#c: ben barnes

[shesnake]

[queeringclassiclit]

Prince Caspian

from The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis (1950-1956)

[jumbled-messy-confused]

Unfamiliar Grounds

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

Kirigan’s walls may be down for now, but Ivan and Fedyor know they must guard more than just his recovery—they must guard his trust.

Notes:

This story is an AU. It takes place long before Alina turns up. Kirigan is not the villain he will be later in the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

Work Text:

The early morning light cast long shadows through the forest as the company rode on, tired but quietly relieved. The skirmish had been brief and unexpected, but by some twist of fate, they’d suffered no fatalities—just bruises, scrapes, and the bitter taste of yet another delay on the road back to the Little Palace. Though everyone was weary and eager to be home, they travelled with the calm confidence of survivors, their minds already drifting to the promise of rest and familiar comforts.

Kirigan rode at the head of the group, his figure as straight and composed as ever. But nevertheless, something seemed off.  

Ivan’s brow furrowed as he observed the General more closely. He had been summoned more and more often by him in recent months, each mission bringing him closer to the man who, until then, had been more myth than reality.  But despite these latest, quite frequent missions, Ivan still didn’t know him well enough to understand every nuance in Kirigan’s demeanor. Yet now, for the first time, he felt a gnawing certainty that something was not as it should be.

Ivan’s eyes stayed fixed on him, searching, studying every slight shift of Kirigan’s posture, every minute tightening of his hands on the reins. Beside him, Fedyor was watching as well, his gaze troubled, his senses attuned to the subtle signs of strain his leader couldn’t quite conceal.

It was when Kirigan’s hand slipped from the reins to clutch briefly at his side that Ivan felt his stomach twist. Never before had the General let pain show, and Ivan was suddenly sure that right now, things were more serious than Kirigan let on.

A quick glance at Fedyor confirmed his suspicions. They had both seen it; the way Kirigan’s breaths came a fraction shorter, the tension that radiated through his usually controlled frame.

Enough was enough.

“Stop,” Ivan’s voice rang out, sharp and unmistakable, pulling the group to an abrupt halt. The Grisha responded instantly, horses stamped and snorted, shifting restlessly as the troupe exchanged puzzled glances.

Kirigan’s head snapped to face him, his jaw clenched, irritation flashing briefly in his dark eyes. “What are you doing? We’re wasting time,” he ground out.  His words were tight with fatigue and something more—a hidden tension, one that everyone who looked closer could feel.

“General,” Ivan responded undeterred, his tone unyielding. “With all due respect, we’re not going another step until you’re seen to.”

Some Grisha at the back of the group, unable to catch the exchange, furrowed their brows in confusion. But most understood immediately; he must have noticed something critical.

They trusted Ivan’s observations without question, and their eyes darted between him and Kirigan, watching the General with a deepening worry, their expressions reflecting their desire to ensure his well-being.

Kirigan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence enough to convey his displeasure, when Fedyor moved in, calmer but just as resolute. “We’re not moving ahead until you let us help.”

For a heartbeat, Kirigan remained motionless, defiant even. But as his eyes swept over his soldiers, the alarm reflected in some of the faces reached through his defences. He caught sight of a young Grisha, one he’d protected during the skirmish, now watching him with such raw concern that it almost touched him; a feeling he was not accustomed to.

He recognized, too, the look in Ivan’s and Fedyor’s eyes—the unwavering determination that would not yield, the loyalty that insisted he allow them to care for him.

Slowly, he nodded once in acknowledgment and reluctantly, he slid down from his horse. His legs trembled slightly as they met the ground; he masked it, straightening his shoulders, but there was a fragility in the gesture that sent a quiet ripple of alarm through those watching. The last Grisha around him quickly dismounted as well, realization dawning on their faces. Even those who had remained in their saddles until now hurriedly slid to the ground, concern etched in their expressions as they saw that their General was not just weary; he was struggling.

“Let’s get you settled and check this out,” Ivan insisted, already scanning for a place to lay Kirigan down.

With haste, some Grisha began spreading their cloaks and blankets on the ground, creating a makeshift resting place.

As they lowered Kirigan onto it, his body instinctively tensed as if trying to escape a wave of pain that seemed to surge within him.

“Relax,” Ivan instructed gently, kneeling beside him. Kirigan’s usual composure was beginning to crack, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath.

As Ivan peeled back Kirigan’s Kefta, a collective gasp escaped from the surrounding Grisha. A huge, dark stain spread across his tunic, the ominous wet hue saturating the black fabric underneath.

Fedyor sucked in a sharp breath, his voice rising with shock and frustration. “Saints, you’ve been bleeding like this for—how long?”

Kirigan gave a faint, deflective huff, as though he’d been caught in some minor offense. “It’s nothing. Everyone’s tired; they don’t need me slowing them down.”

But Ivan was having none of this. “Stop that,” he ordered gruffly. “We’re taking care of this now.”

Carefully he pulled the tunic up, revealing a long, jagged wound that stretched across Kirigan’s chest and abdomen, still seeping blood. The flesh was swollen and bruised, and there were clear signs of at least two broken ribs beneath, maybe even internal injuries; each breath was a shallow, painful effort.

The Grisha who had gathered around murmured in shock, a few of the younger ones paling visibly at the sight.

“General…” one Squaller whispered strained. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Kirigan merely shook his head, his gaze set forward, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “It wasn’t necessary,” he replied. “I could hold on until we returned.”

“Of course you could!” Ivan’s tone was sharp with exasperation. He knew that if anyone could endure such wounds, it was Kirigan—his resilience unmatched by any other. Yet, that wasn’t the point. “But you simply shouldn’t. Look at yourself—you can barely stand…” He broke off incredulously, but Fedyor also had his part to say.

“Why would you hide this? You would never demand this silence from any of us. Why do you force it on yourself?”

Kirigan’s gaze flicked away, his jaw tight, his eyes hardened, unreadable. Compared to the weight of everything he’d faced, this pain was a small thing—no reason to burden them with it. He could have endured it, as he had endured countless wounds before, and to reveal it now felt like crossing a line he’d drawn long ago. They looked to him for steadiness, for strength that would not bend. Admitting to being injured, to any weakness, meant inviting them closer, meant leaning on a support he had taught himself never to need again.

And yet, here he was, lying on the ground and allowing them to tend to him because for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he experienced a flicker of trust, a sense that he didn’t have to bear this burden alone.

So he didn’t argue as Ivan began directing the troupe to bring what supplies they had, anything they could use to treat their injured General.

They sprang into action, a flurry of activity as they gathered clean cloths and materials. An Inferni quickly ignited a small fire nearby, its flames licking at the cool air, while water was heated for the task ahead, and Yuri, a Squaller who had some knowledge of field medicine, knelt beside Kirigan, his hands steady as he reached for the medical kit.

A Durast stepped forward too, a small pouch clutched in her hands. “I got this from the healers.” She opened it to reveal packets of potent remedies—herbs and fine powders. “Pain relief and more. It’ll help.”

