarbone, and a big gash across the side of the head was it for you. You were in the hospital too, for a while. Your paternal grandmother came all the way from Austin to pick you up and take you to live with her. Your mom’s parents had been gone for a while now, and GiGi – what you had called your father’s mother – was all you had left. You had only met her a few times before, but you didn’t really have another option, so across the pond you went.

It would be a massive understatement to say that Texas was different from Sheffield. It was truly a whole different world, but kids are resilient enough. You were famous for a while, because of your accent, and then you were weird for a while, because of your accent, and then eventually you became just one of the kids. Your GiGi was supportive as well, more than you had expected her to be. You didn’t know much of the specifics as a kid, but you knew she and your father had had some sort of falling out and weren’t as close as they had been when he was younger. You always thought it had to do with him choosing to stay in England rather than come home to America. When you got older it seemed like maybe there was more to it than that, but GiGi wouldn’t talk about it. She did help you get into therapy, so that you could learn how to process what had happened and all the big changes that came with it. You didn’t like it at the time, but in hindsight it was probably the best thing she could’ve done. She even started trying to learn about football – soccer – too, because she knew you liked it, and she made sure to sign you up for the local league. You think maybe that time doesn’t heal wounds, but it sort of scabs them over enough that they only hurt when you pick at them, so eventually you learn to stop picking at them, and after that life became kind of normal.

You eventually played soccer in high school – goalkeeper, naturally – and were good enough to get recruited to the University of Texas. From there, the NWSL draft sent you to Seattle for the OL Reign. You spent a season as the third-string goalkeeper, then a season as the second-string, and then were presented with an opportunity you couldn’t dare turn down. It had been Kim Little’s idea, apparently. She had only played with you in Seattle for a month or so, and you never really hung out, but she knew you had grown up in England and that you had really wanted the chance to play football in Europe. She would tell you later that she was impressed with your resilience, something you had heard often growing up, and that you had a “dead brilliant reaction speed” which you guessed sounded good. So when Arsenal’s back-up goalkeeper transferred out and they were weighing their options, she suggested they give you a look. She had said it offhandedly, like it wasn’t a big deal, but you would wager she fought harder for you than she let on. You had only played a handful of games in two seasons, and while you were admittedly good, the offer from the English club still came as a massive surprise. They were up front and adamant about your status as a pure back-up to Zinsberger, and while you would’ve had a decent chance to win the starting spot in Seattle, you just couldn’t say no to European football, to England, to the Arsenal.

That’s how you ended up in the back of a dark car being driven through the streets of north London in the pouring rain. Your fingers fiddled absently at the chain around your neck and the two golden bands that hung from it while you considered everything that led you here, hoping that you made the right choice. Only time would tell, you thought, as the car squealed to a slow stop. You hesitated for a long moment before tucking the necklace under your shirt and moving to exit the vehicle. The driver met you at the car door, an umbrella extended overhead. You were taller than him, so you had to awkwardly bend your neck as he moved to close the door behind you.

“This shouldn’t take long,” he said, “Then we’ll get you home.” You thanked him and stuffed your fists in the pockets of your coat as you followed him up to the club, your stomach slowly rising higher and higher into your throat as the series of decisions you had recently made began to congeal rather quickly into a hard reality. It was some grotesque mix of nerves and excitement and fear that just fully slapped you in the face when you stepped inside the building. You hadn’t felt like this in Seattle, or on the plane, or in the car, but now that you were here, physically, it’s like everything else was physical too. It wasn’t some amorphous Choice floating in the metaphorical ether of your life; it was a foreboding Presence leering down at you, clawing at your shoulders from behind, and whispering ‘you don’t deserve this’ into your psyche. Nausea began to swell up, to the point you were just starting to feel dizzy. Out of instinct you reached forward and put your hand on the driver’s shoulder, who stopped walking to turn and see what you needed. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but was interrupted by a distinctly Scottish, “Oh ‘ey, Tex!” behind you.

You both turned to see Kim Little striding down the hallway, followed closely by Jonas and one of the other coaches. You swallowed hard, all the torturous feelings slowly fading away as you saw a familiar face. “Hey, Little Kim, “ you retorted. She scoffed and faked a jab towards your ribs before she reached up to hug you.

“Welcome to the party,” she said, stepping back to introduce the coaches, who shook your hands. They welcomed you as well and explained that the evening would be brief, they were sure you’d be tired from the flight, but just needed to finalize some things on the business side and then Kim would give a tour of the facilities. You thanked them, probably too many times, and went with them all to finish your paperwork and pick up your official training gear. Your kit wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow since they’d have to put your name on and weren’t sure what number you wanted (you picked 18 because it was available and made sense for a goalkeeper). Kim showed you around, asked about the flight, and made you feel as welcome as she thought she could. It was nice to talk to someone for a while. You weren’t exactly an extrovert, but you were Southern enough you enjoyed being around people, and being able to talk to Kim, even if it was more or less small talk, made you feel better, and by the time the tour was done all of the earlier feelings were forgotten. You started to think that maybe this whole thing was a good idea after all.

“So no rest for the weary – first training tomorrow, yeah? Text me your address and I’ll pick you up. Since you won’t have a car, Uber’s always an option, but until you get sorted, you can get rides with me,” Kim said.

“Sounds good. Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m picking you up extra early tomorrow – the girls’ll want to meet you before kickin’ balls at your head.”

“Well, I guess that’s only polite.”

You both laughed and hugged goodbye before heading your separate ways, you pulling out your phone to look up your new address to send it to Kim. This was a good decision, you thought, this was a good decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your apartment – or flat? – was nicer than you expected it to be. You had done a Zoom tour while you were still in Seattle and it looked fine, but you had tempered your expectations to be safe. Turns out, you didn’t need to. It was a two-bedroom and furnished with the basics, so there was plenty of space for you and plenty room to decorate as you saw fit. You had what was sometimes described as an eclectic taste by your friends, mainly because you liked to decorate with things that made you happy. That seems like an obvious thing to decorate with, but you were kind of – literally – a giant dork, which meant you had a lot of “nerd shit” as your friends would tease. You expected the Arsenal girls would do the same if they ever started coming over, but all of that would be a long time coming. Tonight, all you wanted to do was collapse into bed, which is exactly what you did.

Kim wasn’t lying when she said she’d pick you up early. At least she had the decency to bring you coffee, but she was completely taken aback when you admitted you didn’t really drink coffee and actually preferred tea. “Guess there is some English in you after all,” she had joked as she drove. She asked about your night and how you slept, and pointed out all the important-to-know shops and stops between your apartment and the training center. When you finally arrived, you asked her if she accepted tips for her tour knowledge – to which she responded with “only big bills”. You laughed as you retrieved your bag from the back of her car, and the two of you headed in.

The next few days were an absolute blur. You were introduced to everyone, and they all seemed pretty nice. McCabe kept talking about how tall you were, but from how everyone else acted that was normal. Manu was happy to have another goalkeeper in the squad despite the fact you would both technically be competing for the starting spot, even though you were explicitly hired as a back-up. At least it didn’t seem like there would be any weird hurt feelings or anything there, so you were glad for that. All your other time was spent trying to discern personality types and team dynamics, and also actually training. The coaches had told you they wouldn’t expect you to go full on for the first few days to give you time to acclimate to everything. You thanked them, of course, but that didn’t stop you from diving in head first.

By the time your official day three was over, you wished you had taken it a little easier. It felt like jet lag hit you late, on top of the normal physical tiredness of training. But that evening as the team as the team filtered out of the locker room, Katie McCabe slapped you on the back and said, “Drinks on you tonight, mate!” You turned to look at her, but before you could ask, Kim interrupted with a sharp “Katie–“

“Hold on, hold on! I don’t mean a big to-do, but we gotta welcome the newbie right, right?”

A couple of the other players voiced their agreement and Kim rolled her eyes. “Two drink maximum.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Three?”

“Two, McCabe.”

“Two and shots?”

“��”

“Two…and shots?”

“…one shot.”

“Fuck yes, best captain ever! You’re riding with us, Y/N!”

A mix of confusion and amusement spread across your face as you looked between the two of them, and Kim just shook her head and waved at you to go with Katie, so you let yourself be pulled away into whatever the night would bring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite telling you that you were paying for drinks, Katie was nice enough to only make you buy the shots, and despite Kim’s hesitance at you all going out mid-week, it was a surprisingly calm evening. You ended up sitting at a table with just a handful of your new teammates. Most of them were joking around with each other, teasing and taunting. You sat quietly, unsure of how inserting yourself into the dynamic would come off. You thought of a few quips throughout the conversations, but made sure to hold your tongue, choosing to sip on your beer instead.

“You always this quiet?”

You glanced over in the direction of the voice, inadvertently locking eyes with Leah Williamson. You knew who she was, obviously – won the Euros and all. What you hadn’t known was that she was even more attractive in person. You didn’t even know that was possible, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise.

“Not usually,” you responded, drawing in a breath. “Just can’t get a word in edgewise with this one goin’ off.”

You gestured towards Katie, who didn’t even register the comment. It did get a chuckle out of Steph and Foord, though, which made you relax a bit. Looking back at Leah, she was still looking at you, but didn’t seem to react otherwise. You paused for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, before deciding to just go for it.

“So in the summer do you ever get a weird tan on your forehead from frowning so much?”

That did draw Katie’s attention; you could tell from the way she practically guffawed.

“Oy, she’s got you dead to fuckin’ rights!” she said, leaning over to elbow at Leah. The Aussies had laughed as well, as did Kim. Leah didn’t look impressed at the remark, but from the twitch of her lips you would swear she was biting back a smile. She had nice lips. Were you staring at her lips? Your eyes flashed back up to hers and she was still looking at you. She would’ve been able to tell where you were staring. That’s…embarrassing. You swallowed hard, and quickly looked away, taking a long swig of your drink. If anyone else at the table noticed the interaction, they didn’t react. Katie started in on you immediately, dragging you into whatever she had been talking about before, and from there you spent the rest of the evening integrating yourself into the team.

The bar was really only starting to fill up when Kim decided it was time for you all to get a move on. There was some light-hearted grumbling, but everyone was professional enough to know how to behave. You had popped into the toilet before leaving, and when you came out of the stall, Leah was washing her hands. You hesitated for a brief moment before moving up to the sink next to her to wash your own hands, the little bit of alcohol you consumed tonight just enough to embolden you.

“Man, Williamson, what kind of a world is this where you’ve got those legs and no rhythm,” you teased, quickly busying yourself with the most thorough hand-wash you’ve ever done so you didn’t have to look over at her and see how poorly she took the remark.

“You spend a lot of time thinking about my legs?”

You froze. It would seem she didn’t take it too poorly at all. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you turned off the sink and turned to look at her. She was staring at you again. Seemed like maybe she did that a lot.

“Yeah, maybe,” you finally said. She hmmed a bit and cocked her head to the side. The glint in her eye was the only thing that kept you from worrying you were being too forward, and you silently prayed it wasn’t a trick of the fluorescent lighting overhead.

“You think you’re being all charming, with your little jokes?”

“No, not really,” you shrugged. “I think I have the personality of a 14-year-old boy and it’s the only way I know how to flirt with you.”

Leah changed at that. Her posture shifted. Her shoulders dropped slightly. The glint in her eye was gone. You fucked up, you thought. You’ve been here for four days and you already fucked up.

You moved to apologize at the same time Leah moved to respond, but both of you were interrupted by the door to the bathroom slamming open and a group of girls rushing in. You turned around and pushed yourself up against the edge of the sink to get out of the way, but Leah dipped her head down and shoved out past them, taking the opportunity to escape without you being able to stop her.

Yep. You fucked up.

[alvivaarts]

i had a question about your character design for the simulation swarm mutations- did you get the idea for the elbow claws/pincers from somewhere specific? or were you just like "wow that would be cool as hell"

its an aspect of your design that intrigued me a lot- you really don't see them in any other plagas au.

i hope your july is going well!!! ^_^

I can't believe I didn't see your ask before!! It must have been buried under the mountain of Resident Mermaids AU asks! I'm so sorry about that!

I'm happy to present a small snippet of the fully completed anatomy sheet to help me with this explanation!

A lot of my major inspiration for the Simulation Swarm mutations that present in Leon, Ashley and Ada is from three things: Verdugo, Emperor Scorpions, and the Original U3/It design!

Generally, a lot of the form comes from Verdugo, though they technically share more genetic material with U3. Considering Verdugo was a more 'refined' version of U3, the mutations seen in Simulation Swarm are considered not only a third and final attempt by Talavera prior to his complete turn to his insanity, but a more direct relative of U3 referred to affectionally as 'Cordero', U4, Plagas Scorpion, or U3-Cordero, dependent on the researcher.

Primary elements with the overall design did 'require' the mutated subjects to be arachnids- though Verdugo is not technically an arachnid, U3, the base Plagas, and scorpions are all considered arachnids and do have 4 sets of limbs. (Even if U3's are... a little skewed, but it counts.) (Also also, U-8 from RE6 which is a complete arthropod with somewhat more of a crustacean like structure, which also implies upwards of four additional U mutates, but that's a whole other story.)

Anyway, for me, this meant I needed to give our Plagas Scorpions four limbs. Or, well the implication of four limbs.

The primary function of the pincers evolving from the points of the elbows is that their arms were supposed to 'split' of the forearm, giving them an outer thick shelled pincer limb (which admittedly has more of a lobster shape) and a thinner, inner 'scooping' limb with those fancy opposable thumbs. However, the mutation is incomplete, as only a partial deposit of the genetic material was completed- so, their arms didn't split, but instead became double.

As for the fourth set of limbs... they don't have one, I hear you say! The thing is, they were supposed to. They have deep set spines/bones in their hips with a vestigal muscle structure that just... never continued to develop! That was going to be the fourth set of limbs!

If you have any additional Infected/Mutated! Leon or Simulation Swarm related questions, PLEASE ask them! I love to answer them! (All I ask is that you send one ask per question and not a list of questions, which is much more difficult to answer.) You can read Simulation Swarm here!

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-nine of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon disassembles his sand castle back into the original pattern without looking, Tim experiences multiple internal crisises, and someone passes by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Tim, in self-defense, grabs a couple of the little crostini things on said tray and offers one to Kon, who looks pleased about it. 

“I dunno, does this count as a party?” Kon asks, glancing around with a little grin before popping his hors d'oeuvre into his mouth. Tim does the same, then remembers this means that now he knows what Kon’s mouth tastes like again. Dammit. 

Kon’s mouth currently tastes like ricotta and roasted grape, which isn’t even necessarily a taste that especially appeals to Tim, aside from the part where it’s how Kon’s mouth currently tastes. Why do people even roast grapes? Why is that even a thing? 

Why does Kon look so attractive in slightly smudged eyeliner he put on for him and clothes he bought him? Like–Kon always looks attractive, it’s an incredibly unfortunate curse on the world, reflexively checking out his ass in spandex literally did get Tim thrown off a roof once, but this attractive? This is several new layers of “attractive” and Kon is wearing all of them like a second skin. A very tight and fitted and well-tailored second skin, to be specific. One with cutouts and short-shorts involved. 

This metaphor may be getting away from him. 

“Technically I think so, though maybe not the usual kind,” Tim says. “I mean, it’s sort of a party, it’s just mostly an event. Maybe they want donations or something, I don’t know. Museums usually do.” 

He assumes that’s what the ticket money went to, or at least a fair chunk of it. They were pretty expensive tickets, considering, but since it’s an adults-only special event that isn't obviously themed in either a rogue-baiting or rogue-planned way he hadn't really questioned it. Getting overcharged by a probably-underfunded art museum isn't exactly enough to trot out his inner Bat or inner future supervillain for. 

Well, as long as nobody on staff annoys or insults Kon, anyway. Because in that case he will be financially destroying this place. Like, obviously. It's a little early to be planning his supervillain calling cards, but “you know what you did” is an increasingly tempting option. 

Anyway, that's just a contingency plan. Totally unnecessary as long as Kon has a good time. 

“What’s over there?” Kon asks, peering towards another station. Tim wonders why he’s asking, since he assumes he can feel it, though in retrospect “feeling” whatever it is doesn’t necessarily explain the purpose or point of whatever it is. 

“No idea,” Tim says. “Why, does it feel interesting?” 

“Um.” Kon . . . hesitates, then glances back to him, looking oddly–embarrassed, almost? Weird, Tim thinks, repressing a frown. “It’s, uh . . . kinda, I guess. I dunno. Wanna check it out?” 

“Sure,” Tim says, peering towards it. It looks like a series of boxes with holes in them all stacked on top of each other, though he can’t see what’s actually inside them–there’s curtains or something built into them. He’s not really sure what the whole setup’s supposed to be, honestly, but if Kon’s interested . . . 

They head over, and it turns out the whole setup is basically the same theory as those haunted houses where they make you stick your hand in a box full of peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti and tell you they’re eyeballs and brains, although Tim is hoping peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti won’t actually be involved. 

“So there’s literally zero surprises here for you, I’m guessing,” Tim says wryly. Kon looks sheepish. 

“We can go do something else,” he says. 

“I mean, I’ll be surprised,” Tim points out. “So up to you if you’re interested or not.” 

“Okay, point, I guess,” Kon says, laughing a little and rubbing his arm self-consciously. “I dunno.” 

“Tell me which one to try?” Tim suggests, smiling at him. Kon laughs again, ducking his head to hide a grin. That continues to not be as effective as he probably wants it to be, given their height difference, but Tim has no intention of pointing that out. He doesn’t want to make Kon more self-conscious, and also it’s fucking adorable. 

Bastard. 

“You sure about that?” Kon says, his grin turning sly as he glances back towards him. “You don’t know what’s in there, babe.” 

“I’m willing to live a little dangerously,” Tim replies with an easy shrug. Kon laughs again. 

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teases.

Tim quickly regrets letting Kon pick which boxes he should stick his hands in via trying said boxes, but also Kon just looks so fucking cute laughing at the different faces he makes for every one, so it’s hard to actually get annoyed about it. Also, Kon admittedly did warn him. 

Although he might’ve rather put up with the peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti, honestly.

Seriously. Those are some textures, ugh.

[cakerybakery]

The War of Temptation AU

There were rules to this sort of thing. No interfering with their lives as minors was one, and sins not caused by their temptation didn’t count. This reincarnation of Adam drank to excess before Lilith and him could even try to tempt Adam into gluttony.

The home he had chosen had turned out to be abusive in many ways and he had turned to the availability of whatever numbed him young. By the time he could legally slide onto a stool in a bar Lucifer and Lilith couldn’t bring themselves to put any effort into their half of the war this round.

It wasn’t technically against the rules not to try and tempt Adam or Eve. Expectations were not the same as rules. A technicality even God couldn’t deny.

Adam blew out smoke as Lucifer and Lilith took a seat on either side of him.

Lucifer ordered three beers and slid one over to Lilith and Adam.

“Hello,” Lilith grinned.

Adam looked from Lilith to Lucifer, took a swig of the free beer, and said offhandedly, “sure, why not.” Banging some couple looking for a way to spice up their dead bedroom wouldn’t be his worst decision. He had a long list of those starting somewhere with stealing his prick of a father’s cigarettes when he was five, earning himself a fierce beating and addiction as he just got smarter about the theft, and ending somewhere last week when he’d woken up sore in places he didn’t want to think about after blacking out. At least this he was going into this sober… ish. He wasn’t into guys but he had a lifetime of being use to it. Adam just needed a bit of something before hand to help.

It was somewhere around the hotel room that it occurred to him that might be murderers and not just some swingers. By then he figured he liked his odds. If he was wrong, he also wasn’t too choked up about it. Life was shitty anyways.

The hotel was fancy as fuck. It even had a phone in the room. They ordered a spread of food and some real fucking fancy drinks sipped from special glasses. He’d never seen shit like this before.

He figured they’d want him to fuck her or to get fucked by him while one watches or something. Instead they fed him fruits and cheeses and shit he didn’t know the names of but looked fancy as fuck. He was given a glass of water and one of champagne.

Lilith sucked on his neck and Lucifer fed him nibbles of food. It was only after he insisted that he was full that they dragged him into the bathroom to be cleaned up. Lilith sat in the bath with him, washing his hands and front as Lucifer scrubbed his back and hair.

Adam supposed he was a bit dirty, it had been… a few days… okay, weeks since he last had a chance to bathe.

He had a great view anyways. Lilith’s hair was long but she had pinned it up to get in the bath. Despite them being obviously older than him, her tits were still perky and they both looked to be in good shape.

If they’d been ugly he would have turned them down. He might be poor but he wasn’t a whore, yet. Drifter or not, he was still finding work as a labourer. When things got bad enough he’d provided services to some people. Just enough to get on his way and try his luck somewhere else.

Once they decided he was clean enough Lilith slipped away. Lucifer handed him a towel to dry himself with and he stripped until he was as naked as Adam.

When Lilith returned she was wearing a nightgown so sheer there seemed to be no point in wearing it at all.

Adam thought they were finally getting to the sex but they just insisted on cleaning disturbingly sharp teeth and put him to bed with them.

Finally he broke, “are we not having sex?”

“Not tonight.” Lucifer switched of the light on his side.

Lilith clicked hers off as well, pressed a kiss to his cheek and rolled over with a tired sounding goodnight.

This was the weirdest threesome he had ever been party to.

They stuck around for a week and it was always the same. Lots of cuddling and kisses, food, bathing, and then just sleeping.

When they were leaving town they asked if he wanted to come too.

He had nothing here and figured on the gamble once more that they were murderers of some kind and went with them.

Months passed. Adam knew Lucifer and Lilith had sex. There had been more than a few occasions when they would slip away. Or he would wake at night to the sound of them in the bathroom, it kinda made him jealous.

When he asked, they said they didn’t want to pressure him. That night would been the first time he joined them and not the last.

They never seemed to work but always had money. They stayed in the nicest hotels Adam had ever seen until he noticed he had put on weight. His ribs no longer showed, he couldn’t remember his last cigarette or getting black out drunk, he dabbled in drugs before but hadn’t even thought about needing to feel numb in almost a year now. Even the bags under his eyes were gone as he always slept well now.

“We’re here.” Lucifer announced one day pulling into a driveway.

“Where are we?” Adam asked from the backseat. If they killed him now he was going to be pretty disappointed.

“A place we bought a few years ago. Treat it like your home.” Lilith popped her door open and went around to the truck to pull out the few bags they threw of them had while Lucifer unlocked the door.

Adam climbed out of the passenger door and grabbed a couple of the bags. Lilith always insisted on carrying her own but Lucifer never seemed to pull his own, even though it was always in the room waiting for them in hotels. Adam figured he just slipped it to a bellhop or something when no one was looking.

It was a nice place. The kitchen was modern, it even had an automatic washing machine he’d seen advertised a couple years back. Plenty of bedrooms and Adam was half surprised there wasn’t other people like him there. Strays.

He was also half surprised not to find some sort of kill room.

