#drawn-up stirrups

[equinista]

DRAWN-UP STIRRUPS. Available for Download on My Patreon (free!) now! <3

I am SO excited to finally be able to release these and share them with everyone! This was a a lot of work and am so thankful to the amazing content creators who created/converted them from SSO and helped me with several issues I ran into while creating these. This is a collaboration between myself, Schrodcat, and Kamill. There are 3 different Versions, and the top photo gives an explanation along with several photo examples of all 3 versions. (LINKED IN MY PATREON POST ARE LINKS TO Schrodcat's PATREON FOR THEIR SADDLES AS YOU WILL NEED THEIR SADDLES IN ORDER TO ATTACH THE ACCESSORY VERSION TO THEM) --The 1st version is always attached to SC's Jump saddle, that way no accessory slots will be used up and all accessory items can be used on the horse (such as polos/boots/fly bonnets/quartersheets/ect)

--The 2nd Version is always attached to SC's Dressage Saddle, so like with version 1, none of the slots will be used up. --The 3rd Version is an Accessory version of just the Drawn-Up stirrups and can be used on ANY/all of Schrodcat's REALISTIC FIT saddles of any riding style/discipline. (I chose to only attach the drawn-up stirrups 'permanently' to SC's Jump and Dressage saddles as those are the 2 "most commonly used riding styles/disciplines") (Please read the post on my Patreon for more info and Download links!) These draw-up stirrups are perfect for using for photos of lunging horses, before and after rides, tacking up/untacking, leading, having the horse stand tied at a horse trailer between horse show classes, and whatever other situation you can think of as their use is as limitless as your imaginations!

[alkali1]

Fantasy Maternity Ward

It had been a relatively quiet day at the maternity ward, but all of Dr. Ixia's hope of going home on time vanished when she heard the anguished screams of the petite elven woman being carried into the delivery room by her hulking orc husband. Half-orc deliveries were almost always a drawn-out, tortuous affair, and with the three-year length of elven pregnancies, the mother would surely need a lot of time and assistance to squeeze out the 60-70 pound toddler currently cramming its way through her overdilated cervix.

The nurse briefed the goblin OBGYN on the patient's status: "She's carrying a singleton, half-orc 163 weeks pregnant, and nearly fully dilated." The doctor's eyes widened at hearing how long the pregnancy had been. Elves usually couldn't handle bearing interspecies babies the full three years, but this woman had gone severely overdue. She shuddered thinking about the sheer size of the baby, and whether her body could even stretch enough to accommodate it.

The patient was helped into the birthing bed, her feet strapped up into the stirrups. Her breasts, sagging low with milk, were pushed up into her face by the enormity of her womb, which dominated the rest of her body. From Ixia's low angle it looked like it could be the size of the rest of her combined. The elf's straining, barrel-sized belly shifted back and forth as the strong, overdeveloped child confined within writhed, desperate to be born.

The doctor reached into the patient's swollen pussy to examine her cervix. She found her to be fully dilated, with the baby's watermelon-sized and colored head battering against the elf's hopelessly tiny pelvic inlet with each desperate push.

"Huff...huff...stuUUUUUUUUUCK!" was all the poor elf could say as another contraction made her strain desperately to squeeze the colossal head through her unyielding hips. "We're going to give you a little something to help you stretch", said Dr. Ixia, loading up a syringe with a clear potion.

Ixia made three careful injections into the ligaments holding her pelvis together, one in the front and one on either side of her delicate tailbone. She wrenched the strirrups back, bringing the elven woman's feet almost parallel to her head. The patient let out a desperate scream as she reacted to the burning sensation of her pelvic ligaments stretching like taffy.

With her hips finally widened enough for her pushes to slowly start squeezing the overdue toddler downwards, the patient writhed underneath the suffocating boulder of her belly, clinging desperately to her orc husband's burly arm. Each push brought a few agonizingly slow millimeters of progress, and with it an unimaginable searing pain that made her scream and wail that her hips would split. Though this was one of the most disproportionate births she'd attended, it was nothing the veteran doctor hadn't seen before. Ixia squirted some lubricating oil into the now bulging cunt of her patient, working it in around the brow of the child to hopefully ease its passage somewhat.

After a few hours the head was just barely starting to approach the elf's bulging lips. With a sliver of green skin visible, each push made her swollen flower distend just a bit more, until it formed a sickening bulge several inches wide. Her perineum was pulled so tight that it dragged her anus open with into a teardrop shape.

Ixia sighed, realizing that the elf's hole was just too small and tight to stretch around the colossal toddler head. She gently ran her fingers around the taut rim, testing its pliability and trying to stretch it around a little more of the huge skull. There was just no way it was going to fit without splitting the poor elf wide open.

"Ready the traction forceps," Ixia said to her assistant. As the device was being assembled, she rubbed a sticky potion into the elf's vaginal lips and perineum. "This will help you stretch wide enough to deliver." she explained.

With the ointment taking effect Ixia was just barely able to wiggle the curved metal faces of the forceps into the patient's birth canal and secure them into place around either side of the head. She locked them together and hooked the apparatus up to a chain, then turned a crank to create constant pressure against her patient's stubborn cunt.

"IT'S RIPPING MEeeeeeee!" screams the poor elf, struggling to stay calm with the burning sensation in her overstretched cunt suddenly multiplying tenfold. "Calm down, you're not tearing. Just breathe and push when you feel a contraction." Privately, Ixia had her doubts. The doctor prided herself on rarely having to cut her patients, but the sheer size of the grossly overdeveloped half-breed could easily prove too large for the extra capacity provided by the stretching ointment.

Over the next three hours the elf's grotesquely stretched pussy gradually stretched around the baby's boulder-like, fused skull. The doctor periodically ratcheted up the tension, and reapplied more ointment to the patient's vulva and perineum. But just before it reached its widest point, it stopped progressing.

The red-faced elf gasped as Ixia explained that the shoulders had become stuck on her tailbone. "Brace yourself, this will be quite uncomfortable." said the doctor as she pulled on an elbow-length surgical glove.

Ixia carefully squeezed her hand into the gaping maw of the elf's rectum. She faced severe resistance from the stretching and squeezing being exerted on the hole by the massive obstruction lodged in the birth canal. Every square inch of space in the moaning patient's pelvic cavity seemed to be taken up by the baby, but finally the doctor was able to get some leverage on the shoulders.

With the next push she attempted to rotate the anterior shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. It was completely wedged against the unusually prominent bone. With a sickening pop, the fragile spur gave way. Ixia quickly withdrew her arm from the patient and provided counterpressure as the unstuck baby surged forward.

"Try to pant through the urge to push. If it comes too quickly you're going to tear yourself badly." But the agonized elven woman was far too deep into the throes of labor to resist her body's desperate signals. With the next contraction the head finally popped free from her gaping cunt with a gush of fluid. Ixia disengaged the forceps and gently guided the shoulders and torso out. With one more quick push the gigantic toddler fully emerged from the elf's blown-out birthing hole.

Ixia needed help from her assistant to lift the child onto the mother's chest. As the new parents cooed over their firstborn and the nurses cleaned him up and did their examinations, she supervised the delivery of the placenta and stitched up the shockingly minor tears in the elf's loose, swollen-purple hole.

"76 pounds 15 ounces!" announced one of the nurses after weighing the chubby newborn boy. "One of the largest I've ever delivered" thought Ixia to herself. With the ordeal largely over, the doctor advised the patient to stay on bedrest for at least six weeks while her tailbone healed and alchemically stretched body parts slowly returned to normal. Finally, hours after she expected, she could go home.

[jorvikzelda]

So. Star Stable's Spotify header.

I saw this on a little trip to SSO's Spotify page to see if they'd released any music without announcing it again and went hm. This looks kind of weird. I sure hope they haven't stooped so low as to use AI for their promo material. And then I looked closer.

First thing I noticed was the stirrups. Or, should I say... "stirrups".

Did they like... employ someone who doesn't know how tack works? What IS that? Also I'm only noticing this as I'm writing the post but why on earth does the boot not have proper laces or eyelets

And what the fuck are these weird straps on the saddle? And the guitar straps aren't attached to the guitar?? Actually... it can't be... but let me look at the hands. Just real quick

Uh. hm. that's not very hand. Are they fucking using AI

OH BOY.

The bit and the reins are... not properly attached to one another, just welded together. The noseband just disappears. The buckles at the top of the bridle don't really exist and the chin strap doesn't fit properly at all. The reins are double on one side, but not the other, and one or both of the reins on the far side almost look attached to the breast collar - or they're just being held a lot looser than the near side rein. Also, you need a very specific type of bit to use double reins, which is not the type of bit that's on this bridle. Or maybe the two weird straps are supposed to be a fucked up martingale, and that's why they're attached to the breast collar? But then why does the horse only have one rein? Also the martingale is attached wrong if that's what it's meant to be, see below (it's never attached directly to the bit). The breast collar is also attached to the underside of the saddle, rather than the saddle itself like it should be. The horse's front shoulder looks like it's drawn by someone who doesn't know very much about horse anatomy, or... y'know... AI.

The cart isn't fucking attached to the fucking horse. Poor guy is dragging that thing along with one singular back leg.

The keyboards all have the wrong number of black keys in the wrong places. And also those knobs do not look right. Oh, and something is DEFINITELY wrong with that drum kit.

And also just look at this fucking horse. Yeah, it's passable as a horse, but have you seen the quality of SSO's horses and horse art??? This isn't even anywhere CLOSE to that

So yeah uh, SSE used fucking AI art for their spotify banner. I feel like this is the greatest punch in the gut they could've possibly sent their laid-off artists' way. You cannot defend this.

[sleepsart]

Rattling the bars of my cage ,,, bring the eggs back ,,,,

[ ID: A drawing of Fit and Ramón, with Fit being drawn from the thighs up, and Ramón being fully visible. Fit is carrying Ramón, and is facing away from the viewer. He's wearing an orange t-shirt, a brown pair of pants, and he has a grey prosthetic arm that is secured with various brown straps. Ramón is asleep and hugging Fit. He's wearing a red aviator's cap, a pair of brass goggles, a red-orange t-shirt, khaki shorts, dark red stirrup socks, and a bracelet with a mustache charm on it. He has horns, pinkish wings, clawed feet, longer ears, and a pointed tail. His hair is long and curly and pulled into a ponytail. His face is mostly obscured, but he looks calm and asleep. The background is grey. End ID ]

Tag list: @luna-spacedoodles @convexers @renchanters @grey-nova @chimbamuerto @gardenergulfie @oakskull @griancraft @bellemyers @solardashpraxus

[blackseafoam]

These Wells Are Dried

Part 1 of 2

Next

The Red Lantern is a story I rolled up with The Broken Cask self-guided rpg book. It’s about an inn on the edge of a barren wilderness, owned by a "grumpy on the outside, soft on the inside" half-elf (Nicco) and run by his staff (Arturo, a human ranger and Elleh, a gnome bard). I highly recommend the book! It is so fun, and it got my confidence way up for DMing and creative writing.

The setting is based on the high desert and shrubsteppe of Eastern Washington and Oregon, a very special place.

whumptober 2024. Day 04. sunburn l healing salve l heatstroke l "if my pain will stretch that far"

WC: 2445

SFW no warnings really just peril, bad decisions, and someone almost dies

The high plain’s summer race was brutally hot this year. So bad that many participants had scratched before the starting gun even sounded, despite having trained years for this moment.

Nicco knew his horse could handle it. Cataldo was made for this weather, and the two of them had braved worse together. If anything, the severe heat wave would give them a competitive edge. 

Each year, the Red Lantern Inn hosted the race as one of the checkpoints as well as the first aid headquarters. The famous location had been run by Nicco’s family for generations. The rustic wood paneled operation was self-sustaining, being this far out in the shrubsteppe wilderness. Despite the remote location, travelers came from all over for the experience. Not only was it a place to see riders coming and going, it boasted famously delectable dishes, had quaint lodging, and a haunting bottomless spring in the cellar with healing properties.

The spring had always been open to the public, until five years ago. Nicco had boarded up the cellar and magically sealed the door with no explanation. Since then the inn had lost a good chunk of business, making the High Plains Horse Derby a crucial opportunity to catch up on profits. 

The starting line was twenty miles east of the Red Lantern. Where the tall ponderosa pines on the edge of the nearest mountain range offered the last shelter any of the riders would see for days. From this spot the high desert stretched out below, rolling hills stretching out until they became flat plains far beyond.

Nicco trotted Cataldo in the nearby clearing, a race veterinarian standing by to assess the beast’s gait. A horn rang out. Ten minutes till start. The half elf secured his long black hair into a ponytail and checked his pack one last time. Water was a concern, but he knew this land well, probably better than any of the other racers. Several springs along the way should be his saving grace, so he skimped on water. His gaze drifted up to the other riders heading for the starting line, heavy water skins bouncing with every stride. Nicco would make do with just two. He knew this land, it had always cared for him, and he for it. It was a risk, but calculated. 