“Good thinking.” Ivan’s gratitude was evident. “Get him some of that.”

Immediately, the Durast began preparing a tea, her movements precise when she measured the constituents, though her hands trembled ever so slightly.

“Hold still, General,” Yuri pleaded calmly. He crouched beside Kirigan, each touch careful, his fingers gentle yet firm, starting to clean the wound with warm water.

Kirigan didn’t respond, his face expressionless, though the tautness around his eyes betrayed the pain he held at bay.

Fedyor, kneeling on his other side, fixated his leader’s face with a rare intensity.

“You’re always thinking you have to endure everything alone, aren’t you?” He couldn’t quite hide his frustration. “You know, we’re all capable of waiting an extra hour if it means making sure you don’t end up worse off.”

His voice softened, though his gaze remained unwavering. “We’ve seen you lead, inspire, and protect us all, General. And maybe… it wouldn’t hurt for you to let others take care of you, too, once in a while.” His tone held the hint of a plea, but there was no expectation—just a quiet offering.

For a moment, Kirigan’s stoic mask slipped. There was a flicker of something close to reluctant acceptance appearing in his eyes. His jaw clenched as he allowed them to continue, perhaps surrendering to the moment, or maybe, for once, to the unfamiliar feeling of not having to hold himself so tightly.

Blood clung thickly to Kirigan’s skin, congealed in patches where it had begun to dry, while fresh rivulets seeped slowly from the jagged edges. Yuri’s hands moved with precision, his touch steady and unhurried despite the urgency of the task.

The other Grisha held their breath as they watched the crimson smears gradually give way to clean, raw flesh beneath.

Finally, Yuri reached for a soft cloth, folding it meticulously. Carefully, he pressed the thick layers against the gash, ensuring it adhered to the contours of Kirigan’s body. Once satisfied with the placement, he wrapped some bandages around it, securing the dressing in place, before he rightened himself up.

“That should hold till we get back to the Little Palace.” He glanced at Ivan, wiping his brow. “But we have to bind his ribs—tight enough so he can breathe easier without aggravating the fractures.”

Seeing the necessity, the others immediately began cutting long strips of fabric. As they worked, the Durast approached, her eyes lingering on Kirigan’s face with quiet concern. She held a small cup of tea, the scent of herbs and remedies wafting up. She offered it to him, her tone tentative yet firm. “Please, General. Drink this.”

Kirigan caught the scent of the mixture and immediately recognized its strength. “No,” he protested instantly, trying to push himself up, a rare show of reluctance. “It’s too potent; I’ll black out… “

Ivan placed a firm hand on his shoulder, gently but with authority. “We don’t care, General. You’re hurting, and you’ve lost blood. This isn’t just about you anymore. We’ll take the time, even if it costs us the journey home.”

Kirigan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a stubborn glint flashing as he eyed the cup. “I’m perfectly able to move on without this,” he muttered, irritation clear. “There’s no need for— “

“There’s no need for you to endure any more of this,” Fedyor interjected, soft but resolute. “None of us want to watch you suffer another minute. We’ll get home when we get home.”

With a resigned look, Kirigan allowed himself to lean back against the makeshift bedding. Slowly, he took the cup, a tired sigh escaping as he drank. The brew was bitter, the taste strong enough to make him grimace, but he drained it, his eyes fluttering as the warm, soothing effect of the ingredients began to seep in.

Ivan watched him with a faint shake of his head, his usual stoicism edged with concern. “Next time, General,” he repeated, “you say something. Just because you can endure it, doesn’t mean you should.”

Fedyor nodded in agreement, his gaze unwavering. “We’d rather lose a little time than risk your health.”

There was a beat of silence, then Kirigan inclined his head, the faintest trace of acceptance and contrition in his expression. “Noted,” he murmured.

After they took the empty cup from Kirigan, Ivan and Fedyor positioned themselves on either side of him, lifting him gently from where he lay. He grimaced, a faint crease forming between his brows, but made no sound as they helped him up, each movement deliberate, cautious.

Once he was upright, it became clear he had neither the strength nor stability to hold himself steady. His breath came in shallow, strained bursts, every subtle shift making his pain flare.

Seeing this, Ivan slipped an arm firmly around Kirigan’s back, supporting his weight and taking on as much of the burden as he could. Fedyor, on his other side, did the same, gripping his shoulder to keep him secure.

Kirigan’s frame remained tense, muscles taut as if he could will himself to stay upright, but Ivan and Fedyor felt the unmistakable tremor that ran through him. His head lowered momentarily, though he forced it upright again as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

Yuri then began to bind his ribs tightly, the process meticulous, each wrap drawn carefully around his fractured bones to keep them secure.

With each pull of the bandage, Kirigan’s face tightened, his breaths becoming more and more strained as his battered resilience began to crack, revealing the depth of his torment.

Ivan watched closely, his worry growing as he felt Kirigan start to sway, his body sagging into their grip as if he might lose consciousness.

“Just breathe, General,” he encouraged, his words low, only for Kirigan to hear. A hint of alarm crept into his voice. “We’re almost done. You need to keep breathing.”

When they finished, Kirigan looked markedly more vulnerable, his skin pale and slick with sweat, his breaths shallow and ragged.

Ivan and Fedyor exchanged a brief, worried glance before easing him down, lowering him as cautiously as possible back onto the blankets. His body went limp, the tension finally releasing as he settled against the blankets. His eyes fluttered closed as he allowed himself a rare moment of rest.

The young Inferni stepped forward, a warm, wet cloth in hand. Her movements were hesitant, her hands trembling slightly as she knelt beside him. She gently dabbed the sweat from his brow, her touch feather-light, as though afraid even the slightest pressure might cause him pain.

While she cared for him, Kirigan lay there, eyes half-closed and head tilted slightly to the side.

He remained still, barely moving, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But as the initial agony from Yuri’s manipulations began to subside, it became clear that the bindings were helping. His breathing, though still labored, grew steadier, deeper, and the tight wraps around his ribs provided much-needed support. The fact that he was no longer bleeding into his tunic also contributed to his stabilization.

So, gradually, he seemed to regain a thread of his usual composure, enough that they knew he was ready to be dressed.

Ivan gave a subtle nod to Fedyor, signalling that it was time to get him back into his clothes and restore some semblance of his usual dignity.

Yuri placed himself behind him, sliding his arms beneath Kirigan’s shoulders to gently lift him upright again, giving the others room.

The two Heartrenders carefully adjusted his tunic and Kefta, ensuring his comfort and avoiding any strain on his injuries. 

As they finished, Ivan’s gaze lingered on Kirigan’s face, studying the pale cast of his skin and the lines of pain etched faintly around his mouth and eyes. There still was a vulnerability about him, one that none of them had ever seen before. The General who led them with unyielding strength was, in this moment, simply a man—worn, fragile, and undeniably mortal.

“You should rest, General,” Ivan suggested quietly, his concern evident. “It would do you good.”

Kirigan immediately shook his head, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. “No, we’re going home. Now.”