They told him they were getting groceries and to walk down to the beach, check the place out.

It was easy enough to find, the house was only a block away and he wandered the roadside stands on the edge of the beach. He could have sworn he saw Lilith before an arm hooked around his.

Lucifer was tugging him along. He ignored all of Adam’s questions, just assuring him, “you’re going to want to see this.”

He spotted Lilith with a woman, not much bigger than Lucifer, her hair shimmered red in the sun as she looked to be about his age.

“Say hi,” Lucifer whispered giving him a push.

Lilith disappeared as quickly as she seemed to have appeared but Adam only had eyes for the pretty girl in the polkadot swimsuit.

“Hello,” Adam could feel the goofy, dumbstruck look on his face. He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything except her pretty green eyes.

She look surprised, then looked around for a moment, before hesitatingly replying, “hello?” She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing a similar colour to her hair in the sun and giggled.

“My name is Adam.”

That really set her off, “that’s funny. My name is Eve!”

When Adam returned to the house many, many, many hours later a deed with his name on it sat on the kitchen table, along with a set of keys for the car out front. A simple note didn’t say much beyond confirming Lucifer and Lilith had left both for him to have.

He would live there for the rest of his long life with Eve by his side.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

To Play Hide And Seek With Jealousy

Pairing: Yandere!Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Stalking, murder, general psycho yandere behavior???

Genre: it's dark it's kinda angst technically

Summary: you have a stalker, what happens when you can't take the anxiety anymore // inspired by: To Play Hide and Seek With Jealousy by Famous Last Words

***

The first time he saw you was at work. It was late and the library you work in was just about to close when he happened to catch a glimpse of you through the window. You'd been resting your chin in your hand, reading a book. He stared for quite some time from across the street, watching you close up. He even followed you a few blocks, not all the way to your apartment, but far enough to be reprimanded if anyone found out. You didn't see him, didn't even know for sure there was anyone around but you felt it. A strange inclination that something was amiss. It went on for weeks. You'd feel just the vaguest sense of unease sometimes. When leaving work, or going to work, lunch with friends, even running errands became stressful. You were always looking over your shoulder and your dear boyfriend, he tried everything to calm you down. Started walking you to and from work, or at least calling you when he couldn't, installing extra locks on your apartment door, anything he could do to ease your anxieties he did. It helped, slightly, but even now you still get that odd chill at the back of your neck sometimes. 

Unfortunately these days it's usually accompanied by flashes of green and gold. You know for a fact someone is following you, the piercing pair of eyes you often catch peering from the shadows while you're working is enough proof for you. You'd thought you imagined those eyes at first, a side effect of your growing paranoia, but you've seen them too many times, taken pictures, in fact, today you'd be able to draw them how regularly you see them during your late nights at the library. And working day shifts doesn't help, no, those eyes still peek at you from the shadows of the nearby high rises and at this point, you only wish they would do something.

It's exhausting, the constant unease, looking over your shoulder for glints of gold, or glimpses of green, or that pair of eyes. You've barely been able to sleep most nights, even with your boyfriend around literally all the time to try to dispel your nerves.

Your boyfriend. A problem. He already didn't know how to approach you but worse was that- pathetic mortal you kept around. You could do so much better than him, deserved so much better than him, and if he could just get your boyfriend out of the picture he knows he could give that to you. And getting your boyfriend out of the picture is exactly what he plans to do. First anyway.

He's not mean with it. Although he could be. He sees no reason to prolong the torture. It won't win him points or anything. One night, before your boyfriend can pick you up at work he grabs him. So quick the boyfriend can't even scream before he's in a cabin in the woods.

"I appreciate you taking care of her for me, but you can't keep her anymore, and with you around she'll never have me. So you have to go." He tells your boyfriend calmly.

"Y-you're the one who's been stalking my girlfriend?"

"Stalking is a- dreadful way to put it. I suppose it doesn't matter though seeing as I'm about to kill you. Don't worry I'll be quick. I have to get back before y/n gets off of work." A dagger appears in his hand and your boyfriend's eyes widen. He lets out a yell as the blade is plunged through his heart. Luckily they're far away enough from the city that no one will hear him out here. A few moments of pained groans later, your boyfriend slumps over in the chair and he knows the job is done. He waves a hand and magic disposes of the body, cleans his clothes and returns him to his hiding spot to watch you for the remainder of your shift. He even sends a text on your boyfriend's behalf apologizing that he will not be able to get you after all. Step one complete.

When your shift ends you're so nervous about walking alone by yourself that you call a friend to keep you calm. The feeling that you're being watched doesn't go away but you can ignore it slightly while on the phone. In your apartment, you're even more unsettled to realize your boyfriend isn't here. He's always here. Sure he still has his own place but the last few weeks he's hardly left yours because of your concerns. Something is wrong. You feel it in your bones but what can you do exactly?

It's pure coincidence, the video you see the next day on social media, those same eyes you see in the shadows all the time now on your phone, attached to a face, with a name. Loki. You wouldn't be so quick to say so definitively if those eyes were not burned into your memory and if not for the green and gold that seems to be his signature. There's something comforting about having a name and face to the ominous shadow you've... accrued. It doesn't completely eliminate the fear you feel leaving your apartment but it definitely lessens it even if only slightly.

A week. Another week goes by before you resolve you can't let this go on any longer. It's a bit impulsive, you're walking home from work, and after the sound of a window closing makes you jump you decide right then that you have absolutely had enough. You stop in your tracks and turn around angrily. You can't see him but you know he's there somewhere.

"LOKI! I am so over this shit and I know you can hear me so whatever fucking game you're playing it's over! Either show yourself now and tell me what you want or leave me the fuck alone!" You're only glad it's late so no one's around to see you shouting at the air. Moments later Loki materializes in front of you and you steel your nerves, not letting your anger waver.

"Bold choice, threatening a god." He says with a smirk.

"Bold?! I am tired and angry and sick of always looking over my shoulder because the god of mischief ain't got shit else to do. Are you that bored? Can't you find a better use of your damn time than following me around like fucking a psycho?! You are driving me crazy! I'm not bold I am just tired of your games. I'll threaten you all I want, I haven't been able to let my guard down for months!" You snap.

"I don't see why, I've only been protecting you." Loki shrugs.

"Protecting me?! You're out of your mind! You're a stalker! The only thing I need protecting from is you!" You scoff.

"There's that unpleasant word again." He kisses his teeth.

"What do you want from me Loki?" You sigh.

"I love you y/n. I want only to cherish you as you deserve." He says calmly. Your eyes widen as you consider something.

"Have you- have you done something to Andrew?" You ask. You knew the text about a family emergency was suspicious but you had no reason to suspect something was amiss until this moment.

"It's best you don't ask me about that." He says.

"What?"

"Ignorance is your friend. If your Andrew has disappeared, you cannot be implicated as long as you do not know anything about the alleged disappearance. I cannot lie to you though, if you ask me I will tell you the truth, but it puts you at risk. To know. And I do not wish to do that. I will never wish to even potentially harm you." Loki's words send a chill down your spine. Though he hasn't told you what he's done you know in your heart that Andrew will not be coming back to you. Ever.

"H-how could you do this?" You can feel tears sting your eyes.

"I did it for you. You would regret spending your life with him, I know you would, he didn't deserve you and I will not let anything come between us."

"Loki there is no us. I do not know you, I do not love you. And you took my Andrew." You shake your head.

"No you see- I've done us both a favor. Now you can love me. You will, we have all the time in the world." Loki says with a smile on his face so unsettling you have to force yourself not to shiver at the sight, though you do take a step back.

"You're not listening-"

"No, you aren't listening. We're meant to be y/n. I'm sure of it and you will be too. Soon." Loki grabs your arm and in a blink, you're both gone.

***

[arom-antix]

Why Yuuri (before 2017) should not be allowed to write an autobiography

Okay, to those who might not follow figure skating as closely, I just need to point out that Yuuri, despite what he insists (unreliable narrator), did not do badly in the Sochi GPF.

We know from the flashback in episode 5 that Yuuri during his free skate fell on at least two of his jumps and touched down on one and it can be assumed he didn't do too well on his others. He says in episode 4 that he falls on jumps and makes up the gap with Program Component Scores (how artistic it was) which can also be seen on the protocol from his short program where his PCS is higher than his Technical Element Score (how technically sound it was). This is not how those scores usually relate except in certain cases (see Jason Brown, also known for his high PCS and (relatively) low TES though this is by choice).

This is Yuuri's short program protocol. If you don't know how to read this then all you need to know is that his total score was 82.80, 40.42 of that being TES and 42.38 being PCS.

Now, to relate that to the real world, in the 2015 Grand Prix Final, Daisuke Murakami scored a total of 235.49, scoring 83.47 in his short program and 152.02 in his free skate and placing 6th. As we can see, that's pretty darn close to Yuuri's score (82.80 in the short, 149.79 in the free, 232.59 total) and I would not be surprised if they were inspired by his scores since they're also PCS centric.

Sidenote: Looking at Yuuri's PCS here and comparing them to Murakami's, Yuuri's are higher, not having anything lower than 8.00. Based on the fact that he was likely very off-kilter, I'd say this is still a very respectable score (duh, Yuuri just can't accept that he's good). Boyang Jin who took 3rd in the short, 5th overall in the 2015 GPF had way lower PCS scores.

Anyway, here's Murakami's free skate protocol.

Murakami has 8 jumping passes in his free, 7 of which he lands with a two-footed landing on one and a stepout on another. He only falls ass on ice like Yuuri does once on his second quadruple salchow (which was supposed to be a combination. The << and REP are explained at the bottom of the protocol). He does not touch down at any point. Otherwise his jumps look fine to me, most of them barely having any ice spray and only his 3Lz+1Lo+2S combination getting a warning for an unclear edge.

If you don't know, falling is (kind of) the worst mistake you can make on a jump and the judges are required to both give a certain negative GEO (grade of execution) and a deduction of 1 point. Other mess-ups just give negative GEOs.

Murakami's FS score is 73.26 TES and 79.76 PCS which would mean Yuuri's scores are likely very similar. But he fell on two jumps, not one meaning his PCS would likely have been higher to make up the difference.

And if Yuuri's insinuation that he flubbed all his jumps in some manner is true (which I find highly unlikely, have some confidence) and he missed elements by either popping (opening too early which costs rotations but saves you from a fall) or just not doing them, his PCS would have needed to be even higher to make up for that.

Missing elements, like popping a double, triple or quadruple axel into a single (at least one double is required), results in that element not being counted at all. Zero. Zip. Nada. You get nothing for it if you can't make up for it later in the program. Even falling on a jump is better because that's at least a few points. So if that happened, he'd have a big gap to make up with his PCS.

To sum up: with everything that could have gone wrong for Yuuri, this is still a very good score, even on the international scene. And to highlight that, Murakami is happy when he finishes, even fist pumping.

And yes, there was still that 103.17 point gap between Yuuri and Viktor which is the same (okay, 94.95) for Murakami and Yuzuru Hanyu who took gold in the 2015 GPF. But, and I cannot stress this enough, Hanyu broke 3 world records with that score meaning Viktor likely did as well. No wait, scratch that, I know he did because Hanyu's score was 330.43 which Viktor beat by 5.33 points. Of course it's not going to be even close, are you kidding me?

Looking at the World Championships in 2016, Yuuri would, with that 232.59 score, still have taken 11th place. He'd have taken 16th in 2023 and that's with a single quad (I don't trust his quad salchow yet) in the age of quads (and that quad being the one with the lowest base value). I'm positive he'd have been able to do a Jason Brown whose PC scores are so good that he in 2023 placed 5th without a single quad and would have placed 3rd in 2016. Now, take that and throw Yuuri's quad toe loop and some confidence in there and you've got a Worlds podium finish before the series even starts.

And then in the season the show is in, he has his quad toe loop, quad salchow and quad flip. He might even have gotten the quad loop down in the 3.5 months between the Barcelona GFP and Worlds. I definitely see a world champion on the next level (if they'd give us it >:[ )

And scores always get higher over time, the world record having gone from Hanyu's 330.46 in 2015 to Nathan Chen's 335.30 in 2019 still standing in 2023 which is still less than Viktor's Sochi GFP score (335.76) (yes, the system has changed since 2015 but it's close enough that it doesn't really matter in this context. Viktor is OP no matter what).

Really, the fact that Yuuri's in the GFP at all should be all we need to know that he's insanely good. It might not technically be Worlds but my stars, Yuuri, it does basically make you 6th in the world.

BE. PROUD.

[wooahaes]

sharpshot

pairing: non-idol!mingyu x gn!reader

genre: fluff.

word count: 0.8k~

warnings: food mentions. reader and mingyu being flirty idiots. mentions of wonwoo getting the flu in the bg but he's not present.

daisy's notes: i hate him (said w heart eyes) !! imagine seeing his cute ass working at a darts booth. id die!

Fuck, why was the guy running the darts booth so handsome?

You had come here yesterday with a group of friends who had never gone to this particular festival before. To be honest, you had a pretty nice time! You won one of them a little stuffed frog since Minghao was rarely in the area for long and you wanted him to have a gift. You split a funnel cake with Soonyoung, who cheekily wiped away the caramel and powdered sugar from the corner of your mouth with a teasing comment about how you’d been distracted by ‘him’ again. Chan had gone on several rides with you when the others didn’t feel like going, happy to take one for the team and keep you company. Other times, Jun had been the one to sit out with you, enjoying a snack with you because you never gave up the chance to have festival foods. 

And now… You had dragged along your two roommates with you. Seungkwan, who read you like a goddamn book after Chan told him what was up, and Seokmin, who knew the fucker. 

“Oh him? That’s Mingyu!” Seokmin had said after Seungkwan pointed him out. “We went to college together. I can introduce you, if you want.”

Technically, Mingyu kind of knew you. He recognized you immediately as ‘the person from yesterday’ and asked about your boyfriend.

“Minghao isn’t my boyfriend,” you said with a little too much force. Fuck. Rewind. Backtrack—

“Oh, he isn’t?” Mingyu leaned against the counter. “Is he?” He nodded toward Seokmin. 

“Roommate,” Seokmin had raised a hand, chuckling. “So is he,” he nodded over toward where Seungkwan was pouting a distance away. You had promised him hot chocolate first, and now you were ‘probably going to chat up Mingyu.’ “They’re single.”

Before you could say anything else, Mingyu chuckled. “Good.” 

Oh, you knew a sign when it was practically neon lights flashing in front of you. You opened your wallet, shoving money into Seokmin’s hand and saying something about getting you a hot chocolate… and to take his time coming back (spoken under your breath where Mingyu hopefully didn’t hear). Seokmin merely chuckled and wished you luck, going back to Seungkwan and walking off with him. Which meant it was you, Mingyu, and whatever unfortunate soul came over to try their luck at the game.

Which, weirdly enough, didn’t work out too badly. 

“My friend usually runs this,” Mingyu told you. “Wonwoo ended up with the flu this week, and since he already had the spot paid for and everything set up… I told him I could do it.” 

Handsome and caring? “That’s sweet of you,” you hummed.

“He said I could keep half of what we have leftover,” he admitted after a moment. “But I would have done it anyway.” 

You leaned against the counter, resting your arms on the metal as you gazed up at him in the trailer. “Why?”

He, too, leaned against it to gaze at you. If he wanted to, he could quite literally kiss you if he just leaned down. “You get to see people happy sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes they’re only getting small prizes,.. But they’re still cute. Like the frog you won yesterday.” 

You hid a bashful smile behind your hand, Right. You chose it because Minghao liked it, but you’d found it cute, too—even though it was one of the smaller prizes. “Can I try again?”

His eyes lit up a little. “Oh?” He stood up. “Sure.”

You slid over the money, and he handed you the five darts before stepping out of the way. “Is it five to win one of the big ones?”

“Only four of the red balloons,” Mingyu said, pointing them out. “It’s supposed to be five, but I like giving them out. Three, if you’re a kid.” 

All you had to do was pop four of the red balloons to get a big one. Gold ones would net you anything smaller, but there were far more of those than there were red ones. You weren’t horrible at darts, to be fair—yesterday you were more distracted by Mingyu than anything else. Today, you had a new goal. Pop! One red balloon burst as your first dart pierced it. Pop! A second…

“Are you some kind of expert?” Mingyu chuckled.

You shrugged. “My friend has a bar. I reign supreme at darts.” 

Another chuckle, warmer than before. Endeared to you. You threw another dart through the air, popping yet another red balloon. And then another, before you looked at Mingyu.

“How many for you to say yes to a date?”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the trailer wall. “Five.” You could see it in his eyes that he was lying. I’d say yes if you asked me outright, though. 

With another pop of a red balloon, Mingyu had already written something down and slid it across to you. “I close up at nine,” he said. “And I haven’t eaten since lunch, so if you want…”

You’d treat him to whatever he wanted as long as you got to see his cute face again after this.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm

[yourspecialstranger]

Due to the amount of messages I've received, I decided to compile some of the ones I can try answer...

Also, apologies for the long wait. There were a lot of messages in my inbox at the same time.

I'll be straight forward on this. He's been teasing me over various other things before I had even met (Y/N). And I still wanna punch him for it.

Oh! Uh, hey there, blossom?

Truth be told, I don't believe him to be a true enemy of mine. I do consider him a friend. However, that does not mean I don't have the urge to punch him at times for being an idiot.

Oh, it's fine. Though I have to admit, I do feel a little overwhelmed and frankly, maybe a little intimidated by the amount of sudden attention. Love you too, blossom!

I have yet to try out more beverages of this city... So I am not quite sure about which one would be my favorite. But I have recently started drinking these beverages called Boba Tea. The milk tends to tastes quite nice and has a soft flavor to it.

Are you referring to the type of a plushie? Or the material used? Though in general, I have held little animal plushies before. And they are quite plush... Usually, anyway.

It's alright. I hope your health stay like that. It's really important to me that you're not in any form of discomfort.

Sigh... Damn'it, Wukong...

Of course you can, blossom. :)

Well, all the ways people have been welcoming me were quite... How do I put this... Interesting. I'll leave it at interesting.

I'm happy to be here! And I'm fine, thanks for asking. My cap is also fine. It was a gift so I'd rather like to keep it, even if it's not in the best condition in the future.

Oh, uh- Thanks! ...Wait, those reactions aren't normal in here?

They've been quite nice, actually. Maybe a little... too nice? I don't quite know how to describe it.

The experience has indeed been quite overwhelming. But don't worry, it takes more than that to scare me off.

...What- Uh- Thank you?

Oh- Thank you-

I don't have an absolute favorite as I haven't tried them all yet, but chocolate and strawberry are delicious.

I'm not a "little mayo boy"... And what is Farmville?

Technically I wouldn't even need to use thick clothing since the Celestial Realm's temperatures aren't changing like in the Mortal Realm. However, I do wear a coat to fit in more when walking around between humans.

What is that supposed to mean?

Aw. Thanks, blossom. :)

Isn't this going a little too fast, blossom-

I... I don't know what that's supposed to mean? But well, I usually just grab whatever shampoo I can to test them out. Recently I've tried a shampoo that smells like coconut though.

I've been given permission by the Jade Emperor. I'll keep it at that. And the humans here aren't so bad.

Maybe a pink ribbon? Or red? I'm not quite sure about the rest of your clothes, so... Also, I like both. Though I do have more of a preference for dogs and birds. And Erlang's weakness? Pretty sure he has some, but I can't immediately think of them at the top of my head... But I do know ways to annoy him. I doubt that truly counts as a weakness though.

Um... okay?

Maybe at some point later. And the Celestial Realm is at a pretty nice temperature. It's quite warm, but not even close enough to bother any of the guards who wear heavier armor. The Jade Emperor wanted to avoid having us suffer while standing guard.

I'm quite new to the ways humans tend to identify themselves. So please correct me if I'm wrong, but from what I've seen the LGBTQ+ community seems to be quite accepting of peoples' identities and attractions. It's rather interesting to see.

I identify as male with he/him pronouns. And I can't speak for (Y/N)'s pronouns. Not that it would change my love for them anyway if they decided to change them. But for simplicity sakes, I'll be referring to my partner as they/them whenever I talk about them here. [OOC: (Y/N) on this blog is just considered a placeholder character for the Reader. Since they're supposed to be you/the Reader, depending on the initial message and its phrasing, Nezha will either see a random blank placeholder in the background as his partner, or the person messaging him. If the second one is the case, he usually calls the messenger "blossom". So he can't talk for his partner in general.]

I do enjoy Earth a lot so far. There's so many more options than what we have in the Celestial.

It's been quite the experience so far. I'm still confused with some things on the technical side, but I'm learning.

There's two spellings of my name actually- I'm fine with either Nezha or Ne Zha, but I've seen people mostly spell it like Nezha. Also, damn'it. Sigh.

I unfortunately have to cut the QnA short as I'm only allowed to use 30 images on the same post.

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part VI: horseshoe overlook ii

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 13.3k

summary: you, Arthur, and Hosea find some important horses on your trek to a hunt gone-wrong. Away from camp, Arthur opens up, letting you peek through his point of view to his heart-breaking past. Dutch asks for your help.

a/n: chapter six! Arthur and reader find their heart horses, there's a lot of hurt/comfort too which we love. Oh and I spoiled a plot point to Jane Eyre, so sorry if you were planning to read it, but also it was published 176 years ago so maybe get onto that. Also the tuberculosis in Jane Eyre was just a coincidence, so don't fret. I plan on keeping Arthur tb free. Lastly, there is some good ol' fashioned 'talking about our feelings' in this chapter. We are opening up and talking about trauma, yay! BTW, series hit 50k this chapter! Anyway! Enjoy

warnings: animal abuse (seeing a horse that has been abused), mentions of former child abuse, mentions of infertility, all are described briefly, nothing graphic.

SERIES MASTERPOST

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo10300 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup

Arthur’s supposed to be on watch, and you’re supposed to be doing laundry. But he’s tired of staring at trees and you’re sick of cleaning beer and stew out of Uncle’s long johns, so here you are.

Technically, Arthur hasn’t completely abandoned his task like you have. You’re both sitting on a decent sized boulder, the one he always sits on during his guard shift, just off the trail into Horseshoe. But his eyes are not focused on the trees, instead they fixate on his journal, where he is sketching something on the ivory pages. You’re all too curious, again, about what he’s drawing, but he's positioned in a manner so the contents remain hidden from your nosey gaze. He hasn’t missed the way you subtly lean every once in a while, peering down your nose to try and see the pages. Each time he notices, a small smile tugs on his lip, and he pulls the journal a little tighter towards himself. Arthur’s carbine rests between you two on the rock, next to a little bag of candies that he had picked up when you were in town a few days ago. Currently, your nose is in a book, but you haven’t been reading it for a few moments, instead peeking over the pages at Arthur. It’s nice to get away from camp for a bit. The past few days you’ve spent doing house chores for Grimshaw. She was less than happy when you “Went to the saloon all day with the men” as she put it, those couple days ago. She made sure that you made up for the lost time, and you were stuck peeling potatoes for so long that your hands went numb. 

