#ensemble dark horse

[a-lonely-red-feather]

Its just me or this guy is a Canon Ensemble Dark Horse?

[khr-guilded-cage]

My team Ensemble Dark Horse

[thelandswemadeofpaper]

Its called Ensemble Dark Horse

All the times Erestor was mentioned in Tolkien's legendarium.

Yes, that is it. There is nothing more.

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

What Should Have Been: WB series of 2000s-2010s

With Tiny Toons Looniversity coming, I will say that the mid-to-late 2000s-early 2010's would have been better if WB had not given us My Gym Partner's a Monkey (yeah, I used to like it, but looking back at it, it seems like an unworthy time-killer), Re-Animated, Out of Jimmy's Head, Problem Solverz, Almost Naked Animals or The Othersiders around that time.

Instead, they should have just given the kind of fourth wall continuation that some fans such as myself would have wanted, focusing on the Ensemble Dark Horses' lives outside of their cartoons, like the Chip & Dale film that should have been as I constantly say.

This time, I mention it being done in the mid-to-late 2000s or early 2010's instead of what we did get because it would have been great to get such a film or miniseries done long before the COVID struck and the WB execs had to make their new TT show more relevant to today's young crowd under their unbreakable mindset that the rabbits and birds need to be the main stars who always get the glory.

[littlesmartart]

DRAWTOBER #20 - The Man From Y.I.L.I.N.G. by @eleanorfenyxwrites

Lan Wangji - well-respected nuclear technology researcher and engineer - has disappeared without a trace, and with all of his research in tow. Now, a year after his disappearance, he's been spotted in the company of the mysterious Yiling Laozu, a dark horse in the tenuous field of nuclear weaponry and a name to be feared as the world sits at the height of Cold War tensions. As part of an unlikely alliance between their employers, rival special agents Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue must work together to keep Lan Xichen safe long enough to use him to find and rescue Lan Wangji (with his research) and hunt down the Yiling Laozu to put a stop to his work at all costs - but is that really all there is to it? [A 1960's spy action thriller based on Guy Ritchie's 'The Man From U.N.C.L.E.']

you guys have probably seen so much TMFY content over the last few months that you're losing your minds but guess what? you're getting more because I love it :) it's got spy-to-spy combat! it's got super cool historical detail! it's got UST! it's got an awesome ensemble cast! it's got enemies to allies to plot twist to allies to lovers! and it's all based on a really fun movie that you can watch when you're done reading!!! what more do you want??

[psychedelic-charm]

I found out in Minaxa's video essay on this that he was the one who voiced the janitor. We've got ourselves an Ensemble Dark Horse (see TV Tropes for more information) here.

[sunsetchicane]

cowboy like me [LN4]

lando x fem!reader

word count: 8.2k

summary: The one where you work on a ranch and it’s everything you know. There’s nothing that can come between you and your love for your home. Not even a handsome stranger who seems to pull the best out of you.

warnings: slight angst, some fluff, horses!, brief sexual innuendo, a singular swear word, and one [sad] kiss.