Ivan sighed, understanding the determination in Kirigan’s eyes. “We can do that. But unless you want to end up face-first in the mud, General, you’ll have to ride with me.” He raised an eyebrow, a hint of dry humour in his expression, but he quickly shifted back to seriousness. “Honestly, there is no other way. Those herbs will hit you soon enough.”

Kirigan simply nodded, acknowledging Ivan’s point.

His agreement brought a wave of relief over the group. Fedyor’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, his eyes softening as he watched Kirigan.

The Grisha sprang into action. They quickly packed up their belongings, extinguished the small fire, and gathered their supplies, each one eager to get their leader home safely.

Once everything was ready, they turned their attention back to Kirigan.

When they lifted him to his feet, their hands remained steady and supportive, each motion gentle, aware of how much effort it must cost him to remain upright.

Kirigan swayed slightly, his face drawn with pain, but he kept his shoulders squared, still refusing to truly let show how much he was suffering.

Some Grisha then moved quickly to fold the cloaks, roll up the blankets, and dismantle the makeshift bedding with practiced ease, while others helped the General back onto his horse.

He leaned heavily onto the pommel of the saddle, silent, his determination overriding his discomfort. Ivan swung up behind him, slipping an arm around Kirigan’s waist to secure him with caution.

“Hold on, General,” he murmured, his voice a mix of concern and reassurance. “We’ll get you home.”

Kirigan gave a faint nod, too exhausted to put up any more resistance, simply accepting the care. He sank back slightly into the strong arms bracing him securely, the warmth of Ivan’s grip both firm and comforting.

Finally, the group resumed their journey at a slower, more measured pace.

For the first stretch, Kirigan tried to keep his head up, his gaze forward, fighting the overwhelming fatigue that clouded his mind. But as the minutes passed, the potent herbs began to take full effect, overpowering him. Despite his best efforts to remain alert, he felt himself slipping.

With a final sigh, Kirigan surrendered to the drug-induced darkness, his body sinking heavily into Ivan’s arms. His head fell back against Ivan’s shoulder, leaving him defenceless in a way none of them had ever seen.

“Easy there,” Ivan murmured, instinctively adjusting to hold him more securely. The concern of the group sharpened as they noticed, but there was no panic; they had prepared for this.

They moved as swiftly as they could under the circumstances, urgency propelling them forward. It would take another two hours to reach the Little Palace, and every minute felt like an eternity.

The whole time, Fedyor kept a watchful eye on both Kirigan and Ivan.

To his dismay, as the journey progressed, he sensed Kirigan’s pulse quickening, the medications wearing off. It was clear that the pain was intensifying again; Kirigan’s face tightened with each jolt of the horse, and his breaths became more labored. Fedyor had hoped they would reach the Little Palace before this happened, but the agony from Kirigan’s broken bones was too intense.

Then, Ivan intervened.

Fedyor could feel the small flickers of power emanating from his husband. Ivan was carefully manipulating Kirigan’s heart, drawing him back into a deeper state of unconsciousness. Each time Kirigan began to surface, Ivan would gently interfere, ensuring the General remained unaware of the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

He knew the General wouldn’t approve, but none of them cared today; they were united in their determination to get him home safely, no matter what it took. Ivan’s need to protect the man who always put others first was a quiet rebellion he allowed himself.

The road stretched long as they pressed forward, each Grisha’s gaze straying every so often to their leader, their worry a silent thread weaving them all together.

Finally, as they approached the Little Palace, two Healers were already assembled. Word of Kirigan's condition had reached them earlier, thanks to one Grisha who had hurried ahead.

Their faces tightened as they saw Ivan riding in, his arms cradling Kirigan’s limp form.

As he pulled his horse to a stop, the two of them rushed forward and reached up to take on the weight of the wounded General.

Ivan released his hold on Kirigan’s heartbeat for just a moment, helping the Healers guide him carefully down from the saddle. Instantly, Kirigan's eyes fluttered, and a hoarse, involuntary sound escaped his lips; a faint, ragged groan, raw and filled with distress. It was a sound he would never have allowed himself had he been fully aware. But here, between the grip of consciousness and the dark of oblivion, his usual defences had fallen away, leaving only the unshielded pain of his injuries.

Ivan clenched his jaw, watching with a blend of worry and helplessness as Kirigan lay there, the true extent of his suffering laid bare for all to see.

One of the Healers immediately pressed a hand to Kirigan’s forehead, murmuring softly as her power flowed through him, coaxing him back into a deeper state of unconsciousness. She knew it was the only way to shield him from the pain that would otherwise tear him awake.

The healers then hurried him inside, weaving quickly through the bright corridors, sunlight spilling in patches across the stone as they made their way to the infirmary. Ivan, Fedyor, and the rest of the group followed closely, all unwilling to let their General out of their sight.

Along the way, other Grisha paused as they took in the pale, lifeless figure of their leader. Some watched with wide, stricken eyes; others whispered anxiously among themselves, clearly shaken by the sight of the unresponsive General.

They finally reached the Infirmary, where the Healers immediately set to work.

The troupe watched in silence as Kirigan was laid carefully on a bed in the centre of the room.

The senior Healer placed her palm gently on his chest, sending a wave of energy that anchored him into a profound oblivion. Kirigan’s body tensed involuntarily, his muscles convulsing slightly under the intensity of the Healer’s power before he fell completely limp. The brief surge faded, and his awareness slipped further away under her deliberate touch.

Another Healer began to move with smooth, practiced motions, summoning her power to knit the ugly wound and address the injuries hidden beneath.

Meanwhile, the senior Healer hovered her hands above Kirigan’s ribcage, guiding a steady flow of energy into each fracture and bruise.

As the healing process continued, Kirigan’s muscles, still partially tensed from the remnants of pain, began to yield. The harsh lines etched into his face softened gradually, revealing a flicker of peace that was almost foreign. His breathing slowed, settling into a more regular, deeper rhythm.

Eventually, the lead Healer reassured all the Grisha, “His broken bones have been set, and severel internal contusions and bruises have been treated. He should be pain-free now.”

Then she turned to Ivan and Fedyor. “He heals faster than any Grisha I’ve ever seen. But even someone of his power needs time to recover from these injuries.” She glanced back at Kirigan, her eyes filled with concern. “He’s lost more blood than we’d like. I recommend keeping him under for a few hours—force him to rest. We all know what he’ll do otherwise.”

Ivan nodded decisively, understanding the unspoken truth behind her words. Kirigan’s relentless drive meant that if he were conscious, he would insist on resuming his responsibilities immediately.

They had to ensure he stayed down long enough to recover properly, even if it meant going against what they knew he would want.

The second Healer had already moved to clean the remaining blood and sweat from Kirigans skin and now gently dressed him in the soft linen shirt and loose trousers designated for those in recovery. Then, a warm, heavy blanket was tucked carefully around his shoulders and along his sides, as though to preserve the restorative energy that still lingered in the air.

Before they stepped back, the lead Healer pressed her hand onto Kirigan’s torso again, one last surge of her power weaving through him, sealing his consciousness in the darkness for a few more hours at least. She met Ivan’s gaze and nodded; he understood the message—the General would remain safely unaware.