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shines brightly, and a warm breeze passes through the camp. Birds chirp, singing their tunes as they build nests in the trees above your head. A few rabbits have passed by, even a fox, filling up on food before the storm hits, another reason you’re avoiding your chores. Charles had warned everyone that by the look of the clouds, a big storm was coming, probably tomorrow. You’ll be damned if you spent the last nice day staring at Pearson’s apron or a laundry bin.

You watch as Arthur moves his eyes from the journal to the bag of sweets, and he reaches into it, pulling out a yellow candy. With an almost unnoticeable frown, he drops it back into the paper  bag, and pulls out a red one. He seems satisfied enough with this choice, and he brings the little treat to his lips. It’s been so long since you’ve had the pleasure of candy, and you’ve gone and eaten nearly half the bag. You haven’t had money for pleasantries in a long while, not since your momma died anyway. 

“You don’t like the lemon ones?” You ask, reaching into the bag and pulling out the one he had dropped back inside. You pop it into your mouth, eyes slipping shut in bliss from the sweet, tart flavor of the candy. Arthur looks up at you for a quick moment, scanning over your face with a chuckle before trailing back down to his journal. 

“Nah, I like 'em well enough, but I noticed they’re your favorite. Didn’t wanna take all the good ones from ya.” 

You smile, grabbing another yellow candy from the bag just as you feel the remnants of the last one finish dissolving. You missed hard candies. They weren’t exactly high on your list of priorities before joining the gang. You put your book down, a piece Marybeth had let you borrow. You’ve read it a few times, and you already know exactly what the pages entail. However, you don’t know what the pages of Arthur’s journal look like. 

“Whatcha drawin’?” You ask, criss crossing your legs on the boulder. Arthur huffs a laugh, having expected this question. 

“Nothin’ much, just somethin’ little.” Arthur whispers. You’re confused as he leans down towards the grass, plucking a dooryard violet from a little patch of the wildflowers. So many of Arthur’s actions throw you for a loop. He’s so… dynamic, constantly showing you new sides to him that you would never expect. 

He unsheathes his hunting knife, quickly snipping the stem of the flower off. Now what really throws you off is when Arthur leans over, concentrated, and tucks the flower behind your ear. He adjusts your hair accordingly. 

“There,” He whispers, settling back into his former position to admire you. “Purple looks good on you, well except when it's your cheek that's purple but-” Arthur jokes, nodding to your bruised cheek, and you laugh, shoving him a bit. 

“I was just about to say that you’re goin’ soft, but now you’re makin’ fun of me. I guess things are back to normal.”

Arthur’s face turns to mock hurt, as he squints at you. 

“I ain’t goin’ soft.” He chides. 

You placate him, putting your hands up. 

“Alright, whatever you say, Mister.” 

With a smile, you pick your book back up. Arthur reaches into the bag of candy, pulling out a yellow one. Words need not be said as he mumbles to get your attention, and when you look up, he tosses the little yellow candy towards you. You catch it, tossing it into your mouth and thanking him. It’s quiet as both of you pick your books back up. It’s nice, with you both silently enjoying each other's company. You’re lost in the world of Jane Eyre, and Arthur lost in his journal. Every so often Arthur will peek up from his book, glancing at you for a moment before returning to his sketching. 

You reach the bit of the novel where Helen is lying on her deathbed, finally succumbing to tuberculosis. This particular scene has been read and reread by you many times, but it still manages to choke you up. Helen is so brave in the face of death, so sure of the paradise that will await her. And poor Jane, another loss, another grief. You’re not sure what happens after death, but if there is an afterlife, you’re not so sure you’ll be on the pleasant side of it. Tears begin to prick the sides of your eyes as Helen speaks her last line to Jane, begging her not to grieve, beckoning her to find joy. Arthur eyes you curiously from the side of his eyes, wondering what about that little book has you so in your head. With a sigh, you finish the chapter and sniffle, placing the book down to take a breath. Arthur’s charcoal stills on the paper as he hesitates, a question on his lips. 

“What's goin’ on in that head a yours? Tough read?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the little ruby colored book in your hands. You meet his gaze with a raised eyebrow, placing the book down on it’s opened pages to keep  your spot. 

“How about a compromise? I’ll tell ya…if you show me what you’re drawin.” 

Arthur’s eyes turn dark with mock threat as he whispers, tone gravelly. 

“Never.”  He chuckles, and you sigh dramatically. 

You both slip into a comfortable silence again, and you find yourself bored. You don’t feel like reading any more, and you’ve picked through most of the yellow candies, so in a futile attempt to distract yourself you toy with your spurs, flicking the rowel and watching as it spins. Arthur notices this, and he huffs. He’s noticed in the past few weeks that you’re always keeping your hands busy, always toying with something or other. He thinks back to when you were tracing constellations on his palm in the bath, and his head hangs low with some shame, and a pain. 

“I uh- I been meanin’ to apologize…” Arthur mumbles, eyes fixated on his book. 

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, what on earth does he have to apologize for?

“The other day in Valentine, in the bath house. I overstepped- or I misread the situation n’ Im sorry. Never meant to make you uncomfortable, Star.” Arthur all but whispers, a heavy feeling settling in his gut because he doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to push you away, and he is. 

Immediately your heart sinks, you’ve been meaning to have this conversation, practicing your words when you lie awake at night, unable to sleep. But all the things you wanted to say slip from your mind.

“That wasn't… you didn't-" You mumble, at a loss for words. There's so much you could tell him right now, so much you could explain. But you don't. No, instead you shove it down, pulling that unbothered facade over your face that has been protecting you from heartache for years. 

"We don't gotta talk about it, Arthur." You whisper, flicking the rowel of your spurs and avoiding his eye contact. 

You can still see it though, as Arthur leans back, cocking his head with a downcast face. He wants to talk about it, but you can't. 

With a sigh, you lay back against the rock, hands behind your head to look up at the clouds. As soon as your back hits the rock, Arthur sighs, humorously irritated. 

"Dammit woman will you just- " Arthur chuckles, pulling you back up to a sitting position by grabbing your forearm. 

"Just hold still for a minute, I'm tryin' to do somethin…" Arthur smiles because you're always moving, you can't sit still, and a moving model proves to be a difficult one. 

You go back to your sitting position, and Arthur leans over towards you, adjusting the violet in your hair. Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion for a moment until you spot the little journal sitting in his lap, closed over his charcoal. Your eyes go wide, and your lips crack into a shocked smile.

Arthur leans back, picking the journal back up and opening it. For a few seconds his eyes run over the soft features of your face, and then he looks down to his paper.

"You're- You're drawin' me ?" You ask, perplexed, honored.

When Arthur glances up, seeing the look on your face, he gets nervous. He probably should have asked your permission first. He didn't mean anything strange by the drawing, and he doesn't want you to think that. 

Arthur scratches the back of his neck, searching for words to explain, but falling short.

"Uh- yeah, I am. But I don't mean anything odd by it. I just like to draw things that I like or that I find- Well, I don't know, usually I draw things that I think are pretty. Like nature n' plants and uh…" Arthur rambles, terrified you're gonna think he's some type of pervert. A smile blossoms across your face, a full, genuine one. He's dug himself in with his words he realizes when you lean in toward him, voice quiet. 

"...and me?" You ask, finishing his sentence. Arthur smiles crookedly, eyes on the paper as he responds. 

"Yeah, like you." 

You smile, content. Arthur continues sketching. The quiet scratching of charcoal on paper is the only reminder that he's still beside you as you slip your eyes shut, soaking up the last of the sun. You listen to his sketching, to his breathing, and the little sighs and chuckles he lets out when you move too much. He knows you can't sit still, it's just one of those little things about you. 

After a while, the sketching stops, and you peek one eye open, glancing down at Arthurs hands. He sets the charcoal down, closes the book and then dusts his hands off of his jeans. 

"You gonna let me see it?" You ask, turning towards him, adjusting the flower in your hair. 

"I never really shown anyone this… My new one or my old." Arthur says, quietly. 

"You don't gotta, it's okay." You reassure, sincerely. He's very closed off about the journal, and you respect that. Having one yourself, you understand the desire to keep it hidden away. Arthur thinks for a moment, looking down to the leather bound journal in his hands. 

"Here," he whispers, opening it to the correct page and handing it towards you. You hesitate, not wanting to push him, but he nods for you to go on.

"It's just for fun, I'm not real good or anything." Arthur adds, always having a lesser opinion of his works. 

You very gently take the pages from his hands, pulling the book towards you. You cover your gaping mouth in shock. Anytime Arthur has previously mentioned his drawings he downplayed them greatly. You should have expected this, as he always down plays his talents. But you had expected messy scribblings, doodles. 

What Arthhr has created is beautiful. He intricately copied your face onto the paper, perfectly portraying you in his own style. His shading is perfect, contouring your face and the bright smile plastered onto it. He's drawn the violet, sticking out from behind your ear. 

"Arthur…" You gasp, taken aback by his artistry. Next to the journal is a little note, accompanied by your name, spelled out in all caps, and a little drawing of the north star. 

She joined me for my guard shift again. We was bored so I started drawing while she read something or other. She looked real pretty with that flower in her hair, oh and she likes YELLOW CANDIES.

Arthur blushes a bit, embarrassed that you've read his thoughts, but he knows you won't judge him for it. Make fun of him, however? Knowing you, you will. He chuckles, glancing up to your face. 

A throat clears behind you both, and you jump, turning to see Hosea standing there. He curiously eyes Arthur's journal in your hands, eyes flickering between the two of you, knowing that you're the first person he's ever shown those pages to. 

"How's your watch goin'?" Hosea asks, knowingly quirking a brow. 

"Just fine, now whatchu need?" Arthur asks, gently taking the journal back and binding it up. Hosea is unshaken by Arthur's attitude, having dealt with it for nearly twenty years. 

"Your horse. I'm heading to the stables to buy a new ride, but I need a way to get there." Hosea answers. 

"Thought that was your horse there? Why don't you ride him down to the stables?" Arthur asks, gesturing up the slope towards the hitching posts to where a massive black shire horse resides. You don't recall seeing the beastly animal before, but then again you've been stuck with Miss Grimshaw. 

"Yes, well I'm giftin' that bastard to you. He's a nasty son of a bitch, and I'm too old to be thrown. I nearly died a handful of times just getting him back here. I stole him from a fella on the road a few days back, now Karmas got me." Hosea says, angrily gesturing towards the stallion who is pinning his ears and pawing the ground impatiently. 

"He can't be all bad. You know anything about him?" You say, eyebrows pulled together as you stand up, walking up the slopes to the posts. The two boys follow you. 

"Well before I robbed him of his horse and his hunting map, me and this fella got to drinkin'. He was boasting about this damn thing, and said it was immortal. Apparently he was ridden by a bounty hunter before this, and got hit with more bullet shrapnel than you'd believe. Somehow he managed to stay alive. Fella was drunker than a skunk though, so I reckon you should take it with a grain of salt."

You stand back with Hosea as Arthur steps towards the uneasy animal. The horse stomps, ears pinned, and Arthur coos to him, hands up in surrender to the animal. 

"That boys' always had a way with animals." Hosea remarks, watching as Arthur calms the shire enough to pet it. His hands meet the dark horse's neck as he shushes. After a few moments, the horse begins to calm. His tail stops swishing, his ears prick to the sides, listening to Arthur and his lip becomes loose. 

"Real good, boy. Now don't go kickin me, I'm just gonna take a look, I ain't gonna hurt ya." Arthur coos, running his hand from the horse's front shoulder down to its hock and pastern. He whistles lightly, pulling his hand back up. 

"Feller weren't lyin'. Legs are covered in old scars. It's a miracle he didn't die from infection or just get put down." Arthur says, patting the horse's croup before backing up, eyeing the horse from a few steps back. 

"He got a name?" Arthur asks, and Hosea shakes his head. 

"No, never given one." Hosea adds.

"Reckon I'll start callin you Balius, you're a strong one." Arthur says, moving back towards the horse and picking up his hoof, checking over the state of it. 

"Balius…?" You ask, not sure why Arthur would have picked that name. It's beautiful,  but foreign to you. 

"Ah, Balius. An immortal horse, a gift from Poseidon." Hosea smiles, looking at Arthur and the horse. 

"Arthur, he's a smart one. Too humble to show it often, I'm afraid." Hosea whispers to you. 

You think back to Boadicea. Arthur must take some interest in history and mythology. You curiously watch him, seeing Arthur in a different light. 

"Okay, I can take him off your hands. Go ahead and ride my Walker to the stables. Just board him there for now, I'll see how this big guy does." Arthur says, pulling an oatcake from his satchel and feeding it to a now calm Balius. 

You glance to the unhitched horses, seeing your buckskin grazing with the other gang member's horses. He's a small thing, not much muscle on him and Colter certainly didn't help that fact. He's a good horse, but not what you need. You need something strong and quick, something younger. 

"I'll join you, Hosea. I've been meaning to get a new ride for a while." 

"I might as well go too, get him checked out by a stable hand. He's gonna need a different saddle. Boadicea's is still down in Blackwater and the saddle on the walker is a piece a' shit." Arthur pipes in. Hosea places a hand on each of your backs as he smiles, leading you towards the unhitched horses. 

"I'm not sticking around, I'm afraid. Once I get this horse I'll be heading back up to ambarino for a hunt. I hear that there's a beast of a bear up there." 

Arthur stops, hands on his belt as he raises an eyebrow. 

"You want help with it? Y'aint so young no more, Hosea." Arthur asks, not wanting to overstep, but worried about Hosea's cough and age. Taking on a bear is hard for someone your age, let alone Hosea's. Hosea hesitates.

"Star's daddy was a gunsmith. Sure she knows her way around what we need and I can track better than you, let us go, as long as the lady wants to." Arthur adds, looking over to you quickly. 

"Alright, suppose some company would do me some good up in the mountains." Hosea nods, glancing behind him at the horses. 

"I reckon me and Arthur get these horses saddled up. I'll have Charles take the rest of your shift. Dear Star, why don't you go pack a bag, we may be away a few nights. Oh and check in with Dutch, he was asking for you. Tell him we're heading out for a day or two." Hosea orders around, and you nod, anxiety pooling in your gut.

"Dutch was askin for you?" Arthur asks, shooting a look at you and then Hosea. You nod, biting your lip.

"Yeah, said he wants to get to know me on a more personal level… Whatever that means." You mumble, and Arthur's face is drawn up in distaste. Without another word, you head towards your tent. 

You wave at Jack on the way, noticing that Abigail and John are fighting again. You feel bad for the boy, caught up in this life. You ignore the hungry cries of the O'driscoll, tied to a tree on the other side of camp. Dutch is a fool for bringing him here. With a sigh, you part the canvas to your tent, drawing the flaps closed behind you. A little wooden box rests on your bedside table, a gift from Tilly after you'd done her a favor. You pick up the wooden box, hand resting in the lid, and yet you hesitate to open it. You know it's not gonna be good, maybe enough change for some canned goods, but not a horse, which you need.

Frustrated, you slam the box down harder than necessary. Your hand grabs an old saddle bag from under your cot, and you move to your wardrobe. 

You don’t have a tent kit, but you do have a bedroll, so you grab it and stuff it into the bag alongside a few pairs of jeans and some underthings. Damningly, you forget to grab your coat, leaving it stuffed in the bottom of your wardrobe. 

Once your bag is packed you can no longer ignore the wooden box that is haunting you. You sit down on your bed, picking it up and holding it in your lap. You pull the lid off, looking down to a measly five dollar bill. It's not chump change, but it won't help you with a horse. It's the last of the money you have from stealing in Tumbleweed. You hope that with the gang you'll never have to live like that again. You were barely making it, never knowing where you were gonna get a meal or sleep. Anytime you needed to purchase something you had to steal. And now here you are, thinking about how in the hell you're going to steal a horse. 

You pluck the bill from the box, fold it over and stick it into your satchel. 

"Can I come in?" A voice says from outside your tent. It's Arthur, and instinctually you smile.

"Sure c'mon." 

Arthur steps through the flap, coming over to your bed. You scooch over and he sits down beside you on your cot. 

"What's the matter?" Arthur asks, taking his hat off and placing it on the cot. You sigh, closing the box and putting it back on your table. 

"I still feel like I'm just runnin." You whisper, noting the double meaning of your words. 

"From what?" Arthur asks, no judgment in his eyes. 

"Everything," You huff, "Myself mostly. My past, my feelings. Just robbing and killing and lying to survive. I'm stuck back in Tumbleweed, Arthur. I have no money, I have nothin' to my name. I need a damn horse before this one up and dies on me but I can't even afford the cheapest one. I'm gonna have to steal a damn horse." You sigh, running your hands through your hair, plucking out the violet and twirling it between your fingers. Arthur rests his hand on your knee, and you look up to his ocean eyes. 

"Star, you got the whole gang now, okay? You don't gotta watch your back now, cause we all got it." You nod, knowing he's right and feeling better for it.

"I'll help ya get a horse, c'mon." Arthur says, patting your knee for good measure before standing up and placing his hat back on. 

"I'm not lettin you buy me a horse." You bite.

"Marybeth caught word of a train job. You come rob with us, n' get your cut, you can pay me back." Arthur says. You know he would never actually ask you to pay him back, he's only offering this to make you feel better.

Arthur extends his hand out to you, and once you take it, he pulls you up to your feet. He grabs your packed bag from the cot, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Alright, go check in with Dutch, I'll get your horse loaded."

Arthur holds the tent flap open for you, and once you exit he files out behind you. You go your separate ways then. Dutch's large tent seems to rise over the others, intimidating you. But you strengthen your resolve, walking towards it with purpose. 

Just as you reach to pull the canvas aside, Molly  pushes through the flap, knocking into you and pushing you to the side.

"I'm not blind, Dutch! I know what you're doing! You won't even TOUCH me anymore because you’re thinkin about her!" Molly yells, and her voice pierces the ears of everyone in camp. She points her finger at him, seething with rage before grunting loudly. 

"You're delusional. Again." Dutch says, rolling his eyes, frustrated. 

Molly flips him the bird before stomping off. Dutch only watches her go with distaste. 

"Sorry, I didn't intend to interru-" 

"Nonsense. I'm sorry. Miss O'shea has been… difficult as of late." Dutch says, clicking his tongue against the room of his mouth. He comes beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and leading you into his tent. 

"Would I be correct in assuming that you've been avoiding me?" Dutch asks, groaning as he rests down into his chair. Everything about the man is dominating. His stature, his stance, his words. He demands respect, and those who don't give it to him receive a bullet. Naturally, with you being you, you test his boundaries. Arthur trusts Dutch, but he gives you an odd feeling.

"Why would I avoid you?" You chuckle, watching as some of the charisma bleeds from his eyes. He gets off on being frightening, and you've just insulted his resolve.

"Hmm." Dutch squints at you, unsure if you're just ignorant or if you're intentionally pushing his buttons. He grabs a cigar from the pack on his desk, placing it between his lips.

"I only came by to tell you that Hosea, Arthur and I will be off on a job hunting for a few days. They asked me to let you know."  

Dutch nods, holding a match to the candle on his table until it lights before bringing the lit match to his cigar. He makes you wait, lighting the cigar, slowly inhaling and then releasing the breath of air. 

"Okay… I hope you haven't forgotten about our little chat. I've got plans for you. As soon as you return, come see me. We've got a lot to talk about." 

You dip your head in understanding, and turn to exit. 

"And miss?" Dutch calls after you, and you stop, turning on your heels. 

"Hmm?" 

"Do be careful on that hunt. Be a real shame if somethin' scratched up that pretty little face." Dutch says, and your stomach rolls as you exit. 

You try to quell your anger, try to be the bigger person. Dutch is the one person who you cannot piss off. Your tongue gets you in trouble often but you won't let it leave you without a home. You move through camp, Dutch's remark playing through your head. The boys are waiting for you at the hitching posts, and they see your rage from a mile away. 

"Miss Star, what is it?" Hosea asks, checking his girth to make sure it's tight before climbing onto Arthur's horse.

"It's that prick." You snap, finger directed at Dutch's tent. 

"What's the fool gone and done now?" Hosea asks, grabbing the reins and adjusting in the saddle. 

"Dutch? He botherin you?" Arthur asks, glancing between you and Hosea. 

"Oh I can handle it just fine. Miss O'shea don't seem to be handlin' it so well though. Bastard makes her cry and then two seconds later starts tryin' to flirt with me." You growl, climbing into your saddle. You follow Hosea, cantering out of the Overlook. 

"He tried to flirt with you?" Arthur growls. 

"This isn't new for Dutch. He finds something shiny, new, and he wants it. Happened with him and Marybeth too, but I shut that down quick." Hosea yells back. 

"He knows better. I'll have a word with him when we get back." Arthur hisses, disappointed. 

"No. I've got it." You respond. 

"Don't mind him, hard as it may be. Lately he's been nothing but greedy when it comes to women. He's downright disrespectful, demeaning… Annabelle would be ashamed." Hosea shakes his head.

"Annabelle?" You ask, never having heard the name before. You turn in your saddle to look at Arthur. 

"She was Dutch's fiancé. Got killed by Colm O'driscoll." Arthur mutters, an old pain resurfacing. 

"She was a sweet girl. She was good for him, too, and kept him in line. Along with young Arthur over here. He and John were a pair of fools when they were kids. She was always badgerin' them." Hosea chuckles at the memory. 

"Nah, that was mostly Bessie. John used to steal my damn cigarettes all the time. Course that was my fault. God knows little Johnny Marston couldn't do no wrong." Arthur chastises.

"Oh be quiet, Arthur. We all knew you were sneakin them to him. Along with the booze." 

Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion as the two bicker, and you laugh. 

"Yeah well gettin' the kid drunk was the only way to shut him up." Arthur explains. 

"Wait-" You laugh, "You all knew each other when you were kids?" You ask, trying to piece together the timeline, picturing them all younger.

"We brought Arthur in when he was only a boy, about fifteen if my memory hasn't lost me. Our first stray, our unruly son. For a long while it was just me, Dutch and Arthur. But then I found Bessie and Dutch, his Annabelle, and then eventually we took in John." Hosea explains, trotting over the railroad tracks into the auction yard. 

You can't help but chuckle, the thought of their younger years is a sweet idea. They really are a family, you can see that now 

"How did you end up with them? How did you end up doin' this?" You ask Arthur and then Hosea, spurring your horse.

"I was just a kid, livin' on the streets for a long while, stealin' to get by. The city weren't kind to me. After a few years I decided to get away, take my chances out in the woods. I needed a horse to get away from the city." Arthur explains as you slow your horses, riding towards the livery. Hosea chuckles, and you can't help but smile, wondering where this might be going. 

"So one day I'm sittin' on the sidewalk beggin' for spare change. See these two horses hitched outside the gunsmith, real fine horses. Saw a white one, knew it'd be quick and strong, just what I needed." 