Riders stood abreast at the line drawn in the dirt at their feet. The fresh scent of pine needles crunching under hoof perfumed the air along with the excitement and adrenaline of three dozen horses and three dozen riders. Nico patted Cataldo’s already sweating neck, a confident smirk gracing his face as he made eye contact with the rider next to him, who was ogling at Nicco’s lack of waterskins. 

The chatter grew more quiet as the three minute flag holder ran across the field.

The race marshall began the count down.

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT…”

Nicco ground the balls of his feet into the stirrups, heels down.

“...SEVEN, SIX, FIVE…”

He choked up on the reins and flexed his elbows.

“...FOUR, THREE…”

He shook a stray hair out of his face.

“TWO”

Breathe in.

“ONE”

Breathe out.

BANG. The starting gun went and so did thirty six horses. In an instant, Nicco positioned himself up in the saddle, taking his rear off the leather. As everyone around him whipped and kicked, he simply gave Cataldo the space to do what he did best. 

Run.

-

“He’s here!” Arturo leaned out the window as he watched the telltale dust cloud of a group of riders nearing. They were just dark shapes, peeking in and out of view as they traversed the low hills and short sage bushes. Elleh put down the dish she was cleaning and ran to the door. The two of them jogged to the checkpoint station to cheer for their boss. As they neared they saw his waterskins were shriveled, completely empty, his face was flushed red. 

“Nicco are you okay?” Elleh was immediately concerned. 

“Quite fine, Elleh.” He dismounted as the race volunteer signed him in. He leaned closer to her and Arturo “First spring was dry, but it was the smaller of the three.” He said in a hoarse whisper, his lips were severely cracked already. “The next one will have water."

Arturo hummed doubtfully “We have extra water bladders, Ni–”

“NO.” Nicco cut him off. “If you help me I’ll be disqualified, remember? I’ll just refill here, and the next spring is 10 miles away.” He stormed off, leading Cataldo to a cooling off station. Arturo cast Elleh a worried glance, she shrugged and went back inside. When Nicco was cranky AND set on an idea, there would be no convincing him otherwise. 

-

The next spring was dry. 

Nicco tried digging into the cracked earth but it was no use, the deep-rooted plants bordering the basin had already begun to whither and drop their seeds. He bit his thumbnail as he decided what to do next, he looked over at Cataldo. The horse was absolutely drenched in sweat, and they still had a long way to go. He weighed his remaining water in his hands. Surely the next spring, the largest one will have water. With a decisive nod he lowered his hand and mounted again. 

The heat had become even more unbearable as the day wore on. It made Nicco feel like he were fermenting from the inside, sticky sweat clinging to every inch of his skin, nausea creeping up with every stride of his mount.

-

Seven miles further, with 25 more to go. Nicco left the marked trail once more, to find his secret spring. He followed a small gravel line to a low spot behind a hill, anxiously leaning forward to see what awaited. 

A basin of dust. 

Panic immediately rose in the half-elf’s throat. He most certainly was not going to make it to the finish line, that much he could decide right then and there. He had gambled and lost, but what was worse is that Cataldo was an equal in these consequences. He dismounted, wringing his hands and looking at his steed. Taldo probably looked better off than he did. Being a thin-blooded desert horse, he could withstand the lack of water if Nicco was careful. 

He had already given all of his water to the horse on the way here, with a pinch of salt for electrolytes, but Nicco hadn’t had anything to drink but one sip on his way to the second spring. He scratched at his beard nervously one last time, still looking around at the ground as if water would spontaneously erupt out of the earth. There was only one thing to do, head back as efficiently as possible. The rider undid his top wrap. He would share his sun protection with his horse to hopefully save on sweating. Upon remounting, he tucked one end of the fabric into the browband of the bridle, between Taldo’s freckled ears. Then he took the rest of the fabric and tucked it into his belt, creating something of an umbrella for the nag’s neck. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do. 

Nicco chirped and squeezed his legs ever so slightly, sending Cataldo into a trot, the most energy efficient way home. Immediately, he could feel the heat of the early afternoon sun begin to prickle his exposed chest, shoulders, and back.

-

A cowbell rang on the west corner of the inn, the cooling station volunteer had been instructed to ring it upon anyone returning to the checkpoint, alerting the staff and medics to prepare for something to potentially be wrong. 

Elleh and Arturo, in the middle of serving food, hurried to the windows along with most of the guests. The cowbell hardly ever went off, but this was the third time they had heard it today, two other riders had scratched out of caution for the heat just an hour ago.

“Can you see the rider?” short-statured Elleh couldn’t see past the crowd, and began to make for the door.

Arturo squinted and craned his neck, “It’s Nicco.” He looked back at her with wide worried eyes. Elleh burst out the door.

Elleh was concerned by Nicco’s sun-baked face before, now she was horrified. Nicco swayed on the saddle as he came in, eyes half-lidded and red, red like the rest of his blistering skin. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, neck, and shoulders with sweat. He swayed harder as he slowed Cataldo to a walk, leaning forward and gripping the front of the saddle, his wrap top that had been protecting the horse’s neck fluttered to the ground. The tiny gnome rushed toward the pair “NICCO!” Arturo was right behind her. The station medic was already on the way as well, and the three of them helped Nicco down. 

“All dry.” Nicco huffed as Arturo supported him, the half-elf’s hand still gripping the saddle. His skin looked an awful lot like the rotisseried pheasants they served in the winter time, blistered and charred deep red.

“Damn it Nicco…” Arturo began to pull him away. 

“No… Can’t leave… Dissqualiff’d” Nicco slurred as he gripped the saddle harder. 

“Boss, your race is over.” Arturo said gently. “We have to go inside, now.” The burly man could feel heat radiating off Nicco’s body like a cast iron pan. He reached out and broke Nicco’s grasp on the saddle. He muttered and protested the whole way to the aid tent as Elleh hurried the horse to the shaded stables.

The race medics had already been prepared for dehydration, heatstroke, and sunburn as the number one concern of the day, but did not expect to see a case this bad. Nicco had been sick, twice, in the short walk to the tent, in between incoherent complainings. Arturo was basically dragging him by the time they got him to a cot, and deposited his lanky figure onto the frame like a dead fish. 

-

Nicco’s blank mind didn’t even try to figure out where he was when his eyes squinted open at the gently rustling canvas ceiling of the tent. He had been drugged by an angry customer once, and that was the first thing his mind went to as he felt like his whole body was made of fog. Like how he imagined performing “misty step” would feel, if he knew any magic. He heard a gentle scratching sound above his head, he tried looking up to see, the cold rag on his neck sliding off. A tiny arm caught it before it tumbled off the cot, and placed it back in its place. Elleh’s rosy-cheeked face came in to view, tight with worry, she set her sketchbook on the stool she’d been sitting on and kneeled next to her boss. Her friend. His eyes started to close again.

“Nicco.” She whispered, she would shake his shoulder, but it was the worst burnt part of him and covered in a strange mint green salve. Instead she reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Nicco.” She said a bit louder. 

His eyes opened a little wider now. Some of the fog had lifted and he could comprehend more of the space now. The little gnome was grabbing his hand, it felt nice. He squeezed it back weakly. He took stock of his surroundings, he was on a hammock-like cot, with naught covering him but his underpants and a few cold wet rags draped over him strategically. Several potions and a canteen sat on an empty stool by his feet. 

“It’s bad Nicco.” Elleh frowned. She was never this serious, something was very wrong. “You almost died.” She barely choked out the words while her eyes went glassy. Nicco was still confused, why was she so upset? He hadn’t seen her cry since the first day he’d met her. Elleh was supposed to be the uplifting one. 

“Cataldo…” Were Nicco’s only muttered words in response. 

A flash of frustration heated Elleh’s sorrowful expression. “Your horse is fine Nicco, you gave him all of your water!” She shook her head, then got serious again. 

She hesitated. “Nicco… you have to unlock the cellar. The medics… they said you could have permanent internal damage.” 

His eyes shot up at her with that all too familiar stubborn look. He shook his head as much as he could before he was too dizzy after two shakes. 

“Whatever… whatever it is, Nicco. Whatever it is you won’t talk about. It isn’t worth this. Please, you’re not thinking clearly. Just tell me how to open it. You could die.” She was begging now, having pulled his hand to her chest and squeezing it even tighter. “Just this one time, then we can lo–” She stopped talking when his dark eyes locked with hers, his cracked lips parted to speak. Nicco rolled over and was sick on the ground at the bard’s feet. Elleh released his hand to grab a nearby bucket, patting her boss on the back as the only secrets he let out were what he had for breakfast that morning. 

-

Nicco fought the severe burns and inflammation for days after, the main medic stayed long overdue her contract to tend to him. Arturo offered to call in someone else so she could get home, but she declined, she had to see the job through. A cleric happened to be passing through the second day and treated the innkeeper to the best of his abilities. Nicco fully woke up the next day, to his caring employees again begging him to open the cellar so he could use the healing waters. He simply shook his head, voice too hoarse to respond. 

Once the boss was semi-ambulatory, the medic left, and he sulked around the inn like a lost ghost. Elleh and Arturo constantly fussed over him to stop moving around. He insisted at least to sit in the kitchen to oversee things, but never lasted long. It was only when he was snoring like a bugbear in his seat that Arturo would force him to go to bed. Nicco was unusually quiet for weeks after, clearly hiding his pain from his doting employees, who were also his closest friends. He laid in bed and tears ran down his blistered cheeks once he was alone. They cared so much for him, care he in no way deserved. He could feel his body not working like it should, the horrifyingly abstract wrongness of it. The magical healing of the cellar pool could help immensely… NO. He buried the idea as quickly as it sprouted. No one could go down there ever again. He wasn’t even sure if he could remember how to break the magical seal anyway. He would take his suffering as long as he could, would he die for his secret? Undecided. He drifted off to sleep. 

--

Author's Note:

I've been so excited to share this! I was struggling to come up with an actual story for these characters until I started writing for this prompt. The second part will show up later for whumptober :)

I just gave it a final edit and I'm so glad I wrote this when it was actually hot out because I would never have thought of some of the descriptions otherwise. I've never actually gotten heatstroke but came close when I went to Pompeii in August a few years ago, that place is like a huge brick oven that is also a maze (but also full of really cool stuff). I fell asleep in the taxi home and woke up on the Airbnb couch, whoops! Stay hydrated, gamers.

[nnovus]

𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ━━ S.TODOROKI X READER

SYNOPSIS… In which, Shoto Todoroki youngest son of pro hero Endeavour is forced into an arranged marriage with the daughter of Pro hero/ clan leader, Tajima Uchiha.

INFO… Todorokixreader , ShotoTodoroki x sasuke/madarareader, mhaxnaruto, crossover, OC!!reader, OP!Reader, arranged marriage, slightly angst, character development, uchihaclan, readers looks and personality are based off madara/sasuke uchiha.

OTHER…likes and reblogs are appreciated

Part 1 / Part 2

The warp gate swallowed her whole as she found herself in an entirely new area. — Her head was ringing as it seemed to be side effect from the warp quirk.

She fell onto her knees as she looked around noticing she seemed to be in the landslide zone of the USJ training facility.

“Woah, I wasn’t expecting them to send me a woman to kill.” A masculine flirtatious voice was heard coming from a large distance behind the Uchiha.

She sat on her knees ignoring the person who seemed to be behind her. The ground seemed to be made out of dirt and sand which was quite an advantage to her.

She sat still while her finger tips pressed onto her forehead trying to ease her the pain of her headache.

“Hey, Hey!! Don’t ignore me!!” The voice called out as she didn’t bother to turn to face it. Although it was quite obvious that the man seemed to be another villain.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she stared at a piece of shattered glass standing in the sand which allowed her to catch a glimpse of the man’s reflection.

He had slanted blue eyes with thick black eyeliner under them along with that he had long golden-blond hair which he wore drawn into a half ponytail with the rest hanging down freely.

The bang hanging over his left eye is what concealed his eye scope signifying that he was a long-range fighter

He wore a V-neck, sleeveless, midriff shirt along with pants, stirrups, and traditional japanese sandals. He also wore a utility belt with two bags on either side.

“Keep it down would you, I have a damn headache.” She angrily argued as her eyes shut tight. His veins popped as he heard the women disrespect him so easily.

As she slowly opened her eyes she saw in the glass reflection, a large type of clay insect crawl out of the man’s utility belt bags.

It was obvious to her that it had something to do with his quirk so it was easy for her to encounter it. As the clay animal had gotten closer her eyes widened as it had now exploded.

“BAAM!!” He yelled. His manically smile in full effect. Certain he had gotten her with the explosion as black smoke covered where she sat.

His eyes widened to see the smoke clear up as the remained there completely untouched.

She had turned her head lowering it as her chin touched her shoulder. Her side continued to face male. As the male had now noticed her bright red eyes.

His sweat dropped, and his teeth gritted as he made eye contact with her furious sharingan eyes. He noticed she seemed more pale than when he had first seen her. Was she getting sick or something?