At last, Kirigan lay still, his breathing slow and even. The golden light filtering into the room cast a gentle glow across his pale face, highlighting the shadows beneath his eyes.

He looked almost fragile, a faint trace of vulnerability in the way his head rested against the pillow, a stark contrast to the imposing figure he typically embodied.

The Grisha lingered at his bedside, caught between relief and unease. The General—unbreakable, untouchable Kirigan—lay before them like any other wounded soldier, stripped of his customary armour of strength.

Though exhaustion tugged at their limbs, no one wanted to leave him alone in this vulnerable moment. Their glances drifted toward Ivan, seeking reassurance.

His silent nod was all they needed to stand down. It showed that Ivan would remain, and that was enough.

Over recent missions, he had proven himself enough times for them to look to him now without question. If anyone was to watch over the General, it would be Ivan, and they accepted this as naturally as they would a command

So, in the end, one by one, the tired men began to leave, some murmuring a quiet farewell, others offering a brief look of respect before they departed.

As the last of their troupe had stepped out, Ivan settled into a chair by the bed, his hand resting on the edge of the blanket, keeping vigil. Fedyor sank down beside him, a gentle but constant presence, his gaze steady as he watched over both his husband and their General.

Finally, Ivan glanced at Fedyor and tiredly murmured, “He won’t thank us for this.” His tone was dry, touched with a hint of exasperated affection.

Fedyor smiled, his eyes softening. “No,” he agreed, his voice a whisper, “but it was the right thing to do.”  They knew that once Kirigan awoke, the man who loathed any display of weakness would be quick to erect his walls again.

They shared a quiet moment, watching as Kirigan’s breathing remained steady, his face completely at peace. It was rare, even precious, to see him like this—unguarded, free from the heavy weight he carried for all of them.

In the stillness of the room, a silent agreement formed between them. They would take it upon themselves to care for Kirigan, to ensure he received the attention he so rarely allowed himself.

It was clear that he had fought alone for much too long; perhaps others hadn’t dared to offer care, or Kirigan, likely, had rejected any such attempts. But today, something had shifted—he had allowed them, if only briefly, to ease his burden. And they would be damned if this was the last time.

They would make sure that the man who fought so fiercely for his soldiers would, at last, have someone to fight for him.

They settled back in the knowledge that the hours ahead would pass quietly, but that was exactly what they wanted: time for their General to rest, fully and truly, under their care.

And when Kirigan awoke, they would be there—ready to meet his inevitable stubbornness with patient, steadfast loyalty, the same loyalty that had brought him back to safety.

[theseekeroftruth]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThat's the true reason of the season that we must never forget about. Keep eyes wide open. Especially the eyes of the heart. Don't let your fire inside fade away. Make more flame. The Lamb has come. The Lamb who will return as the Lion. Merry Christmas!

[tachlys]

@alekseii flashback (verão de 2014)

Seis meses preso naquele inferno de acampamento, Achlys não estava nada feliz. O jovem de vinte e dois anos não conseguia entender por que tinha que estar ali. Para ele, que se danasse controlar seus poderes; o Whitlock tinha planos diferentes para o início de seus vinte anos. Queria a liberdade longe de sua mãe, poder beber livremente sem se preocupar com o que os outros pensariam, festas e flertes despreocupados. Talvez por isso, quase que instantaneamente ao chegar no acampamento, ele fez amizade com Aleksei. Adorava como todos sabiam e falavam da amizade caótica deles; ele amava ser o caos.

"Que tal pichar o chalé de Afrodite e jogar pó de mico nas camas? Ouvi dizer que as dondocas estão tendo um dia no spa. Que tal transformarmos isso num esparro?" Achlys sentia uma excitação pulsante com a ideia, ele adorava a adrenalina que vinha com suas pegadinhas, a sensação de estar vivo e livre, mesmo que por breves momentos. Pichar o chalé de Afrodite e jogar pó de mico nas camas não era apenas uma brincadeira; era uma forma de expressar sua rebeldia contra as regras opressivas do acampamento e a sensação de estar preso.

[immortalmuses]

From the Shadow and Bone Twitter

[nofatclips]

A sequence from Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound showcasing Miklós Rózsa's score

[coralsgrimes]

Benny Boy updating his raya location #HEREJUSTFORFRIENDS

[gccdstories]

// I do fully intend to do some things here, I've just been sort of laser-focused on my Darkling blog (@summonshadcw) for the time being. The muses here have been a bit quiet, while Darkling is loud, so that's where my attention has been. Thank you for your patience.

[twisty-the-freak]

Sounds familiar

Too many tags 🙃

[annamusings]

ben barnes & meghann fahy manip requested by me

[crowclubkaz]

💚👁️🕸️ In honour of The Magnus Protocol releasing today, here are some book recommendations based on The Magnus Archives Fears!! 🕸️👁️💚

Detailed list of books below the cut!

For more book recommendations, especially queer horror, check out my Bookstagram @hauntedstacks

The Buried ⚰️ - Into the Sublime by Kate A. Boorman - Stuck by Ben Young - The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling - The Deep by Nick Cutter

The Corruption 🦠 - What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher - Green Fuse Burning by Tiffany Morris - The Honeys by Ryan La Sala - She Is A Haunting by Trang Thanh Tran

The Dark 🌑 - Dead Silence by S.A. Barnes - Nightfall by Jake Halpern & Peter Kujawinski - No Power by Todd Kirby - The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey

The Desolation 🔥 - Firestarter by Stephen King - Burner by Robert Ford - Those Who Wish Me Dead by Michael Koryta - Burn the House Down by Kenna Jenkins

The End 💀 - Funeral Girl by Emma K. Ohland - Pet Sematary by Stephen King - Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune - This Thing Between Us by Gus Moreno

The Extinction 🦴 - Lost Signals by Max Booth III - Bride of the Tornado by James Kennedy - No Safety in Numbers by Dayna Lorentz - The Rules of the Road by C.B. Jones

The Eye 👁️ - Video Palace by Maynard Wills - Episode Thirteen by Craig DiLouie - A History of Fear by Luke Dumas - The Watchers by A.M. Shine

The Flesh 🦷 - You’ve Lost A Lot of Blood by Eric LaRocca - Carnivore by Justin Boote - A Certain Hunger by Chelsea G. Summers - Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica

The Hunt 🏹 - Hunt by Alexandra Nisneru - The Woods Are Always Watching by Stephanie Perkins - Survive the Night by Danielle Vega - The Hunger by Alma Katsu

The Lonely ☁️ - Red River Seven by A.J. Ryan - Solitude by Michael Penning - Dark Matter by Michelle Paver - We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

The Slaughter 🥩 - Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin - Your Shadow Half Remains by Sunny Moraine - American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis - The Summer I Died by Ryan C. Thomas

The Spiral 🌀 - That Darkened Doorstep by Catherine Jordan - Mind the Mirrors by Amanda Leanne - Grey Noise by Marcus Hawke - Last to Leave the Room by Caitlin Starling