You chuckle, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Get up close to it, no one's lookin' so I throw myself up into the saddle." 

Hosea is smiling brilliantly at the memory, as if he's back in the same setting. 

"That horse threw me faster than you could blink an eye. I'm layin' there on the street like a fool, feelin' sorry for myself when suddenly these angry lookin' outlaws peek over me, lookin' down at me in the mud." 

"And that was where we found him." Hosea laughs. 

You make a note to ask why Arthur was alone at such a young age. Your heart breaks at the idea of him, just a kid, begging for money in the streets. You've heard amongst the laughter of the gang that The Count won't take anyone but Dutch, and Arthur appears to have been the first to test that theory. You trot past the butcher's, making your way towards the stables. Once again, you pass the peculiar one armed man posing as a veteran. You nod to him lightly as you pass, and he smiles in return. 

"We can fill you in on old stories during our trek up the hills. There's a lot of goodones, especially about Arthur here." Hosea chimes, dismounting from Arthur's walker in front of the livery. 

"Great." Arthur says, sarcastically elongating the word.

You slide down from the buckskin, forgoing your eyebrows as you hear commotion on the other side of the closed stable doors. A horse shrieks, whinnying with fear as thumps sound out against the door. 

"Just grab her halter!" A man yells, and the stable doors shake from an apparently hard kick to them.

"I can't! She won't settle, goddamnit she's goin' through!" Another man screams, and suddenly the door cracks and is pushed open. 

A beautiful Palomino mare pushes through the door, terrified and angry. You jump back out of the way with a gasp, almost getting trampled by her. 

"Star, get back!" Arthur yells as the horse rears up, crying out with an ear piercing whinny. 

"I got her!" One of the stable boys yells, swinging a lariat over his head. He releases a coil as the rope flies through the air, landing around the mare's neck. 

The rope only seems to terrify her more, and she drags the poor stable hand who's heels drag in the dirt, trying to pull her in by force. 

You know that there's no way he could possibly force this horse to do anything. She's tall, lean and strong. Her piercing blue eyes are a symbol of her ancestors' spirit. She's a force to be reckoned with, an open flame, you can tell from just a glance. 

"Stop! Stop- you're scarin' her!" You call to the boy with the rope, handing your buckskin's reins to Hosea. You walk towards the spooked mare as she rears, hands placed up to placate her. 

"Be careful, miss, please. She's dangerous. Wasn't taken care of properly by her last owner n' now she don't trust men. Maybe she'll take to you." The man calls. 

You look to her sides, to the scarred over wounds on either side of her stomach where spurs have dug in harshly, and to the sores on her mouth from where a torturous bit has been yanked far too often. 

"Oh you poor girl." You coo, taking a step towards her. 

Arthur shifts behind you, wanting to just grab you and pull you backwards. But he knows by now not to question you. You can handle your own. Still, it doesn't help his anxiety as he glances at Hosea. 

The horse is locked onto you. She has stopped rearing, but she snorts and huffs, prancing and snorting nervously. 

"Drop the rope." You order the boy, but he hesitates, stuttering. 

"I- I can't, I shouldn't. She'll run off again, and my boss-" 

"The lady wasn't askin', now drop the damn rope." Arthur orders from behind you, and your lips crack into a small smile, grateful that he has your back, that he trusts your sometimes insane decisions. 

The kid obliges, immediately dropping it to the ground. Your fingers are crossed, and much to your relief, the mare stays put. 

Her crystal blue eyes are locked onto you, separated only by the thick, long white forelock that covers part of her face. Her golden coat is broken up by a thick white blaze, and she has four tall white stockings. 

"Easy there girl, I'm not gonna hurt ya." You whisper, inching towards her. She stomps her right hoof, ears pinned back. You stand still, waiting for them to pop back up before you continue. 

She has a presence about her, something deeply human about those eyes. There's a sense of understanding in them, a clarity that you find only in the rarest of beasts. 

"She's got that affinity for animals too, huh?" Hosea whispers to Arthur, looking between you and him. 

Hosea notices that Arthur doesn't turn his head, doesn't acknowledge the older man because his eyes are locked onto your back, watching as you approach the mare. Arthur is looking after you with a small smile, a glint in his eyes that Hosea hasn't seen in so long. He doesn't remember the last time he's seen Arthur with so much… life in his eyes.

"She's incredible ain't she?" Arthur whispers back, eyes glued onto you as he speaks. Hosea brings his hand up to Arthur's shoulder, offering it a light squeeze. 

"She sure is, son." 

Oblivious to their conversation, you shush to the horse, calming her down some. No one moves save for you, not wanting to interrupt this moment, lest the mare run off again.

"That's a good girl, see I'm friendly I swear it." You whisper, smiling as the horse stands steady on her feet, ears coming forward curiously towards you. Holding your breath, your fingertips reach out, inches away from her pale nose. She snorts, sniffing at you, gauging your intentions. 

At the same time, you move towards each other, and your fingers brush against her soft coat. At first the mare hesitates, but after a second she leans into your touch. You laugh, petting under her forelock. When you turn around to show Arthur what you've done, you find him sweetly looking over you, eyes bright, proud. 

You gently reach and grab the rope from her neck, using it to lead her back towards the stables.

"I ain't never seen nothing like it miss! She just- she just calmed right down for ya!" The stableboy says excitedly as you lead the mare back inside, followed by Hosea and Arthur with the other horses.

Hosea and Arthut deal with their horses, selling, buying and stabling while you chat with the stable hand. 

"Can I help you with anything? Seein as you helped me out." The young worker asks you as the older one helps Hosea pick out a ride. 

You hold the mare's rope in your hand, scanning down over the other stalls. There's a dappled standardbred, a silver turkoman, a roan nokota, a morgan… nothing that catches your eye. 

You turn back towards the mare at your side, then to the stable boy. 

"I want her." You say, no chance of compromise in your voice. The stablehand looks at you oddly.

"You- you want her? Miss I don't think that's such a good idea, she ain't right in the head!" He explains, but you've found your resolve, and you are going home with this mare, one way or another.

"You turnin' down a customer?" You bite, raising an eyebrow at the boy and purposely drawing his attention to his boss. Surely the owner won't appreciate his hand turning away a paying customer. 

"No! No of course not, ma'am!" 

"That's what I thought. She have papers?" You ask him, and he turns around with a sigh. 

“Yeah she got papers.”

You nod, satisfied with the response.

“She’ll be nine hundred n’ fifty, miss.” The boy says, handing you your papers and your gut sinks. $950?  Quickly coming up with an idea, you smooth your face over with a small smile. 

“I'll take her for fifty.”

The boy laughs, snorting at your attempt at a bargain. 

“We already lost enough money on this horse. You can have her for nine hundred.” 

You squint, eyeing the man up and down. 

“Seventy five.” You bite. 

“I'm sorry lady, that just ain’t happenin’. This is one of the nicest horses we’ve had, and I can’t just hand her to you for nothin.” He says, chuckling as if you’re crazy. 

“You sure about that? This horse nearly killed you.” You lean back on your heels, eyebrows raised, “You said she don’t like men, right? If I walk away now are you even gonna be able to lead her to a stall?”

The boy glances between the horse and you, and the mare pins her ears at him, biting out as if she wants to rip him apart. He sighs loudly, running a hand over his face before looking back to you.

“Four hundred.” He offers you, and you squint, releasing a little of the mare’s lead so her bites and kicks towards the man land a little closer to his face. 

“Two hundred.” You bite, and the man rolls his eyes. 

“Listen, lady, my pa will kill me-” He starts but you interrupt him. Hosea and Arthur have already checked out and boarded their horses, and they watch you with amused chuckles. 

“You’re startin’ to piss me off mister! Would you rather your pa kill you, or this horse? Cause the more you continue to irritate me, the looser this rope gets, and, the lower my offers get. Now, let's try that again. I’ll take her for one hundred.” You bite, leaving go of some more rope and the man has to back up to avoid the mare’s pinned ears and kicks.

“Jesus! Fine, a hundred works. Just, get her away from me.” The boy yells, and you pull her rope back in towards you, calming her down with a very satisfied smirk on your lips. 

Arthur pays the man the hundred dollars, and you switch saddles from your buckskin before stabling the horse. Arthur picks out some carrots for everyone’s new horse’s and before long the three of you are walking out satisfied, with three new rides. You stop outside of the stables as everyone mounts up. Hosea had purchased the turkoman, and now he swings a leg over it with a very satisfied grin. 

“So we all got new rides, eh?” Hosea chuckles, waiting for you and Arthur to mount up.

“It seems so.” Arthur chuckles, watching as you comfort your palomino before getting up into the saddle. She feels nice to ride, got solid feet, and she doesn’t buck or fret. You pat her neck once you’re in the saddle, and then signal to the boys that you’re ready to head out.

“This one should do me good. Got nice bloodlines, a good age.” Hosea says, waiting for Arthur to mount up. 

“What about her? You pick out a name yet?” Arthur asks, pointing lightly towards your horse for a moment. You frown slightly. 

“No. I ain't much good with pickin’ names out truthfully, maybe somethin’ will come to me eventually.” You mumble

“Awe, well ya gotta pick somethin’ out. Horse as fine as that needs a proper name… She’s a spitfire for sure. You gotta find a name that fits her spirit too.” Arthur explains, placing a foot into the saddle and swinging a leg over. You hum, thinking. 

“Well what would you name her, Arthur?” Hosea asks, turning his horse around to butt in a little. 

“Oh, I don’t know, I was just thinkin-”

“C’mon, what would you pick? Tell me.”You interrupt his ramblings and Arthur looks down at his saddle horn. 

“I guess I’d call her Athena. War, wisdom, beauty, sure seems to fit her description.” Arthur says, looking the mare over. Hosea smiles a bit, as do you because you can’t believe he’s hidden this apparent interest in mythology from you. First Balius, now Athena? He’s so complex, you smile.

“Athena” You test out the name, liking the way it rolls off your tongue, and even the mare’s ears prick up when you say it. 

“Athena it is…” You whisper, smiling as you lean to pet the mare's neck. Arthur chuckles, watching the two of you. 

“We best be on our way then, by the time we get up there it’ll be good huntin’ hours.” Hosea calls out, trotting up the road. You and Arthur follow after him, making a triangle formation up the main road. You all pass the building that's half built, and you notice they’ve made some more progress, as wooden beams stick up, framing the roof. There's a ‘coming soon!’ sign plastered out front. 

“Say what are they building there, anyway?” You ask, watching as the workers carry cut beams and tools. 

“A blacksmith I hear, some real peculiar feller. They say he's real… imaginative. Sounds to me like he’d be better off in a city, but he liked the ‘quaintness’ of Valentine.” Hosea pipes up from ahead. 

“He’s… imaginative?” You ask, unsure of the creative limits to Blacksmithing of all things.

“They say he makes decorations, jewelry, all kinds of peculiar trinkets and the like. Alongside regular stuff, of course. He makes tools, and the odd bits are more of a side gig.” Hosea explains, trotting around the bend past the sheriff’s office. 

“Strange…” You mumble, glancing back at the building one last time before it disappears behind the sheriff's office. 

“Where exactly we headin’?” Arthur asks, spurring Balius into a canter now that you’re all out of town. 

“A little stead, called O'Creagh’s run. Beautiful hunting up there, but it’s a bit far.”

“Let’s ride, then.” Arthur responds, and you all push your horses into a gallop. You use vocal cues, not wanting to touch Athena’s sides with your spurs. She responds well, and within no time you’re all galloping back up north. 

— — — — 

A few long hours later you finally arrive. O’Creagh’s run is a beautiful little place, with wildflowers, grassy hills and a glass-clear pond with massive fish swimming through it. As you ride past, you see a man in a boat, fishing over the waters. 

“Just a bit further, we can leave the horses up ahead off the road.” Hosea says, veering from the road and trotting up a small hill. Big boulders stick out of the ground in places, and you maneuver Athena around them. 

Hosea leads you to a little opening, and he slides down from his horse. 

“Why don’t you grab that gun? And whatever bullets you see fit. We’ll let dear Arthur here shoot the bastard.” Hosea chuckles, pulling out a map and looking it over for a few moments before nodding. 

“Alright this is the place to start lookin.” Hosea says as you pull the springfield rifle from your saddle, loading it with express bullets.

“And what exactly are we lookin’ for?” You ask, never having hunted before. 

“Bear shit, tracks, fur, blood, anythin’ really.” Arthur answers, patting Balius before coming towards you.

You nod, falling into step with Arthur as you both follow Hosea. The three of you walk around for a long while, scanning the ground, slowly inching around. You see nothing but rocks, grass, leaves, and sticks. Arthur has noticed that you sigh loudly every few minutes, kicking a rock or a stick out of your way as you grumpily walk around in search of anything.

“Arthur, this is boring as hell.” You whisper out of earshot from Hosea. Arthur chuckles lightly, rubbing at his stubble.

“You won’t be sayin’ that when there's a half ton beast comin’ at you.”

“If we ever find it that is.” You huff, crossing your arms as you follow the men. After a few minutes, Hosea stops, waving you both to come over. 

“Bear dung here, fresh.” Hosea explains, looking over the pile. 

“Never thought I’d be glad to hear it…” You mumble under your breath. 

“How close you think, Arthur?” Hosea asks, looking up to the younger man. 

“I reckon he ain’t far. See a few tracks here,” Arthur points in the direction of the disturbed trail. “They disappear up here, it splits off into two trails.” 

You look at the two trails. One wraps around the side of the hill, and the other continues through a valley. You’re tired of standing around, walking slow  and looking at bear shit, so you nod, walking through the valley. 

“Where you goin?” Arthur asks, gesturing to you with furrowed brows. You turn around, slowly walking backwards to yell at him. 

“Goin’ to find this thing!” You holler back, and Arthur sighs, telling Hosea to go with you while he searches the other trail. 

You wait for Hosea to catch up to you, chuckling as Arthur stomps up the hill in the other direction. 

“I don't mean to question your thought process, but what's your plan if we do come across this bear?” Hosea asks as you pull your rifle around into your hands. 

“Well I guess I’ll shoot it. N’ if that don’t work, you go get Arthur, or we run, I don’t know.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders lightly, “Wasn’t this your idea?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah but now that we’re actually here, I’m wondering if this was a bad idea.” Hosea huffs, and you crack a smile. 

You walk the trail for a while, not really seeing much for about ten minutes. Just as you're about to turn around you see something on the grass up ahead. You jog up to it, crouching to the ground. 

"Hosea, I found a fish! He's eaten most of it, he can't be far now." You chime, looking at the fresh blood and teeth marks. 

"Uh, Star?" Hosea calls your attention, barely over a whisper. Slowly, you turn around. 

Hosea is standing facing away from you, frozen in a statue-like stance. About forty feet down the trail stands the largest bear you've ever seen in your life. Its face is scarred, an eye is missing. On all fours this bear is as tall as you, and your breath hitches in your throat. 

"Don't move." Hosea whispers, as the bear inches forward. You can't help it, fear taking over as you stand up from your crouch. 

You take a step backwards, and your boot squishes right down onto the fish. The slip surprises you. Instinctually, you gasp, pulling your foot back away quickly with a yelp. 

The bear's ears prick forward at your noise and motion, and he roars, spit flying from his mouth as he charges. 

"Oh SHIT!" You scream as the bear charges straight forward. Quickly, you pull your rifle around and fire. You hit the bear in the leg, and then in the shoulder, and you curse your shaking hands. The bear charges for Hosea, but as you continue trying to shoot it, it switches direction, coming straight for you. You gasp, pumping bullets into it, missing some, hitting random areas and grazing it in others. It will not go down.

You cry out as the bear gets closer, firing once again before it runs into you, a paw against your chest as it knocks you to the ground. Your rifle is knocked away from your hands, and lies uselessly far away in the dirt. Your heart pumps rapidly as the bear roars in your face, ready to tear you to pieces. 

You quickly reach down, unsheathing your knife as the bear's claws against your chest push down painstakingly. Your ribs ache from the impact of hitting the ground so hard, but you can do nothing about it as you plunge your knife into the bear's chest. It yelps, snarling and growling as you pull the knife out, sinking it back in until the bear falls to the ground at your side with a yelp. 

You pant, chest rising and falling rapidly as you lay on the ground. Your eyes slip closed as you drop the knife to the ground. 

"Am I dead?" You whisper, peaking an eye open, relieved to see the setting sun. 

"Oh my God, Star, are you alright?" Hosea calls out from his position backed against a tree on the ground. You ask yourself the same question, noticing that it hurts when you breathe, your ribs ache and there are some scratches against your collarbone where the bear had dug his claws in, but other than that you're okay. 

"Think so." You hum, just as Arthur approaches, sprinting down the grassy patch. 

"What in the hell happened?" Arthur yells, glancing between you and Hosea and the bear, dead at your side. 

"We found the bear." You whisper, placing a hand over your ribcage and hissing. 

"The bear found us." Hosea corrects, standing up from the ground with a sigh. 

"I'm sorry dear girl. I wouldn't have brought you up here if I would have known." Hosea says, feeling guilty. 

Arthur comes over to the grass where you are lying, and he sits down beside you. 

"You alright?" He asks, seeing where a deep patch of blood soaks through your shirt. It's not yours, but he's sure you're hurting somewhere. 

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just let me lay here for a minute n' feel sorry for myself." You whisper, breath coming down from its heightened pace as you slip your eyes closed. 

"I'm afraid my age seemed to have slipped me. I ain't as young as I used to be and it shows. I'm shaken up beyond repair, think I'll return to camp to lick my wounds." Hosea chuckles, "You folks comin' with?" He asks. 

Arthur glances down at you, noticing the way you cling to your ribs. You shouldn't be riding, it's probably best that you rest for the night.

"We'll set up camp here, be back in the mornin'. She should just rest for now." Arthur responds, and you're relieved for it. A few hours' ride home does not sound fun, and besides, you packed a bag in case. 

"Okay." Hosea smiles, "I'll see you kids then, be safe." 

Then Hosea directs his attention to Arthur. 

"Take care of her, son." 

With that, Hosea leaves, whistling for his new horse and trotting off into the night with it. Once he's out of the trees, Arthur looks to you. 

"C'mon, I'll set us up a camp. Looks like that storms finally comin' in." 

You think back to what Charles had said about the rain, and peek up to the evening sky, colored with black clouds. 

Arthur pulls you to your feet and you groan, before he whistles for the horses. 

"I'll get you settled then get that bear." Arthur hums and you nod. 

Arthur starts a little fire a ways away, getting it set up with his percolator and an iron cooker. Once it's set up nicely, he goes back to skin the bear. You grab your bag from Athena, rolling out your little bedroll on the grass before sitting down on it criss-crossed. The night is cold, and you dig through your bag searching for your coat. 

You groan, realizing that you must have forgotten it at home. Rain starts to drip down quietly, just a sprinkle, but it's enough to chill you to the bones as you bring your knees up to your chin. 

"Why ain't you got a coat on? You're shiverin'." Arthur points out, walking back toward you with a pelt and a bundle of bagged meat in his hands. His eyebrows are drawn together as he comes forward.

"I forgot it." 

Arthur chuckles, setting his things on the ground beside the fire before going towards Balius.

"Course ya did." He chuckles pulling something from his saddlebag before coming up behind you. You crane your neck up to look at him as he drapes a coat over your shoulders. It's tan with a warm wool interior, it's warm, and you wrap it around your body as tight as you can, shivering. 

The coat is so big on you, it swallows you up, and you relish in the warmth. But the most intriguing aspect of it is the scent. The coat smells just like Arthur, like gunsmoke and tobacco and something else so indescribably him that you dig your frozen nose into the fabric. 

"Don't you got a tent…?" Arthur asks kindly, worried over you. He places a few cuts of bear meat over the cooker on the fire, eying you as he does. 

"Hm hm" You mumble, shaking your head no. 

"Why didn't you say somethin'? Here let me put mine up, you can sleep in there for the night." Arthur says, checking to make sure the bear meat won't burn before he starts gathering the materials to build your tent. 

"Why don't you change into a fresh pair of clothes. Your shirts covered in blood, that can't be helpin' your chill. N' you can check for any cuts that need bandaged up." Arthur suggests, down on one knee across the fire, stabbing the beam supports into the wet soil. 

"I ain't just gonna strip down right here. Especially not with you right here." You point out. Arthur stands up, tying together the posts. 

"Get changed. You're freezin' to death n' you're worried about a gaze when we're in the middle of nowhere." Arthur chuckles, shaking his head at your stubbornness. You look down at your ruined clothes, blood spattered across your torso from stabbing the bear in the heart whilst he was right over you. 

"Fine but you better not peek." You say, standing up and walking over towards Athena.

"Star-" Arthur sighs, laughing, "I ain't gonna peek." 

"Good. Cause if you do peek I'll have to kill ya," You smile. "No man's ever laid eyes on me indecent before, and that sure as hell ain't changin' now." You mumble, not even thinking about your words. Arthur however, stiffens, hands stilling where they were pulling the canvas over his tent. His shoulders tighten and he swallows thickly. No man…? Ever…? 

He coughs, awkwardly. 

"Alright well, uh. Hurry up." He mumbles, putting all of his focus onto the tent and forcing himself not to turn around. 

You take his coat off, letting it fall to the grass. Arthur counts the pieces of clothing as they fall, flinching each time a new piece hits the ground. It seems to be forever until you're undressed, but eventually you stand naked in the night. You're facing away from eachother. And if he did turn around, he would be met with your exposed backside… but he won't. He's a gentleman and he's made a promise that he intends to keep. 

You stand bare facing Athena, digging through your saddlebag as a slight panic starts to creep up your neck. The rain has picked up, coating you in a cold, yet glistening wet. You dig through the bag, realizing that you hadn't brought a shirt. You were so worried about Dutch and money that you didn't bring the most basic of necessities. You shiver, covering your breasts with your hands. 

"Arthur…?" You ask, sounding so coy and small, it's foreign to your ears. 

"Everything okay? You decent?" Arthur asks, swallowing thickly.  

"No! No, I didn't… I didn't bring a shirt." You say, quietly. 

"Oh… Go ahead n' take one from my bag. It'll swallow you up, but be better than nothing." Arthur answers, finishing the tent as the rain picks up. He makes an obvious attempt not to look at you as he turns around, grabbing the meat from the fire and taking it into the tent. 

"Just come in here when you're ready." He hollers from inside. 

You go over to Balius, leaning up on your tiptoes to reach into the shire's bag. Your fingers brush against a soft cloth, and you pull out a neatly folded jade green shirt. It's long sleeved, it'll be warm and it smells like him. You smile, pulling it over your bare body. The shirt comes down to your mid thighs, and the top buttons are undone three holes down, leaving a little of your chest exposed, including three scratches from the bear along your collarbone. You frown at it, pulling his coat back on before reaching for your undergarments and sliding them up your legs. 