She kept her usual hairstyle that was down with shoulder-length bangs framing the sides of her face covering most of right eye.

Her hero costume consisted of dark blue pants, over which hangs a blue cloth that covers her from her stomach to her knees and which she secures with a purple rope belt

She complements this with a white long-sleeved shirt kept open at the torso as her chest was covered with bandages. Although it didn’t take any away from her femininity. She also wore black arm guards that cover both of her forearms.

She seemed to keep her sword held in its black scabbard that was placed behind her being held by the purple rope belt. It was a larger size than a normal chokutō.

Getting up from her knees, she was quick to grab her sword and rush towards the blonde male. He was shocked at her speed as she seemed like practically teleported.

He jumped back just in time dodging the swing of her blade, landing back onto a half demolished house of the landslide arena.

He was quick to decide his next move as he shoved his hands in both pockets of his utility belt pulling out multiple of the same clay insects, as he threw them towards her.

He watched as she seemed to be gathering lighting in her hand, piercing every single one of the clay insects that came her way.

His heart skipped a beat seeing as Y/N was no longer in his field of vision, now hastily looking around trying to find where she was coming.

He felt a presence creep from behind him assuming it was Y/N he used the clay insect and threw it behind him jumping down from the building before activating the explosion. 

Sliding down from the building he seemed to be clearly frustrated not expecting this to go the way it currently was.

Watching the girl also fall down from the building not seeming to have any damage shown on her psychically.

He stared at her face to face taking notice of her prominent creases that had become more obvious. Another thing was the sclera of her eye had turned a light red making her look pale and weak.

Is she tired? Perhaps sick?Was it a drawback of her sharingan? No it’s definitely the first time he had seen such a thing occur.

“hmph your certainly quick on your feet, I think I’ll play with you for a bit.” The golden-blonde villain teased acting cocky as if he wasn’t struggling just a while ago.

“Another word, and I’m going to kill you and ship your corpse back to that league of bastards.” She threatened her voice clearly in a tone of extreme anger and pain.

She watched as the male had lifted both his hands allowing her to see a mouth on both of his palms. As the mouths from his palm began to vomit out liquidly clay.

It didn’t take long for the liquidly clay to form into two weird shaped human beasts. Though Y/N could tell from the way the beasts launched at her. They weren’t very strong.

“What a joke.” She muttered using her sword to slice through the first clay beast that ran towards as it tried to punch her.

Letting go of the sword and then using her combat skills to take down the other. With the first beast already taken down and melted back into its primary form.

The Uchiha raised her eyebrows to see that smaller clay beasts were formed each time they were cut.

Using her Sharigsn she was able to see from the wielder that his quirk flow only stops when the clay detonates and explodes.

Using that knowledge to her advantage then spread herself to run around the landslide training facility as the smaller beasts she had cut down began to chase after her exploding each time they had gotten close.

She had now put some distance between her and the cocky villain as she was out of his sight meaning he can only guess if she had been defeated by the size of the explosions.

“How’s that..” The villain laughed until he had realised the Uchiha had substituted herself with a tree brunch as her real body stood in front of him once again.

“Substitution huh, well you’re clearly very skilled.” He complimented shoving his hands in his pockets once again fishing for clay.

“Well then..” He added clearly having something up his sleeve that she wouldn’t anticipate.

The villain placed his hands together before an explosion was fired in the exact spot the villain stood.

As smoke cleared up, Y/N could see her enemy stood on top a massive clay dragon he seemed to have summoned with that past explosion.

She twitched her eyes to see the dragon open his mouth as clay bombs come crawling out scattering themselves as they hurried themselves underneath to make a Landmine.

It wasn’t long before the clay dragon began to blast itself off into the sky as it began flying above her in circles not wanting to touch the ground.

“Answer me this, can that giant thing be an explosive aswell?” She asked but in all seriousness she knew she wouldn’t get an answer.

“Like I’ll tell you..” He said as his cocky tone only made the Uchiha get more annoyed.

She had picked her sword up when she had seen the male put his hands together one more time watching the dragon open his mouth to launch a miniature beast flying her way.

The miniature beast was faster than the others but when it had reached her it gave a weaker explosion she had gotten caught in.

Using her arms to cover her face as she slightly got blown away with the explosion. To counter she stabbed her sword into the ground to give stability.

As the explosion cleared up she grabbed her sword and threw 15ft in front of her, where she assumed the land mines would be.

In truth the blonde had no idea what she was doing until she had disappeared from his sight once again only for then to be seen standing on the Pommel of her sword.

He couldn’t deny her speed and flexibility were something else, the best his ever seen if his being honest.

His veins popped to see that she had gathering lightning and infused it with her sword that was through the ground to disable the land mines.

He watched her use the lighting that surrounded her hand and shaping the lighting into a long blade emanating from her arm.

Lifting her hand he watched Y/N pierce through the clay dragon wings while still staying at a distance.

“What the hell-” He whispered to himself, frustrated as his clay dragon began to fall down unable to fly anymore.

…

She was too quick for him. His lips now trembled as a string of blood left his mouth running down onto his chin. Heavy breathing left the villains mouth.

Right now Y/N stood an inch away of him as all five of her fingertips pressed onto the males chest. As the clay dragon that had fallen, laid behind them paralysed.

His eyes twitched as he realised she had infused lightning energy(chakra) into his body making him unable to move. He collapsed onto his knees. Head hitting the ground as his body remained in agony.

He was still conscious though it seems he was unable to move. His eyes refused to leave the Uchiha that stood in front of him staring him down as she looked mesmerising.

As the natural light hit her face allowing her to sharingan glow as he saw his own reflection in her eyes.

“It’s beautiful..this..” He weakly whispered as the girl only stood staring at him.

“This is art.” He angrily continued as it was hard to listen to the male as words struggled to come out his mouth.

A hard kick by the girl was connected to his face as his body practically flew hitting a demolished building across Y/N.

As he was now able to get a view of her whole figure he realised she had become frail and worn out as she seemed to take heavy pants.

“But how, how’d you figure it out.” He asked gripping and scratching the ground as it was the only type of movement he was able to do in his state

“I knew it a while back when I first activated my sharingan.” She replied as the small bits of lighting sparked around her body.

“When facing the sharingan you really oughta make ur movements out of the line of sight because no matter how fast you are. These eyes can read them.” She said as each word that left her mouth made the blonde angrier.

“Explosions use earth style, while I use chidori which is lighting style, you do the math. Earth style is vulnerable to lightning.” A frail cocky smirk appearing on her face.

“These eyes see’s quirk energy as colours, so when I looked at you I saw that your body had the same energy in those bombs.”

“I didn’t understand it right away, but when I touched you with lightning I finally understood it.”

“You’re a walking bomb aren’t you?? Your body is made out of the same stuff as those clay insects, so lighting should be able to restrict your movement for a while.” She said and guessing by him gripping onto the floor harder she seemed to be correct.

Suddenly she felt a painful tension occur on Uchiha’s as a terrible soft outcry was heard leaving her mouth.

As her eye pain only worsen she lowered her head, placing her palms on top of her eyes, coloured nails only digging deeper into her forehead.

It took no longer than a second before she collapsed onto her knees, her chest inches away from the ground as she used her elbows for support.

Her head spinning. Each thought felt heavier than the last, a wave of nausea completely taking over her.

A gag escaped her lips, and before she could brace herself, she was hunched over, the contents of her stomach erupting onto the floor with a force that left her gasping.

“You sure can’t talk tough, you’re on your last legs too. You’re not any better than me.” He snickered wanting a reaction out of the girl.

His face flushed. He was furious. He hated how the girl managed to stay calm no matter what was said. Did she not take him seriously or something?

“How are you still calm, shouldn’t you be worried just a little? THAT IS WHAT ANNOYS ME THE MOST!! YOU THINK YOUR JUST SO COOL!!” He raised his voice. Rage taking over his mind.

He reminding Y/N of Bakugou, as they were both short tempered with powers involving explosions.

“Those eyes! Those over confident eyes make me so sick. Your eyes judging me and my art, I’ll never forgive them for that.” He continued as it was hard for the Uchiha to understand him with half her head in a blur.

“You have absolutely no respect for my art I can tell that you don’t I can never forgive those eyes that just ignore my art.” He was gasping for air as the yelling tired him out even more.

“I couldn’t care less about all that.” Y/N calmly replied lifting her head to make eye contact with him. It was true that after vomiting the pain did seem to ease.

Her eyes widened as the same warp gate from earlier appeared underneath where the villain laid as the warp started to cover his body.

“That’s enough, Deidara..” The voice from the wrap portal spoke up.

So that was the villains name. Deidara. She watched the mysterious figure use his quirk to teleport Deidara somewhere he couldn’t be reached.

It didn’t take long for both the two villains to disappear leaving the Uchiha by herself… She slowly got up as her balance was slightly loose.

She turned her head as she felt a sudden change in temperature. Considering she was inside the USJ facility it was expected to be hot.

Which made it clear, as the air became colder. Todoroki must be near by…

[tsupertsundere]

FFXIVWRITES 2024 - Day 1 - STEER Incomplete ---- 742 words ----- Notes: DID NOT EXPECT TO POST THESE NOW but the submission works differently than I thought it would.

editor's notes: the first day is just proving that I can make something like this exist.

Angeline Carax's focus had a weight of its own sometimes. That was according to the family mythology - so heavy that it would slip out of her head and roll onto whatever had caught it, drawn up and absorbed like honey on the tongue. "I'd like to savor it just as much," Angeline said when she was finally able to, which was far too late for it to have mattered, "but the connection seems made to be broken."

Many things are, her mother Wisteria commented drolly. The resulting argument was as tedious as it had been familiar, a long time ago. Distant now, very nearly sweetly so.

It made her lip twitch into a light smile, even as that weighty focus now had caught and spread across the expanse that unrolled before her - Shaaloani, Tural. She had just traced a path through it to reach this vantage point, one she could fancy she could still trace, and her steed's sides huffed in regular rhythm beneath her as Cinnamon caught his breath after the invigorating climb.

Taking in the fabric of each plain, mesa, prarie, meadow, scrubland, wash - if she could go into it deeply enough, she'd be satisfied. As it stood, just staring would have to suffice, though even that at the wrong moment could prove to be costly.

Cinnamon's ears flicked up first before a deep rumbling made the clasps on the saddle and its attached bags clink. With a little gasp Angeline came to, her fluffy curls bouncing beneath her hat as she shook herself back to herself. The rumbling had grown so intense stones around them leapt like tossed coins and Cinnamon shifted nervously, whinnying.

At once, Angeline tightened her thighs around him and clicked her tongue, that heavy focus falling together in a single point with the weight of a black hole. It swept in a ray at the rocky outcropping, and at her whistle she rocked forward as the same time Cinnamon surged. For an instant an impossibility of horse and rider on uneven land flipped the stomach, but with the flexing and twisting of his supple muscles beneath his skin Cinnamon spilled down the scrub ridge As sure-footed as if he had magnetized horseshoes.

The ridges mellowed out quickly, and the slow build up of gravity gathered exponentially like a bowling ball dropped into a halfpipe - Angeline stood in her stirrups to crane her head as finally she could get a glimpse of a huge dust cloud sweeping in off to her right. /Rrhoneeks?/ she thought furrow-browed - deeper still in the distance small figures were running and waving their arms, only one other similarly mounted and, as was easy to presume by the wail unfurling from them like a banner across the plains, out of their depth.

A broad grin spread across Angeline's face beneath the flopping brim of her hat, eyes devilishly shadowed, and she dropped flat across Cinnamon's back as she kicked him up into a full gallop and set them both on a comet-like arc toward the herd.

The miqo'te on the [horse] slowed its gallop as she caught and lost her breath - she lifted her hat and wiped her brow with her forearm, leaving it resting there as she squinted in surprised relief as the rhoneek herd funneled and then stretched out along the comet's trail. With a sharp HUT she replaced her hat and kicked off to hold up the other side.

The thundering of the rhoneek's hooves rattled toward their home pasture - replaced by the young cowpoke's fervent thanks, and to please not mention this overmuch, especially when her uncle was in earshot. "Mention how well you ride? Now why wouldn't I share that?" was all Angeline said in reply with a conspiratorial grin. "These things happen. Nothing days."

"Nothing happening," the girl replied, returning a fanged one of her own.

Angeline's final assessment: "Yes. You'll be just fine."

The sun was setting as Angeline trotted Cinnamon back to town, passing another miqo'te perched - or rather poured - across a fence, cheeks resting on both fists.

When she approached, the weight of her focus made his tail flick. "Need any help there, sir? You're looking mighty flushed," Angeline affected in a long drawl, her giggles disrupting her good ol' college try at the local accent. His look of astonished delight made the attempt more than successful.