The Stranger🕴️ - It Looks Like Us by Alison Ames - My Best Friend’s Exorcism by Grady Hendrix - The Deep by Alma Katsu - The Outside by Stephen King

The Vast 🪂 - From Below by Darcy Coates - Into the Drowning Deep by Mira Grant - Floating Staircase by Ronald Mafi - Nightmare Sky by Red Lagoe

The Web 🕸️ - The Taking of Jake Livingston - The Fervor by Alma Katsu - The Book of Accidents by Chuck Wendig - Come Closer by Sarah Gran

If You Like The Magnus Archives 💚 - Thirteen Stories by Jonathan Sims - Family Business by Jonathan Sims - Gas Station by Jack Townsend - Horrorstör by Grady Hendrix

[jumbled-messy-confused]

The Dusk of a Long Day

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

A leader’s fragile recovery unveils the depth of his people’s devotion. Amidst heartfelt reunions and tender care, the bonds of loyalty and affection are poignantly revealed. Resilience, camaraderie, and unspoken emotions define a journey towards healing.

Notes:

While this story can stand on its own, I highly recommend reading “Bearing the Burden” first for a deeper understanding and richer context. (Warning: This story is cheesy and pointless, but I wrote it anyway. And I have no regrets. 😆 )

The dusk of a long day settled over the Little Palace, casting a serene glow on the weary faces of the Grisha as they returned from their laborious task. They had spent the day constructing a makeshift bridge to mend the lifeline of their community. Residents of Os Alta had also lent their aid, and both Grisha and townsfolk, their hands and hearts working in unison, had been able to restore a semblance of normalcy after the disaster.

Ivan, whose dedication to General Kirigan had kept him by the injured man’s side throughout the night, had reluctantly torn himself away at dawn to oversee the efforts. And although the Durasts had taken the lead with their expertise in construction, it was Ivan who had initiated and coordinated the entire operation, seeing it as his duty as Kirigan’s second-in-command. He knew that the General would never have left the residents of Os Alta to face such a task alone, especially since, although the Tsar and his soldiers might have eventually managed it, the Grisha were far better suited to take charge.  His mind, however, had remained with Kirigan, replaying the harrowing moments of his collapse and the horrific helplessness he had felt while fighting to save his leader’s life over and over again. Kirigan had not regained consciousness throughout the night, and although Ivan knew he was out of immediate danger, the entire day had been a blur of anxiety and tension for him. The exhaustion from the previous night weighed heavily on him, making it difficult to focus on the task at hand; all he really wanted was to return to the infirmary to check on his superior.

Now, as the evening sun wrapped the Inner Court of the Little Palace in its warm embrace, the weary Grisha began to unsaddle their horses, their movements slow and heavy with exhaustion. The atmosphere was quiet, almost somber, as the events of the past two days weighed heavily on them. The worry for Kirigan still hung over them all like a dark cloud, sapping their energy and spirits.

Yet, just as Ivan was handing the reins of his horse to a stable attendant, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Pausing mid-action, he looked up in disbelief: General Kirigan and Alina had entered the courtyard. The sight of them was not only completely unexpected but downright extraordinary.

The petite woman had looped the General’s arm over her shoulder and held his waist, steadying him as they moved together with careful steps. Kirigan’s appearance was a stark contrast to the commanding figure they were accustomed to. Clad only in the soft, simple clothes of the infirmary, his tall and inherently slender form was even more pronounced. The absence of his customary layers of Kefta and tunics revealed a delicacy that was usually hidden, his lean physique now starkly apparent. His face was pale, the kind of white that spoke of blood loss and bed rest, casting him in an almost otherworldly light. The General’s usual aura of invincibility had been replaced by a fragility that stirred a protective instinct in Ivan and all who beheld him; this man, who had always seemed larger than life, now walked among them with a vulnerability that was both jarring and endearing. Yet, the intensity in his eyes was undiminished, the same fierce determination that had always been his hallmark.

Having been shaken to their core twenty-four hours earlier, witnessing Kirigan’s harrowing battle with death, the Grisha watched his unsteady yet determined movements in silent astonishment, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and quiet joy. For a moment, they simply stood there, absorbing the sight before them, letting the reality of his appearance sink in. Then, one after the other, they approached him; not in a rush, but with a gentle eagerness, each expressing in their own way the depth of their gladness at seeing him on the mend. Their faces were alight with a happiness that had seemed so unimaginable a day before - and that was the moment Ivan realized that Kirigan had made a conscious decision to come to the courtyard. Despite his weakened state, his primary concern was, as always, the well-being of his people. He knew his presence would help alleviate their worries; this was a deliberate act to comfort them after the unease he had caused. And his plan worked perfectly. However, there was one thing he had not foreseen.

Kirigan, for all his intelligence and strategic brilliance, seemed unprepared for the depth of emotion that met him. The smiles, the nods, the quiet words of encouragement—while receiving them, there was a sense of wonder in his eyes, as if he were seeing his people for the first time.

Ivan sighed. As their General, Kirigan bore the weight of command, the relentless burden of impossible choices that carved chasms between duty and humanity. Ivan understood the solitude that accompanied such a role: the sleepless nights and the constant choices that tore at one’s soul. Kirigan, respected and more often than not even feared, had surely always been aware of the regard of his Grisha. But here, in this quiet courtyard, where smiles bloomed and hands reached out, he discovered a kinship that transcended mere duty. It was a heartfelt connection, an understanding that he was truly valued and cherished by those around him.

And perhaps, Ivan mused, Kirigan had needed this revelation. For he gave tirelessly to his people, day after day, yet obviously hadn’t fully grasped how deeply they recognized and appreciated his unwavering commitment. The weight of responsibility often obscured such truths, leaving those in charge isolated in their decisions. But now, surrounded by his Grisha, Kirigan obviously realized that their loyalty was intertwined with deep affection; a truth that had always been present but had apparently just now become unmistakably clear to him. Ivan hoped that Kirigan now finally understood that he belonged, and that this realization would help him feel less alone in his burdens.

After a few minutes, the interactions began to take their toll; Kirigan’s strength started to wane. Ivan noticed that while the General still smiled warmly, his energy was fading, and he grew quieter and paler. He could also sense an increase in his heartbeat, indicating how it became harder for him to stay upright. Ivan considered discreetly alerting Alina to Kirigan’s exhaustion, but the Sun Summoner, ever vigilant, had picked up on his growing fatigue as well. With an apologetic smile, she gently guided her charge away from his people and led him toward a nearby bench. Ivan’s fellow Grisha immediately stepped back, giving the injured man the space he needed. Only two remained nearby, clearly ready to assist if necessary. But that wasn’t needed; Alina had everything under control. He noticed the subtle tightening of her grip around Kirigan’s narrow waist, a silent promise to hold him steady should his strength falter. The setting sun cast a warm glow on her face, highlighting the determination etched into her features; her gaze was fixed ahead, yet there was a tenderness in her eyes that spoke volumes of her concern and steadfast devotion. As they reached the bench, Alina and Kirigan settled against the wall of the Little Palace, basking in the remnants of the day’s light. Kirigan leaned back against the wall, the weariness from yesterday’s ordeal was evident in the way his body sagged. His eyes closed for a few precious moments of rest. Alina, looking weary herself, leaned gently against him, mindful of his injured chest. But he drew her close, signalling that her proximity brought no pain, only comfort. He rested his head against hers, both of them savouring the warmth of the sun.