author’s note: hey! hi! hello! this is my first fic on here (omgggg 🤭) so please, please, please let me know your thoughts/comments/questions! might write a second part to this…thoughts??[xoxo elle]

~~~

Buxton Ranch has been in the Buxton family before Montana even became an official Union state in 1889. Land wasn’t simply a commodity or property back then; it was life or death. William T. Buxton and his wife, Mary Anne, put their boots down on this land along with their four children and they’ve never left. They fought their way over the mountains, survived the unbearable, and have reaped the benefits of their resilience for over a century and a half.

Willamina T. Buxton I, my boss, is the great-something granddaughter of William T. Buxton I. Her father, William T. Buxton VII handed over the ranch to her on her 30th birthday a few years back. The controversy caused ripples through the entire community because even though Willamina is Mr. Buxton’s first born, the ranch has always been handed down to the eldest son. Willa is the first woman to ever have ownership of the ranch.

My family hasn’t been in Montana nearly as long as the Buxtons. My mom and I moved out here in the spring the year I was born. My father skipped out before my mom could even hold herself upright in her hospital bed after laboring with me. She tells me that we came here to Montana for a fresh start, and what better place to go than where the sky is bigger and the air is pure. The mountains became our safe haven, our buffer from the rest of the world and, more importantly, our history. It’s easy to forget up here, to allow your mind to rest. I’ve never been at a loss for why the Buxtons came and never left. Sometimes, in the dark of my room, I pretend that I really am a Buxton, that I truly belong.

However, when the sun breaks across the mountain peaks and the world comes alive once again, I’m forced to realize that I don’t belong to the Buxton dynasty. I simply work for them.

My alarm blares to my right, causing me to shoot upright. With fumbling fingers, I seek for the power button of my alarm clock. When I finally find it and shut off the hellish noise, I fling my legs over the side of my bed. With the heels of my hands, I rub the sleep from my eyes. The world around me is painted in a deep blue, still fast asleep and undisturbed by my alarm. I envy it as I rise from my bed and get ready for the day.

Silently, I pull on my bootcut Wranglers and a light green long sleeved button down. My belt and beat up old boots complete the ensemble for the moment being. My next stop is the bathroom where I brush my teeth and comb my hair. Tying my hair off into a low braid so it’ll sit right under my hat takes only a couple minutes. I’ve been wearing my hair the same way to work every day for the past seven years.

Once I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way to the kitchen where a pot of coffee is automatically brewing on schedule. I toss a few eggs into a pan as well as two pieces of bread into the toaster. The breakfast of champions and me every single day. After crushing a cup of coffee and my plain breakfast, it’s time to head out. Instead of living on-site with the rest of the ranch hands, I still live with my mom. I’ve been wanting to move out to the ranch for over a year now since I finished college, but the possibility of breaking my mom’s heart stops me from even mentioning it to her.

Glancing at the clock, I know I have plenty of time to spare, but I start to pack up and head out the door anyway. I enjoy being early to the ranch. It’s peaceful and serene before it wakes and rises. Grabbing my work jacket because the winter’s just turning over to spring, my chaps, and my lunch sack, I head out the door. My mom and I share an old, sunburnt orange Chevy truck that just barely runs. I toss my things into the bed of the pickup before sliding into the worn out driver’s seat. As I slide the key into the ignition, I send up a quick prayer that she turns over. When I press the key forward, the engine roars to life. Prayers have been answered this morning and I hope it’s a good omen for the rest of the day.

The drive to Buxton Ranch is short and sweet, all dirt roads and drifting grassy fields. The radio sounds quietly and the engine hums loudly, but everything else is completely still. A distant light orange is just starting to brush the very edges of the horizon in the east. Nature is starting to reach out and stretch its sleepy limbs.

As I pull up to the place where I always park near a stretch of fence, I see a figure dressed in shadows leaning over the wood a few yards away. Once I’ve tossed the pickup into park and yanked out the keys, I jump down from my seat so I can walk over to her. She’s always out here before everyone. Sometimes I see her, most times I don’t. When I do, it feels like fate, like there’s something about today that’s meant to happen this way. Or maybe it’s just Willamina Buxton.

“Good morning, y/n,” she rasps without glancing over at me. Crossing my arms, I lean over the log fence and take in the view. I don’t think there’s a better view in all of Montana than that from Buxton Ranch.

“Good morning, Willa,” I answer quietly. Her brother, Wyatt, was my best friend growing up. She’s only 12 years older than the two of us, but somehow she seems infinitely older and wiser. She’s been a role model for me. We grew closer after Wyatt left for college a few years back. Of course he came back in the summers to visit, but he never stayed long. He wasn’t born for this life. Instead of horses, he dealt with horse power. He always wanted to become an engineer for Formula One. When the opportunity came to go overseas to study in England and intern at McLaren, he hadn’t even thought twice. One day he was here, and the next he was gone.

I struggled with feeling abandoned for a while, but I came to terms with it quickly. I realized that dreams were meant to be chased and he was incredibly fortunate to get this opportunity. I was also chasing my dream, I just had to go down the street instead of across an ocean. We keep in touch, calling frequently and texting nearly every day, but it’s not the same. I miss him.

“Heard from Wyatt recently?” Willa says quietly then takes a sip from her mug of iron black coffee.

“Not in a couple of days. Seems busy,” I mumble. Wyatt’s leaving is a bit of a sore spot for Willa. She wanted him to stay on the ranch and in the family business. Her asking about him is a bit of an anomaly.

She hums, then pauses, then sighs. “Lots to do today. We better get going.”

And just like that the work day starts.

I tend to the horses right away, leading them out into the corral so I can wash out their stalls from over the weekend. I give each of them fresh hay and fill up large troughs of water for the more temperamental ones. Then I lead them one at a time back into their stalls and give them a thorough once over to check how they’re doing.

The last one I have to put away is the youngest of the group. He came to us only last year, unbroke and wild as the river. He’s a black Morgan stallion, sleek and athletic. He’s larger than your typical Morgan, with rippling muscle, and a proud face. He’s beautiful. We call him Jupe.

“Jupe,” I coo kindly to the untamed stallion. “Come on, Jupe.”

He casts a look over his back at me telling me everything I need to know. Sighing, I toss myself over the fence and into the corral. With my palms raised up and in front of me, I show him the leather lead in my hand as I walk over to him slowly.

“Come on, Jupe, we gotta go back inside. I cleaned up real nice for you, boy. Fresh hay, new water, you’re living the five star life, buddy,” I say while creeping up on him. He doesn’t move, but simply tracks my movements with his black eyes. Nerves claw at my stomach as I approach him. Reaching out slowly, I praise him and repeat his name over and over. Finally, I slide the clip of the lead around a loop in his bridle. But there’s no relief yet. I still have to get him into the stables without incident.

“Good boy, Jupe,” I say, reaching out gently to stroke his nose. He pushes at my hand playfully. A surge of pride washes over me. Maybe the two of us are finally making progress. Jupe lets me lead him out of the corral and back to his stall with ease. Today really is my day.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the stallion as I slide the lock shut on his door. Jupe’s head hangs over the short door, his head coming down to level with mine. Patting him gently, I pull a couple sugar cubes from my pack. I hold them up to him on my flat palm and he slurps them up gratefully. A smile that I can do nothing to stop breaks across my face. I’m gonna saddle him up one day. And maybe that day is sooner than I’d anticipated.