"Wh- why - I - well - " he was laughing too hard and quickly abandoned his own attempt at a high coquettish reply

[demise-seems-dead]

@askingkyborg 's main here to bring you some depressing chip mini fic time because im dying

SPOILERS FOR EPISODES 32-34 AND TW FOR suicidal ideation, self harm, and some mentions of blood.

chip in todays ep was so insane for me i just i couldn't resist.

Mathidle hasn't felt a lot of warmth in their after life, and that's alright. The thing about ghosts is that they feel in opposition to a human. When you're alive, you get a spring to your step. You feel the kisses of the sun bead down over your eyelashes. The wind stirs hunger in your stomach and you fight against it in a little human battle. Your hands get warm when you work for too long, calluses thrumming with your pulse and very very warm. Mathilde knows this to be true.

They don't remember holding a lot of hands, but they remember the feeling, maybe due to its stark contrast to know. When a person is very alive, their hands get warm, and when they are dead and gone, their hands grow cold. And thus for ghosts it works the opposite. When alive hands are as cold as frosty knives but when on the brink of death their hands would be ever so warm. 

Ellgas hands were moderately warm. Not technically undead but having lived multiple life spans she grew warm. With Barney it was impossible to tell. Sometimes his hands felt hot, other times too cold. Hard to discern. By way of logic Chips hands are the coldest of course. Being the youngest of the party somehow, and pretty physically adept, he was the most alive of them all, and thus the coldest. Mathilde can't touch the tieflings hands without a shiver climbing up his non corporeal body. 

That's what made today so different. Chip’s are blazing warm. 

They’d been giving blood to the vanian worker in exchange for currency. Mathilde put themselves close to the brink of death, but for good reason. There is a ghost after all, dying again would be a stunt and a half. Their body has started to float, and their items are starting to slowly fade through their body as he inches closer to full spirit than not. It's not as if they enjoy it, but the familiar tickle isn't a bad thing. 

From beside them a sharp gasp comes from Barney's throat. A head turn shows chip loading up his crossbow, using the cocking stirrup and his foot to slide the bolt back with ease. Its a weird action for someone who had initially seemed hesitant to donate any blood at all. Mathilde raises an eyebrow just as the purple tiefling points the crossbow down at his foot and shoots. A shot of blood stains the white of his shoe and he noticeably grimaces. JJ mews from beside mathilde, circling where his feet are dangling. Mathilde knows kittens know when people are close to passing on, and especially a ghost cat. Mathilde bends a bit to scratch her tiny little grey head to let her know they're okay. It's weird knowing you're close to dying, but as a ghost it doesn't hurt, so it's a bit easier. Another crossbow bolt is shot, and JJ’s ears flatten down a little. 

Mathilde looks back up towards chip. A fuzzy outline is starting to show on him, blue and purple swirly. His face is tight and screwed up, nose pressed into grooves and eyes watering. They can hear a crack of barney's voice, like he's about to say something but pauses. The old man's brow furrows. The teller behind the counter starts counting out money softly, and chip moves in a quick motion. Mathilde momentarily thinks he's putting it away, but after a moment it's drawn, but up by his head. 

“Mon ami, maybe be a little bit more careful w-” Mathilde doesn't finish their thought before the bolt is wedged in chip's neck. It drips a long red string, and mathilde can see ellga lick her lips ever so slightly, but does not ignore the slight worry in her brows. 

Mathilde knows Chip can't take many more shots. Three if he was lucky. Yet it doesn't stop him from moving again. Mathilde closes their eyes as he hears the loading noise, and with the shot the blurry ghost-like outline grows stronger, the purple colour bloombing out more. Another shot. That makes five. He can only take one more. JJ is meowing at the tiefling, who's struggling to stand, blood dripping out of his mouth and leaned over the counter. The clerk seems unphased. 

Mathilde closes their eyes again, and sees a new colour. A soft green pushing the blue and the purple away in the dark. Instinctually, as the light brightens, mathilde opens their eyes. Chip is shuttering audibly, eyes lazing open and shut as he braces.

“Carols gone, what else is there to lose…?” JJ bats at chip’s leg, as if in an effort to stop him. Mathildes face stiffens  at the assassin's comment, and they gently wrap an arm around chip, protectively surrounding him with his wings. 

“Alright, I think that's enough. We’ve got plenty of spending money, right chip?” “...Spendin’ money… r-right, right yeah! Were, were rich!” The brunette moves to pick up his currency and his fingers fumble uselessly, eyes lidded slightly. Mathilde makes their hands noncorporeal and gently scoots the coins to his hands without him noticing, not to make him feel coddled. The alchemist shoots a look over his shoulder at mathilde, and mathilde nods back. The mood remains a bit darker and dreary, but chip seems somewhat stable. Mathilde takes his hand gently. The tieflings hands are warm as can be, and it makes a flood of warmth come over mathilde themselves. 

Weirdly, if just for a moment, he feels a second hand reach over theirs. They close their eyes and see a ghostly outline of a tiefling woman, her hand over yours and chips. She presses a finger to her lips and gives a soft but saddened smile. She mouths to them gently.

“Don't let him down this path, mathilde…” A ghostly wiz-consinite voice whispers in their head. He opens his eyes again to see chip leaning down, smiling at a photo in his hand. Mathilde smiles softly.

“I'm glad she's watching over you, my friend.” they say even though the rogue will likely forget his words from the blood loss. He nods and smiles a bit more. 

“‘M glad too, mathilde…” 

[ladylooch]

Hiiii! 👀

Could you write about T&Em first time after one of the babies? The 6 weeks of waiting must have been crazy! Ily 😘

-💜

A/N: First I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!! Okay, now I can focus on writing this… I am using after Emma gave birth to Liv here. Because I feel with the twins they waited longer than 6 weeks and Emma had a “get the fuck away from me” mindset ☠️🤣

“How are you feeling?” Emma’s doctor asks as she is washing her hands in the sink.

“Great.” Emma responds cheerily. She truly is feeling well, which made the 6 week rule feel harder than she remembered it being with Lio. 

“And Livia is good?” 

“Yes! We are thinking of keeping her.” Emma jokes. 

“Ha! Good! How is Lio? You can lay down.” She says as she comes to her stool. 

“He’s… adjusting? Not quite used to sharing our attention.” Emma admits as she lays back. After two babies and countless doctors, nurses, and med students looking at her giving birth, having her feet in stirrups no longer phases her. 

“All normal. How is Timo? Boys are playing well.”

“Very well. We are looking forward to playoffs.” 

“Great! Well…” She pauses. “I am going to give you the green light here. Everything looks good. You’re feeling good. You have your birth control going?”

“Popping them like mints.” Emma chuckles. 

“I can’t remember, did you want to do an IUD again?”

“Um, I don’t think so. We are going to try to stick with the pill for now. Having a different brand and dosage makes me comfortable with going back after Lio.”

“Okay. Well if you change your mind, give us a call. Have a great day. Thanks for the pictures of Livia!” 

Emma quickly hustles to change back into her work outfit. She has an hour to get 16 blocks, but she isn’t quite sure if that’s going to cut it. She stuffs her heels in her bag as she walks out of the clinic, opting instead for her sneakers. On her way to the event center, she sends Timo a quick text.

You may pass go tonight.

Her husband’s internal response? Fuck waiting until tonight.

- - - 

Emma is hustling up to her office to go answer some emails she had been reading through on her phone. The event downstairs is going well and the assistant event planner had everything covered in the main space, leaving Emma to focus on the next event happening this weekend. Emma pushes the door open to the office suite, then heads to the water cooler to refill her water bottle. She takes a big chug, then almost chokes at the shadow of someone in her office. 

But she has nothing to worry about. Leaning against her desk is Timo Meier. He’s in one of his game day suits, his bare ankles crossed together, hands stuffed into the pockets of his blue, pinstripe suit. 

“Ah… hi.” Emma is breathless in the doorway. She glances over to where her window shades are drawn, looking out into the rest of the office. They are normally open. “What’s up? Are the babies okay?”

“They are.” Timo murmurs, not moving from where he is. 

“Timo.” Emma begins to shake her head. “We can’t.”

“Sh.” He cuts her off briskly. “Shut the door.” He tosses two finger in a backwards motion. She doesn’t move. Timo sighs, standing up, walking towards her. He towers over her as he reaches beyond her, putting his hand on the side of the door. “If you seriously don’t want to do this, you can walk out this door right now. No questions asked.” It’s the way he allows her to make a dash for it that has Emma’s inner muscles clenching.

“If I stay?”

“We are going to fuck the pictures off your desk again.” Emma moans, pushing Timo’s chest to knock him back towards the point of discussion. Timo startles back, blue eyes going wide with excited surprise. “That’s my girl.” He catches her as she leaps towards him. He hoists her up on his chest, bringing a hand to her ass to hold her up. “Finally going to give you a proper thank you for my perfect, baby girl.”

“I shouldn’t like that sentence.”

“Yeah you should. You’ve been so good to me. Now I’m going to be good to you.”

Emma can’t help but whimper as he sets her down on her desk. He sits on her office chair. Heavy inhales have her lips quivering as Timo runs his finger tips up her thighs.

“Can I taste you?” Emma nods earnestly. “Nipples?” 

“No.”

“How deep?”

“We will play it be ear.”

“Okay.” His fingers dart under her skirt, hooking around her panties and pulling them off. They’re red, a bit see through but a distinct, wet trail has dampened the fabric. Timo grins.

“You know I was coming?”

“I figured.” She admits, working her way back to rest her weight on the heels of her hands behind her. She brings her leg up to his shoulder, then hooks her ankle around the back of his head to bring him closer to her core. He laughs wickedly, then dives tongue first into her heat. 

Every stoke of Timo’s tongue against her folds has Emma trembling against the glass top of her desk. His big hands come round her hips, pulling her by her ass to his mouth. His tongue works and slurps her clit, like it’s a dripping ice cream cone he wants every drop of.

“Ohmygod.” Emma breathes out. The words shake in her mouth. “Yes. More.” She begs. He adds a suction to his mouth. “Oh yep, right there.” She nods frantically, reaching for his hair and holding him to her. “Don’t stop. Please Baby. Oh… my… Yes!” She squeaks out a needy whine as she comes on his face. 

Her orgasm washes over her folds, dampening her more until Timo isn’t sure what is from her or his mouth. He kisses her clit, causing her to jolt. He stands from the chair, kicking it back and out of the way as he reaches for his belt. He pops it open, staring down at Emma’s drunk daze with hot, burning desire. He is going to have to restrain himself from fucking her hard. 

“Tell me how to take you.” He drags a thick digit through her soaked folds, adoring the way she pushes into him. She’s ready again. 

“From behind.” He nods, then gently glides his middle finger into her entrance. She moans, fluttering around the appendage, desperate for more. “Babe, help me up.” He takes her hands, satisfied with how wobbly she stands on her heels. He steadies her, hands at her hips, then turns them. He presses down on her back, falling in love with her again as she looks back at him over her shoulder. 

He works himself out of his pants, giving two pumps of his shaft, squeezing the tip too as he folds her skirt up her back. He puts a guiding hand on her ass, then the other at the bottom of his shaft.

“Are you on the pill?” He asks, pausing at her entrance. He is pretty sure he saw her take it this morning.

“Yes.” She is croaky. Just how he likes her. 

He puts the tip of his dick against her, practically falling over at how good her wet pussy feels around his cock. 

“Mmm.” He moans profoundly as he pushes in. He removes his hand from his shaft, gripping her other hip to pull her completely down on him. Emma turns to jello against the desk. She has a sharp inhale of breath. “Okay?” He pauses.

“Move, T. I’m begging. Will do anything for you to fuck me harder. Please.” Timo’s eyes widen, then his balls tighten at her needy pleads. 

“Anything?” He teases, easing out, then pressing back in. Her moan is louder this time. “Will you scream my name when you cum?” He asks her. She nods, reaching back around to grip his bare ass with her hand. She digs her red fingernails into his thick cheek, encouraging him deeper. He picks a consistent tempo, but three strokes in, he knows he’s not going to last much longer. She feels too good and begs him for more with each thrust. Fuck holding back, she’s okay. Off he goes. Timo’s balls slap hard against Emma’s folds as he rails into her. She puts more pressure into her finger nails.

“Oh…..” She grits her teeth. “Timo, fuck.” She wails. Goosebumps protrude out of her skin, puckering her nipples in her bra as he takes her hard and deep. He slaps her ass firmly, leaving a stinging behind as that pushes her over the edge. Emma comes hard around Timo. He coughs at her fluttering then releases his load inside her dripping heat. 

“Oh my god.” Timo moans as he finishes. “Perfect. Your pussy is perfect, baby.” He assures her. 

Timo puts himself back into his underwear. He redoes his belt as Emma takes a chance to recover. Her pictures are strewn about the office again, making her purse her lips against a laugh. She feels Timo crouch behind her. He lifts one Louboutin pump, then the other, dragging her panties back into place. Then, he pulls her skirt back down, giving her ass a greedy grope. 

“Good as new.” He hauls her up flush against his chest. She melts into him for a moment. “See you at home for round two?” He trails his finger tips up her stomach, resting beneath her breasts.