Your jeans are destroyed, muddied and caked in fur and blood. You don't bother to put them on, knowing they're garbage. Instead you opt to just wear the shirt. It covers you enough, and you prefer sleeping without pants anyways. 

You grab your saddlebag, running through the rain until you break through the tent flap, finally escaping the cold water.

"Jesus, cold huh?" Arthur laughs at the way you've barreled into the place. He has turned the whole floor into a bed, as there's not much room. The two bedrolls beside each other take up the whole floor. Arthur sits up, two plates in his hand, and he holds one out to you.

"Frozen." You whisper, sitting on your knees and wrapping Arthur's coat further around you before taking the plate from him. He's cooked up the bear, seasoning it with some oregano and thyme, and you smile for it. 

"Maybe if you were wearing pants, ya wouldn't be so cold." Arthur chuckles, forcing his eyes away from the glistening rain on your thighs. 

"Yeah well I don't want to." You bite, getting an idea, "Oh! Arthur, I brought rolls!" You chime, digging through your saddlebag until you find the little dinner rolls. You hand him one, and he lifts it up in a little toast. 

"Thanks, look, we're havin' a proper dinner." Arthur chuckles. 

"Yeah for once." 

You eat and chat, enjoying each other's company for a long while. The rain on the tent roof is comforting, and the thunder that usually frightens you doesn't seem so bad now that you're with him. After you've both had your fill, he puts the plates away. You're still shivering, and Arthur's too big shirt slips down over your shoulder. 

His eyes flicker to your exposed shoulder, and you go to pull the cloth back up but he knocks your hand away. 

"You didn't tell me he scratched you." Arthur mumbles, eyes flickering up to your own as you shrug your shoulder away from his touch, covering it again. 

"Just a scratch." You whisper, looking down to the sore wound. 

Arthur slides forward, chest towards yours, so close that your knees touch.

"Let me salve it." He whispers, and you look up to his crystal blue-green eyes. 

"It aint a big deal, Ar-"

"Please." He urges, eyes locked onto yours as you nod your head lightly. 

He reaches into his bag, pulling out the same little tin of poultice that he'd used on your thigh in Colter.

"I use this on you far too much. You oughta be more careful." Arthur whispers, and his breath floats down to your skin, warming you and causing a chill to run over you at the same time. 

He gently takes the collar of your shirt, well his shirt, and pulls it down to expose more of your chest and collarbone. You shiver, not from the cold, as he runs his finger alongside the scratch with feather-like lightness. 

"Steady." Arthur chuckles, a sound you're familiar with and he applies some salve to your cut. It's so intimate, another thing that's becoming familiar with Arthur, which terrifies you.

To calm your anxieties, you instinctually trace your fingers over the scar on your right thigh. Arthur notices, and he brushes your fingers away from your leg gently. 

"Still botherin' you?" He whispers against your skin. You shake your head, ignoring the way his fingers rest on your thigh. 

"N-no, just a habit I guess." You stutter, rendered speechless. Artgur focuses his attention back to your collarbone, neatly covering it with the poultice.

His lip quirks halfway up in a smile before he continues. 

"Didn't know if you was gonna make it down here after Colter. Thought that fever was gonna do you in." He mumbles, thinking about all that you’ve overcome. Your eyes are downcast, watching as his hand applies the salve to your scrapes. He finishes with your collarbone, and closes the tin up. 

“I didn’t know if any of us were makin’ it down from Colter.” You admit, watching as Arthur pulls the shirt back up over your shoulder. 

“I'm worried about Lenny,” Arthur sighs, “wherever he and Micah ended up. And I hope Sean is safe for now till we can get to him.” 

You nod, thinking about Sean stuck down in Blackwater. 

“Yeah, me too. Javiers’ down there with Josiah now. Charles should be heading down in a day or two to help him scope out the town.” You whisper, sighing before tying your hair up and lying down on your bedroll. Arthur hums, watching as you turn towards him on your side, curled up in a ball inside his coat. He chuckles, lying down on his own bedroll beside yours. He lies on his back, hands on his chest, thinking. You’re shivering still, even with his coat. Arthur takes his hat off, fully laying back while keeping an eye on you. He notices that your eyes are far away, your breathing slow and concentrated.

“Caught up in that head again. Whatcha thinkin’ bout?” Arthur asks, crossing his ankles as he intertwines his fingers over his stomach. You hum with a sad smile, drawn out of your stupor by his words.

“My parents… My past.” You admit, pressing one hand against the ground and propping your head up with the other. 

“After I shot that creditor I thought I’d never stop runnin from the law. There was so much blood on me, I thought I’d never wash it off.” You whisper, sighing and biting your lip to stop it from trembling. Arthur turns onto his side, mirroring you by propping his head up so you can talk face to face.

“I guess I haven’t yet. I still got blood on my hands.” You frown. Arthur nods, looking down at the space between the two of you. 

“Was he the only man you killed before joinin’ us?” Arthur asks, and your lip trembles. 

“No… After I left, I was nothing. Just a shell of a person, cared for nothin’, for no one. I was so damn angry. I killed bounty hunters, lawmen. I killed-” You choke on a sob, shoving it back, “I killed people that hurt me, n’ people who tried to hurt me.”

Arthur doesn’t speak, listening to your story. He wants to know how you’ve become so hurt, so afraid of feeling.

“God, my parents would be disappointed if they could see me now.” You chuckle, humorlessly. Arthur’s eyes slip shut with some pain, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your eye with his thumb. 

“Now Star, that ain’t true.” Arthur coos, heart breaking at your tears.

“Oh, it is. My daddy was anyway, when he was alive. You’d never come across a stricter man, in his later years anyway. Didn’t let me get away with or try nothin.” You huff, “Didn’t stop me from tryin’ though.” 

The wind howls outside, and you shove yourself tighter into your coat.

“Tell me about em.” Arthur asks, and you’re surprised by his curiosity, furrowing your brow, but continuing nonetheless. 

“They were in love, truest love you’d ever see.” You smile, and Arthur sees the sparkle in your eyes while recounting your childhood. “I was their only kid, their little miracle.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows pull together, and you rush to explain. 

“You see, the doctor said momma couldn’t have children n’ that's why she started callin’ me Star. She wished on em’ every night for a baby… Here I am.” You say, smiling sweetly and toying with the blanket of the bedroll. Arthur concludes that you’re right. You are a miracle. You had to have been made from some divine intervention, you're too perfect to be otherwise.

“She was feistier than me, even. I know where I got it from. N’ daddy was grounded, level headed and smart. They kept each other balanced. It was all near perfect… till momma got sick that is.” You mumble, looking up to Arthur. He’s smiling down at you, a warmth in his eyes that is piecing together the background of who you are. You blush, realizing that you’ve explained everything about yourself, and asked him nothing. 

“What about you?” You ask, “What was your childhood like?”

Immediately Arthur’s smile falters, and he lies back on his back, sighing. You’re afraid that you’ve overstepped, or upset him, but after a moment he opens up. 

“Nothin’ good.” He mumbles, a dark edge to his words. You leave yourself as an open ear, ready to offer him the same comfort that he’s provided you. You want to know about his parents, his life. Hell, you want to know everything about him, as long as he’s comfortable telling you. He has so many layers, so many contradictions.  You’re curious as to where they’ve all derived from.

“Momma died when I was just a kid, smallpox. After she passed it was just me and daddy. He was a cruel bastard, the type who enjoyed the pain he caused. See, I was more of his punchin’ bag than his kid. He made me steal for him, made me kill for him. I knew what would happen if I didn’t listen to him. Not that it mattered, nothin’ pleased him.” Arthur sighs, running his hand over his face. 

“Don’t talk about him much…” He whispers, afraid by how much he’s just opened up to you, afraid you’ll push him away. 

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” You whisper, hand resting on his forearm. You want to say more  but what else can you say?

“Daddy was never kind, never good. He hurt my momma too, even when she was sick. My momma was good. She deserved so much better than that piece of shit. I wanted to protect her so badly. Was just a kid, n’ I wanted to kill him, Star. I saw what he did to her and…” Arthur’s fist clenches involuntarily, “I wanted to kill him.”

You’re at a loss for words, shocked and aching for the trauma he must have gone through. And just being a kid, he never felt sorry for himself. He just wanted to protect her. It speaks volumes about his personality, and you see pieces of that hurting little boy in Arthur today. 

“I ran away once, few months after she passed.” Arthur admits, looking up at the ceiling of the tent. 

“Just a boy, only eight or so. I didn’t get real far. He found me, made sure I never ran away again. He knocked some teeth out, just baby ones.” Arthur adds, as if that somehow makes it better, “even broke one of my goddamn ribs.”

“Arthur–” You interject, tears pooling in your eyes. He offers you a little smile, letting you know that he’s okay to continue. 

“I never ran away again, not till I saw him swing. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw me standin’ at the gallows, knowin’ I wasn’t gonna do anythin’ to stop it.” 

Tears slip down your cheeks, and you want to hug him, to hold him, to do anything to take this pain away from him. 

“I walked up to the gallows when it was over, picked his hat up from the mud. I wear it to remind myself who not to be… I know it's in me, I got his blood, his rage.” 

You glance to Arthur's hat on the ground, seeing the meaning behind it. For the first time since he’s started talking, Arthur looks at you. There are unshed tears in his eyes, ones that you wish you could wipe away. 

“How can you look at your wife, your boy, and wanna hurt them?” He asks, searching your eyes for some answer that you cannot provide. He inhales, forcing those tears back.

“He was a sick man,” Arthur growls, an anger coming over him, “I never would have hurt my son, Star. Not ever.” He hisses, and you sit up on your bedroll, eyebrows pulled together. 

“...Your son?” You ask, and Arthur curses, head in his hands.

You cross your legs, looking to him with no judgment, only worry. 

“Yeah, I had a boy… Isaac was his name.” Arthur starts, eyes slipping shut. He wants to tell you, wants to explain everything, but it's too much.

“Can we-” Arthur sighs, looking up to you with so much pain in his eyes that your heart shatters. 

“Can we just lay here for a bit? I wanna tell you everything, I do, but it's a lot, all at-” Arthur rambles, voice quiet. He stops when your hand finds its place on top of his own. 

“It’s alright, Arthur.” You say, sincerely. And you take his hands, pulling him up to a sitting position. To his surprise, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his head to rest on your good shoulder in a hug. 

“S’okay.” You whisper against his hair as Arthur snakes his hands around your waist. 

“I'm so sorry, Arthur. You didn’t deserve any of that pain.” You reassure him, but he brushes it off. 

“I was alright. All over now-” 

“Don’t. Don’t downplay your pain, it doesn’t work. I should know.” You whisper. 

You both stay like that for a while, neither onr of you wanting to pull away. Arthur is feeling more vulnerable than ever, but he trusts you more than anyone. He knows you’ll keep this between the two of you. 

"You're nothin' like him, Arthur. Nothing." You whisper, and Arthut nods, finally hearing the words that he's needed to hear for so long. 

After a few more minutes, Arthur pulls away, resting down on the bedrolls and patting the space beside him. He's just a little closer to your side than he was before. He wants to thank you, to explain that you've helped him in so many ways, saved his soul time and again, broken down the walls around his heart, but he's not sure how. 

You smile as you lie down next to him, soothed by the rain. Your hands are in between each other, resting on the blankets. After a while your heart beats faster, feeling his fingers brush against your own. Slowly, as if testing the waters, his hand moves closer to yours, until you both mutually intertwine your fingers. You smile as he runs this thumb over your knuckles. You’re the first to fall asleep, but even then, Arthur doesn’t pull away. The two of you are wholly comforted by each other's presence, just not quite sure how to show it.

— — — — 

The next day, you arrive back at camp feeling better. There's a weight off of your shoulders, having cracked away another one of your layers before Arthur. He feels relieved and more afraid all the same. He had told you more in one night than he’s told anyone. Even Hosea. Still, he doesn’t regret it. He’s glad to know that some of the dark conversation is over, and he can breathe a little easier now that it’s no longer weighing on him. As you dismount, hitching Athena, Arthur moves past you, tapping your arm with a little nod. You smile, just taking the mare’s saddle off as a loud voice calls to you from the otherside of camp. 

“You’re back!” Dutch hollers, arms outstretched as wide as the smile on his face. You turn to him, still wearing Arthur’s shirt alongside your old jeans. Dutch doesn’t miss this, and his eyes glance from you to Arthur in his tent, wondering exactly what you and Arthur got up to on your getaway. 

“I am.” You say with a sigh. 

“Good, now come with me.” Dutch says, and you know there's no room for argument as he leads you through camp to his oversized, white tent.

“What's this about Dutch?” You ask, irritated, as he holds the canvas up for you to walk under his arm into his tent. He enters after you, sitting down in his chair, propping a leg up on a wooden crate. 

“Everyone seems to be saying good things about you…” Dutch hums, looking over your body, sizing you up, to see where he can best play you like a damn chest piece. 

“That’s… good?” You somewhat ask, completely unsure of where he’s going with this. He leans back, the front feet of his chair tipping up into the air as he squints at you. 

“Why haven't you been on a job yet? A real one?” He asks, and you scoff. 

“I was on a job, with Arthur and Hosea, but you kinda threw a hitch in that plan when you blew up a goddamn boat.” You bite, harsher than expected. His tongue darts out over his lips, dark eyes scanning you over. 

“Marybeth got word of a train, sneaking through Lemoyne in the dead of the night- filled with rich passengers. It’ll be cruisin through virtually unprotected.” Dutch emphasizes the last word, a dangerous glint of power in his eyes as they flick up to you. He seems to have pieced together where he wants you, he's found a play for you to work for him.

“I want you there.” He says, pointing at you, at your brows pull together. 

“Alright…” 

“A lot of these boys- they’re good boys- they can shoot, and they can steal. But you? You’re a schemer, a player. I can see it in those eyes. You’re like me, like Hosea. We could use your head out there.” Dutch speaks as if his plan is coming together. 

“And I’ll get a cut?” You ask, making sure this isn’t charity work. 

“Of course.” Dutch responds. You nod, thinking it over. 

“Alright, whens it comin’ by?” You ask, and Dutch smiles at your eager attitude. 

“Few weeks. Talk with John and Arthur. Come up with a plan, do as you see fit.” He explains, and you nod, moving towards the exit. 

“Oh and miss?” Dutch calls after you, and you turn around. 

“Do make me proud. I'm not a man you want to cross.” Dutch warns, and you crack a smile, nodding at his attempt to frighten you. 

“Sure thing, Dutch.” You respond, and he sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking over you.

“That attitude. I would say it's not ladylike, but I've always been attracted to women with spitfire like yours.” Dutch says, voice almost as low as the glint in his eyes. You bite your tongue for a moment, adjusting your weight to your other foot, and cock your head.

“Molly know you’re sayin’ things like that, Dutch?" You hiss, and Dutch’s smile falters. His stare becomes menacing. 

“Molly and I are done-” He starts, and much to his growing rage, you interrupt him. 

“Yeah I can see why.” You snap at him. His face turns red with anger as he stands up, and the chair scrapes loudly from how quickly he gets out of it. He comes straight up to you, towering over you, but you don’t back up. 

“Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to?” Dutch growls, and you only smile sweetly, looking up to him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dutch. I thought you liked women with ‘spitfire’ like mine.” You hum, watching as he steps back, shocked and insulted. You chuckle, parting the canvas of the tent. 

Causing the gang leader to hate you is probably not a great idea, but you can’t help it. He needs to be humbled by someone. And it's funny. He sits on his high horse, in his castle-sized tent, ordering everyone around while reading, listening to music and smoking cigars. You laugh at the contradiction in his philosophy. He is exactly what he swears to destroy: an overseer, a power hungry fool. Satisfied with your little victory over Dutch, you settle in your tent, pulling out your journal. 

It's been a busy few days. Got a new horse, Arthur calls her Athena. She is something special, by god. Beautiful Palomino, eyes blue as the sky. Took her up with Arthur and Hosea to catch a bear, but it nearly caught me first. Arthur and I stayed up there the night, it was real special. We talked a lot. He said things I'm sure he's never said before, and so did I. It was nice, having someone to talk to. I worry for him. There's so much pain in his heart, so much ache, old and deep. I hope that one day he can move on from it all, start anew. I guess I wish the same thing for me too…

[astro-nomaly]

Sword and Shield (greenflower)

jfc i feel insane. i had to get this au out of my head so i wrote this first draft thing in two days anyways this is probably all i'll write at least for a while bc i don't have an actual set storyline and i really need to write tkal lmao. this is technically 2 chapters but whatever they made sense together

anyways @morroodle this is for you dude and uh sorry if this crashes anyone's browser. no cw for this

Brad Tudabone is 17 years old – almost 18 (if ‘in seven months’ counts as ‘almost’) - and is currently climbing the tallest mountain in Ninjago.  

Now, the Realm has its fair share of mountains. The Golden Peaks of the West (the existence of which is not confirmed) in the Endless Sea are supposed to be taller than the sea is deep. Less impressively, the Shintaro Mountain range in the Southern Province stretches dozens of miles high, and the Caves of Despair are the most treacherous peaks in the world. But Brad is conquering something a little more difficult - the Mountains of Impossible Height.  

Honestly, the name was an exaggeration. It was, at best, the Mountains of Incredibly Dangerous Do Not Attempt for Fear of Death. Brad had only almost died, like, five times. And his arm was probably fractured, but whatever.  

He huddled against the cave wall, wincing as the sharp edges dug into the thin fabric of his shirt. Dammit, he should’ve brought a coat. He scowled at his fraying boots, one cold toe poking through. Should’ve brought better boots, too. Who knew climbing the world’s tallest mountain was such hard work?  

Brad was taking shelter in a small cave carved into the side of the Mountain of Impossible Height, which was a mouthful, waiting for the rain to pass. This high up, a light shower could kill him. He was already freezing.  

Brad shuffled a little closer to the small fire he had going, huffing into his hands. Next time, he would bring gloves that covered his fingers. Man, fingerless gloves looked so cool though! Though, it’s not like anyone else he knew wore them.  

To pass the time as he warmed up, Brad pulled an ancient scroll from his bag of assorted supplies, most of which he needed more of. Climbing mountains sucked.  

The scroll was fraying, yellow and browning around the edges. The thing was only a few decades old, but hadn’t been preserved well. Brad had found it only a month or two ago while poking around a half-destroyed museum, courtesy of the Oni army.  

Ugh. Brad hated the Oni. They’d shown up, what, fifty years ago?  So far, the army had been kept at bay by the holders of the Golden Weapons - weapons people didn’t know even existed - and Wu, the son of the First Spinjitzu Master – supposedly. No one knew if the god was real or not, but the dragon demigod of creation pointed to ‘yes’. The army had come out of a strange portal from the First Realm, a place no one was sure even existed before the arrival of the four-armed demons. They were led by yet another legendary figure; Garmadon, the Oni demigod of destruction and the first son of the FSM.  

There was a running theme here. Fifty years ago, several ancient legends were confirmed to be true as magic and elements were thrust into their realm. So, Brad felt confident about this legend as well.  

The Sword of Sanctuary. The scroll Brad scavenged from the museum rubble illustrated a lustrous golden sword surrounded by elegant text. The sword was, supposedly, the legendary weapon of the FSM himself, and super powerful to boot.  

It made sense, didn’t it? If demigods of creation and destruction were real, and other realms were real, and the elemental Golden Weapons then didn’t it stand to reason that the guy who made those weapons and fathered those demigods existed? If the FSM was real, then the sword was too, and that meant it could be useful.  

Everyone Brad reported his theory to – his overworked mom, his friends, the cops – laughed in his face. After fifty years of war that went almost nowhere, no matter how many dragons showed up to help, people were tired and low on hope. Every day the Oni army got closer to capturing the capital city, and if they did, they’d have easy access to the other four provinces. People needed practical solutions, not fairytales.  

But Brad knew that this wasn’t a fairytale. The sword was real, he just knew it. Was it a little presumptuous to assume that he could use it? Maybe. Brad was a normal guy – he played basketball, he gardened, and he was self-taught in using any kind of weapon. He didn’t know a single martial arts form, and his go-to for winning fights was the kick the other guy in the crotch and run. (Which, by the way, totally worked.) But even if Brad himself couldn’t use the sword, couldn’t someone else? One of the elemental masters, or even Wu? It didn’t matter who had the sword - if Brad found it, he could find someone to use it and win the fight.  

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the sword, though. Brad hated feeling so useless all the time. His mom worked day and night to keep their apartment and put food on the table, half of which Brad grew in their own house. All his friends were either enlisted or contributing to society somehow. But Brad... didn’t really want to be in the army. Sure, fighting demons sounded cool, but he wanted adventure, not barracks and boot camp.  

If Brad found the Sword of Sanctuary, not only could the humans win the war, but Brad would be a hero.  

Besides, how cool would a magic sword be? Brad’s thinking lasers.  

He traced the thin letters around the illustration. He should, if the scroll isn’t lying to him, find some sort of temple at the top of the mountain, and the sword inside. Just like the last few days on this mountain, the scroll strengthened his resolve. He wasn’t just doing it for the adventure – though, if Ninjago weren’t in such dire straits, he would probably still do this – he was also doing it for Ninjago. For his mom, for Gene, who worked all the time trying to develop better technologies, and for all the citizens of Ninjago City who wanted just one good day.  

He tucked the scroll back into his bag, careful to make sure it wouldn’t crease or tear, and settled on his side. The rain wasn’t letting up any time soon. Might as well sleep.  

Brad dreams of Green. Not green, like the color, but Green. It’s life, it’s beauty, it’s the forest floor dappled in sunlight and the tall field grass swaying in a gentle breeze. It’s the shine of a bright grin and the adrenaline of a race. The Green is everywhere, all-consuming and shining like a star. Sheer gold peeks through the cracks, brighter than the sun itself.  

It’s crying.  

“Let me out,” the Green and Gold begs. The words don’t exist. They’re a compilation of feelings, hopes and dreams and everything else the universe can’t quantify. It’s like Brad has been granted a window into the soul of the realm itself, only to find that it was looking back.  

The words come in a melody, sweet and bright and lulling him to an even deeper sleep despite the sheer desperation leaking through.  

“LET ME OUT!” The Green and Gold screams, but Brad can only dip further into sleep.  

For the rest of the night, he dreams of darkness. 

Brad hates mountains. He’s been on this damned mountain for five days, ran out of food two days and has been random fruit since, and has no idea where he is. He briefly entertains the thought of dying up here before shaking it from his mind. He knows he’s getting closer – this mountain can’t get too much taller, can it?  

He shivers, clutching his arms as he stalks up the natural pathway. It’s overgrown and treacherous, but he’s lucky nonetheless that a path exists at all. It only supports his mission – at some point, people were here.  

“’Course, they probably had coats,” he muttered. He’s been talking to himself lately, which isn’t ideal, but whatever.  

He cut through a particularly nasty bramble patch in his way with his katana. It was an old, chipped thing, supposedly belonging to his father at some point. He didn’t have any attachment to the guy; he died before Brad was born. Still, a sword was a sword.  