“Only you would give that stubborn Morgan a treat,” I hear a familiar voice say. I whip around in disbelief as the tone and inflexion registers in my mind.

“Then again, maybe the two of you have bonded over your mutual stubbornness.” Wyatt hardly gets the words out before I’m taking his arm in mine and wrapping him up in a hug with the other. We laugh as we sway side to side. My hat careens to the side of my head as I hug him and I know I must be getting him all sweaty and dirty, but I can’t find it in myself to care about vanity at the moment. Wyatt’s back.

“Surprise!” He says when I finally let go of him. He’s wearing a bright smile as I pull back. Wyatt reaches up and straightens out my hat for me.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming!” I say while smacking the back of my hand against his shoulder. “I would’ve gotten off work and…”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he laughs as I slide past him to finish up sweeping this side of the stables.

“You’re right,” I laugh along with him while I sweep. He knows that I love my job too much to step away from it. I hate missing a day and he knows that.

Wyatt takes a seat on a stack of unused hay bales that I’ll have to load back up. He chats with me about school and England and McLaren. I don’t know much about Formula One, just what I picked up on from Wyatt constantly chatting my ear off about it. Most of the stuff that Wyatt has told me, however, goes way over my head. What I do know is that this boy is an engineering genius and McLaren is lucky to have him now as a full-time employee. They offered him a job straight out of university. He’ll be living full time in the UK. My stomach twists at the thought.

“So, what do you have going on for the rest of the day?” Wyatt asks after I’ve finished sweeping. I place my hands on top of the broom and lean my chin over my fingers.

“Riley and I were going to take down that rickety south fence and…” I start to say while mentally checking my to-do list.

“Sandy’s helping Riley with that,” Wyatt says matter-of-factly. I cast him a questioning look to which he simply blinks at.

“Alright. Then I have to go to the cattle and check on all of the pregnant…”

“Louise has that covered,” Wyatt informs me while picking at his nails. What is he getting at?

“Why…well, then I have to…” I begin, trying to move away from things that he could possibly know of.

“Go riding with me and my friends!” Wyatt exclaims while hopping off the hay bales and clapping his hands together. “Wonderful idea.”

My jaw drops. There’s no way that he’s trying to make me skip the rest of the day to go riding. Not after we just had a conversation over the fact that I would never do that. That I could never do that. I have an obligation to be here, to get things done.

“Wy, you know I’d love to, but I’ve got work to do,” I say firmly while walking over to hang up my broom. Jupe huffs and brays at Wyatt as he walks briskly over to me.

“No you don’t. I made sure of it,” Wyatt says while grabbing my hands so I have no choice but to stand in front of him. “Willa’s told me to inform you that if you’re found working this afternoon, there’ll be severe consequences.”

At that, I know I have to oblige with Wyatt’s request. If Willa gave the all clear, there’s no reason for me to try and argue. One thing about the Buxtons is they’re nearly as strong-willed as the horses they hold. Not to mention it would be incredibly rude of me to not accept Willa’s generosity. This doesn’t stop me from letting Wyatt know exactly how I feel about him pulling me away from my work. I do so in colorful language the entire walk over to the house.

“You don’t even want to go riding with me, you just want me to be your guide,” I feign an accusation as we approach a small crowd of people on the large front deck of the Buxtons glorious ranch home. I see a few ranch hands and two other men that I don’t know, who must be Wyatt’s friends.

“You are the best guide out here.” His backhanded compliment earns him an eye roll. As we approach the house, he tells me to wait for a second while he calls over his friends. Their heads turn quickly to the two of us when Wyatt calls to them. They say hasty goodbyes to the staff they were chatting with before walking over to Wyatt and I. One is tall and pale, with pale eyes, and pale hair. His cheeks are flushed a slight pink from the chill that still hangs in the spring air. He looks lively and excited, his eyes bouncing around from one thing to another at lightning speed.

The other man is shorter with cropped, dark, curly hair. His hazel eyes are sharp and brilliant against his tanned skin. As he draws nearer, I can tell that he’s very physically fit. He’s wearing a tight long sleeve shirt that hugs his arms, brand new boot cut jeans, and a shiny pair of boots that have obviously never been worn. His eyes, unlike his friend, don’t wander while he walks over to us; they stay trained on me. A small smile falls across his pretty pink lips as he finds me watching him swagger his way over. He’s attractive.

“Never seen a British boy in cowboy boots before,” I say when they stop in front of us, glancing down at the brunette's footwear. When my eyes flick up to his, he still hasn’t stopped looking at me. Clearing my throat, I extend a hand to the blonde.

“Hi, y/n,” I introduce myself while shaking his hand.

“Mitchel,” he says, his accent is sharp and acutely German, which takes me by surprise. I nod, casting him a warm smile. I watch as Mitchel’s eyes flick to Wyatt over my shoulder. Following suit, I catch Wy smiling like a fool and a slight blush that I don’t think has anything to do with the weather coating his cheeks. When he sees me looking at him, he quickly crosses his arms and looks away. My smile widens. Mitchel drops my hand and then stuffs his back into his pockets.

“Y/n,” I say to Wyatt’s other friend who has a bit of a staring problem. He takes my hand in his slowly.

“Lando Norris,” He says crisply, his accent confirming my previous assessment. “Nice to finally meet you, y/n.”

His name catches in my mind, as if I’ve heard it before but I can’t place it. Wyatt must have mentioned him at some point, but for the life of me I can’t remember what about. A moment passes and our hands stay held together in the space between us as I try to place him. My eyes scan over his face and catalog his freckles and scars and the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles. When it dawns on me that I’m now the one with a staring problem, I swiftly pull my hand from his. Briefly, his jaw clenches.

“Finally, huh?” I take his previous statement and run with it. Turning my back to Lando, I glance over at Wyatt. “Just what have you been saying about me?”

“All good things, all good things,” Wy assures me while coming up to clasp me on the shoulder. He leans into me with a big smile that makes my stomach churn at the thought of what he’s actually told his friends. What does Lando think of me? Why does it matter what Lando thinks of me?

“Well,” I say quickly, trying to shake the thought of Lando from my head. “I suppose we should get going if we want to be back by sundown.”

The three boys nod their heads in agreement. The four of us walk over to the stables. Wyatt and Mitchel walk slowly behind me as they chit chat and laugh. Casting a glance over my shoulder at them, I watch as their shoulders bump together and their fingers brush intentionally. I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling. Wyatt’s alway had a hard time with romance and partnership just because of where we grew up and the hate he received for simply being himself. Seeing him this way, happy and smitten, makes me feel proud. It affirms that his leaving was necessary in so many ways.

“How long have you been working here?” Lando’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. My attention slides over to him. He’s come up to my left, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes are wide and curious as he looks at me. I can’t help but feel like I’m being analyzed.

“Seven years. But I’ve been on the ranch all my life. I took riding lessons from Willa and then became fast friends with Wyatt,” I tell him while pulling my eyes from his. Returning his gaze seems difficult, so I keep my eyes trained on the stable. He hums in acknowledgement of my response. I can feel his eyes on me still.

“Do you work at McLaren with Wyatt?” I ask my new acquaintance. He chuckles to himself a little, his pretty eyes squinting from his large smile.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he says, making me feel like I’m missing something. I scoff at his vague response, but don’t press the issue. If he wanted to explain himself, he would. His aura is interesting. He seems so sure of himself, completely at ease with who he is. It’s captivating.