“Mhm.”

“Have a good event, baby.” He kisses her throat, dragging his teeth over until he leaves a mark. Good thing Emma has make up in her bag. Although, she thinks that may have been her husband’s point. 

Once Emma is steady on her feet, Timo walks to the door, opening and turning to toss her a kiss before he disappears completely. 

“I love you, Mrs. Meier!” He calls out to her as he leaves her office suite. 

Emma giggles, then gets started on putting everything back together, including herself.

[ikeromantic]

Hiiii hope you are doing great!💕

*pulls up to the Ikeromantic drive thru*

I'd like to order a Kyubei with the word ''instructor'' (if it doesn't inspire you a lot you can take the word ''secret''!👀) with some 🥵, if it's possible!

(Btw i just wanted to tell you that i really love your stories, you write so well!!😔👌🏻)

Ding! Fries are done? xD Some Kyubei to quench your thirst. Approx 1500 words with a touch of spice.

Kyubei met the chatelaine at the stables. He didn’t need to ask how she felt about this lesson. He could read her anxiety in the set of her shoulders and the tightness of her jaw. Clearly, she’d never been around horses and was afraid of the large, sometimes flighty creatures.

“Here,” he gestured her over to a bay mare. “This is Ayumu. You’ll be practicing on her today.” The horse was one of the calmest mounts in the castle, and well trained enough that all a rider really needed to do was stay mounted. 

The chatelaine eyed the horse distrustfully. “Are you sure I can’t just walk wherever I’m going? I did track in high school. I can go pretty fast.” 

“Track? High school?” Kyubei found it endearingly strange when she used these made-up words. 

“Umm. Never mind. Anyway, is this really necessary? Where am I even going that I need to ride there?”

He shrugged. “Wherever Lord Oda decides you need to go, I guess.” 

The chatelaine crossed her arms. “Well, maybe I don’t want to just run where he points. I’m fine right here.”

Kyubei laughed at her stubborn expression. She was cute when she made that face, with her eyebrows drawn down and her cheeks puffed out. 

“It’s not funny!”

“It is. Now stop delaying and come meet Ayumu.” He gestured toward the horse. “You want to hold your hand out to her, so she can smell you and decide if she likes you or not.”

“Oh so I don’t get to decide but the horse does,” the chatelaine grumbled as she did what he asked. Her hand trembled as she held it out to the mare. 

Ayumu snuffled her outstretched hand, probably hoping for a treat.

The chatelaine’s expression went from fear and annoyance to surprise. “It - it tickles! And she feels so soft!”

Kyubei’s smiled stretched so wide it hurt his cheeks as he watched the chatelaine scratch Ayumu’s nose and chin. “She likes you.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, you still have all your fingers,” he teased. His reward was a surprised ‘o’ as her eyebrows shot up. “I’m only kidding. I can tell because she looks happy. You can see it in her eyes, the same way you see it in a person’s gaze.”

“Hmmph.” She looked back at Ayumu. “You are as bad as Mitsuhide sometimes, Kyubei.” 

Her smile as she said it made him feel warm inside. He laughed. “I shall take that as a compliment.” 

Once the introductions were done, he showed her the saddle, bridle, and other tack. Ayumu didn’t need a bit, but Kyubei showed the chatelaine that too as he couldn’t be sure what horse she would ride on a journey. As usual, Mitushide had been vague about what type of saddle she should use, so Kyubei made sure to show her all of them - even the ni-gura which a peasant might use to ride. But for their practice, he chose a warrior’s kura, a saddle only warlords and their noble soldiers would use. It seemed . . . fitting.

They saddled Ayumu together, with Kyubei directing as the chatelaine draped and buckled and tied the assortment of gear onto Ayumu. For her part, the mare was placid and didn’t seem to mind the chatelaine’s clumsy work. 

Then came the hard part. “You have to either lift your foot high and put it in the abumi and then swing your other leg over the horse or you can leap up, hook your foot in it, and swing your leg over.” Kyubei grabbed the stirrup to illustrate.

“Ehm. What? Can’t you like . . . lower it a bit?” She stared hard at the abumi in his hand.

“No. If you lower it, you won’t be high enough to swing your other leg over her back. And it’s hard to adjust the straps once you are in the saddle.” He gestured her over. “I will help you get up this time, until you are more comfortable with mounting.”

The chatelaine sighed. “Alright. But remember, I’m doing this under protest.” She put a hand on his shoulder and tried to lift her leg high enough to get it in the stirrup, but it was out of reach. She wobbled precariously, and only a quick hand to her back kept her from falling over.

“Let me give you a boost.” Kyubei knelt down and made a basket with his hands. “Just step -”

The chatelaine didn’t need instructions for this, it seemed. She stepped into his hands and let him boost her up high enough to get her leg over the mare’s back. Then she easily slipped her feet into the stirrups. 

Kyubei watched her face light up with a smile of wonder. She was so beautiful in that moment that he felt his heart stutter as his chest filled with a hopeless, helpless love.

“Is something wrong?” Her expression clouded over as she looked down at him. 

“No - no, not at all. I just had a - an unrelated thought.” He mentally chided himself for letting his emotions show on his face. “So, now you’re mounted. That was the hard part. Riding is easy. You lightly guide with the reins and use your knees to put a little pressure to her side.”

Ayumu huffed at the chatelaine’s clumsy motion and began to turn. In circles. 

Kyubei couldn’t help but laugh as she tried to course correct and ended up going in circles the other way. 

“Stop laughing and help me!” The chatelaine wobbled in the saddle. 

“Ah, hahaha ok. Ok, sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Just let the reins go slack. Yes. See how she stopped?” Kyubei moved closer and reached up to lay his hand over the top of hers. His other hand rested gently on her leg. He was suddenly, terribly aware of her warmth under his touch and his mind went completely blank.

She nodded. “Ok, yes. So how do I make her go forward?”

“Forward.” Kyubei repeated. Her leg was firm beneath the thin fabric of her hakama. He tried to ignore the sensation. Riding. Horse riding, he reminded himself. “You just nudge her side, like so.” He pressed her leg against the mare’s side. 

Ayumu immediately began to walk forward at a sedate pace. 

Kyubei walked along beside her, still resting his hands on the chatelaine. As they approached the edge of the ring, he laced his fingers with hers and tugged the reins gently to turn. Holding hands! They were holding hands! No - no - focus. He looked up.

The chatelaine was looking down at him, her cheeks stained with heat. She looked away as soon as their eyes met. “Umm. So. I - I nudge and . . . tug . . .”

“R-right.” Kyubei pulled his hands away and put them behind his back. “Now you try.”

“Ok.” She took a breath and nudged Ayumu again. The horse sped up a little, turning with the slight pull at her reins. Her smile returned as she rode around the ring a full turn. “Look! Kyubei! I’m doing it!”

“I knew you could.” He felt a foolish smile spread across his face, but he could not stop it and did not really want to. 

She giggled.”It’s actually kind of fun!” She nudged Ayumu to go faster, and the horse complied. They went around and around the training ring, with the chatelaine building confidence in her ability to stop, turn, and speed up. But just as she began to relax, a barn rat darted across the mare’s path.

If there is anything a horse hates, it is small, fast things moving near its legs. Ayumu reared back, tossing her head. The chatelaine tumbled from the saddle. 

Kyubei darted forward, his heart hammering in his ears. It was a split second, but in that tiny sliver of time, he closed the distance between them. She slammed into his chest as she fell, and nearly knocked him off his feet. But he kept his balance, cradling her against him. “Are you ok?”

She went limp in his arms and let her head rest on his shoulder. “I think so?” Her eyes found his and there was something in them. Something warm and sweet as honey. “You caught me.”

“I couldn’t let you get hurt. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” Kyubei knew he should probably set her down but his arms weren’t of the same opinion, and held her more tightly instead. 

“Not even for a few bruises?” She smiled.

Kyubei smiled. ”Not even for a few bruises.”

The chatelaine’s fingers brushed against the line of his jaw. He held his breath at the unexpected touch, even as it ended too quickly. “Thank you, Kyubei.”

“O-of course.” Now put her down, he thought. He forced the tension in his arms to relax and began to set her on her feet. “I - I’m going to set you on your feet, ok?”

Her arms went around his shoulders in a sudden flurry of motion. “W-wait!” 

“What is it? Does something hurt?”

“Maybe?” She let her head settle on his shoulder again. “Give me just . . . just another minute?”

“As long as you like,” he replied. Forever, even, he thought guiltily. Here she was, feeling perhaps a little dizzy or hurt, and all he could think of was how nice she felt in his arms. Love truly did make fools of anyone.

"Thank you." Her breath ghosted across his throat, tickling and light.

Kyubei tried to keep his thoughts together, but they scattered into a thousand imagined moments. Kissing her when she next looked up, those satin lips against his, the way her hair would brush against his cheek as she clung to him. Carrying her to his room, undressing her one undone tie at a time. Letting his hands explore her body with no fabric to separate them.

He wanted her so much that it hurt. The desire he felt, to make love - to know every part of her body and soul and mind. He could imagine late nights of passion, the sounds she would make. And long, slow, gentle mornings. Kissing the sleep from her face before they . . .

"You feel good," she sighed.

"What?" He felt a shiver run through him.

"Ummm. I mean. I. Feel. Good? Not hurt. I mean." She pushed away from him. "You can - ah - set me down?"

The moment between them passed as if it had never happened. Kyubei felt a pang of loss as he let go of her. It took every ounce of artifice and will in him to smile placidly and ask, "Are you ready to get back on the horse?"

[kathyy-21]

Ominis Gaunt x Hufflepuff!F!Reader | "bruises" |

Genre: Fluff/angst

Warnings: mention of verbal bullying/a physical fight.

Summary: Reader getting into a 'Muggle fight' with a Gryffindor students because he was about to put Ominis into an uncomfortable situation.

Relationship can be read as platonic? Maybe. Pre-relationship kind of situation.

Start of story

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

You had known Ominis for a little while by now. You being a Hufflepuff and him being a Slytherin, your paths still crossed rather often, and you didn't really deteste each other despite your differences.

Surprisingly, or maybe not that surprisingly, you grew rather fond of him over the weeks you'd know him, and he could say the same about you if he pleased to do so.

You were walking to your next class with Poppy, chatting happily as you noticed the blonde boy, who should now be headed to a different class. As you wanted to call out for him, you were interrupted by another student, doing just the same, in a much different tone you would have chosen.

,,Hey, Gaunt!", the taller boy yelled through the hallway, causing Ominis to perk up in your direction, his expression only changing into a slight frown.

You on the other hand, were almost pulling a grimace. Even though Ominis had not exactly opened up to you about them, you knew he didn't want to be assosiated with the Gaunts or his doings anymore. So bad, that it must have pained him to be called by his last name in such a voice, that was clearly trying to cause harm to the blind student.

Not thinking twice about it, your body took it upon itself to walk over and confront the bully, appearing to be a Gryffindor. Being at least a tad smaller than him, you had to look up at him, which didn't stop you from trying to put him in his place.

"Who do you think you are?",

You gritted out, voice already sounding pressed, as your opponent lifted his hands up in defense. His swollen voice only made your anger against him grow further.

"What do you mean, I just wanted to call him over by his name... is there anything wrong with it?"

Acting innocently, he pulled up his eyebrows into a concerned expression, only causing you to loose your composion further.

Poppy tried her best to reason with you, but even you insisted on having this issue off the table right now.

As you pulled him down at his tie, there was still hope for it to end peacefully. Ominis had made his way through to you by now, standing at the side of the circle that had formed itself around the two of you, next to poppy.

"Ominis, I'm sorry, uh.." she tried to collect her words to best describe what she was apologizing for, without offending him as well. Yet, the boy had already formed his own picture in his mind.

"But what is she doing..?",

His expression now seemed just as concerned, as he tried making sense of the noises and conversation, over the constant babbling of the other excited students around.

Poppy could only tell him so much:

"I'm not sure if they can find a peaceful solution to this"

His body stiffens, hoping, maybe even praying to Merlin, that this would not end in a duel, since he already had an Idea of what kind of Student you were currently offending, and it did never seem to Ominis that he was much of a fair duelist, ending up seriously injuring people in defends against the dark arts.

A stirrup of commotion in the middle of the situation had drawn both of their attention back to the scenario playing before them. A loud thud and an irritated groal drom the Gryffindor indicating, the situation to Ominis mind: he had already casted a spell at you, and you must be hurt on the ground already.

Trying to interfere in the fight already, Ominis wanted to step forward, but was held back by a hand on his shoulder, that was probably covered in a nervous sweat: Poppy.

"Stop, Ominis... it's not safe. We can't do anything about it right now!",

His expression changed to a softer, but definetely not less concerned one as he turned into her general direction. The girl seemed just as pained by the fact they were helpless right now as he was. Even He knew it wasn't like Poppy to just stand by and watch.