Not as cool as the Sword of Sanctuary, though. 

Surprisingly, though, today seems to be a good day for Brad. For the past five days, the mountain had only gotten more and more treacherous, trying its best to kill him at every turn. He’s had to dodge wolves, evil birds, navigate horrendously narrow pathways and climb vertical cliff faces. Nothing so far has been easy – except now. The path levels out, the jagged rocks become smooth- 

Water. 

Brad laughs in disbelief. There’s a river! Oh, he’s missed water. He bends at the bank, scooping water in his mouth. It’s cold as it slides down his throat, and he drinks greedily.  

He wipes his mouth, sated, and takes another second to look around. The mountain is starting to level out, and greenery fills the area. The trees are lusher than they have any right to be, bearing fruit that definitely isn’t in season. It’s warmer now, too, which is weird so high up. The ground is crawling with bright green vines, flowering in shades of unnatural gold.  

“...huh,” he says. The Mountain of Impossible Height has been inhospitable to a fault so far. Why is it suddenly so nice? A refreshing river, fruit-bearing trees, smooth pathways?  

“Either something is horrifically wrong or terrifically right,” Brad said, adjusting the strap of his bag as he stood. He followed the path, holding his katana cautiously. But nothing came out at him. Birds literally sang in the treetops, a few does bound through the increasingly thick trees, hell, a butterfly literally landed on his nose at one point. It was as if he’d crossed a threshold.  

Brad soon came to an actual pathway, made up of cobblestone overgrown with moss. He followed the winding road, growing more and more excited as lamps began to dress the grass along the path.  

Then- a monastery.  

Brad gaped at the sight. A large red Torii gate stood before him, and further down the path, a grand monastery. It was gated by a tall solid stone fence, overgrown with flowering vines and moss. Brad whooped, running along the path until he reached the entrance, throwing the double doors open with a laugh.  

He came into a courtyard with a golden dragon statue in the middle. If he wasn’t sure of this place before, he was now. This had to be it. The home of the Sword of Sanctuary.  

He stepped forward carefully, looking around the courtyard. It was wholly abandoned and overgrown in greenery. It was beautiful, yes, but eerie as well. Like a school at midnight, or a graveyard at night. Otherworldly.  

“Hello?” He called, just to be safe. He didn’t want to upset a possible deity or something.  

Nothing. He shrugged and poked around on the wrap-around porch. He slid open the doors inside and recoiled at the smell of dust. Yeah, this place hadn’t been touched for a while.  

He stepped inside, feeling as though he’d come into another realm entirely. Yeah, this had ‘school at midnight’ vibes. The halls were dark, lit only by the fading sunlight that shown through the aged walls and grimy windows. Every step he took made the floorboards creak and groan.  

He followed the hall, humming nervously. He poked his head in every door he came across but just found abandoned bedrooms and bathrooms. There was a large kitchen, a couch and TV – weird – and a small armory. He made his way around the entire monastery, and didn’t find anything of note.  

He sighed, flopping down on the couch. Dust rose up around him, settling on the disturbed surface.  

“Think, Tudabone,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, pulled back by a red bandana. There had to be something here that would lead him to the sword.  

“A basement!” He exclaimed, smacking his forehead. Of course! Who would leave a mega-powerful legendary sword laying around for anyone to nab? There had to be a hidden room or basement or-  

“Or not,” he said, staring at the ceiling. Outside, he’d made note of the way the roof accommodated what seemed to be two extra rooms stacked on each other above the entrance doors, featuring round windows.  

He vaguely recalled a faint light coming from the very top window, what he’d assumed to be sunlight.  

Well, he’s looked everywhere else.  

Brad quickly ran back outside, looking up at the extra two stories, rising into a tower. The sun was going down now, but the golden light remained in the uppermost window. He grinned and looked for a way to get up to it. The stone around the double gates was crumbling, revealing convenient footholds.  

He crossed the courtyard, hauling himself up the wall until he stood on the narrow shingles, balancing carefully. He slowly put one foot in front of the other, making his way over to the wider part of the roof. When he did, he scrambled over the roof to the second story, holding the red column that supported the roof.  

Brad stretched on his toes, trying to grasp the edge of the second story’s slanted roof. He was a tall guy, but damn! When he finally got his fingers over the edge, he jumped the extra few inches to grab on with his other hand. Brad breathed heavily, swaying lightly from the roof. He grunted as he pulled himself up, using the shingles as leverage until he could awkwardly kneel on the second story roof. The third story was small, and the window was too grimy to see through. But up close, he could definitely tell that the golden light was emitting from this room.  

He fumbled with the round window, searching for a latch. The latch was on the inside, but a little jiggling got the run-down window to slowly creak open. Brad tumbled through, landing on his knees and cutting up his palm with splinters. He hissed, drawing his hand to his chest.  

Inside the room, he felt warmth as golden light bathed his body. He looked up just for his breath to catch in his throat with a gasp.  

The Sword of Sanctuary.  

Brad didn’t need to reference the scroll to know that this was the sword. It gleamed in the sunset, emitting a soft golden light from its spotless blade. The blade seemed to be painted with every color of the waning and rising sun, thrumming with light. Warmth emanated from it, bathing the room in honey. The hilt curved inward elegantly, and in the middle rested a magnificent green gem. Brad couldn’t tell if it was emerald – it seemed too ethereal to come from the earth.  

The sword was held downward by a statue. The statue was a simple androgynous person with intricately carved feathered wings draping their body like a chiton, and a crown resting upon their brow. Otherwise, they were bare. Their eyes were closed, and their expression seemed to leak with sadness as they clutched the sword by the hilt.  

Brad stepped forward, enraptured by the sight of the sword. The green gem, originally inactive, pulsed and light up with light like it had sensed him. Brad stopped, holding his breath. The gem simply continued to glow.  

“Right, right,” Brad whispered, strangely short of breath, “watch out for boobytraps.” He looked around for tripwires or plates but found nothing. The walls were decorated with woven tapestries of the Golden Weapons, and behind the statue on either side were an Oni and a dragon. Otherwise, the room was empty.  

Okay. No boobytraps – maybe it was a test of character? He’d seen books like that.  

“Hey... sword,” he said, feeling a little dumb, “I’m not going to use you for, like, evil. I’m here to save people, so please don’t kill me.” 

He left his katana and satchel on the floor, slowly walking toward the statue. The green gem, somehow demanding more attention than the ethereal blade, thrummed in time with his footsteps, glowing brighter as he got closer. He hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.  

Brad hesitated, reaching for the sword. His hand curled, hesitant, before he used both hands to grab the sword by the curling hilt. The second he laid hands on it, the sword lit up even brighter, shining brighter than the sun.  

Brad shut his eyes against the onslaught of light, grunting, but didn’t let go. The sword was hot, now, but it wasn’t painful. It was like a melty cookie, or a space heater – warm, comforting, soft.  

He squinted, and tugged. The statue’s hands held the sword tightly. Brad braced his feet, trying to adjust for more leverage. “Come on,” he said, tugging again. “Please,” he whispered, “I need you.” 

With each increasingly hard tug, the sword somehow became brighter and brighter. It was audibly humming now, filling the air with a strangely familiar melody. The smell of flowers filled the air, wafting in the dusty room. Wind ruffled the tapestries as Brad pulled at the sword harder and harder.  

He grit his teeth, tightened his hold, and pulled as hard as he possibly could.  

The stone hands around the sword cracked and fell, releasing the sword. With one final burst of light, the sword fell forward, and Brad toppled from the momentum of his pull.  

He stumbled back, breathing heavily, as the sword dimmed, slowly ceasing the thrumming and humming. The wind died down, and the scent of flowers settled with the dust.  

Brad stared down at the sword, its blade gleaming like new, breathless. He laughed, little bursts falling from his mouth. “I did it,” he whispered, disbelieving, “I did it! I got the sword!” 

The winged statue crumbled to pieces. Brad flinched, jumping back, as the stone fell away in chunks. “Ooh,” he winced, “that’s... that’s not a great sign.” 

He waited for something else to happen, but nothing did.  

“...huh. Okay." He looked down at the sword. “You're not going to disintegrate me, right? We’re chill?” The sword did not respond.  

He grinned, readjusting his grip to hold the actual handle. He noticed, belatedly, that the pommel is a second, smaller green gem encased in gold. He holds the sword up high, tilting it back and forth to catch the fading light.  

“Heh,” he laughs, swinging it in a slow arc through the air. He hears an audible swish, and laughs again. He feels so cool! Him, regular old Brad Tudabone, wielding the legendary Sword of Sanctuary with ease! He even feels stronger for it, like he could sprint a hundred miles or punch straight through a mountain. “This is so cool,” he says, cutting another arc through the air. He twirls the sword, taking it the way the light creates a kaleidoscope.  

Brad wonders what the sword can really do. Does it shoot lasers? Is it telekinetic, somehow? Or- ooh, he saw an anime where the sword duplicated itself once, that would epic. He traces the blade reverently, imagining everything the sword could possibly accomplish against the Oni. He notices soft green vines, thin and fragile, curling up from the golden hilt against the sunset blade. He smiles.  

“I bet someone was real lucky to have this,” he thinks aloud, “you’re going to help so many people, y’know. Ugh, I wish you could talk. I want to know everything.”  

As if he’s said some kind of code word, the blade begins to shudder. Brad makes a startled noise, holding the sword at arm's length. The green gem begins to glow brighter than ever, thrumming violently. The blade itself warps, the previously soft hues becoming eye-scorching shades of burning violets and yellows. Brad feels nauseous just looking at it, but he can’t seem to let go.  

“No, no, no-” he gasps, arms shaking from the strain as the sword grows more violent by the second, “please, stop, no, no, no-” he begs, but the sword isn’t listening anymore. It’s gone from elegant and soft to nauseating as colors blend into each other. The hilt itself begins to warp, curling inward as the metal melts into itself. Glowing cracks emanate from the green gem as bright, scorching cracks appear in the sword. Brad gasps, frantically shaking the sword as if he can make it stop.  

Then light like a flashbang overtakes the entire room, blinding Brad, and he falls on his butt.  

Brad comes to slowly, still blinking rainbow spots out of his eyes. He’s pinned to the floor by something on his stomach and legs, and quickly realizes that the weight is moving. He rubs his eyes, propping his upper half up.  

There is a person on his lap.  

Brad gapes, once again speechless. By now, the moon is up, framing the person in a halo of cold light that only accentuates the sheer warmth leaking off of them. They have long golden hair that curls down to their shoulders, fluffy and soft and shining. A light gold and green diadem rests on their head, secured in their thick hair. They’re dressed in a white, sleeveless sort of shirt, ruffled and flowing at the end. The top folds over their shoulders, lined in green and tiny little emerald gemstones. Their legs are covered by a long white cloth that’s secured by another silky material with a gold chain. Their legs are otherwise bare and freckled. Their skin is a soft tan, golden in the moonlight.  

They’re really, really cute. And they’re on Brad’s lap.  

Okay Tudabone, don’t mess this up.  

The person groans softly, face twitching. Their eyelashes are as golden as their hair, and underneath their eyes are soft golden markings, curly and elegant. He can respect the color scheme.  

Brad watches as their eyes flutter open, confused and dazed. Their irises are a beautiful emerald green, shining in every shade Brad can think of. Their pupils are shaped like miniature twinkling stars, again golden. Golden pupils – strange. As they slowly adjust, making confused noises, their pointed ears twitch rapidly.  

That’s really cute, Brad thinks, face hot.  

They seem to realize that they’re sitting on Brad, and stare up at him with giant green doe eyes. Brad’s face gets even hotter the longer they make eye contact.  

“...hi,” they whisper softly. Their voice is oddly familiar, like a melody he’s heard before.  

He swallows thickly. “Hi,” he responds softly, not willing to break the strange spell over the room.  

The blonde looks around, and they don’t seem to recognize their surroundings. “Wh- who- where-” they mutter, and Brad starts to get concerned. He holds them by the arms gently, trying to corral them up off of him.  

“Are you okay?” He asks. The person nods vaguely, slowly wobbling to their feet. Brad notices that their feet are bare with a grimace. They could easily cut their skin on splinters.  

They stare down at their own freckled hands, inspecting their skin. Now that Brad’s had a few seconds to get his bearings, he’s getting really freaked out. Ten seconds ago, he was holding the Sword of Sanctuary when it suddenly began warping and glowing. Now there’s a blonde person dressed in oddly ancient-looking clothes, acting as if they've never seen their own hands before.  

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks again, because he might be freaked out, but this person is obviously not okay. They hum, twisting around to look at him with those giant green eyes. They’re practically glowing in the moonlight.  

“Where are we?" They ask. Brad blinks, surprised.  

“The- the Mountain of Impossible Height. Seriously, are you feeling alright? You seem confused.” 

They touch their forehead, eyes shutting like they’ve encountered a sudden headache. It draws Brad’s attention to the strange golden tattoo imprinted on their forehead like a little tiara.  

“How- who are you?” They demand.  

“Brad,” he answers gently. “Look, I don’t mean to push, but twenty seconds ago I was holding a magic sword. Now you’re here. Where did you come from?” 

“A sword?” They’re suddenly staring at him with intensity. “What do you know about the sword?”  

Brad holds his hands up, trying to calm them. “Hey, I just found it here. It freaked out and boom, here you are. I’m just as confused as you. Here, look.” Brad scooped his bag off the floor, brandishing the worn scroll to the stranger. “Look, this is what I was looking for.” 

They snatch the scroll, eyes raking over it. “...does anyone else know about this?”  

“No, no one else believed me. Why? Really, you just came out of no... where...” Brad trails off slowly. The sword was golden, inlaid with green gemstones that seemed to come from the stars themselves.  

This person speaks with a melodious voice, just as soft and ethereal as the sword. They’re dressed in white, yes, but marked with golden tattoos. Their eyes are such a pure, glittering green that Brad can’t stand to look at them for too long.  

His eyes inadvertently lock onto their chest. Two sparkling green gemstones are imbedded in their skin, softly thrumming.  

“You’re the sword,” he says dumbly.  

They stiffen, eyes wild like a deer in headlights. The two stare at one another, frozen. The blonde – the Sword of Sanctuary who is a person – goes from a terrified stare to a glare. “What do you know about this?” They demand, waving the scroll at Brad. “Why did you come looking for me?” 

“I just found it!” Brad defended, “I was looking for the sword- for you because you’re supposed to be really powerful! Look, you belonged to the First Master, right?” 

“I don’t belong to anyone,” they snarled. Brad nodded.  

“Okay, okay. But still, you’re all about justice and whatnot, right? Look, there’s this huge Oni army, and they’re hurting people. I came looking for you because you were supposed to help.” 

“Oni army?” They ask, their gaze intense.  

Brad nodded. “Yeah, and they’re close to taking over Ninjago City. Can’t you do anything?” 

They hum, tapping the parchment. “How long has it been?” 

“What?” 

“How long has the army been in Ninjago?” 

“Oh,” Brad hummed, “about... fifty years, give or take. It’s been a while.” 

Their eyes grow huge, pupils shrinking. “Fifty years?!” They cry, their harsh grip creasing the scroll. Brad nodded, confused. They clutch at their hair, breaths suddenly coming in sharp gasps. “It’s been fifty years?!” They whisper to themself.  

Brad steps forward, but they recoil as if he’d threatened them with a knife. “Don’t touch me!” They shriek. Brad freezes as they shake in place. Tears begin to grow in their eyes, and their shoulders fall as their face crumples.  

“Fifty years...” they mumble, holding their face in their hand.  

“Have... have you been in that sword this entire time?” Brad asks incredulously. “Why?” 

They shake their head. “I didn’t have a choice,” they mumble miserably, shoulders shaking.  

Brad makes an affronted noise. “Somebody did that to you? Why?! Did you do something evil?” 

“No, I’m not evil!” 

“Then I’ll punch them in the face,” Brad decided, punching his fist into his palm and looking around like the culprit would suddenly appear.  

They let out a startled laugh through tears. “Y-you definitely can’t do that,” they say, wiping their eyes. Brad scoffs.  

“Yeah? Why not?” 

“He’d probably kill you,” they mutter. Their expression crumbles all over again, misery etching their face. “Fifty years...” they mumble, sniffling. “And nobody came for me. Not my uncle... not my brothers and sister... nobody except you.” 

Brad grimaced. “...I do my best?” 

They make a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I-I’m sorry. Brad, right? You probably want an explanation.” 

He shakes his head, reaching out tentatively. When they don’t freak out again, he rests his hand on their arm. “It’s okay,” he says, “you’re upset. You don’t have to explain anything. Actually, I can just fuck off if I’m stressing you out-” 

They shake their head, wiping away any lingering tears. “It’s okay. You came all this way.” 

“Well... okay,” Brad pulls them to the floor so they can sit down. He lets go of their arm once he’s sure they’re not going to topple over. “So, how are you a sword? Or, I guess, how is a sword a person. Which came first, the person or the sword?” 

They shake their head, mixed between amusement and that ever-present misery. “It’s not like that,” they say, “I wasn’t always a sword. I used to be a person.” 

“Oh,” Brad says, “so someone turned you into a sword. But if the sword belonged to that Spinjitzu guy, shouldn’t you be... older?” 

“Nice to know I look young,” they joke. “But yeah, I’m only sixteen. I wasn’t turned into a sword so much as I was fused with it. Like a curse, kind of.” 

Brad nodded. So, this person, whoever they were, was fused with the FSM’s sword? Why the hell would anyone do that just to leave them in some dusty monastery? “Well, if you’re a person first, what’s your name?” Brad asks, tired of not knowing. They blink, surprised, like they hadn’t conceived that Brad would care to ask for a name.  

“...Lloyd Garmadon.” 

Brad gaped. “Garmadon? As in Emperor Garmadon?!” 

Lloyd made a face. “Is that what he’s calling himself? Ugh, my dad is cringy. Yes, I’m the son of Garmadon. He’s... actually the one that fused me with the sword.” 

“His own son? That’s- really fucked up,” Brad didn’t even know how to react. Who does that to their own kid? Was it some sort of twisted immortal being punishment? What could Lloyd have possibly done? 

Lloyd drew his knees up to his chest, resting his head in the soft white fabric of his tunic. “It’s complicated,” he mumbled, picking at the fine golden threads lining his clothes. “My dad was banished to the First Realm when I was four after he tried to steal the Golden Weapons. I grew up with my uncle and his students, the elemental masters. I became the Green Ninja when I was fourteen, and Garmadon returned when I was sixteen.”  

“You were a ninja? What’s your element?” Brad leaned forward.  

Lloyd smiled wistfully. “The Green element.” 

“What... what is that.” 

He laughed, and Brad blushed at the sound. “I can’t explain it to you. The words don’t exist in a language mortals can comprehend. The closest thing is... energy. The energy within everything.” 

“Wow,” Brad breathed, “it must’ve been epic.” 

“It was,” Lloyd agreed, “it was incredible.” 

Brad hummed, picking at the floor. “If you were so powerful, though, how did Garmadon... swordify? Is that the term? How’d he swordify you?” 

Lloyd’s face spasmed in a mix of embarrassment and regret. “It was my fault,” he mumbled, eyes downcast, “Uncle Wu didn’t want me to fight him. He wanted me kept far away from Garmadon. But after months of no progress, I... I confronted him. I thought I could get him to listen. Instead, he put me in a sword.” 

“But... how?” 

“I was stupid,” Lloyd said, “I refused to fight him. I let myself get tricked, and he... it doesn’t matter,” Lloyd fiercely wiped at his face, erasing any sign of tears before they could appear. “M-my uncle saved me, that’s the point. He stole me back, and changed the curse. Uncle Wu made sure that nobody could use the Green Element, and so long as I’m here, I have free will.”  

Brad’s face screwed up, confused. “Free will? What does that mean?”  

Lloyd’s expression spasmed again, and he stared at the floor, eyebrows furrowed. “I- okay. My father turned me into a sword to use my element. When he did, he stripped away my free will. Basically, whoever picks me up as a sword becomes my wielder, and they control whether I’m human. I physically can’t disobey them.” 

Brad struggled to wrap his head around it. “Like... Ella Enchanted?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“That movie! The girl has to obey everyone, and can’t say no. Like, the stepsisters-” 

Lloyd let out a dry laugh, sniffling. “Actually, yes. Except only my wielder controls me, and they turn me into a sword. I can’t switch by myself.” 

Brad snapped his fingers, “hey, doesn’t that mean that your uncle was your last wielder? Why’d he leave you like this? What a dick.” 

Lloyd shook with laughter. “Good question. Maybe he wanted to protect me, or make sure I didn’t run away again. Not that I could. If I get too far away from a wielder, I just turn back into a sword.” 

“Speaking from experience?” 

Lloyd bit his lip and nodded. Brad scoffed. “I’m going to punch Garmadon in the face.” 

“Good luck with that,” Lloyd said, smoothing out the creases in his tunic. “I, for one, would love to punch my father.” 

Lloyd’s words gave Brad a sudden idea, and he shot to his feet, pacing back and forth. Lloyd watched him from the floor, somewhat wary, but Brad was too caught up in his head.  

“That’s it,” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “wait, that’s it!” 

“What is? Punching Garmadon? I’m all for it, but-” 

“No- well, yes, but no,” Brad turned back to Lloyd, who’s head was tilted to the side in confusion. Brad blushed briefly at the sight, before shaking it away. “Lloyd, I’m your new wielder, right? I picked you up, I think I made you human-” 

“It doesn’t work in here,” Lloyd snapped defensively, crossing his arms over himself protectively. “You can’t order me around in the monastery, and I’ll kick your ass if you try.” 

“No!” Brad waved his hands, “No, I wouldn’t do that! I mean, if I’m your wielder, and someone can only control you if they pick you up as a sword, what if I just never turn you into a sword? Loophole!” 

“For what?” Lloyd asked, exasperated. Brad grinned.  

“If no one – especially Garmadon – can ever steal you, then you’re free to use your element without anyone controlling you! I get that you can’t get too far away from me – so we’ll stick together. I’ll take you to Ninjago City, and you’ll kick Garmadon’s ass with your epic element! I can cheer you on in the background, it’ll be great!” 

Lloyd’s eyes grew big as his face went straight back to miserable. “I- I can’t.” He hugged his legs to his chest, looking at anything but Brad as if he was ashamed. Brad deflated, staring down at him.  

“But... why? You’re a ninja, aren’t you? Isn’t fighting evil emperors your whole thing?” 

“No, I can’t use my element,” Lloyd corrected in a small voice. “My element was sealed away in the sword. And since Uncle Wu made it so that nobody could use my element, that means that the Green Element is gone. Nobody, not even me, can use it anymore. I can’t even do Spinjitzu.” 

Brad’s shoulders fell as his excitement flew out of him. “...oh. Well, that sucks.” 