We make it to the entrance of the stable and I instruct Lando and Mitchel to take a seat while Wyatt and I saddle up the horses. It takes us a while to get everyone ready for the trail ride, but with every passing minute, the more excited I get. Wyatt and I used to go out on the trails all the time. During the summer as teenagers, we would stuff our packs full of camping supplies and go for days at a time. Those memories are my most cherished possessions, things that I will never forget. Now whenever I take others up there, I feel as though I’m bearing a part of my soul to them.

Once we’re done getting everything ready, Wyatt leads his and Mitchel’s horses, Rudy and Molly, outside with Mitchel in tow. This leaves me alone with Lando. My stomach twists nervously when I feel his presence looming to my right.

“Ever ridden before?” I ask while petting Luna, a beautiful sorrel tovero paint. She’s older, but strong and steady, a good horse for a beginner.

“Yeah, loads,” Lando says while joining me in stroking Luna. I cast him a critical glance. If he sees it, he ignores me. Rolling my eyes, I really can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. It’s important to know what you’re doing while working with large animals. I make the mental note to keep him in my line of sight at all times while riding.

“Oh, good. Then you’ll be good to lead Ms. Luna out? She’s yours for the day,” I tell him while handing over the reins. I watch his adam's apple bob and his eyebrows lift slightly before nodding and accepting the reins from my hand. When his fingers brush over mine, goosebumps run across my arm. Quickly, I pull my hand away and turn towards Beau, my stallion for today. Fiddling aimlessly with his bridle, I wait until the steps of Luna and Lando have disappeared before releasing a breath. Leaning my forehead against Beau’s neck, I sigh at my stupid behavior. Am I really so touch starved that I get goosebumps at my finger brushing against his? That’s sad.

I take Beau’s reins in my hand and start leading him out to the waiting pack of boys. Just as I’m about to exit the stables, I look over at Jupe. He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.

“Don’t give me attitude,” I tell him.

He just blinks at me.

Beau and I join everyone. Wyatt’s running Mitchel through the basics while Lando watches on. He’s pretending to not be listening by petting Luna and quietly talking to her, but I still catch the way he glances over when Wy demonstrates something. I walk around and do a quick double check on everyone’s gear before returning to Beau’s side. With the ease of muscle memory that I don’t think I’ll ever lose, I toss myself up and onto the saddle. Wyatt assists Mitchel into his saddle before climbing into his own. Lando glances over at me before sliding his foot into the stirrup and attempting to pull himself up. He looks out of his depth and slightly awkward as he hauls himself onto the saddle seat. Biting back a laugh, I click my tongue and squeeze my legs a little to get Beau to move for me. The two of us saunter up next to Lando. His easy continence is long gone, replaced by nerves and uncertainty. His hands shake as he grabs onto the reins incorrectly.

“Here, like this,” I correct while reaching out to his hands. My fingers pry his anxious fists open and fix where he’s holding the leather cord. I’m surprised to find calluses littering his palms, a mirror of my own. I maneuver his palm to rest in the right way so he doesn’t agitate Luna. I can feel Lando watching me as I touch and hold his hands. I’ve done this a hundred times when teaching lessons, but this is the first time that I feel an uncomfortable blush creeping onto my cheeks. Lando’s presence has me off axis, spinning out of my routine. I’ve known him for maybe an hour and he’s already getting under my skin.

“Just trust Luna, she knows the way,” I say quietly as I pull away from him. He bites at his lip but nods along with my words. Smiling as warmly as I can, I leave his side to ride up to Wyatt. However, I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder at him. He’s not looking at me, thankfully. Instead, his eyes are trained on his hands as he flexes them on the reins the way I showed him. His focus is endearing, almost cute.

But when his eyes rise to find mine, I snap my head forward in hopes that he didn’t catch me staring at him. The last thing I need is to develop some sort of childish crush on a stranger that I’ll never see again after a few days. I just have to keep my head down and my thoughts off of him.

“Time’s wasting!” Wyatt calls to me, letting me know that everyone is ready to go. Nodding, I take the lead while Wyatt falls to the back. We keep Mitchel and Lando between us so they don’t get caught straying off the path.

Going out for a ride is one of my favorite things. I love going into the mountains, walking along the thin paths, and enjoying the earth. As we go, I hear Mitchel and Wyatt quietly chatting at the back of the pack. However, once we get to the treeline, their voices fall away from my earshot. My senses are overcome by our surroundings. The budding trees are gorgeous as they filter the sunlight into sultry beams that fall onto the new grass along the sides of the gravel path.

“Beautiful,” I hear Lando speak for the first time since we left. I’ve been distracted thankfully, leaving me free from his effect on me. Now, though, I find myself turning to the side to look at him as he comes up next to me. I’m surprised to find him staring at me instead of the lively forest that hems us in. A thought that he might be making a comment about me instead of the scenery flashes through my mind. Quickly, I shove the absurd thought away and chalk it up to wishful thinking.

“It is,” I agree, giving him a small smile. He chuckles a little before turning to look around him. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of him. Somehow he adds to the already perfect scene around me. His hair is being ruffled by the slight, cool breeze, which also lends his skin a gorgeous pink flush. Bright hazel eyes track the swishing branches and fluttering wildlife. His muscles are on display as he engages them to ride Luna. He looks less stiff than he did earlier, as if he’s finding himself at ease here. The idea makes me giddy. I find myself agreeing with Lando’s previous assessment. Beautiful.

“See something you like, cowgirl?” Lando laughs when he catches me staring at him yet again. My eyes go wide and my mouth parts as I scramble for a proper response, a defense, anything. There’s just something about him that makes it nearly impossible to look away. I think I’d like to be able to see him a lot more.

“Cowgirl?” Is all I can come up with. It’s not an inaccurate title, but the way he said it made it sound different. It was tacked onto his question almost like an endearment, or a tease. I laugh a little at his choice of words and the way it sounds in his accent.

“I see a lot of things I like, cowboy. You’ll have to be more specific,” I challenge. This successfully pulls a proper laugh from him. It’s the type of laugh that sends birds flying frantically from their perches and the creatures hidden in the grass scurrying away. It’s impossible to not laugh along with him. My heart flutters and I have to hold on tighter to my reins so I don’t fall off the saddle.

“I may be a lot of things, but I am no cowboy,” he corrects. I nod while continuing to laugh.

“I could have told you that,” I confirm while adjusting my hat.

“Oh really?” Lando says, urging me to explain myself. He tilts his head to the side while his mouth pulls into a closed lipped smile.

“If the brand new jeans and boots didn’t give you away, then you’re riding definitely does. You ride stiff as a board,” I inform him while glancing down at his boots and jeans. His denim clad thighs are tight around Luna’s middle, tense muscles visible through the fabric.

“Alright, teach me then,” he says, his free hand coming to rest on his hip. “Cowgirl.”

I roll my eyes at his words once again, but am resolved to help him nonetheless. There’s nothing like going out and being able to ride properly. I want to ask him why he lied to me about his experience with riding, but I don’t want to bruise his ego any further. Trying something new is challenging enough, and if he’s willing to learn, then I don’t want to jeopardize that.

“Keep sitting up straight, but relax your body. Your hips should shift back and forth in the seat a little. Don’t fight what feels natural. Just watch me,” I tell him. His eyes slide slowly from my face down to my hips. I watch as his eyes track my hips back and forth just slightly with Beau’s steps. Lando’s breathing goes uneven and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth. He’s staring at me like there’s nothing else he’d ever want to look at. It makes my heart race and nerves flutter in my stomach. I hadn’t really thought about the more sensual implications of having him watch my hips, but it seems rather obvious now. However, I don’t really mind the way he’s looking at me, or the way his focus is completely attuned to me. Selfishly, I really wish he wouldn’t look at anything else ever again. But that can’t happen.