To his surprise, or much more confusion, the commotion wasn't over yet, but he couldn't really make sense of the noise either. As it came to a stop, he could hear both of your heavy breathing, and you both whispering. Ominis was probably the only one being able to hear it clearly, as the other students were already parting ways again.

"I'm... im sorry, okay?",

"Don't apoligize to ME.

This week, better tomorrow, I will ask him and you will have apologized to HIM.",

"Okay, okay, just let me leave, will you?"

"I better not hear from him that your apology wasn't good enough either",

Before the two of you could part, you were already held by professor Sharpe, who seemingly was called by another student to clear the scene and take responsibility of Necessary consequences.

Now that he knew there was a professor nearby, Ominis couldn't contain himself and immediately walked over to you, struggling to find what he wanted to say first. Addressing at sharpe, his voice sounded unusually shaken: "what does she look like, is she hurt..?"

The response only seemed to confuse Ominis more.

,,She looks like a darn troublemaker.",

Were you not the one being beaten up?

By an unfair duelist??

Sharpe promised appropriate consequences for you actions, as he took you to the hospital wing, where you were treated accordingly to your wounds and bruises, the door opening only a little while later, revealing the boy you had taken this all for.

,,Ominis",

You smiled lightly at his appearance, also knowing he was probably upset about your behavior. He seemed a little more pale than usual, and his body language seemed much more uncertain than you knew of him.

"You can sit down here if you'd like... uhm I want to apologize to you",

Ominis nodded understandingly, but immediately shook his head at your apology.

"Stop it.. you don't need to apologize... you got into this fight because of me, and even ended up hurt",

The hint of pain in his voice was not entirely new to you, yet you still had to get used to this vulnerability.

You sat up straight and furrowed your eyebrows once more, trying to understand what he was getting at.

"I'm okay... and it's not like you told me to fight him. It's not more than a few bruises, really.",

It stayed quiet in the room for a little while, until he felt like he could dare to raise his voice again.

"But.. how did you do that? I heard that it wasn't even a duel, but.. a 'muggle fight'",

You laughed at the expression and shook your head lightly to keep your composure. Careful not to spook him, you placed your hand on top of his and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Even though he first wanted to pull away, the warmth of your touch kept him there, just to experience your comfort. It felt so calming, yet scary, since it had been quite a while since he had allowed someone to keep physical contact upright with him for longer.

Turning his gaze to your general direction, he spoke a lot quieter now.

"But is he not.. much taller than you? I thought he had totally beaten you..I was.."

Ominis didn't manage to get the words out, but it was not hard for you to understand what he was trying to say.

"Worried.. I know. And that's why I'm sorry.",

Now taking his hand in both of yours, you continued: "I didn't mean to make such a fuss, but... he was clearly trying to make you feel uneasy.",

After those words, another wave of silence came upon the both of you, the blind boys face now seemed like he was thinking intensely, almost losing his attention on his surroundings at the thought. Then, as he had finally built the courage to say it, your heart skipped a beat at his request.

,,can I.. touch your face? I wish to convince myself of your wellbeing.",

A little tint of pink was on his face, knowing the question might be awkward to you, yet you couldn't contain a smile as you gave him your permission.

,,go ahead",

Leaning a littke into his direction, you took the wrist of his hand he had lifted, to guide him to your cheek. Your skin felt warm and fizzy at the contact, his hands being rather cold. A little giddiness ran through your body as he guide his hand and fingers across your features.

"Thank you...", Ominis whispered, also feeling childishly energetic at the scenario. His touch was careful and soft, yet you couldn't help but flinch away as he came across a particularely nasty bruise around your eye. Ominis expression became a mixture of worry and anger, as he let out a frustrated sigh, dropping his hand again, as he had felt enough.

,,how could you say you're okay, when you feel like this...? This moron really beat a girl like you.. in front of the whole year 6...", the way his lips curled downwards made you hurt inside. Yes, you knew it wasn't appropriate of either of you, yet you felt pretty offended at the thought that this guy, actually did try beating you up without shame. Yet, you give him an amused response.

"Well, I still won though. Apparently he only knows how to duel, but I will stay experienced in physical combat."

You look at him expecting of a little laugh, or anything that would show he's cheered up, yet there was nothing but sadness on his features. You could have sworn, tears were brimming at the corner of his eyes for a second.

The guilt now totally overcame you.

"Oh Ominis... I'd like to give you a hug, is that okay? I'm really sorry",

You knew he might not accept your offer, yet you just couldn't stand seeing him this way. It surprised you even more, when he quickly hugged you instead, clumsily laying his arms around yours, so you could only place your hands to his sides as he sniffled into your shoulders. It hurt a little, since he was putting pressure on another bruise, but you couldn't deny him this either.

Even though you were taken aback, you did not decide to bother him with further talk. You had never seen him like this before, and you were sure, he didn't know how to handle this feeling right now either.

[just-a-girl-who-wrytes]

Part 9 ❤️🍼💍

The following week, David was sitting next to Nikki in her first OBGYN appointment. She had just had her blood work drawn and they were waiting to be called back into the ultrasound room. 

When her name was called, she stood up, excited but hesitant. She was remembering this very same walk when she carried Dakota, but oh, how different this time was.She felt David squeeze her hand which snapped her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t realized she hadn’t moved after standing up. 

“Ready, babe?” He asked softly. 

She nodded and they followed the ultrasound tech into the room. The ultrasound was to determine how far along she was since she had no earthly idea. She was sent to the bathroom to undress from the waist down and returned with a sheet around her lower half. Deacon and the nurse helped her up onto the table. She placed her feet in the stirrups in preparation for the vaginal ultrasound. 

Nikki couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something calming about the love of her life being next to her throughout this process. The human body was nothing to be embarrassed about to Nikki, but she dealt with the nitty gritty on a regular basis. She knew a lot of women felt uncomfortable exposed like this - laying on a table, spread eagle. She knew a lot of women didn’t like a hint of light being on if their pants were down, but David didn’t make her feel like that. She appreciated that. 

David sat on the side of Nikki opposite the ultrasound tech with one hand over Nikki’s on her belly, his other hand stroking the hair on her head. David struggled to make out what he was looking at on the screen as the tech entered the probe into Nikki, but soon saw a little bean shaped baby on the screen. Nikki started crying as soon as she saw their baby and heard the heart beat. Tears welled up in Deacon’s eyes as well. 

“Baby…” Nikki cried. 

“I see, darling.” Deacon said, his tone of voice like a hug to Nikki’s soul. “Isn’t our baby beautiful?”

Deacon pulled Nikki’s hand to his lips and kissed it as they watched their baby wiggle around on the screen and the tech took pictures and measurements. 

“You’re measuring approximately 11 weeks along,” the tech said, “but your blood work will also confirm that too.”

“Thank you so much.” Nikki said. 

 

Once the ultrasound was over, Nikki and Deacon followed the tech to their exam room. The doctor came in and told Nikki that her bloodwork confirmed we was 11 weeks and 3 days along, however her electrolytes were off from being sick and not eating and she was extremely dehydrated. After the birth control was removed from Nikki’s arm, the couple were sent to another area of the office where Nikki received an IV and fluids filled with electrolytes accompanied by some IV nausea medicine. 

 

Deacon knew Nikki had felt bad, but didn’t realize it was to the point of needing IV fluids, replacement electrolytes, and IV nausea

medication. Nikki admitted to him she didn’t realize that either. Regardless, a new Nikki walked out of the doctor’s office and he was so relieved to see her color back, her seemingly feeling better, and most of all - ready to eat. Deacon was thankful for everything that day: Nikki, her health, her feeling better, and most of all - their baby. He opened Nikki’s door for her and helped her in before taking his place in the driver’s seat. 

“Where would you like to eat, baby?” Deacon asked, reaching his arm across the console and resting his hand on her lower belly. 

“Mmmm..” Nikki started. 

“No.” Deacon cut her off, “I asked the baby. Not you.”

He held her gaze with a serious look for a moment and then winked at her. 

she laughed and popped his arm with her hand. 

“A cheeseburger sounds delectable.” Nikki said. 

“Easy, babe, you’re drooling.” Deacon tapped her chin with his index finger as he laughed, “But seriously, whatever you want, my love. As long as I get to see you eat something.” 

 

The couple were snuggled up watching a movie and eating supper when David’s pager went off signaling he had to leave. Nikki got off of the couch with David to hug him goodbye. He put on his badge and his gun before wrapping his arms around his girlfriend. 

“I love you so much, beautiful.” David said, burying his face in her hair. “I love both of you.”

Nikki kissed Deacon’s neck, then his jaw, resting on his lips. 

Deacon pulled away first, got down on his knees, lifted Nikki’s shirt up, and kissed her belly. 

“Daddy loves you, baby.” He said against Nikki’s skin. 

Nikki couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she watched and listened to David talk to their unborn baby. 

“Be safe, sweetheart,” Nikki said while David stood to his feet. They kissed again before she watched him leave. 

 

“What’s got you grinning like the Cheshire cat?” Luca asked when he saw his teammate walk into the building. 

Deacon chuckled, “Nikki went to the doctor today. She got some fluids and medicine. She’s done a complete 180. Man, I’m so glad she’s feeling like herself again.”

“Admit it, Deac, that’s only so you can get some.” Hondo chuckled, walking by Deacon and patting him on the shoulder. 

“You got me!” Deacon pointed at Hondo, following him with his index finger. 

The team joked together for a few minutes before Hondo gave them the run down of why they were all there. 

Once the mission was complete, David was more than ready to return home to his girl and their baby. He needed her in his arms.

 

The next morning, David woke to Nikki snuggled up next to him, tracing circles in his chest. 

“I’m ready to be your wife…” 

David perked up, waking up more when he heard Nikki say those words. 

“Hmmm, is that so?” He asked. 

“Are you not?” Nikki had a hint of concern in her voice. 

“Why don’t we go today?” 

Nikki pulled her head off of his shoulder and propped herself up on her elbow to look at him.

“What?”

“I said… why don’t we get married today?” David brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear. “All we have to do is go down to the magistrates office, sign a marriage license, say some vows, and you’re Mrs. Kay.” He smiled at her in a way that gave her butterflies. 

“What about an engagement?” 

“Do we need one to know we want to get married?” 

“Well… I guess not… Dress and suit?”

“We can go buy you a dress, I have my class A uniform.”

“Witnesses?”

“I have an entire team that would be thrilled to be our witnesses.”

“Rings?”

“Let’s go pick em out, baby.”

“And a honeymoon?”

“We can take a honey/babymoon in 3 or so months - let you feel a little less miserable but not about to pop and it will give us time to plan a good trip.” 

“David Kay…”

“Yes, love?”

“Let’s get married.” 

 

The rest of 20-David were ecstatic to hear about David and Nikki’s courthouse wedding and were more than willing to clear their plans for the small ceremony at the magistrate’s office. 

“You look beautiful, babe.” Luca said, giving Nikki a hug.

“You all look phenomenal yourselves,” she replied, taking in each member in their best SWAT dress. 

“We’re so happy for you two,” Chris said, following Luca’s hug. 

“Thank you, Chris.”

“Let’s get married!” Hondo said, rounding up his team to begin the proceedings. “Deacon told me 8 months ago he was going to marry this girl,” he put his arm around Nikki, “and I don’t know how he’s waited any longer.” 

The team laughed and David took Nikki’s hand and led her inside of the building. Once everyone was seated in the small room used to little ceremonies, Nikki and Deacon joined the magistrate under the archway fixed up for couples. 

The time came for Deacon to say his vows. He intertwined his fingers in Nikki’s, never breaking eye contact with her. 

“Baby, it’s not secret to anyone in this room that you literally saved my life. You don’t have to tell me that I did all of the hard work. My desire to do any of the hard work came because you took the time to make sure I was okay in the middle of the most terrifying moment of my entire life. Now, it’s my turn to spend the rest of my life taking care of not only you, but also, taking care of our baby.” 

Nikki grinned when she heard the gasps of surprise coming from their friends. 

Deacon chuckled to himself, never breaking his gaze with Nikki, “You have become my very best friend, my girlfriend, for a very brief few moments - my fiance, you have become the mother of my baby, now it’s time to make you my wife. I promise to love and take care of you for the rest of my life, Nikki.”

Deacon slid Nikki’s rings onto her finger.

“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The magistrate spoke.

“Sergeant David Kay, you may kiss your bride.” 

David took Nikki’s face in his hands and passionately kissed her lips. 

20-David immediately began clapping and whistling. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Mr. & Mrs. David Kay.” 

David’s team jumped up to hug the couple. 

“Talk about one hell of a pregnancy announcement!” Luca said. 

“Congratulations you two!” Hondo followed, “Deac, I see why you were so damn happy the other morning.” Luca laughed. 

“How are you feeling, babe?” Chris asked Nikki. 

“Much, much better after some IV fluids and medicine at my appointment.”

“How far along are you?” Hondo asked. 