Brad sat back down across from Lloyd, who was curled into himself as if he could hide in the white swathes of clothing. Brad felt kind of silly, now. Like, no duh! Why would an evil warlord leave his prisoner’s power unchained?  

Lloyd sniffled. “I’m sorry, Brad,” he said quietly. “I wish I could help. But I- I can’t leave and let people use me. I can’t just give up my body so people can swing me around and kill people with me. I just...” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Brad said, scooting closer to Lloyd. He laid a hand on Lloyd’s freckled shoulder, and froze when Lloyd fell into him, leaning on his side. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around the demigod, letting Lloyd leach off of his warmth. Lloyd himself was warm to the touch, and Brad’s skin reflected the glow, ever so faint. 

Brad sighed. He was fucked, wasn’t he? Well, at least this wasn’t for nothing. He looked down at Lloyd, and let a smile cross his face. At least Lloyd wouldn’t have to be trapped inside of that sword forever.  

“We might still win anyways,” he mused aloud, mostly just to fill the silence, “I mean, dragons show up all the time to help out, and we still have the Golden Weapons. We’ll be fine.” 

Lloyd hummed, tracing the wood of the floor idly. “Still... I hate to let you down.” 

“No let down here! I came here for a sword and found a friend. Uh... are we friends?” 

Lloyd turned his face up to smile at Brad, green eyes crinkling. The tattoo on his forehead glowed briefly, like Lloyd’s smile couldn’t be contained to his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, “we’re friends.” 

Brad’s face grew hot, and he coughed, looking away before he spontaneously combusted. Lloyd didn’t seem to notice, and drew himself up, dusting off his tunic.  

“Hey, I know I’ve been kind of disappointing-” 

“Not at all!” Brad jumped to his feet, and immediately felt stupid for yelling. Lloyd froze, eyes wide, before he laughed, a light blush covering his cheeks.  

“Anyways. Stay for a while? It’s lonely up here.” 

Brad hesitated. He’d left his mom, who was surely wondering where the hell he was, and Gene was probably worried as well. But looking at Lloyd’s hopeful expression, he couldn’t say no.  

“Sure. You have a garden?” 

Lloyd’s bright golden smile made it all worth it.  

Lloyd led him through the monastery, introducing him to a bedroom that once belonged to Cole Brookstone, the Master of Earth. Brad was astounded to learn how long Elemental Masters truly lived – the same ones Lloyd grew up with over 60 years ago were still kicking, wiping Oni ass.  

“Sorry for the mess,” Lloyd said, gathering the dusty comforter up, “ugh, I hope the washer still works.” 

Brad chuckled, shaking dust off of the pillows. “We’ve got some cleaning ahead of us. I can start on laundry.” 

Lloyd seemed surprised at the offer, before his eyes crinkled in a smile as the little gemstones imbedded in his chest glowed, twinkling like happy little stars. Brad couldn’t help the pink that spread across his cheeks. Man, if Lloyd continued smiling at him like that, Brad thinks he would do anything for him.  

Oh wow, he was whipped. Gene was going to make so much fun of him.  

That is, essentially, how Brad spends the next several days. He and Lloyd unearth ancient cleaning supplies and do their best tackling the dust and grime settled over the monastery. Lloyd, surprisingly adept with technology, tackles the appliances and power while Brad curb stomps the overgrown garden into submission. They both spend hours in the sun and crisp breeze cleaning the courtyard, and every night they do dishes together.  

Just two weeks ago, Brad was adrift. He didn’t know what he wanted from life – just that he wanted more. Now he spends his days in a monastery on the world’s tallest mountain with the oddest boy he’s ever met, and it’s the happiest he’s ever been.  

Lloyd is funny. He’s wry, and sharp, and through his hesitance is cheeky humor that Brad can’t help but find endlessly endearing, even when it’s used to dump buckets of water over his head.  

Somehow, Lloyd Garmadon has made this one of the best weeks of his life.  

Even if he has to leave soon.  

Brad splayed over a sofa in the library, idly flicking through scrolls and books. Lloyd was in the courtyard practicing katas and what Brad thinks might be Spinjitzu – minus the magic tornado.  

His thoughts are all over the place. On the one hand, he has to go. His mom and Gene will be worried, and he hates worrying them. On the other, all Brad wants is an adventure. Lloyd is quickly becoming a close friend, despite them not really sharing that much about themselves. Brad is just so easily drawn to him – or maybe that’s his raging ‘cute boy’ radar.  

He groaned, staring at the ceiling. If he left, he’d be doing more than leaving behind a close friend – he'd be leaving Lloyd all alone. In fifty years, Brad was the only person to come up here. Who would Lloyd talk to about Starfarer, or beat in Mario Kart, or do the dishes with? He’d be up on this tall mountain all alone.  

He wished there was a way to give Lloyd freedom. He saw the way the demigod looked at into the distance sometimes – like there was nothing he wanted more than to run out of this monastery as fast as possible and never look back.  

“I’m so punching Garmadon,” Brad grumbled, picking up the random scrolls he’d been looking through. Boring stuff, honestly. As he was setting them back in their respective nooks, his eye caught on one, seemingly disturbed. Curiously, he unfurled it.  

A sketch, done in quick, fluid pencil, of the four Golden Weapons. Those things were old news, but what interested Brad was the Sword of Sanctuary in the middle. His eyes roved over the words, and startled as he made out the characters spelling Lloyd’s name.  

“Holy shit,” he whispered, rereading the text in astonishment. He laughed, bouncing in place. “Lloyd! Lloyd, holy shit!” 

A few seconds later, the doors to the library slammed open, and Lloyd burst through the door with his fists up. He deflated when he saw Brad with the scroll.  

“Is... something wrong?” Brad grinned, holding out the scroll.  

“Lloyd, you’ve got to see this. It’s the solution!” 

Lloyd took the scroll, reading carefully. His eyes widened the more he read, clutching the scroll tightly. “This... oh, grandfather.” 

Brad grabbed Lloyd’s wrists, causing the blonde to look up at him. “Lloyd,” he breathed, “this is our answer. We can cure your curse and beat Garmadon.” 

“The Golden Weapons... can break the curse,” Lloyd whispered. A small, hesitant smile grew on his face as hope shined in his eyes. “They- they can get me out of the sword.” 

Hypothetically. The scroll was vague, and seemingly all hypotheticals, but it was hope. Hope for Lloyd, and Ninjago.  

Brad held Lloyd’s hands to his chest. “Then let’s go get them,” he urged. Lloyd shrunk away a bit.  

“But if I leave...” 

“Lloyd, please,” Brad begged. “I’m your wielder, aren’t I? Well, I promise, I will never make you shift. I won’t ever order you around, and I won’t ever ignore you if you don’t want to do something.” 

“But...”  

Lloyd was terrified of losing his free will. From his perspective, Brad could be lying. His words didn’t mean much when they’d known each other for a week.  

“Do you really want to wait around for your uncle to do it?” Brad pressed, desperate. He felt bad for pressuring Lloyd, but he also knew that if they could make this work, then Ninjago would be safe. “Lloyd, we can do this, can’t we? One kickass demigod and a swordsman!” 

Lloyd gave him an unimpressed look. “Are you even trained?” 

“I am... self-taught.” 

Lloyd drew back, staring down at the scroll. Brad sighed, and retracted his hands. “I won’t make you,” he said softly, “If you really don’t want to, then I won’t try to make you. But don’t you want to be free?” 

“And how do I know you won’t just turn me into a sword the second I step out that door?” Lloyd demanded. His voice cracked. “It’s what anyone would do! I- I'm not even a person to you.” 

Brad crossed his arms. “Okay, rude.” 

“What?” 

“Rude! Man, when I have acted like you’re not a person? I mean, you’re a mega powerful demigod, but that’s different than ‘not a person’. I mean it, Lloyd – I won’t force you to do anything.” 

Lloyd furrowed his brows. “I make a pretty kickass sword,” he warned, “you’ll be very sorely tempted. Not to mention all the people that will be after me.” 

“They can’t do anything to you,” Brad reminded with a smile, “not if I never turn you into a sword. Which I won’t, because you’re my friend.” 

Lloyd hummed thoughtfully. “...I’ve been wanting to kick my dad’s ass for a while,” he muttered vindictively.  

“Come on,” Brad said, “adventure of a lifetime!” 

“We’ll have to cross the entire continent.” 

“Road trip!” 

“We’ll be facing down my father’s worst soldiers, and neither of us have powers.” 

“We’ll be crafty. You’re a ninja, aren’t you?” 

Lloyd hesitated, and Brad could tell he was on the precipice. He softened his gaze. “Lloyd,” he said quietly, “you could wait for someone else to come along and free you... or you can free yourself.” 

“Why?” Lloyd muttered. He seemed genuinely curious. “Why risk your life for me like this? You realize that you’ll be in constant danger.” 

“Dude, why wouldn’t I? We break your curse, you get your powers back, and boom! Garmadon defeated, Ninjago saved. Besides,” he blushed, “an adventure? With you? Sign me up.” 

Lloyd fell quiet, his green eyes calculating. The gemstones on his chest betrayed his growing excitement as they began to light up, thrumming with their own melody.  

“Okay,” Lloyd breathed, his eyes brighter than Brad had ever seen them. The sight took his breath away.  

“Okay?” He said. Lloyd nodded vigorously, bouncing in excitement.  

“Yes! Let’s do it!”  

Brad laughed, tackling Lloyd in a hug. The shorter blonde startled, letting out a surprised laugh.  

“I am,” Lloyd said when they pulled away, “so ready to leave this monastery.” 

They find themselves, hours later, at the gate of the monastery. Brad shoulders the bulk of the bags, full to the brim with clothes and food they’d hurriedly packed. They were both itching to get out now. Maybe Brad hadn’t thought this over enough – but how could he deny the chance to stop the Oni army? How could he pass up such a big adventure?  

Lloyd hesitated on the steps, just within the boundaries of the monastery. Brad wordlessly held out his hand for Lloyd to take, smiling softly.  

Lloyd looked down at him, framed by the sunlight shining through his golden hair like a halo. He took a deep, shuddery breath, and grabbed the hand.  

[cozymochi]

DOES TIA Do any school club stuff? Does she have one she admires, likes? Dislikes?

THANKS I LOVE TIA LORE DUMP EXCUSES!! SHE IS OFFICIALLY in the Newspaper Club 😩, but not out of actual interest. It’s just a means to assist in documenting her school life as she’s supposed to do. It’s her credit, I guess. Honestly, they don’t really get into the logistics too much, so I wouldn’t sweat the details here either. I imagine Crowley just shoved her (and Grim) in there.

Though despite being in that club, Grim says he’s in the “Gourmet Club.” But that’s just self-proclaimed only 😩 that club doesn’t actually exist, it’s just an excuse to eat food after classes are done. (Tho im pretty sure this is actually true, I have no basis for this though, just a hunch, but my hunch hasn’t been wrong yet.) I’m sure his “club” has a lot going for it considering the sole member lives with freaking Tia, an already gifted chef. Besides, they count as one student. If Tia is officially in the Newspaper Club, then so is he via technicality.

Since cooking is an art she’d probably be more drawn to the “arts” clubs. It’s hard to say if she admires any though, given I think she can have a one track mind at times. I don’t think she really gives herself the opportunity to be interested in them beyond surface level. Which kinda sucks, cuz she might be missing out on new things to experience or be invested in. She’s not a sports person either, but nearly all her closer friends are in sports clubs, so she’s often present to see tourneys, games, whatever if they have any. Which btw, this is definitely a shift from how she’d be back in her home world, cuz if her friends there ever invited her to anything or ask her to do something like that she’d’ve just shirked it in favor of focusing on her long term goal (as per her Tiana allusions, cough cough. And now she may never see those friends again :’3). She still kinda tries to shirk going to these things because… habits, y’know. I’m not entirely sure she has any opinion on sports clubs themselves, again, that one track mind can sorta. Y’know.

The only club Tia would actually want to hypothetically be in is a Cooking Club because god forbid she stray from the path she set up for herself. Though, I am not sure if one is confirmed to actually exist at the school. The Master Chef/Culinary Crucible special class DOES though, so I don’t know. I DREW THAT! …If Tia wasn’t so serious sometimes, I don’t think she would be totally opposed to just joining in on the “Gourmet Club” thing. She loves food too.

Total aside, I like to imagine that the Newspaper Club is sparsely populated with a few guys (probably 3) who just don’t even talk to each other lol. They all do different things without exactly collaborating because it’s NRC. No one reads the newspaper anyway!! Internet exists, as everyone points out. Club time for Tia is sitting in a classroom and perusing her ghost camera photos and organizing things. Or just… think. Worst case scenario she and Grim are completely alone in that “club” and it was a dead club that only got resurrected cuz it was convenient for the bird man and happened to line up with Tia’s documenting school life thing. Honestly that feels real. She’d rather be doing anything else though. It’s not like clubs were a school requirement back home unless you wanted to look more rounded on some applications. Clubs weren’t exactly on her radar either, it was saving money to get into her own school of her dreams. So dividing time for a club and hanging with people was mostly off the table.

I think Tia is still trying to figure herself out though. A lot of her identity so far is still solely based around her long term career goal and hardly considers much of anything else if it doesn’t tie into that somehow. The whole “being transported to another world” thing is just an obstacle on the path right now. Omg I wonder if she’ll be forced to go through life changing stuff, learn lessons, and go with the flow on top of being forced to confront any internal demons that up until now she’s been burying from watching other guys completely collapse from doing so, plus… other typical things of the genre!!! 🫣🫣

…it’s an in-joke that I think she low key enjoys the picture taking. The cast is very pretty.

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 8: The Whole Truth Shall Be Seen

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: angst, violence, blood, injury, some scenes may be triggering for those who are sensitive to sexual assault/abuse, so tread carefully! ❧ Word Count: 5.7k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Captured by the Saviors, you awaken at the so-called Sanctuary, where Sir Negan greets you, though he is displeased by your grief after having witnessed the supposed death of Sir Daryl. His wrath does not spare you. Meanwhile, Alexandria has been ravaged by the Saviors and overtaken by the Dead, but the tide shifts when some unexpected visitors arrive at Alexandria's gates.

❧ A/N: Ok so huge disclaimer—Negan is pretty OOC here. I mean, he is a creep and a violent asshole in the show, but I ramped that up a few levels here. After all, this is medieval Negan we're talking about. Medieval men were assholes to women, that's just how it was, unfortunately. And also, I said that a new character would be introduced in this chapter, which is technically true, but also technically not true lol you'll see. Anyway, things are getting intense, and this chapter gets a little dark. You've been warned.

Many times in your life had you awoken from a terrible dream, only to come to the slow realization that none of it really happened. 

But there’s still that sense of dread, those several moments during which your mind tries to put the pieces back together, still somewhere between reality and dream. At some point, relief would soon set in as you’d feel the warmth and comfort of your bed, and it would be clear that it was all some trick of the mind. Not long after that, your dream would become foggy, to the point that you could no longer even recall exactly what it was that had troubled you so. It became a distant memory that never really existed to begin with. 

Now, though, you awoke without that relief. Now, you woke up to the realization that your nightmare wasn’t a dream after all. You were in it, and you were somewhere you did not recognize.

Beneath your curled up body was a large, plush feather bed, draped in the finest silk brocade duvet. Cushioning your head, at least three pillows of similar make. The room was dark, but for a dripping wax candle on the nearest nightstand and a roaring fireplace across the spacious room. 

As your mind began to catch up with your eyes, you sat up quickly, a dizziness overcoming you. Looking down, you were above the covers, wearing the very same pink gown you recalled wearing last, though your shoes had been removed. 

Despite your lack of clarity, the quickening of your shallow breaths and the jitter in your hand as you palmed at your forehead betrayed the subconscious anxiety that overcame you. What had happened? Where were you? 

Questions you knew the answers to, but couldn’t bear to face. First and foremost, you’d have to act without thinking. Thinking would only make you have to process your last memories, and that would ultimately lead to a conclusion you did not have the heart nor the stomach to face. Not without him.

You did not waste another moment. Now fully awake, though still dazed, you lifted yourself from the edge of the bed, sprinting swiftly to the intricately carved wooden doors across the room. Locked, of course. Another more careful gaze around the room alerted you to a window—barred from the outside. 

Dusk had stained the sky a deep, greyish purple. Out the window, you could make out a tall stone wall, not unlike the one surrounding your castle. It seemed to be an inner bailey, which meant you were somewhere inside a keep. When a flash of black and red emblazoned itself on the inside of your eyelids, you remembered just whose keep you must’ve been in.

Turning back to the door, a great anger overwhelmed you. The vile maggots who so pompously dubbed themselves the Saviors had invaded your home. They brought the plague to your kingdom, letting the Dead feast upon your people as they no doubt pillaged their homes and did God only knew what else to those poor people. 

Worst of all, to you… You couldn’t even think of it, what you last remembered seeing. You did not allow the thought to come to mind, though the image was impossible to ignore. It was what so inflamed you, ravaged you. 

Even if you couldn’t let yourself process it, you still knew. You could still feel that residual anger welling up inside you, the sparks from that flame scratching the back of your throat until you couldn’t keep the fire in you any longer. You raised both fists to slam them against the hard wood of the door, over and over again, as a ragged, bitter yell erupted from the pit of your stomach and expelled out your trembling lips.

“Negan!” you bellowed, voice nearly drowned out by the incessant banging of your fists. “Let me out, you… you wretched beast! I demand to be let out! I—I demand to be returned to Alexandria at once! Open this door, or so help me, I’ll… I’ll—”

A muffled laughter interrupted your tirade. It came from not far outside the door, but it did not belong to Negan. Guards. It must’ve been guards. Despite your fury, you could not bother with their laughing, you could only try to listen in, attempting to discern how many guards were stationed outside that door.

With your ear pressed to the wood, you could now make out heavy, languid footsteps, and a new laugh. A low, lazy chuckle. Negan. 

You were pushed back by a sudden force from the opening door. Without hesitation, you flung yourself towards the opening, only to be caught in a pair of long, lean arms. Despite your frantic squirming, he was strong enough to keep you held against him, closing the door behind him, immediately followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock from outside. Realizing you were stuck in here again, you moved on from your attempt at escaping to the immediate opportunity that presented itself before you: Negan. 

And all the hatred you had within you bubbled to the surface, stinging at the back of your throat like bile. Years of wanting to see the world, of dreaming of a place that was full of hope and kindness and love, made you believe that, somewhere, there was goodness. When you met Daryl, who came from the outside, you knew that to be true. There were good people in this world, people who embodied hope, kindness, and love. When you met Negan, you had met the antithesis of that—the representation of everything you had been told was bad about the outside world. 

You knew this to be true the moment you saw him, and when he nearly murdered Elizabeth. You knew this to be true because of the way he believed he was entitled to you, and to everyone and everything. Above all else, you knew this to be true because he lied. Even corrupt men can keep their word, can abide by their own laws. This man had not even a crumb of honor to his name, and to you, there was no greater virtue than honor, especially for a knight. 

He was no knight, though. You’d known a true knight. For all his lack of chivalry at times, Daryl had more loyalty, more honor, more virtue in his little finger than Negan or any of his so-called Saviors had in their whole bodies. And Daryl… Poor Daryl. 

No, you could not think of that now. All you could think of was your anger, and you’d never been this angry before in your life. In fact, you’d never really been angry at all, until now. 

“Let me go!” you screamed, flailing your arms in a feeble attempt to rid yourself of his grip on your wrists. He walked you backwards, upon his face a great big smirk, rippled by a slow, steady, chuckle that only enraged you more. Before he could set you down, you planted your feet with all the strength you could muster, and as his grip just barely loosened, you swung your balled fists at his chest, much to his amusement. 

“Unhand me!” you cried out, hitting him as hard as you could, though even for a rather slim man, he remained sturdy, his chest puffed out and taking each of your wobbly blows. In a fit of rage, you felt hot tears begin to flow over the slopes of your cheeks, your composure completely obliterated when your blurred vision caught full view of his lips, which his tongue coated in a sheen of saliva as he watched you struggle to hurt him. 

“Vile wretch!” you spat, such words having never corrupted the purity of your mild mannered tongue. A slew of other insults followed. “Wicked swine! Stinking, detestable brute! You repulsive bastard, y-you barbarous, vicious goblin! You… You ugly, motherless worm! Loutish pig! Why, you… You deceiver! You beastly, uncouth, dishonorable—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” laughed the man. “You’ve got quite the vocabulary, don’t ya, princess?” 

As he slowly walked you backwards, you felt the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. With one last missed swipe at him, this time aimed at his smug, arrogant face, you fell, your back onto the feathery soft surface of the luxurious bed. But you did not intend to stay there long, leaping up in an attempt to hit him once again, but he was faster, using his own body to weigh you down as he slowly crawled over you. 

Panting and crying, you took advantage of the momentary space between your bodies to bring up your knee, using it to hit him in the groin before he could fully pin you down. The motion sent him stumbling backwards with a pained groan, allowing you to seize the opportunity to lift yourself to your feet.

Now, panting and crying, you met his gaze. What could you do now? There was no getting out of here. Even if you could get the door open, there were at least four guards outside, and who knows many other Saviors just around the corner. You could not kill Negan, no matter how much the idea tempted you. 

It seemed there was no end to this powerlessness, this lack of control of the things happening around you that seemed to plague you with every step you’d take. Even now, especially now, there was no escape, and all you could do was watch it all fall apart right in front of you.

“Damn,” huffed Negan, adjusting the crotch of his black wool chausses, his lack of decency disgusting you. With a bite of his bottom lip and a backwards tilt, he laughed once more. “You’re a little firecracker!”

Ignoring his quip, you narrowed your eyes in an attempt to appear threatening, though you could not keep your voice from breaking as you spoke. “Where is my father?”

There was so much you wanted to say to him, to scream at him, to beg of him, despite all your composure telling you to never, ever beg to someone who surely thrived on the submission. You could not let yourself give into his sick desires—all you could do, as a princess, was demand the answers to questions you deserved to know the answers to. You deeply feared those answers, as the odds of them being the ones you wanted were surely not in your favor, but you had to know. It was the greatest agony to not know at all. You only hoped the silver-tongued deceiver before you didn’t mistake your poise for meekness.

The several moments Negan spent eying you up and down only contributed further to your frustration. “He’s alive.”

That’s it?!

“Well, as far as I know.”

You marched towards him with several aggravated huffs fueling you. “What exactly does that mean?”

Negan only seemed to be amused by your closer presence, leaning forward to the point that you could feel his warm breath on your cheek. “We left that place for the dead bastards. Last we saw of the king, he was fighting back pretty damn good. Looked like he was winning, too. He’s tough, I’m sure he’s fine.” 

Negan’s answer only worried you more. He could’ve gotten bit, he could’ve gotten overtaken, like… 

“But that knight,” chuckled Negan with a shake of his head. In his voice was joviality that frightened you, as you knew the kind of thing that Sir Negan found to be amusing. 

“Knight?” you repeated, coming closer to him now. “What knight? Did you see him? Is he all right? What happened to him?”