“Eyes up, cowboy,” I tell him after a few more seconds of letting him watch. “Go ahead.”

Clearing his throat, he shifts a little in the saddle before settling in to do what I asked. I don’t miss the way he avoids looking me in the eye, as if he’s embarrassed. Have I flustered him? The thought makes me just a tiny bit proud. He doesn’t seem like the type to be flustered easily. He sits up straight and attempts to relax his body. His lower half starts to shift the right way, looking more natural and less jerky than before. Indulging myself, I watch for a few more seconds. I bite the inside of my cheek as he rocks back and forth in the saddle. My mind goes wandering to places that I shouldn’t be thinking about with a man I’ve only known for a day. Less than a day. And yet, I can’t stop myself.

“Maybe we’ll make a real cowboy out of you yet, Lando Norris,” I tell him after I’ve noticed improvements. His focus fractures and he looks over to me.

“I think I’d like that,” He shoots back, a sly smile accompanying his words. The look twists my stomach into nervous knots. There’s something about him, something intangible, that draws you in. Maybe it’s charm or charisma, or maybe it’s just the way he was made. Whatever the circumstances or reasons are, it’s not fair. I feel as though I have hardly a fighting chance to ward off any sort of desire that’s bubbling to the surface. I want to keep getting to know him; I want to teach him anything he asks; I want to never let go of the way he makes me feel.

The walk back to the ranch grounds is much faster than I would have liked. Lando chats with me the entire way back about this and that. He’s smart and funny and my chances of not having a crush on him grow slimmer with every passing minute I spend with him. When we get back to the stables, I find myself taking much longer than I normally would to put everything away. Mitchel and Wyatt decided that a fire would be the best way to end the night, so they ran out to get it started while Lando and I finished up with the horses. He tried his best to help, but kept getting distracted by visiting all of the stalls.

“Who’s this?” Lando says as I finish putting away the last saddle. I say a quick goodbye to Beau before heading down to the last stall near the open barn doors. Lando is standing in front of Jupe’s stall, his arms crossed over his chest. I stop next to him, leaving an appropriate amount of space between us, even though I want to come up right next to him and press my shoulder to his.

“This is Jupe. He’s our newest. Bit ornery, but a good boy,” I say while reaching my hand out to pat Jupe’s head. He brays at my touch, but doesn’t pull away. I give him a quick kiss on the nose and coddle him a little. Positive reinforcement does wonders.

“My turn,” Lando says from behind me. Astounded, I turn my face toward him. He’s insinuating that he wants me to kiss him. My brain short circuits at the thought. He’s just standing there with his arms still crossed over his chest and a stupid smile playing across his handsome face. I scoff at his joke, trying not to let on how much it affected me.

“Careful what you wish for, you might end up with a stall of your own,” I jab back. However, keeping him here doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“Being praised, kissed, and ridden by you? Sounds like these guys are living the dream,” Lando says. My jaw hangs loose as his words hit me like a freight train. Shock courses through me, leaving me beyond speechless. Is he being serious? Who says things like that? I blink at him, unsure of how to continue. I can’t lie and say that the images that popped into my head when he spoke were entirely unpleasant. If he’s being serious, there’s a lot to consider here. I could deny my feelings and spare myself the heartache. Or the alternative, which is letting my emotions get the better of me. This would mean that in a few days after spending time together, I would have to deal with heartbreak and come to terms with the fact that I’ll maybe never see him again. Or maybe I could, if there’s something really here. Maybe I have to give into hope for once. There’s never really been anyone who I’ve put ahead of my goals or dreams. I’ve never been tempted to stray from my path by anyone. Sure, I’ve gone out with guys, had a boyfriend for a while. But if something didn’t line up, I made cuts so my life would fit together how I needed it to. Suddenly now, as I stand here in this stable with a man I met only hours ago, I’m finding myself bending my rules for the first time. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my whole life.

“Alright, cowboy,” I say while taking a tentative step toward him, I’m ready to play this little game of his. His hands have fallen to his side, so I gently slide my fingers into his. Shining eyes lock onto mine. His tan skin is set aglow by the dying sunrise, highlighting the ridges and curves of his face. I want to memorize every freckle, every line, every corner of him. I’m lost in the way his hand feels around mine and in the way he’s looking at me, and I don’t ever want to find my way out. One of his fingers comes to the front of my hat and pushes the brim up. He draws closer now, his face mere inches from mine. His jaw flexes and his large neck muscles twitch with tension as he dips his head down just enough for his lips to hover over mine.

“We have a fire to get to,” I finish my earlier thought in a whisper. With hooded eyes, I look into his wide ones. Smiling smally, I step away from him. Adjusting my hat back to its original place, I begin walking out the door. Lando is hauled after me with my hand still grasped in his. Giddiness takes me over as I walk hand in hand with him towards the fire pit near the house. My small smile breaks into a much larger one as I pick up my pace, breaking into a jog. Lando’s hand clasps around mine tighter as he adjusts to the new pace. A laugh bubbles from my chest as I bring my free hand to hold onto my hat as I run harder. A sense of carefreeness has corrupted my usual serious disposition. Rarely do I feel as free as I do now. Lando’s lightness has infected me, and I can’t help but fall in love with how it’s buoyed my spirits. It feels like the first hit of a drug; it’s the type of high I’ll be chasing for the rest of my life.

As we approach the house, I can hear Wyatt’s laugh ring out from around the corner to the back. Just as we’re about to turn that last corner, Lando’s arms reach around my waist, stopping me from moving another inch. His chest hits my back with no small amount of force, tossing my hat from my head. I’m bent over in his arms as both of our laughs pull the last threads of air from our tired lungs. He hauls us both upright and my head falls back against his shoulder. I suck in a deep breath of the cool, dusk air. It cools me from the inside out. A feeling stirs deep in my stomach as I stare up into the sky while basking in the feeling of Lando’s arms wrapped around me.

Belonging.

It’s something I’ve been chasing my whole life; a sense of knowing where I belong and who I am. And now I feel as though I’ve finally found it: a home; a place to belong; a knowledge of exactly who I am.

Once we’ve regulated our breathing, I break out of his arms. Leaving them isn’t what I want, and as I pull away, I immediately feel much colder. However, we have to accompany Wyatt and Mitchel before they grow suspicious. Carefully, I pick up my hat, but don’t place it back on my head.

“Are you coming?” I ask quickly, tossing a glance to Lando over my shoulder. He shakes his head with a smile, but follows me around the corner without a word. Wyatt’s eyes find us over the roaring fire he’s built. Mitchel is seated right next to him on a log, a thick blanket spread over their laps. Between the warmth of the fire, the blanket, and the present company, I know that the nighttime chill won’t be able to touch me. As I approach Wyatt, he reaches to the side to pick up another blanket with a couple beers and s’mores supplies stacked on top. I accept it with a quick thank you before plopping down on the log next to them. Lando saunters after me, slowly taking a seat to my right.

“Hold this?” I ask while placing the blanket onto his lap. Gently, I set my hat down behind me, then reach over my shoulder to grab the end of my braid. I pull the elastic from the end and go about undoing the braid.