“11 weeks and 4 days now,” David responded proudly. He pulled their ultrasound pictures out of his back pocket to show his team. Chris was the first to take them as Street and Luca looked over her shoulder. 

“Are you guys going on a honeymoon?” Tan asked. 

“Once I get around 30 weeks or so, we’re going to plan a trip away. A honey moon and baby moon.” Nikki said. 

“We’re so happy for you two.” Chris said. 

“Thank you so much,” Nikki replied, giving her a hug.

David and his new bride were both so grateful for each other and the support of his teammates.

[sleepsart]

Wear your GODDAMN glasses !! Based on a post by @yb-cringe

[ ID: A drawing of Fit and Ramón, with Fit being drawn from the chest up and Ramón being mostly visible. Fit is holding Ramón up and leaning back with a grin. Ramón is trying to shove a pair of glasses onto his dad's face, and he looks determined. Fit is wearing a t-shirt, a bandana, and an earring. His left arm is a prosthetic supported with a few straps. He is covered in scars. Ramón is a young dragon-like kid with horns, long ears, a pointed tail, clawed feet and hands, and a pair of wings. He's wearing a hat, goggles, a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, shorts, stirrup socks, and a bandana with a mustache on it. He also has a bracelet with a mustache charm on it. He has a couple bandaids on as well. End ID ]

Tag List: @luna-spacedoodles @convexers @renchanters @grey-nova @chimbamuerto @gardenergulfie @oakskull @griancraft @bellemyers @solardashpraxus

[stephensmithuk]

Garter and Silk

No, not the name of a pair of detectives with red hot chemistry solving murders, but two items somewhat relevant to this story.

The Right Hon. the Earl of Thornaby, K.G. is the holder of two very important titles in the UK. Right Honourable means he is a Privy Counsellor, a title given to high-ranking politicians and which gives them access to highly secret information. You retain membership for life unless you resign or do something really stupid.

But I'm going to talk more about a organisation with a somewhat silly name. K.G. stands for "Knight of the Garter", which means Thornaby is a member of the Order of the Garter. Covering England and Wales, this is the highest state honour you can get that does not involve the serious possiblity of dying getting it; the two above it being the Victoria and George Crosses. Scotland has the Order of the Thistle, just below it in precedence. Ireland had the Order of St Patrick; with no new member added since 1936 and the last surviving member dying in 1974, it is essentially defunct.

Tradition has it that the order was founded by Edward III in 1348, but records suggest it was actually slightly early. The most popular version of the name is that a woman at a dance in Calais had her garter fall down. As courtiers sniggered at the wardrobe malfunction, Edward picked up the garter, returned it and said "Honi soit qui mal y pense!", which is generally translated as "Shame on him who thinks evil of it". The story comes from the 1460s and may well have been conocted to explain why the order was named after what was then a feminine garment.

As you can see from the link, the blue belt has a prominent role in the royal coat of arms used outside of Scotland. The Scottish version has the Order of the Thistle's motto Nemo me impune lacessit or "No-one provokes me with impunity", which definitely sounds more stereotypically Scottish!

It also features in the simplified version of the arms used by the British government, featuring on all British passports.

Membership is limited to the monarch (of course currently Charles III), the Prince of Wales (Prince Williams) and 24 living members. There are also Royal Knights and Ladies, basically members of the Royal Family like Queen Camilla, the Duke of Edinburgh (Prince Edward) or the Duke of Kent (the other Prince Edward). In addition, there are Stranger Knights and Ladies, covering a good proportion of Europe's monarchs, active or retired. Both the former and current Japanese Emperors are there; Hirohito was thrown out in 1941 for obvious reasons, but reinstated in 1971.

The latter two do not count towards the total.

The current membership gives you an idea of the sort of people who get this honour. For example:

Former Cabinet Secretary Lord Butler of Brockwell, also known for the Butler Inquiry into intelligence used to justify the Iraq War.

Sir John Major and Sir Tony Blair, former Prime Ministers.

Lord King of Lothbury, former Governor of the Bank of England.

Marshal of the Royal Air Force The Lord Stirrup, former Chief of the Defence. Or Jock Stirrup.

Lord Lloyd-Webber. Yes, the musicals guy.

The 7th Marquess of Salisbury, also a former Cabinet minister. Descended from the PM at the time of "Knees of the Gods" and all the way back to William Cecil, chief minister to Elizabeth I; the Cecil family have long been friends with the royals.

There are currently three vacancies.

Until 1946, appointments to the Order were made by the monarch on advice from the government... with all the potential for patronage that would involve. Edward VII threw a major tantrum in 1902-1903 over giving it to Mozaffar ad-Din Shah Qajar, the Shah of Iran, because the guy wasn't a Christian. An alternative design for the badge minus the Cross of St George was drawn up... and Bertie literally threw it out of the porthole of his yacht. He eventually had to back down though.

However, in 1946, Clement Attlee and Winston Churchill, at the time Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition respectively, agreed that the honour would go back to the monarch. Elizabeth II would make them both Knights of the Garter.

****

So, onto the Silk part. "Kingsmill, Q.C." is a "Queen's Counsel", meaning he is a highly experienced lawyer appointed from the profession. You'd want one of these if you were up on a charge in the Old Bailey.

As a QC, he would have the right to wear a silk gown when in court, hence the nickname of "silks". At the time they were appointed by the monarch on advice from the government; since 2004 a selection panel makes the decision and it's a formality from there on in.

This story is set in 1893 when Queen Victoria was on the throne. When the reigning monarch is male, like at the moment, these people are known as King's Counsel or KC. The changeover is immediate; when Elizabeth II died in 2022, the head of the Bar Council signed off his tribute with "KC", causing some moderate confusion and necessitating a clarification on that matter:

The current Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer is a KC by virtue of having made a silk in 2002 as a barrister; he would later head the Crown Prosecution Service. His knighthood is the Order of the Bath. Others may make the jokes.

Sitting MPs who were barristers were made silks automatically until the 1990s; the top law officers of the government get the title as well. This is not necessarily a popular decision with other lawyers, especially if the person has little recent legal experience.

There was a BBC TV series that ran from 2011 to 2014 called Silk about a chamber of lawyers in London; including some QCs. The first season features Natalie Dormer before she joined the cast of Game of Thrones.

****

It is entirely possible to be a Silk Garter i.e. have both honours. There is currently one in fact - Baron Phillips of Worth Matravers, former President of our Supreme Court.

[notasapleasure]

(Sorry prepare to be asked about many Lymond fics lol) But…. St Seb? Jerott whump? Feelings?👀👀

Hmm, this is one of those where I think I had a lot more of it 'scripted' in my head than ever actually made it down into the notes file. Some of it made it into bullet points, but I think I could never quite reconcile the 'way in' I found - the outsider perspective of young Walter Scott with the desire to show the Big Feels of Jerott and Francis's conversation first hand.

The idea was that a relative of Austin's heard Jerott was back in the country anyway, and decided to take his own revenge - with arrows because it's quieter than gunfire and Jerott does hang about with a lot of rather accomplished military men.

Mainly I wanted to put Jerott in a position where he has to tell Francis he loves him, then put Francis in a furious flap about not wanting to have heard that (because of the circumstances precipitating it and the fear that having unburdened himself Jerott might not fight so hard to live) with the guilt at being the reason Jerott came back to a place where Grays were seeking vengeance >:3 I think it also involved Danny angst as he supposed Jerott's feelings for Francis were going to override anything else, so when Jerott is actually recovered enough to expand on his admission it's to everyone's surprise and delight that what he admits feeling for Francis is something he's reconciled himself to in a way that he doesn't imagine acting on, and actually it's something he needed to get off his chest so he could deal with the more immediate problem of being in love with Danny. (yeah ig Danny sure is Irene)

Notes and what was written beneath the cut.

Gathering kine from a hot trod with young Scotts (Walter Scott, 4th Earl Buccleuch, b. 1549, Queen's captain 1566)

J sends Scott back and goes to round up stragglers himself

Someone has spread salt to distract them by a woodland

Jerott suspicious but confused, sword drawn to herd cattle with the flat of the blade

Young Grey gets him first, from close, neck/shoulder

Bend to horseback to make himself a smaller target, starting to back away before he wheels

Second shot to chest/side

Gets his pistol, remembers Austin, left-handed shot that would be on target if not for concurrent third shot to the leg

Wounds Grey who flees, shot alerts Lymond

Rides back to group, manages to loose stirrups so when he falls he's not dragged

Lymond makes some comment about overkill and strong tempers, rides back with young Scott

Sees Jerott's horse and flips (subtly)

Goes straight for woods after shouting Archie etc to where J fell

Danny has to fetch him: J is calling for him

Scathing about what he can do for him, everyone perplexed by his venom

But he goes and is quite soft at first, trying to find out who fired the arrows

J wants to tell him something else, F knows and won't let him - Archie etc think it's hard because they think he's not going to make it

Francis : "He's been taking orders his whole life, he'll take this one too."

Jerott still makes him hear it though Francis says he'll regret it when he comes round in comfort at St Mary's

Francis storms round in more of a mood than anyone has seen in an age, swearing vengeance on the Greys with uncharacteristic fury

Until J comes to, is able to stand by what he said and defuse some of F's anger

The fourth Baron of Buccleuch, a lank lad in his mid-teens, reined in his horse and let his exasperation be known. He was to be a commander of men, and in his troop that fresh day were soldiers who had seen more of fighting than even his widely renowned grandfather. Veterans and mercenaries, counts, generals and chevaliers, each had submitted to the orders of young Walter Scott, son of William of Kincurd.

Under Walter's direction, a solid threescore of Scots kine had been recovered before the English border and were now being driven back to their accustomed byres. Surrounded by their rain-hardened, hairy flanks, by their lowing and their shitting and the clanking of their bells, Walter should have been able to wallow in the sensation of success.

Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the stragglers who had peeled away towards a little copse. He wished to be a commander of men, not of cattle, and some of the Scottish animals had evidently discerned this, choosing to test his control by asserting their independence.

Red curls framed Walter's face beneath his polished steel bonnet, his heavy covering of freckles defied the colour staining his cheeks, and he raised his leather gauntlets to his chest as his mount reared its head under pressure of the bit. He shouted after the kine, but they did not change their course. He prepared to ride back for them, knowing full well that this level of responsibility had come to none of the other men so young, and all had first cut their teeth on the roundup before earning their captaincies. If he asked another of them to go on his order, he would deserve to be told to learn the dirty work for himself first.

Walter was surprised then, when the new man called over and waved to Walter to ride on. He was some friend of the Count's, broad-shouldered and hazelnut-skinned, with a great sword that had shed the blood of the infidel and a sardonic, severe look in his eyes.

"Are ye certain?" Walter bellowed over the sound of the herd.

The other man shrugged and turned his horse laconically, though no movement of his hands on the reins or his legs at the sides had been visible. "It's been a long enough night. I may be out of practice, but I'll still have them back faster than you, lad."

Walter paused, mouth gaping in annoyance. Then he decided that it wasn't a task worth squabbling over and nodded in what he presumed was an authoritative manner. "Thank ye."

The man, Blyth his name was - originally from some mercantile family who had long since left the country - raised a bare hand in acknowledgement as he rode back towards the copse. He'd come from Malta, they said. Had fought for the cross and battled pirates. It left Walter a little in awe, but he wasn't sure how much he could believe it, after all - why on earth would a man like that choose to come back to the borders to police families tussling over livestock?

-

It had rained through the night but the morning had come meek and clothed in the sun's silvery rays. The sky was gauzy: delicate satins overlaid by lacy clouds, a curtain that trailed its misty hem across the hills and moors. Long and rich, the grass was aquamarine studded with dewy pearls, darkening where hooves trampled through it. The Borders smelled of life.

Jerott Blyth took in greedy lungfuls of the wet air, happy to feel the chill of it in his arms. He squeezed his knees to the saddle and his horse swished its tail and broke into a trot, and he felt the dew from the grass spatter his cheeks as it was cast high by his horse's passing hooves.

The cattle, three twist-horned old milkers, red and white patched and better travelled than their young captain Buccleuch, had settled to graze on the edge of a straggling copse made up of thin aspens and holly. Jerott pushed the brim of his helmet back with a thumb and hailed the cows, clicking his tongue for their attention and thinking how much simpler this would be than organising panicked farmers among the ruins of St Elmo's.

He slowed his horse to a walk and circled the stubborn grazers. Something had certainly captured their attention among the wet grasses and cowslips, worth rooting out between the strong scented leaves of ramps and their nodding white flowers. Jerott gave a shout and was rewarded with a stare from a single pair of impassive brown eyes, raised momentarily from grazing, and no sign of intent to move otherwise.

He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes, and with a smooth gesture drew the great hand-and-a-half sword at his side and slapped the flat of it against the nearest beast's hindquarters.

The cow flinched, its legs jolting and head raised. It took a couple of steps though, and Jerott rode between it and the edge of the trees, turning it in the direction Buccleuch's party had ridden. He cast a frown at the trampled, muddied grass and noticed crystalline points of white among the greenery. It looked like salt, chipped from a block of lick and scattered down here where passing beasts might scent it.