The Grisha looked on, their spirits buoyed by the tender scene, a beautiful testament to the healing power of closeness and care.

After a few minutes, as the sun dipped below the courtyard walls and the evening chill began to settle, Alina whispered to Kirigan that it was time to return indoors. The General, who had still been resting with his eyes closed, slowly opened them at her words. His weariness was almost palpable when he tried to straighten up and, after taking a deep breath, attempted to rise. But his strength betrayed him—a rare moment of helplessness on display. Ivan was at his side in an instant.

Kirigan looked up at him, exhaustion etched into his features. “It seems, I have to be a burden again, old friend,” he murmured, his voice tinged with frustration and fatigue.

Ivan knelt beside him, his eyes filled with unshakable determination. He placed his hand on Kirigan’s forearm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You could never be a burden, General,” he insisted gently but resolutely. “I am here for you. Always.” With Alina on one side and Ivan on the other, they carefully helped Kirigan to his feet. They draped his arms over their shoulders and encircled his waist, providing the strong support he needed as they made their way back to the infirmary. Kirigan’s steps were now slow and labored, each movement a testament to his sheer willpower. His face, though set in a determined expression, could not hide the pain that flickered more and more in his eyes. Ivan’s heart ached with concern, yet he couldn’t help but admire Kirigan’s resilience. Anyone else would likely still be confined to bed, unable to even rise, but here was their General, pushing through his exhaustion and discomfort to walk among his people, to reassure them.

As they entered the infirmary, Ivan and Alina guided Kirigan straight to his cot, helping him to sit down. At this point, the extent of his debilitated state became evident; the injured man, by now trembling with exhaustion and pain, couldn’t manage to lie down by himself. Without a word, Ivan gently clasped Kirigan’s shoulders and carefully lowered his upper body onto the pillows. At the same time, Alina supported his legs, cautiously raising them onto the bed. Kirigan, too weak to resist, simply gave in to their assistance. His eyes fluttered shut, and with a weary exhale, his body went completely limp. His head lolled back, and he became a dead weight in their grasp. It looked as if he had lost consciousness there and then.

Alina’s worry was palpable, but Ivan, ever attuned to Kirigan’s heartbeat, was quite sure this was not a critical incident; the General was simply overwhelmed by exhaustion. Yet, before he could assuage her concerns, a pair of healers, who had been standing by patiently, approached them. “We’re glad to see the General has decided to grace us with his presence again,” one of them remarked with a wry smile. Her tone, however, quickly shifted from one of loving exasperation to genuine concern. “Now we need to make sure he’s stable after this unexpectedly long walk and quite sudden collapse,” she added softly.

Ivan couldn’t help but let out an exhausted, dry sigh. “Only Kirigan could nearly die one day and have the healers worried about an extended stroll the next.” The female healer smiled warmly at his comment. “He is truly one of a kind. But we wouldn’t have him any other way, would we?” Ivan nodded, not able to hide a mixture of affection and concern in his voice. “No, we wouldn’t.” With that, the healers began their examination.

The female healer carefully pushed Kirigan’s shirt up, exposing his lean torso. With practiced precision, she placed her hands on the General’s chest, softly palpating different areas and letting her magic flow. She took several minutes to assess the state of his internal injuries and ensure there was no fresh bleeding. Then she moved to Kirigan’s abdomen, pressing gently on his flat stomach, methodically probing every part to identify any signs of pain or discomfort, moving her hands in intricate sigils. She was thorough, ensuring that no area was left unchecked. As she did so, it became evident that her magic was not only assessing but also alleviating his pain. The tension around Kirigan’s eyes began to ease, the tight lines of discomfort softening visibly. Simultaneously, the male healer encompassed Kirigan’s flanks, holding them for several moments, his hands moving in sync with Kirigan’s breaths. Since the devastating injuries from the previous day had caused a respiratory arrest, the healer spent considerable time monitoring Kirigan’s chest movements, ensuring they were steady and his lungs were functioning properly. Finally, the healers exchanged nods of approval, their faces lighting up with optimism. “His progress is extraordinary,” the male healer announced, turning to Ivan and Alina. “He’s recovering at an impressive pace. He still needs time, of course, but he will achieve in a fortnight what would take others at least a month.”

Meanwhile, the female healer had carefully pulled Kirigan’s shirt back down and looked up, satisfied with their examination. “Would you like us to settle him in, or would you prefer to do it yourselves?” she kindly asked. Ivan quickly responded, “We’ll take care of it.” The healers nodded in understanding, their expressions affectionate and approving. They exchanged a few final murmurs before quietly retreating to give Ivan and Alina space.

The both of them wasted no time, and immediately stepped back to the bed. Ivan meticulously adjusted the pillows under Kirigan’s upper body, ensuring the resting man was comfortable while Alina draped a plush, thick blanket over his slender form, carefully tucking it around him to keep him warm. Kirigan let out a quiet sigh at that and visibly relaxed; the warmth seemed to do him good. His features softened in a way that made him look almost youthful. At the sight, a tender smile spread across Alinas face.

By the time they finished, Kirigan was in a deep sleep, his breathing steady and even; yet, the sight of the most powerful Grisha Ivan knew, so utterly defeated by exhaustion, was both alarming and telling. It spoke volumes about his current state and the severity of what he had endured. But it also highlighted his incredible strength and resilience - it was astonishing that he had managed to walk outside just minutes ago.

However, Ivan felt a pang of sorrow, realizing that once again, he had failed to notice how badly Kirigan was struggling, as he had succeeded to conceal the extent of his condition too long too well, just like the day before.

The steady rise and fall of Kirigan’s chest drew Ivan away from his dark thoughts. For a few minutes, he simply stood there, observing the soothing motion. The sight was a stark contrast to the previous night, and it brought a sense of relief that Ivan hadn’t felt in hours. The gentle rhythm of Kirigan’s breathing was almost hypnotic, pulling Ivan deeper into his own fatigue.

“You should rest now.” Alina’s voice startled him out of his trance. She had taken a seat by Kirigan’s side and gently placed her hand on top of the blanket, near his shoulder. It was clear she intended to stay the night. She looked up at Ivan, her eyes still filled with concern, despite the healers having just confirmed that Kirigan was on the mend. “I only managed to get some sleep last night because I knew you were here with him and would alert me if anything happened,” she continued. “This time, it’s my turn. I promise to let you know if anything changes.” Ivan, despite knowing better, considered staying by Kirigan’s side nonetheless, but Alina wasn’t finished. “It’s enough that one of us doesn’t know when to take care of their own needs,” she insisted softly, her voice tinged with both tenderness and sadness. Her gaze briefly flickered to the resting man before returning to Ivan. In that moment, he realized her concern was directed at him. And he had to admit she was right. He was exhausted. With a sigh, he nodded to her and, after a final, lingering look at the peacefully sleeping Kirigan, quietly exited the infirmary.