“So, Lando, how was the ride for you?” Wy asks as he brings his beer to his lips. My eyes are on the fire as he speaks, my mind slipping out of focus for a brief moment while I concentrate on my hair. But I’m aware of the fact that Lando doesn’t answer. When I turn to look at him, I find his eyes already on me, following my fingers as they finish pulling out my braid. I run my fingers through my roots to shake out the nasty hat hair that I undoubtedly have.

“Lando?” Wyatt laughs.

“What?” Lando says as he snaps out of his dazed state. His eyes go wide as they shift over to Wyatt who’s chuckling to himself. A goofy smile breaks across Lando’s face as Wyatt restates his question.

“I think I might have to switch professions,” Lando says, his eyes flicking down to me. The fire is lighting his skin with a warm glow. The flames flash lazily in his glossy eyes.

“I think it would be best for you to stick with McLaren,” I joke while cracking both of our cold beers. With a small smile, I hand over one of the bottles to a slightly offended Lando. Laughing to myself, I nudge his shoulder and click the neck of my beer to his. The liquid is cold and fresh against my lips, sending the perfect chill cascading down into my neck and chest.

“Yeah, mate, I think it’s best if you stay in the cockpit rather than the saddle,” Mitchel adds. “Play to your strengths and all that.”

The cockpit? As in the cockpit of a Formula One car? The realization hits me with all the grace of a drunk elephant. Lando Norris; I recognized his name earlier because Wyatt works as an engineer for a driver named Lando Norris. A Formula One driver named Lando Norris. With wide eyes, I stare forward into the fire. Every possibility that I’ve just dreamt up has suddenly become nothing but a fantasy. My body tenses as it physically revolts against my idiocy and naivety. Reality settles into my bones and I have to chide myself for being so stupid to ignore it for as long as I have. Not only did I ignore it, but I created a work of fiction where maybe we could end up together.

“Shit,” I hear Lando breathe next to me. His face is one I don’t recognize, one of seriousness. For the few hours that I’ve known him, which feel more like years, I haven’t seen him lose that little spark that makes him so him. Now it’s nowhere to be seen. He didn’t want me to know that he was a professional driver, one of the most elite in the whole world. It stings because I don’t understand exactly what his intentions were and it allowed me the space to concoct some seriously messed up notions. There’s no way that anything could happen between us now. It’s hard enough to maintain a friendship of years over an ocean with an engineer; imagine trying to hold together a relationship with a driver across continents and seas that constantly change. However, I can’t justify being angry with him. It is his life to be in the public eye constantly. If he came out here to not be recognized for a while and to be treated like just a normal guy, then who am I to deny him that. I just wish he would have given me the opportunity to do that with knowing who he really is. Now I’m stuck with feelings that I know won’t go away in a hurry and thorough embarrassment.

The rest of the night passes monotonously. Wyatt and Mitchel are wrapped up into their own little world, so they hardly notice the ever eroding gap that suddenly formed between Lando and I. We chat a little, but it’s not the same anymore. Roasting marshmallows has suddenly become my new favorite thing because it gives me an excuse to not look at him. I know that if I do, I’ll start to adore his curly hair and the scar over the bridge of his nose and the way that he looks right into your soul with his pretty eyes. I know that if I dare to look at him, I’ll start to believe in fiction once again. That’s not something I can allow; I won’t be the person who falls in love with the idea of something they can never have.

I won’t be the person that falls for someone they can never have.

Wyatt and Mitchel bid us goodnight before walking hand in hand into the house. Envy flares in my chest, jealousy turning my heart an ugly shade of green. The crackling of the dying fire and the rustling of wind through the grass and trees are the only things that greet my ears. Usually, I would be incredibly fond of this quietness. But now, it simply feels like a life sentence of silence. And once again, as the world turns to night, I feel the loneliness creep in at the edges. The night chill has crept into my fingers and toes, slowly creeping inward.

“I’m sorry,” Lando’s voice is gravelly from lack of use. “I should have…”

“You should have,” I agree. My voice isn’t harsh or condescending, it’s soft, softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I understand, though. I just wish I had known before…”

My voice trails off and gets blown away with the smoke that floats lazily into the atmosphere. Clouds have collected across the sky, cutting the stars from our view. With a melancholy heart, I can’t help but admit how fitting that is. I suppose we really weren’t written in the stars. We are the opposite of destined.

Lando’s hand wraps around my cold fingers, but instead of warming me, it burns. The kiss he leaves on my knuckles feels as though my hand was dipped into the embers of a fire. Blinking back the prick in my eyes from impending tears, I watch his face fall into a frown. I hate the way his eyebrows are creased in the middle and the concern that’s painfully evident in his stubborn eyes. It’s not the look I wanted from him tonight. It’s not the face that’s become my brand new favorite. It’s not Lando.

“How long are you staying for?” I find myself asking. I have to know how long I’ll have to endure his presence. But what’s worse: having him here and knowing I can’t have him, or watching him leave and knowing that I’ll never have him?

“We leave on Monday,” he says. Just for the weekend then. I’ll only have to see him on Monday and then I’ll be free of him. I know he’ll torment me in my sleep, when I see someone walking down the street who looks a little like him, when I look at Luna. I’ll never truly escape him.

“Alright,” I mumble. A beat passes without any more conversation. Then Lando’s hand is slipping under my hair and around the side of my neck. My head turns toward him, his touch unprompted and sending a wave of goosebumps across my skin.

“I’m sorry, but I have to know. Just once and then we can put it away forever. Alright?” He’s closing that gap between us, both physically and emotionally. His face slows as it hovers in front of mine. My breathing has ceased and fear has seized my heart. Is this the right thing to do? Or will it make it worse?

“Alright,” I find myself agreeing without thinking. Maybe I have to know, too, if this is everything I think it is; if this really is everything that I’m losing.

His kiss is light at first, lips just barely brushing mine. It’s soft and gentle as he uses his hand to bring my face closer to his. When his lips are fully on mine, my mind bursts into stars and streams of color. He kisses me with quiet passion, slow and strong. That belonging that I felt when he had his arms around me flares back to life in my chest. His fingers flex under my jaw, holding onto me tighter like he’s scared I’ll slip out of his grip. Which I am. When we break away from our first and last kiss, I feel as we filter through each other’s fingertips. We’re lost now, never to be found.

A crack in my chest sends me to my feet. Tears suddenly blur my vision.

“Goodbye, Lando,” I find myself saying, my words taking every bit of strength I have left. As I turn away from him for the last time, I find myself wishing I'd have said no to his kiss. As I walk away from him for the last time, I know now that I’m losing the one real thing I’ve ever known.

The truth is he isn’t a cowboy like me.

[harrisonarchive]

On the cover of Muziek Expres, 1974.

“[T]he pressure I got under that year [1974] was ridiculous. I went through so many things: produced two other albums, Shankar Family and Friends, and The Place I Love by Splinter. And I produced an Indian musical festival, which had taken me years to get together, with 15 or 16 classical Indian musicians all playing ensemble, like an orchestra—which they never do. In India you see solo players or two performers with a tabla player. In 1974 I went to India, got them all together, they came to Europe, Ravi wrote all the material. It rocked. Then came my own album and this tour I had lined up. And I also met my wife [Olivia] around then. I wrote the song ‘Dark Horse’ in the studio with Ringo and [Jim] Keltner and I never got to finish it. I took this half-finished album with me to tour rehearsals in Los Angeles and got my voice blown out by singing all day long.” - George Harrison, Musician, November 1987 Q: “You met your wife, Olivia, at the end of what seems to have been a pretty low period for you personally – 1974.” George Harrison: “Yeah, well after I split up from Patti[e] [Boyd], I went on a bit of a bender to make up for all the years I’d been married. If you listen to ‘Simply Shady,’ on Dark Horse, it’s all in there —my whole life at that time was a bit like [laughing] Mrs. Dale’s Diary [a now defunct British radio soap opera].” Q: “Were you going down fast?” GH: “Well, I wasn’t ready to join Alcoholics Anonymous or anything — I don’t think I was that far gone — but I could put back a bottle of brandy occasionally, plus all the other naughty things that fly around. I just went on a binge, went on the road... all that sort of thing, until it got to the point where I had no voice and almost no body at times. Then I met Olivia and it all worked out fine. There’s a song on the new album, ‘Dark Sweet Lady’: ‘You came and helped me through/When I’d let go/You came from out the blue/Never have known what I’d done without you.’ That sums it up.” - Rolling Stone, April 19, 1979 (x)