Jerott looked about to discover the extent of the trail, and hefted his sword, thinking to give the beast another encouraging blow.

There, beneath the overhanging boughs of aspen with their fluffy pink catkins, a gust of wind shielded Jerott from all other sounds. The limbs of the trees sighed and the holly leaves scratched drily against one another and the bark of surrounding saplings. A magpie let out a cackling cry and the wings of a wood pigeon clattered desperately against the wind.

The shuff of metal and wood and grey goose feather rending the air was camouflaged. Jerott's eyes were on the puzzle of the chips of salt, his mind was on the broth waiting at St Mary's and the dry clothes in his chamber and the things he would discuss later with Francis and Danny and Adam and Archie. He was surprised to hear himself grunt, did not know why he raised his free hand at first, why it seemed worth dropping the reins to do so.

There was a shadow in the corner of his eye, like a tree-branch come too close, and it was accompanied by a deepening, spreading pain in his shoulder. He could not turn his face towards it: agony clamped hard on his muscles and he realised that he had been shot.

The arrow shaft pointed skywards, a freakish protrusion from Jerott's collar. His fingertips discovered the entry point, which grew hot and liquid with welling blood. It set contrary waves of cold pumping over his body, shock gnawing on his nerves and his concentration, and Jerott tried to draw a deep breath to counter it.

Pain drove its claws deep into his chest when he did so. It felt like the gesture somehow drew the missile further into his flesh and a cry of discomfort was yanked from between his gritted teeth. Around him, the cattle twitched their ears at the sound, but did not let it interrupt their feasting.

Jerott's body sagged over his horse's neck, and he dropped his left hand to catch himself on the saddle pommel, his sword achingly heavy in his other hand. He made himself suck in air, he drove the blackness from the edges of his vision with one determined thought, and he reminded himself that as the arrow had not finished its work then neither had he.

Training shut down panic with the ruthlessness of a portcullis descending. His body shook but he did not acknowledge it or cede to its demands. Energy rushed through the courses of his body, driven by the need to act.

His attacker had to be close for the shot to have penetrated the fabric of his plate-lined jack. The bracken had died back and the aspens were bare of leaves, but there was cover among the holly. Jerott did not worry about the number of his assailants or their motives for now - what he needed was distance, and the protection of his own cover. The rest of the hot trod would be too far to hear him hail, so he needed to manage this on his own. Jerott regathered the reins in his left hand and flexed the fingers of his right, though the grip of his sword still slipped in his palm before he secured it.

He turned his horse to face the trees and guided it in a sideways, circling trot as he searched the greens and browns for anything amiss. As he moved, he hoped to increase the tree cover between him and the archer, or to force the archer into revealing themselves.

The next shot he dodged, assisted by an impatient gust of wind that took the arrow away to his right. He knew then that they had expected one hit to suffice and that they lacked a great deal of experience in the matters of ambush: Jerott pinned his eyes on the spot the arrow had been fired from and tried to lift his sword, suspecting that a charge would flush them out in a panic. If he could get there quickly enough. His legs tightened on his horse's sides and he rested his right fist against his thigh, forcing the sword blade into the air.

The breeze swirled and he felt it cold in his wound, but it benefitted the archer this time, and though he twisted his body away from the missile, his movement was slowed by his stiffening shoulder. Jerott anticipated the impact, knowing the jack would take the brunt of it, but he had been travelling towards it this time, and his curse was swept up by the wind when he felt iron pierce cloth and plate and flesh below and his body was knocked backwards in the saddle.

He controlled his breathing as well as he could, but with a second arrow shaking in his chest it was more difficult to keep regret from seeping into his thoughts. He had come back to Scotland to settle an account on a topic that he still did not know how to broach, he had survived war and rout and siege only to have the possibility of closure snatched by some green coward intent on stealing a handful of old milch cows.

Pain pulling his mouth into a sneer of disgust, Jerott let his shoulders hunch forwards. He made his body look heavy, though his heart felt like a hare trapped behind his ribs. He slackened his fist and the sword's leather-wound handle stuck momentarily to his sweaty palm before falling heavily to the mud-churned grass. He reached for the arrow in his centre and shook at the agony in his shoulder as he did so.

When, faltering, he let his right hand drop to the saddle, he knew that then the activity of both hands was hidden from the treeline by his horse's neck. He fumbled single-mindedly with fingers grey and shivering in the pouch at his belt, extracting a bullet as his other hand loosed his gun. Loading it was a messy process, between his feigned swoons and the genuine ones, but then, still hunched in pain, he cast his head back to view the woods again.

The archer had stepped from the holly bush. A lone figure in clothes that were plain but smart, holding his bow strung as he squinted at Jerott, he did not look like a rustler, nor an assassin. He was unfamiliar; a no one.

Jerott's exhausted grimace turned into a grin as he raised his pistol left-handed and fired.

The archer's eye's widened and he raised his bow.

Bullet struck and arrow struck, and Jerott's gun dropped not far from where he had lost his sword.

-

The sound of a pistol shot reached Walter Scott and the men under his command. Walter pulled his horse up short and turned, his hand at his sword, his eyes round as marbles.

It was the Count who reached him first, his exquisitely fine features wearing an expression of mild peevishness.

"What was that?" Walter asked him, and the Count of Lymond and Sevigny looked him up and down with gentle bemusement.

"I should say it was gunfire, but there are surely more pertinent questions."

Walter swallowed. "Yeah, who?"

"Why?" The Count added. "Have you seen any sign of pursuit?"

"No," Walter hesitated, realising he had not been looking for it. "The only ones after are a few kine that went over to that copse we passed - yer friend Blyth offered to go after them."

The Count did not blink. If his lips paled one could not be sure under the bright morning sky, and the languid shift of his shoulders might have betokened anything.

His voice was smooth as ice, too. "Tell Hislop and Blacklock. Get Archie Abernethy from the front."

Walter frowned, sensing that he had ceded command, though Lymond generously left its illusion in his hands.

"And tell them what?" Walter tried not to let panic into his voice, seeing the Count's keen blue eyes had shifted to the horizon and would not be moved as he gathered himself and his horse. "It was just ane shot, it might not even ha' been Blyth."

The Count did not look at him as his horse broke into a trot. "It was. And he's not likely to be taking pot shots at the magpies."

Easing into a faster pace, Lymond rode off, leaving Walter to face the rest of the hot trod, which was now a messy column of men and cattle, some looking at him, others pointedly gazing elsewhere, two or three with eyes on Lymond, their accustomed commander, as he left.

"I need Hislop, Blacklock and Abernethy," Walter shouted, though his voice cracked as he did.

The men were already making their way towards him. The mercenary Danny Hislop shook his bare head of fine, fluffy curls and smiled sweetly. "It's nice of you to say so, Sir Walter, but we know it's Francis who called."

"Where's Jerott?" Blacklock - pencil thin, dark-haired, with a permanent air of unease - arrived at a trot.

"Well, that's it," Walter said uneasily. What was it that he was about to tell these three men about their friend?

"Ye, ah, ye heard the gunshot?"

"Stupid bastard," Hislop cursed immediately, wheeling his horse in the direction Lymond had ridden.

"How?" Blacklock breathed, but the question in his eyes was for his fellows. "It's a simple hot trod, what's he done?"

Only Archie Abernethy remained steady, his broad brown brow furrowed like a walnut. "Tell us what ye ken, lad."

Walter's shoulders sagged in relief. Abernethy was capable of reassuring even when one did not know what one might have done wrong. He related the conversation with Lymond and emphasised that Blyth had volunteered to ride back for the stray cattle.

"Is that his horse?" Hislop interrupted, just as Walter was starting to feel he had a handle on the situation once more.

Blacklock swore, and when his quiet - and, to Walter, astonishing - stream of invective ended, he heard Lymond's voice calling from the other side of the ridge they had just crossed.

Blyth's tall bay horse was ambling uneasily across the grass, its reins trailing and head down. Now and then it paused and glanced back, as though confused to find itself alone.

No command could have stayed the other men now, and Walter was left flapping his heels against his own mount's flank as he tried to keep pace with Hislop, Blacklock and Abernethy. He paused to sweep up the reins of Blyth's horse and turned it back to wherever it had left its rider.

Walter could now see the other men converging on a spot about halfway up the gentle rise of land below the ridge. At the bottom of the valley was a narrow, rocky stream, and the copse sprawled darkly on the opposite bank. The young Scott let out a sound of exasperation when he saw that the three errant cows remained busy at their grazing, unconcerned with the human drama they were witness to.

A man, it had to be Blyth, lay flat on the wet grass. Lymond bent over him, and as Walter watched, the Count pulled a binding tight about the prone man's leg, stood and snapped something at Abernethy, then re-mounted and rode away to the woods.

Blyth must have lived yet, but the Buccleuch could not say how. When he got near, Walter counted three arrows in Blyth's body: shoulder, abdomen and thigh. The latter had released a great deal of blood, and Abernethy was in the process of reinforcing the tourniquet Lymond had applied. The chevalier's dark skin had paled to a sickly green reflection of the vegetation that soaked his hair and clothes, and his hands lay open and bloodied at his sides.

Blacklock took one of the limp sets of fingers and held it in his grip as Abernethy assessed the damage done by the other arrows. Hislop dismounted, but would not go near, and paced uneasily at Abernethy's back, his white face turned towards Blyth's unresponsive expression.

[captainderyn]

[Fictober24] Day 14: "Did you stick to the plan?"

Prompt: "Did you stick to the plan?"

Fandom: LOTRO

Pairings: Wulfwryn/Raenor, Faewryn/Eldarion

Warnings: None

Summary: Faewryn anxiously awaits Eldarion's return from his first skirmish ride with the Minas Tirith guard. Years of experience waiting for her mother to return from such skirmishes doesn't make it any easier to wait.

--

Faewryn paced the battlements, tapping her knuckles in a frenetic beat against her lips as her eyes locked on the horizon. The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon. She’d kept her eyes on that too--watching as it inched lower and lower with the passing hours. 

They were late. 

By now the gates were supposed to be opening with the welcoming cheers of a guard patrol returning safely. Her mother was supposed to have ridden back through those gates hours ago. She knew her father was worried; he’d left her side where he’d kept her company under the guise of getting things ready for a much needed comfortable homecoming. But Faewryn knew it was because her ada didn’t want her to pick up on his worry. 

Did you stick to the plan? She thought to herself, not for the first time that afternoon or even for the first time since the sun took its first taste of evening. 

For it was not just her mother on this patrol. No, her mother had done this hundreds of times. Her trotting through those gates, no matter when, was practically a guarantee. 

No, much to her distress Eldarion had joined this patrol. His first ever foray into what securing the area around his city was like. And he was late. 

They’d promised each other he’d come home safe and that nothing would go wrong. That if he were to ride with Wulfwryn then everything would be fine. 

Faewryn swore she saw the sun tick down another notch. The shadows seemed to deepen. She began chewing on her thumbnail. 

Deeper and deeper the shadows grew, inching across the battlements until--

There! The gates began to creak open. It was too quiet as the horses rode through, the ringing of their shod hooves too clear on the stone pathways. 

Faewryn’s heart plummeted to the ground and she took off running. 

“Ada!” she cried, running into her father at the staircase just above the gate. He had his hands braced on the stone wall, breathless as Faewryn was. 

Though she knew that her father did not age the same as her mother did, she swore with each scare such as this more weariness was added onto him. 

He reached out and braced her shoulder with his hand, giving a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’s alright, henig.” He soothed, drawing her close into a half hug. She sank against him, feeling weak in the knees. 

Five summers or twenty summers, the times where things did not go as planned did not get any easier. 

“They’re okay? Why aren’t they here yet?” Faewryn worried her thumbnail again until her father squeezed her shoulder. She dropped her hands to work into her skirts instead. 

“They’re saying they got held up at the gate to report.” Raenor said, taking a long breath as if to remind himself as well that things were okay. “From what I hear, they met a small skirmish but are back no worse for wear.” 

It was longer than Faewryn would like until the battered group of guards trudged up from the gate, their horses getting swept away to the stables when their feet had barely transitioned from stirrup to stone. She scanned the group in their black cloaks and white tree emblems, their shining swords and shields. 

She picked out Eldarion at the center of the group, dirt spattered but upright. A group of veteran guards stood around him, shoulder-slapping and saying something that involved miming swords and cheering gestures. 

She picked her way down the stairs and made her way over. Eldarion found her immediately, a sheepish expression flitting across his face. 

She shoved his shoulder, brows drawn low, “What happened to the plan, Eldarion?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck with a chuckle, “It went a little upside down. But we made it back!” 

She tried to keep a stern look, but failed. He smiled back at her, obviously pleased with the success of his first skirmish. He’d talked about it for years, trained with her mother for years to reach the point where Wulfwryn would finally let him ride with the guard. 

“I’m glad you made it home safe.” she said and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.