Outside, the Grisha were still gathered in the courtyard, their faces filled with anticipation. They had clearly been waiting for Ivan, their expressions a mix of hope and lingering concern. The atmosphere had noticeably relaxed since Kirigan’s appearance, but they had also seen him falter as he tried to return inside, and were now anxiously awaiting Ivan’s update.

Ivan addressed them, his voice steady and calm. “The healers are very pleased with General Kirigan’s progress. It will take several days, but he will make a full recovery. He fell asleep quickly and is resting now.”

The news brought another wave of relief over the group. Smiles spread across their faces, and murmurs of gratitude and joy filled the air. Some nodded to each other, while others clasped hands or patted shoulders in silent celebration. The last remnants of tension that had gripped them since the incident began to melt away, replaced by a quiet, collective happiness.

Slowly, the Grisha began to disperse, making their way towards their quarters. Ivan watched them go, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. He, too, turned to head to his own room. As he walked, he felt a renewed sense of hope, confident that the General’s improving condition would allow them all to rest easier tonight.

[piano-hoarder]

This man is a KING

We all went from this

To this

[venussaidso]

who tf do ketu men frequently date? 🧍🏼

so i decided to check the charts of ex/current partners of some selected well known ketu men.

See, Timothee Chalamat having dated Rahu and Jupiter girls kinda validates my theory of Ketu men going for these planetary archetypes. I also see Moon and Mercury nakshatra women.

He dated Shatabhisha ASC, Vishakha Moon Lourdes Leon. Was with Eiza Gonzalez who has Shravana Sun & a possible Purva Bhadrapada Moon. His iconic pairing with Lily Rose Depp who's Rohini Sun & Swati Moon and Vishakha ASC. And finally Kylie Jenner -- Ashlesha Sun, Swati Moon.

Avan Jogia, who is Ashwini Moon, is dating Punarvasu Moon Halsey -- and she also has Hasta Sun AND Swati ASC. He's also dated Zoey Deutch who is a Vishakha Sun. He dated Swati Sun Cleopatra Coleman. He had a thing with Vishakha Moon Miley Cyrus 💀

Ben Barnes, who is Ashwini Moon & Magha Sun, dated Ardra Moon Tamsin Egerton. Then Shatabhisha Moon Felicity Jones. And also Vishakha ASC AND Hasta Moon Julianna Hough.

Possible Magha Moon Robert Sheehan with his long-time girlfriend Revati Sun Sofia Boutella.

Idris Elba's -- who's Magha Moon -- current wife is a Punarvasu Sun AND a Jyestha Moon mwahaha.

Ashwini Moon Benedict Cumberbatch's wife is a Purva Bhadrapada Sun AND Rohini Moon.

Ashwini Moon Michael C. Hall's first wife had Revati Moon, name's Amy Spanger. Then he married Jyestha Sun Jennifer Carpenter who ALSO has Punarvasu Moon and a Hasta ASC.

Ashwini Moon Matt Dillion had dated Vishakha Moon Denise Richards. Also Punarvasu native Cameron Diaz. And I believe his recent partner is Vishakha Moon Roberta Mastromichele. He'd dated Ashlesha ASC, Swati Moon and Shravana Sun Heather Graham.

Magha Moon Paul Wesley was married to Hasta Moon Torrey DeVitto. He was also engaged to Punarvasu native Phoebe Tonkin.

Ashwini Sun Machine Gun Kelly (who also dated Punarvasu native Halsey), was with Ashlesha Moon Megan Fox. Daniel Day Lewis' wife is a Revati Moon. Cilian Murphy, who I also believe to be Ketuvian, is married to a Jyestha Moon woman. Christian Bale's -- who's Ashwini Moon -- wife may have Revati Sun (she may also be Ashwini Sun if she was born past noon).

And Ketu men also go for Ketu women. Justin Trudeau's wife is an Ashwini Sun. Machine Gun Kelly dated Ashwini native Amber Rose.

Ashwini Moon Milo Ventimiglia's wife, Jarah Mariano, is a Jyestha Moon. He's dated Ashwini Moon Alexis Bledel and also Hayden Panettiere who's also an Ashwini Moon with Magha Sun.

Ashwini Moon Boris Kodjoe's wife, Nichole Ari Parker, is a Mula Moon with a Hasta Sun.

Magha Sun Andrew Garfield was with Vishakha Sun and Hasta Moon Emma Stone. He also dated Mula Sun Shannon Woodward. He'd been with Ashwini Sun and Vishakha Moon Phoebe Dynevor. Also Ardra Sun Alyssa Miller. He got on with Ashlesha Asc & Purva Bhadrapada Moon Rita Ora too.

Mula Sun, and confirmed Ashwini Moon, Jared Leto, had dated Vishakha Moon Scarlett Johansson. Then Ashley Olsen who is literally a Magha Moon with Ashlesha ASC. He'd been with Punarvasu ASC Cameron Diaz. He was also linked with Ardra Sun Lindsey Lohan. Had an iconic love struck moment with Shatabhisha Sun, Hasta Moon Lupita Nyong'o. I think Valery Kauffman too who's Rohini Sun and Shravana Moon. Reminder that he's a Krittika Asc, he's a Sun nakshatra and my god he's got a running list of hookups I can't deal with right now so Valery is where it ends. It's honestly giving Leonardo DiCaprio lmfao who's also a Sun nakshatra (can't stand solar males💀).

If I stumble on more Ketu men, I'll probably keep editing this post. But there's a pattern here. It's Rahu, Moon, Mercury, Jupiter and Ketu nakshatras that frequently pop up in the women they date.

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Seven

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau and Ben (Soldier Boy)

Warnings: Language, typical Soldier Boy behaviour

W/C: 1,541

A/N: As you can see (for those who saw my post earlier) I have split the chapter into two. It wouldn't look right with all the chapters around the same and this one not.

A/N 2: Also it has crossed my attention that as much as you guys love these fics, please don't upload the ficpic to another social. I know none of the images are mine and you can decide to ignore my request, but it do 'make' them with the intent of them being uploaded solely by me. So far I've seen it on the pin board app.

Pulling yourself out of your reverie and ignoring the moisture between your legs, you located Dean in the hat section. He, of course, had on a cowboy hat and posing in front of the mirror.

“Lookin’ good, cowboy.”

Dean spun round with a sheepish grin on his face.

“You really think so?”

You nodded, reaching up on tiptoe, and angled the hat better. His green eyes bore into yours, and the moisture between your legs intensified. Those butterflies stormed your belly, causing a tingling to cover your entire body. Oh Lordy. Staring into his eyes had your brain short-circuiting.

“I love Westerns.”

“I know.” You replied as you moved your hands away.