[khr-guilded-cage]

I will say again:

KHR's a gold mine for good plots.

I love this fandom.

Amano you lost an big opportunity of begin the next Naruto.

Basil is one of my fav Ensemble Dark Horses

[tumblingxelian]

I was asked not to leave this in the tags so:

#She has no real home #No sense of place #No feeling of belonging #She's been adrift and isolated for as long as she can remember #An infants most valuable tool is to call for help #Her family would not hear her #The staff are only paid to care #She's both too old and too young for her life #Unable to grow up #But expected to already be an adult #She is neither #She can't be anything #But she has to carry this name and this rank #Even though it leaves her nothing but empty

Why do I have Chloé brainrot? Let me explain.

Close your eyes. Think back to the last time you felt safe. Conjure up that image out of your past that means 'love' to you. That feeling by which you judge every other interaction. The metric for 'okay' and 'not okay'. The quintessential nostalgia that carries us through. The 'better times.'

Home.

Now imagine they very concept was denied you from birth.

[ewingstan]

If you had a chance to recommend (real-world) superhero comics to the Undersiders, which comics would you recommend and why?

Oh, good question. Its been a minute since I was really into comics (I gotta figure out how to reactivate my Marvel Unlimited account), but I think I have enough background to come up with some good picks.

Lotta good options for Taylor. My first thought is to give her Ewing's X-Men Red (aka "the main reason I need to catch up on Marvel comics"), since a superhero story that focuses a lot on gaining and maintaining societal power and the work of governing as a leader in a super-community seems like it would appeal to the Warlord of the Boardwalk. Plus a lot of it is "kill the previous leader in a way that ensures you have a popular mandate," which I'm sure she'd be a fan of.

If we're talking Taylor at the start of the story or younger—well, I don't know if it makes sense to give her runs of the character she's most a pastiche of, but maybe something that fits the Spider-Man niche could still be appealing for a young down-on-her-luck aspiring hero? I could see her getting something out of the Simone or Ahmed Ms. Marvel runs, for instance.

(While Watchmen might seem like the natural pick, I'm pretty sure she'd lose a lot of enjoyment just from picking out all the ways Veidt's plan was obviously gonna fail for x y z reasons. Also dark deconstructions of superhero worlds would probably seem too familiar to her world for her to enjoy it.)

If Taylor would be interested in comics statecraft, Lisa would probably be more interested in comics spycraft and intrigue. Ewing's S.W.O.R.D. would probably scratch the same itch for her that X-Men Red would for Taylor (and Storm dramatically blowing off Doom would probably satisfy her after all the ulcer-inducing negotiations with Accord.) I might also give her Ewings New Avengers and USAvengers runs (look this is gonna include a lot of Al Ewing recs, get used to it early) if only because I feel like she'd enjoy how Roberto gets characterized in those comics. Magnificent bastard solidarity.

If we're giving comics to Brian, we already need to work past his defensive avoidance of anything that seems too childish, so I don't think we're getting anything pre-dark ages. That said, he famously thinks "looking mature" means "sick-ass skulls and leather jackets," so his idea of maturity might skew a bit into McFarlane territory. Ultimately though I think he'd be most comfortable with something where he could plausibly say "this isn't just a comic, it's actually a well-respected piece of literature." I'd want that to mean Moore's Saga of the Swamp Thing, but it'd probably actually mean The Dark Knight Returns.

As a dark horse pick, I'd give Brian some early New Warriors or Ewing's Contest of Champions, if only because Night Thrasher feels so close to what he wants his vibe to be (dramatic black leather ensemble with a very 90's idea of cool, unflappable expert strategist who pulls his weight despite a powerset with limited applicability, died horribly and came back much later for weirdly impersonal reasons) while also being just ridiculous enough to make me want to see his reaction.

Given Iota's commentary on Alec's pizza habits, I'd think Alec would most be a fan of something intense and bombastic and not mind if its often repetitive. I'd almost say Berserk would be a good match for him, but parts of that that might actually be triggering for him. Maybe some other ultra-violent longrunning work; I haven't read Fist of the North Star but it seems like a safe recommendation; various X-Force runs could work if we're sticking with Western comics.

Rachel really doesn't seem like someone who'd have much appreciation for any aspect of comics. The best bet would be something visually spectacular in a way that could be appreciated on its own, and a plot that's interesting taking issues on their own and not just as part of ongoing runs. I could see Ewing's Immortal Hulk as fitting those criteria; her power gives her an artist's appreciation for Bennett's horrific depictions of the Hulk's transformations (even if praising Bennett for anything feels in poor taste).

Ewing's scripts for each issue of Hulk are clever in a way that I feel Rachel could find entertaining; they don't require an attention she couldn't keep up, but also aren't simple to the point of being condescending. Plus, the thematic focus on "what can and can't be solved through unspeakable acts of destruction" would feel familiar in a way that's less frustrating than normal comic tut-tutting about how obviously we can't attack these guys (plus the greater willingness to say "oh yeah unspeakable destruction definitely is the best way forwards here" would be pretty satisfying).

I feel like Aisha would have more patience for comic tropes than a lot of the other undersiders, (I could see her enjoying the original Fantastic Four run), but at the same time she'd probably enjoy something a bit more complicated and out-there. Ewing's Rocket might be appealing as heist-focused mini, and I feel like the mix of melancholy and absurdity would appeal to her. Rosenberg's Hawkeye: Freefall would work for similar reasons, though replace "melancholy" with "simmering rage."

Morrison's Doom Patrol and The Invisibles both have characters Aisha might relate to for the whole "society largely ignoring or wanting to go away" thing. Plus they both have big weird ideas she'd appreciate, Richard Case's art works well with her aesthetics, and they're both seen as "respectable" series to the point that she might like peppering in references to them in alongside Jules Verne jokes.

Huh, I just realized that Aisha and Brian both ended up chasing an appearance of being mature and somewhat surface-level and off-putting ways. Brian "trust me I'm a normal adult man" and Aisha "I've compiled spider-man quips for every work in the Western Canon and will get frustrated when you don't get them" Laborn, the "something ain't right about that kid" siblings.

(I will say that Morrison's Doom Patrol has some weird black stereotypes so if anyone wants to pitch me on a similar work without Morrison's occasional racism I'd be curious).

I'd give Rowell's run on Runaways to Sabah, if only because "somewhat antivillanous found family group of teens that mostly don't have to worry about anything besides relationship drama" sounds like a nice escape for her. Closer to what she wants the Undersiders to be like. Also, I feel she'd enjoy Kris Anka's focus on fashion in his art.

I don't have a lot to go off for Lily. I could see some of the more recent Captain Marvel runs appealing to her sense of true-blue militant heroism. Ayala's New Mutants or Ahmed's Black Bolt might help combat her whole "villains are ontologically evil" thing, at least to a certain extent.