Deep in your heart, you knew, once again, the answer would not please you. Just by the gleam in his eyes, the despicable curl in his lips, the diabolical lift of his brows. He found it all to be quite funny, but when he noticed your earnestness, his look of delight faded to a seriousness that matched yours, though his was not born of concern for your knight. 

“Now, why would the Crown Princess of Alexandria care so much for the wellbeing of a useless knight?”

Useless?! You had half a mind to strike him across his insufferable, repugnant face, but you couldn’t let your anger overcome you when all you wanted was to know that your love was alive. You couldn’t bear to even think otherwise, not until you had some kind of confirmation. That confirmation would be the only semblance of comfort you could cling to.

“He is not useless,” you replied. “He was trying to help me. H-he was…” It hit you then. Was. 

As you lowered your gaze to squeeze your eyes shut, compelling your tears to fall in the hopes that the vile man couldn’t see them, his tongue tisked at you, as if in disappointment at your sadness.

“Oh, my sweet princess,” he lamented, to which you squeezed your eyes even harder, as your fist balled in a tight clench around nothing. You strangled the air with your trembling hands, wishing it could be Negan’s neck. “You cared about him, didn’t you? Man… He went down. It was a bloodbath. I would not have wanted to be him, I’ll tell you that.”

As your knees weakened, you sat yourself down on the edge of the bed, grief finally overcoming your abject rage. Though you could not allow yourself to break too much before Negan, the man who had indirectly caused the death of the man you loved, you also could not bear to go another moment without weeping for him, that image of him surrounded by rotten gnashing teeth and cold, lifeless bodies that closed in all around him. 

As you cried, it was as if you could feel your heart breaking in two, a sensation you hadn’t experienced since your mother’s death. It was a dull, lingering pain that sharpened with each deep, heaving intake of air, as if the simple act of breathing contributed a new crack to your already shattered heart. After all, why should you breathe? What point was there, without love, without him, who embodied love? 

Living now, after you had sworn you’d found the other half of your soul, seemed selfish. Daryl had died being selfless. He had fulfilled his promise to you—he died for you. Not Alexandria, not the duke, not your father, not God. He died because of his devotion to you. 

That only made it worse, knowing that you, in some roundabout way, had a hand in his death. If it weren’t for you, he’d be alive. He wouldn’t have suffered, dying in the worst possible way you could imagine. Thinking of the pain he must’ve endured, the fear in his heart… Oh, my love!

“There, there… Don’t cry.” The weight of Negan sitting beside you reawakened your rage, his voice grating as you shot up from your seat and glowered at him through wide, piercing eyes. 

“Deceiver!” Your shaky finger accused him as you pointed his way in a frantic motion. “You lied! You said you’d return to Alexandria in a week’s time. You bring walkers to my doorstep, you steal from my people, you destroy my property—my home, and now you tell me not to cry?! How dare you! How dare you even speak to me at all! My knight is dead because of you!”

Standing to his feet, he matched your wide-eyed gaze with his own, though in his eyes was something far more sinister—a crazed fury that made you stumble backwards, nearly tripping on your heel. 

“Your knight?”

The cold hard wall pressed against your shoulder blades, while Negan’s arms outstretched to cage you between his body and the wall behind you. Still crying, heaving, panting, you began to shake in fear. The man might’ve been smarter than you’d thought, if he had caught onto your love for Daryl. Your knight. 

“Th-the knight,” you replied, attempting to appear innocent despite your quivering lips and beating heart against his chest telling a different story. “You got the knight killed.”

“No.” His voice was low, and much too quiet for comfort. You were used to him practically bellowing each word, not barely speaking above a whisper. “No, you said ‘my.’ Tell me… what is that knight to you, princess? You seem awfully saddened by his untimely demise. What makes him your knight?” 

Your attempt to squirm yourself away from him was made in vain, your shoulders held in the grip of his strong hands, his curled fingers digging into your flesh. 

“Nothing,” you replied. “Let me go.” The last three words went unacknowledged. 

“Why would you cry for him, then?” Repulsed by his face just an inch or two from yours, you tried to turn your head, but his hand was faster. Squeezing your chin and cheeks was his hand, cold and dry. Despite your shaking, he held your face still, forcing your eyes to stay glued to his. “Tell me!”

In your fear, your voice collapsed underneath itself, though you still spoke, although your words were muddied by your tears. “H-he was my friend. Please!” Now you had to beg him, just to let you go from his painful grasp, which had lowered to the junction of your neck and your jaw. Any lower, he’d begin to restrict you of air, but he wanted you to speak. He could only strangle you enough to still hear you admit to the paranoia that had suddenly overcome him. He knew that knight meant more to you than what you said. “You’re hurting me!”

But he did not care, why would he? You knew all along that Negan’s desire to have you was not born of any kind of admiration of you, though perhaps the closest sentiment he held was lust. His lust for power, though, dominated any lust for you that might’ve existed in his cold, black heart. He wanted you as a trophy, as evidence of his conquest of the once great kingdom of Alexandria. He could hurt you now with no remorse, and no consequences.

After all, you were his now, as far as he was concerned. Little did he know that you belonged to someone else.

But he was catching on, so much so that you could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tightening of his hand as he threatened to crush your jaw. You’d never felt such strength like that before. The only other touch from a man you knew of was Daryl’s, and though you’d felt his strength, how firm his touch could be, but never like this. Never threatening, never anything to be fearful of, never painful. 

“Friend?” he questioned, squeezing around the top of your neck, his thumb digging into your tensed muscles. “With a knight?”

“Yes! Please!” The pain only worsened as you spoke. 

Negan pushed his face closer, so close that his heaving breath defiled your cheek as he whispered, “I don’t believe you.” His voice was calm, though, not tense. You almost wished he had screamed at you, instead of this strange, serpentine hiss that escaped from his lips, as if even the sound itself was disgusted by his mouth and could not stand to be trapped in there a moment longer.

Your whimpering and panting quickened as he loosened his grip on your neck, bringing his hand up to let his thumb brush over the apple of your cheek. The feeling made you flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as more tears were forced out. “You’re real pretty when you cry, you know that, princess?”

I hate you! The words were drowned out by your weeping, the lump in your throat pushing them down until all that you could muster was a strangled whimper. 

“But, pretty as you are,” he continued, and though you could not see him, your eyes closed for fear of witnessing whatever he was going to do to you next, “I know a whore when I see one.” 

With hardly a moment to process his words, your eyes shot open with the feeling of his knee parting your legs, and his other hand scrambling between your bodies to find the edge of your skirt. You wriggled in his grasp, but he only used his body to further press you against the wall, this time with a great slam. 

“Told you to keep your purity for me.” You grasped at his shoulders, trying to push him away, but he was too sturdy on his feet, as he began to lift your gown. “Let’s see if you did.”

You were still squirming when you felt a hard, cruel clench around your bare thigh, moving fast to slither upwards till he groped you, causing you to cry out in combined pain and fear. While his body held you in place, he used his other hand to continue trying to lift your gown. What he wanted, you knew, was to see if your maidenhead was intact, and possibly worse. 

Either way, you were going to suffer. If he inspected your womanhood, he’d surely find that you’d been deflowered, and for an unmarried woman in this world, that could mean death. You did not care now, though. Death frightened you, but there were worse things. For all your innocence, you knew that. All you cared about now was preserving whatever was left of your dignity. 

In your panic, you managed to wriggle your arm loose enough to flail your hand with as much strength as you could muster, striking Negan across his face so hard that he stumbled backwards, though you did not move a muscle now. You couldn’t. His stare held you hostage, brown eyes narrowed with sharp pins for pupils. You could only tuck your hands behind your back as you straightened against the wall, wishing somehow that, if you pressed yourself into it hard enough, you could dissolve into it. 

With each step he took closer to you, it seemed the ground shook under his heavy feet. In his gaze now was nothing short of pure, unadulterated fury. When he was close enough to reach you, he stopped to stare you down with an assault all on its own, but it did not prepare you for the blow. 

“You bitch!”

Just as you’d struck him, he struck you back, only with the back of his hand, and with more intention. Your hit was practically a reflex, an instinct to defend yourself. Even if you’d hit him with more animosity than fear, you’d have been too weak to even daze him. His hit was of greater proportions, strong enough to knock you to the floor, where the first droplet of blood dripped from your nose. 

Negan did not stay long to watch you weep, curled up into yourself as he turned to the door, storming out until all that was left of his presence was the burst of air from the slam of the door. A rattling of the lock from outside, and then his voice bellowed again. 

“You’re staying in there until you learn some goddamn manners, princess!” His fist banged on the door, causing you to flinch and wrap yourself tighter in your own embrace. As his ranting voice faded and his distant footsteps whittled down to a silence, you were left shaking, bleeding, wailing—utterly alone.

“He’s waking up now… Get the king.”

For several moments, that voice was nearly drowned out by the deafening beat of his heart, and the faint remnants of snarls and groans that still lingered. The memory made him flinch, jolting his body awake as he sat up, already looking around frantically as his senses were thrust back into gear.

He did not recognize his surroundings, the low ceiling of stone propped up by stone walls, with pale streams of overcast daylight flowing in through the lone window. Though at first he could not notice the persons standing immediately beside him, he caught sight of several hay-stuffed beds, upon which were injured men, some even missing limbs with bloody rags wrapped around the stumps.

Not a good sign.

But he couldn’t fret for himself, not when the very last thing he recalled was his princess being dragged away. 

“Take it easy.” Richard’s voice finally sounded clear as the knight sat up with a huff. If it weren’t for the duke’s grip on his bare shoulder, he would’ve been halfway out the door by now. 

“Slow down.” The king’s voice came from behind Richard as he approached. Ezekiel looked tired, his once regal clothing stained with blood. “How is he?” 

He wondered that himself. Looking down, his lower half was covered by a thin wool blanket, his top half bare but for a band of gauze wrapped around his waist, stained by a red circle of blood on his side. 

Before Richard could even answer, though, Daryl attempted to stand again, his mind isolated on one thing. Turning to face the duke, he simply asked, “Where is she?”

By name, not the princess. Not her highness. Not even your name. She. She, the only she who mattered to him. His she. 

Richard understood, of course. He knew not of the consummation of your love, but he knew the knight well enough to know just who was on his mind at all times, and that was you.

“Negan.” The simple utterance of his name was enough to have him back on his feet, much to the frustration of Richard, who pushed him back down, urging him to rest. 

And then, he had to come to terms with the reality that was right in front of him—the grim truth. Having woken up after his last several moments of consciousness were spent surrounded by walkers, the worst case scenario was all too likely. 

But he did not worry for himself now, no. He worried that, if he were bit, he could not fight—he could not bring you back to your home. 

“Am I… Am I bit?”

Richard shook his head. Upon closer inspection of the usually clean-cut, well-groomed man, he looked the most disheveled and exhausted he’d ever seen, with once luscious curls turned into a frizzy, blood-caked rat’s nest, and pronounced bags underscoring his eyes. If the duke and the king looked like that, Daryl was afraid to look at himself.

“No,” replied the duke. “You’re not bit. You must’ve fallen on your dagger when you were in the herd. The wound is shallow, but you should rest. You were passed out from exhaustion when we got to you.”

“Nah,” he said, this time standing up without Richard’s intervention. “I don’t need rest.” Though his wound made him flinch in pain as he walked, he crossed the room to the small window, where outside he could see twenty or so men, some nobles, some peasants, fighting off walkers, thinning out the remaining herd in the castle’s courtyard.

The earth they stood upon was blotched in red and decorated with the decaying corpses of once half-living walkers. Leaning forward, he took note of the state of the barbican, where men in tattered rags and bloodied hands worked to close off the entrance. Shattered bits of iron littered the ground, where the inner portcullis once had been. They must’ve blasted through it with cannonfire, letting in the Dead once the fortifications were destroyed. 

“The Saviors did not kill,” said the king. “The Dead did… The Saviors left them to turn. The damage to Alexandria’s outer walls was too severe to repair. The Dead now roam the streets, with the remaining population of my people taking shelter in the castle, here.”

“How many?” asked Daryl, turning back towards his bed to procure a fresh white linen chemise from the nightstand. As the restless knight dressed himself, the king did not answer, only exchanged a look of confusion with the duke. “How many people are left?” repeated the increasingly impatient knight. 

Piping up from behind the king was Lord Constable Aaron. “One hundred and twenty-five accounted for in the castle,” answered the man. “But most of them are civilians. We only have a trained militia of forty or so able-bodied men. The rest are either infirm, elderly, women, children, or just simple craftsmen. Not enough fighters. Not enough defense to handle another herd.”

“And the cannonfire last night,” added Richard. “That’ll bring more of them.”

“State of the armory?” Daryl asked, choosing to ignore the less than hopeful rhetoric. “Blades, artillery, gunpowder… Weapons. We need weapons.”

“Very nearly depleted,” answered Lord Chancellor Gerald. “What the men have out there is all we have left. An abundance of dull blades and weak fists.”

As he sat to lace on a pair of brown leather boots, Daryl huffed a sigh. “And cavalry. The horses…” He feared the answer. Phantom, his steed, had been more than just a faithful destrier, but a friend. 

“One of the few things we were able to protect,” replied the king, much to Daryl’s momentary relief. “They’re all safe in the castle stables. In fact, it’s our only recourse. Once the tunnels are cleared, our plan is to escape through there, on horseback, then seek refuge in a neighboring kingdom.”

That wasn’t good enough. 

“And the princess?” Daryl met the king’s sturdy gaze, though it quickly crumbled as he processed the knight’s question. “What’s your plan for getting the princess back?”

“Daryl—” The duke���s voice was drenched in hopelessness, which the knight quickly shot down. 

“No,” he replied sternly. “That’s the priority: bringing her back, killing Negan and every damn Savior we can get our hands on.”

A silence fell over the infirmary, with the king lowering his head, as if in shame. “We do not have the manpower nor the armaments to fight a force like Negan’s,” he said. “They rival our numbers by at least four times, and their armory is unmatched. We saw only a fraction of it last night. No one wants to get my daughter away from that… serpent more than I do, but it would be a lost cause, and we’d lose more people. Innocent people, people who cannot fight. We cannot send them into battle.”

“Then what will we do?” questioned Daryl, his voice raising enough to nearly echo in the small infirmary. “Every second she’s there, she could be…” As he trailed off, he stopped himself from continuing his thought, lest the extent to which he cared for you be revealed. “There must be something.”

I’ll go in there myself if you don’t have the balls, he wanted to say, but he’d already raised his voice at the king once today, and he did not want to bend his code of chivalry more than necessary. Daryl knew that King Ezekiel was a good man, a good father, a good king. You’d told him so, and if anyone’s word meant anything to him, it was yours. 

He understood the king’s hesitation to lead the remaining able-bodied population of Alexandria into battle against the Saviors. He knew that it was a long shot, that the likelihood of saving you was one in a million. He knew, above all else, that King Ezekiel was only weighing the pros and cons of his decisions, doing what was best for the survival and longevity of his kingdom, his people. The king was simply acting upon logic, but Daryl was never particularly fond of logic.

Sensing Daryl’s distress, the duke pulled him aside, his hand upon the knight’s shoulder to offer him a semblance of comfort. Leaving the king and his advisors to speak, Richard held the knight’s gaze in the corner of the infirmary. “We’ll figure something out,” he said quietly. “But we have to wait for the right time.”

“I can’t wait,” he simply said. “I can’t.”

“I know, but you’re not going to be able to save her if you get killed the minute you get to the Sanctuary, and that’s what’s gonna happen. Hell, we don’t even know where the Sanctuary is, Daryl.”

I’ll find it. I’ll find her. I’ll find him. I’ll kill him.

But he only nodded solemnly, chewing his bottom lip as he tried desperately to come up with something he could do. There was nothing. 

“Just… Just can’t let him have her. Not without a fight.”

The comforting weight of Richard’s hand upon his shoulder was a welcome feeling. “You’ve already fought for her, Daryl. You’ll fight for her again, but not now. Not until—”

“Your majesty!” One of the last remaining guards had thrown open the door to the infirmary, looking panicked as he cried for the king. 

Ezekiel pushed past his advisors, approaching the guard with a hurred, yet somehow dignified, step. “What is it?”

The guard could only look at the king wide-eyed for several moments, until he began to stutter, out of breath and shaking his head as he tried to put into words what he had come into the infirmary to tell the king. 

“Speak, man!” demanded Ezekiel. “I have very little time for this dawdling.”

“At-at the drawbridge,” he stammered, “there’s a… there’s a… man.”

“A man?” questioned the constable. “Who?”

“Well, many men. Many, many men.”

The king’s eyes widened. “Another attack?” he asked.

“Th-they claim to be… friends. The man leading them wishes to speak to you.”

This piqued the knight’s interest as he exchanged a look with the duke. There was tension in the air, but not the kind that preceded a calamity. It was the kind of tension that only uncertainty could conceive. Even in the best of times, there was no way to tell who really was friend or foe. Now, more so than ever, Alexandria was vulnerable. A friend, if truly a friend, could mean salvation for the kingdom, but a foe could bring it down in one fell swoop. 

The king, naturally, had a few more questions before he agreed to meet these so-called “friends” outside his castle. “And who is this friend?” he asked. “And what does he want?”

As if in disbelief at his own knowledge, the guard shook his head once more. “I—I… He only said he wants to speak to the king, and he calls himself…”

Now frustrated, Ezekiel took the guard’s shoulders in his hands as he shook him gently, as if to rouse him from his stupor. “Calls himself what?”

The guard huffed, almost with a tinge of a laugh to his voice.

“Jesus.”

~

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[orbmanson7]

Appreciation (Or Lack Thereof)

Word Count: 994

Notes: Have some delicious angst on this fine and lovely Logan Appreciation Day~

--

He really should get back to work.

The thought kept nagging at him, refusing to stay in the back of his mind so he could at least attempt to enjoy this day. But no, there it stayed, a constant reminder that this was a waste of time.

He looked over at the other sides, they continued to argue over something arbitrary. Logan had tried not to react, given how unnecessary the discussion had been. It didn't even involve Thomas - this was just about Roman being annoyed about the sides having identifiable colors, something about the meaning behind those colors... That was about the part where Logan's thoughts reminded him, yet again, how this was a waste of valuable time.

But, no, he stayed put. He had already decided on what he would do today, and that was spend time around the other sides.

"That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard you say--"

"Look who's talking!"

"Hey, come on now, that's not nice, we can hear him out..."

Logan sighed. Why had he decided to do this again?

He glanced behind him and into the kitchen where he could see a calendar.

November 3rd.

It was his "appreciation day" as they'd agreed to call it.

Just a simple little day to commemorate that Logan existed, that he was there, just like the rest of them...

Because it seemed to be difficult for them to remember otherwise, he supposed.

He really should get back to work.

He turned back to the others' conversation again. Now it seemed the topic had changed as Roman and Virgil attempted to explain why blueberries weren't actually the color blue.

There was a simple answer, but no one ever seemed to want to hear those. Not from him, anyway.

He glanced briefly at his watch.

He tried not to think about this being a waste of time again.

He failed.

"Logan! You probably know the answer," Roman scoffed. "You tell him!"

"Oh," Logan blinked. Right, of course, he could answer that, and appreciated the opportunity to join in. "Well, you see, they only appear to be somewhat blue due to an antioxidant that can be found on the skin of the--"

"Boring!" Roman grumbled, "Ugh, never mind. I should've known better than to ask you!"

Logan simply stopped speaking. Mouth shut, no need to continue or counter. There was no point arguing, he'd become well aware of that by now.

He glanced at his watch again and sighed.

Only speak when spoken to and only offer help when asked. It may have confused him before, the reason lost somewhere in something he'll probably never fully understand, but he got the picture fairly well nowadays.

This was just how things were. And that was okay.

It wasn't technically a waste of time if he had planned to spend this exact time with the others. He just had to remember that. He had chosen this, set aside a decent time in his schedule to just be with them for a while. He had wanted this.

He stared at them as the pointless conversation dragged on. Patton seemed a bit overwhelmed, but it didn't seem to be tainted by any particular emotion, or at least not one Logan recognized. That was probably a good thing. And Roman was acting like his usual self, if pushing to raise his ego a bit. Perhaps he was feeling a bit down today, if that's how that worked? And Virgil seemed amused somehow by the discussion, possibly because it appeared to be of no consequence to Thomas. That was good, he clearly deserved moments of calm.

He wondered absently how Janus and Remus were doing, as well. Neither of them much cared for spending time in this area of the mindscape. He couldn't blame them for sticking to what was comfortable and familiar, though.

And probably quieter. More productive, maybe.

He really should get back to work.

He fought the urge to look at his watch again. He knew barely any time had passed since he last checked.

He heard laughter and wanted to clue back into the other sides' conversation but... he already knew he probably wouldn't get it. He never did, after all.

Which was likely why they preferred to keep him out of the loop to begin with, really. He just simply wasn't needed, not for things like that - not for much of anything, apparently.

He had long since come to better terms about it, especially as the years had gone by. He has accepted it. It's fine, and fairly understandable, given much of the circumstances involved.

This was just how things were and he couldn't change that. He had tried for a while, but the time for resistance was over.

Now, all that mattered was making sure Thomas was safe and alive.

Logan and his insecurities mattered very little in comparison to something so necessary as Thomas' happiness and well-being.

Another laugh.

He was okay with that, though. Logan just needed to do his job and that should be satisfying enough. He should appreciate having everything made so simple for him, surely.

He really should get back to work.

One more check of his watch and, yeah, the time he allotted for today was just about up anyway. He did have to put off some of his work to be there today, so it was definitely a good idea to leave and get back to it.

He doubted anyone would mind, of course.

He'd only really hoped for one thing...

No goodbye to the others as they continued to talk as if he wasn't there, they wouldn't notice anyway. He just sunk out and rose back up in his room, ready to work. Ready to do what he was meant to do.

Thankfully, he made sure to get a lot done before his short break today. Really, he felt the break was almost warranted, given what day it was. He had not even considered how else he'd like to spend it than to try to have time with the other sides...or at least most of them, but he knew Janus and Remus weren't exactly fond of him, so he would take what he could get without bothering anyone any more than usual.

He hadn't gotten the opportunity lately to be around the other sides without all his focus and energy going towards having to address one of Thomas' ever constant dilemmas. He wanted that chance, just for today, to let them know he appreciated them, for acknowledging he existed.

He was thankful when they did that. There was something... satisfactory about being noticed.

He had to admit, he hadn't really planned for today to be productive by any means. Not that he was looking forward to a break or slacking off. He very much enjoyed his work, especially knowing how necessary it was.

To be appreciated.

He sat down at his desk and got back to work. What he wanted didn't really matter, and he knew that. It didn't matter what this day was for, he could simply appreciate that he has a day at all. If anything, this was just a good reminder that he should stick to what he's here to do for Thomas.

But, still, it would have been nice to do a little more today.

Oh, well. Maybe next year.