His lips curved into a smile, which didn’t help the fluttering in your stomach. The Stetson he wore blocked off the surroundings, forcing you to focus only on him. You noticed how green his eyes could get, how the freckles speckled across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You noticed the 5 o’clock shadow across his jaw and chin, the slight crook in his smile and just how pink his lips were.

Caught in his gaze, your heart beat just that little bit faster, and it ached just that little bit harder for the hunter.

“What d’ya think?”

You blinked and tried pulling words from your mushy, in-love brain.

“I think you should get it.”

He nodded and took the hat off.

The rush of Boot Barn came surging back. For a moment, you’d forgotten where and what you were doing. It was silly, silly schoolgirl feelings. Feelings you should push aside, but they just managed to get in the way.

A tap on your shoulder had you whirling around. It was just Beau with the boots and a selection of jackets.

“I couldn’t decide. Could you help?”

You nodded and took the jackets from him. All three were indicative of Beau’s style in Big Sky—black denim with a faux fur lining, tanned suede with a fur collar, and a typical blue denim jacket.

“I can’t decide either. I bet they’d all look great on you though.”

Beau blushed as he smiled, exactly the way Denise had complimented Beau in the first episode of season three. Dean, Beau and Ben shared this smile, and you had Jensen to thank for that.

“Darlin’ you say any more, and I’ma go redder than a farmer’s neck in the middle of summer.”

Damn that Texan. You gave him the jackets back and reached on tippy toe for a light brown Stetson. He ducked a little bit, allowing you to place it atop his head.

“There. It suits you.”

Beau’s face and neck went redder than a farmer in the middle of summer, leaving him speechless.

You clapped him on his shoulder and turned, only to be immediately put in a dour mood. Ben leant against the store’s wall, sweet-talking a female employee. Your heart whomped in your chest, emotion making it tighten. You weren’t sure why, but it felt like rejection.

The female employee smiled in Ben’s direction, giving him all her attention, twirling hair around her finger. Jealousy stabbed at you hard. Fuck him.

Ben turned his head to see you looking. He smirked and turned his attention back to the female employee. Instead of storming over there, you turned on your heel and went straight to the cashier with Beau and Dean.

*

At Walmart, you picked up a few plain colour t-shirts, Wrangler jeans, underwear, and socks for all three. Dean picked out a few flannels, as did Beau. Ben wandered around, trying to get your attention, and the petty person inside of you gave him the cold shoulder.

“You can’t be mad at me forever.”

You said nothing, moving the cart by some graphic t-shirts. Dean placed a set of two pyjamas, a long dressing gown, and a pair of slippers into the cart. Ben still had clothes to find besides the bare basics you had picked up.

Reaching out, you picked up a t-shirt with an American Eagle with the flag behind it. Patriotic. Sure, it was stereotypical, but honestly, you had no idea what he would wear. You pulled the t-shirt off the rack and brought it to Ben’s chest. He pulled a face at being treated like a child, but he wasn’t helping. You threw the T-shirt into the cart. Ben fished it back out, annoyance etching his face, and picked up a size bigger. Right. He was jacked. You’d forgotten that with the extra muscles, he would need a size larger than Beau and Dean.

You pushed the cart further, but Ben stood in front, gripping the metal, stopping you.

“I saw you when I was talking to that woman. You were jealous.”

You scowled and pushed against him, trying to ram the cart past, but all it did was jam one of the front wheels.

“Admit it, Y/N. You were jealous.”

Your scowl deepened. Ben wasn’t going anywhere, it seemed. Not until he got the truth from you. To evade him, you went to roll the cart backwards. The metal creaked in his hands. The cart wouldn’t budge.

“We’re not going anywhere until you admit it.”

“Why? So you can feel smug with yourself?”

Ben moved from the front of the cart to you. The metal had warped where he had held it, bending under the pressure of his hands. He stood tall, clearly using his height against you. You strained your neck, looking up. A dumb smirk sat on his face.

“Maybe it will make me smug, or maybe I’m trying to prove something to myself.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Like what?”

“Doll, what makes you think I’ll tell you before you admit to me your jealousy?”

Your scowl came back.

“I wasn’t jealous.”

He snorted with laughter. “Yeah, and I’m a virgin.”

You moved the cart, but he stopped you, again putting his hand on the cart.

“Sweetcheeks, just admit it.”

It was embarrassing to admit. Your pride made you too stubborn to admit. Your hands tightened on the bar. He tested you. on purpose. For what reason? Probably to find out if it would make you jealous or not. Well, it did, and he was probably right. But you weren’t gonna tell him that.

“Just pick out some damn clothes.”

Ben laughed. That deep booming laugh and walked away, allowing you some time for yourself. He knew how to push the right buttons. He knew how to get under your skin. Was that a good thing? Your ex couldn’t even begin to scrape the surface.

You followed as Ben wandered around the clothing section of Walmart. He grabbed some grey sweatpants and undershirt tank tops and threw them into the cart.

“You’re such an old man…” You muttered.

Ben turned around, throwing you a dirty look. Seems he didn’t appreciate that comment. Who wore undershirts in this day and age? Nobody you knew, that was for sure. He had only picked out a handful of clothes. Guess he didn’t need much.

You found Dean and Beau trying on boots. They were laughing together, doing impressions of someone. You didn’t get it until Dean lowered his voice, made himself look all serious and barked out:

“I fart the star spangled banner!”

Of course, it was a perfect imitation. Beau collapsed with a fit of laughter. Behind you, however, was another matter. You turned and collided with Ben. He huffed and snorted, nostrils flaring like a bull preparing to charge. You pressed your hand to his chest. Fuck, it was hot.

“Fuck you, you bendy legged fuckface!”

He stepped forward, forcing you back. You pressed a hand to his chest again.

“Please, Ben. He was only messing. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Ben huffed, hands curled into tight fists. He didn’t care that he was in public, but you did. He took another step closer, again forcing you to step back.

“Watch your mouth.” Ben warned and walked off, presumably to cool off.

You stared after him, calling his name until you could no longer see him. It frustrated you at how sensitive the Supe was. It seemed he could give it but couldn’t take it.

“Jeez, he can’t take a joke, can he?”

You swiped a hand down your face and turned to Dean and Beau.

“Y’know, I was kinda hoping that since you both have a nice friendship thing going, that Ben would join in and have the same.”

Beau sat on the stool, looked at Dean and then at you.

“Darlin’…”

Honestly, you didn’t wanna hear it.

“Tell me you were only messing around, D?”

Dean sighed.

“Yeah, I was just messing around.”

But from his tone, you could tell he was lying. An array of emotions pained you, but disappointment was the biggest one that fatigued you. You had expected better of him and Beau.

“I’m gonna go look for him.”

Dean stood, moving the shoebox out of his way, before stepping to you.

“Y/N, c’mon…I was only messing around.”

“Oh, yeah? Who else did you impersonate? Or was it only Ben?”

“He does a really good Yogi bear impression.” Beau piped up, not helping at all.

“I know!” You snapped, storming off.

Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican, @k-slla, @deans-spinster-witch, @ashdoctor, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-number-one-fan, @afro-hispwriter, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228.