[readyforthegarden]

When the Nightingale Sings - Part Two

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

WC: 3424

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, anxiety, funeral/burial

A/N: A big thank you to @earthlysorrows for beta-reading and editing and helping me along the way!

For the first time in a very long time, sleep did not find Danny easily. The hammock was comfortable enough, and the fur blanket was keeping him warm. It was the noises you made, shuffling around in his bed. Soft sighs and whimpers, undoubtedly reliving your terror from this morning, twitching in the sheets. Danny found his eyes on you most of the night, closing them to a squint when you sat up a few times, panting for breath and clutching your chest. He’d wait until you settled down again, and watch you until your breathing became even again. 

Danny wagered he got only a few hours of sleep, no more than you did, when the sun finally started to rise. The call of the rooster outside his cottage made him realize he couldn’t stay in the hammock any longer. Danny gently rolled out of the cloth, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Watching you, he waited for you to wake, however you were finally out, face buried deep into his pillow. He smiled at the slight snore rumbling from you, glad you were getting rest. 

He puttered around the cottage, doing his usual morning activities, cleaning the kettle out and putting a new one on the hook, pouring in the grains and milk to make a hearty porridge. As it bubbled and cooked, he cut up two of his last few apples into small chunks and tossed them in with some raisins, trying to sweeten the meal. He found his morning tasks around his home more difficult, trying to keep quiet. Danny would freeze when he clattered his knives onto the table, or the chair scraped against the wood of the floor too much. Even the door hinges squeaking sounded like shrieks from banshees in the quiet.  

One of the last times he looked at you, he realized you were still in your day clothes. He had also slept in his day clothes, his usual pajamas of, well, nothing, inappropriate for the present company. However, his usual ensemble did not consist of a boned corset. Going to his hutch, he rifled through it quietly. His sister had left some clothes behind when she married, the outfits not fit for the city life she was moving to. He had kept them, in case of a visit, however no such occasion had arisen. Finding the items he was looking for, he laid them on the table, continuing his chores. 

You woke as he was pulling on his hat and coat again, ready to do his morning rounds on the traps. You sat up, wiping your mouth and eyes, blinking as you remembered your surroundings. 

“Good morning,” Danny greeted you. Replying back, you shifted to the edge of the bed, letting your feet touch the floor as you woke up. “There’s porridge on the fire, when you’re ready to eat. And there’s water in the other, heating up. You’re welcome to use it to bathe, the bath is behind that partition there.” he nodded behind him, and for the first time, you saw in the daylight a dark, tall partition between the fireplace and small kitchen counter along the far wall. Seeing the hesitancy in your eyes, Danny cleared his throat. “I will be gone for a few hours. I’ll be checking my traps. I’m going to try and find your horses as well.”

“What if…” you felt silly, suddenly feeling like this stranger was your protector. But he had protected you, from his animal trap, from the cold. 

“Lock this door behind me. I will knock like this,” he rapped his knuckles on the door frame in a rhythmic fashion. He looked back at you, eyes serious. “And if anything does happen, scream as loud as you can. I will come and find you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

“I found some clothes for you, too.” he pointed to the table. “They were my sisters. I figured if you took a bath, you may not want to wear your dirty clothes.” you nodded, thanking him again. After an awkward silence, Danny cleared his throat again, and moved to the door.

“Daniel,” you called out. He paused, glancing back at you. “Danny, please be careful.”

“I will be. I’ll return in a few hours.” he promised, and with that, was out the door. Moving quickly, you locked the door behind him. The feeling of the iron clanking together made you feel more secure, and you rested your back against the wood. Glancing around the house, you tried to decide what to do: eat or bathe. After a few moments of debate, the bath won out. Taking a handful of rags, you lifted the kettle, almost bowing in half from the weight of the hot water, and side-stepped it to the bathtub, using all your might to lift it to the edge and dump it in. 

The steam was delicious as it rose up around your face in the cool morning air. You struggled for a bit to undo your own corset, but finally succeeded in getting it off, stripping down and stepping into the water. 

It was hot, almost too hot for you, however you sank slowly into it, feeling the warmth seep through your skin and muscles, and into your bones. It was like magic, your stiff body relaxing, going limp in the steaming water. Danny’s bathtub was almost larger than the one at your family's manor, though it would have to be to fit such a large man. The water gathered up to your collarbones as you sank down, dipping your head back to dampen your hair. Danny, ever the forward thinker as you were learning, had left a small rag for you by the tub, a small piece of soap sitting atop it.

 It was a far cry from the baths you’d had all your life. Those were attended, handmaids making sure you were scrubbed properly, dropping scented oils into your water, refreshing it to make sure you didn’t catch cold. Always being prepared in case a suitor would come calling since you were eligible for marriage. You could count on one hand the amount of times you’d been able to have a bath to yourself, and decided to relish in the quiet of the cottage. The birds chirping, chickens clucking outside the windows. You focused on the sounds, catching a breeze rustling through the trees surrounding the cottage as the fireplace crackled and popped.

After your bath, you dressed in the clothes Danny has left, his sister's old things. They were slightly small on you, tight in the shoulders only when you tried to reach up over your head, although the bodice that you struggled to tie in the back yourself, hugged your waist more comfortably than your previous corset. You let your hands slide down the material, the dark green skirt a little short on you but would do. For simple, peasant clothes, they were suitable. 

Your stomach growled, and you remembered the porridge, hastily grabbing a bowl and scooping some in, before settling at the table. 

Danny blew hot air into his hands, holding them close to his mouth. Winter was threatening to come early, it seemed, from the chill in the air. He could feel the chill of his lips through his old, worn gloves. He would have to get new ones soon, and dreaded how many pelts he would need to collect for a pair of good leather ones. His traps this morning only held small game. A raccoon, and two rabbits. Enough for him to make it another week by himself before he would have to dip into some of his scarce winter rations. 

As he tied the game up and slung it over his shoulder, he paused, realizing that he was now to feed you as well. He wondered how you were doing, suddenly, if you were okay alone in the cottage. If he had left enough porridge for you to eat. It had been so long since he had had company of any kind, he realized he didn’t have anything for you to do. 

Shaking his head, he continued on. You were a lady, someone above his station. You were probably used to doing nothing, not having to fight for survival or wonder where your meals would come from. You probably were already back in bed, sleeping the day away like you would in whatever manor you grew up in. 

Guilt formed a hard knot in his stomach, the jealousy he had let loose in his mind fading. It wasn’t your fault you were born into wealth, and him into a life of just hovering above destitution. You had been kind to him, didn’t look down at him for his humble home. You had in fact received it and him gratefully. 

After checking the rest of his traps, finding them empty, he trudged on, heading towards the road where your carriage may be. It took an hour and a half for him to meet the road, stepping onto the dirt path. If you had been heading toward Farrynden’s court, you would have been heading northeast. He followed the beaten path that way a few hundred steps, coming upon a dirty, small scrap of cloth. Leaning down, he noticed it was a silk of some sort, and stood up, carrying on. It wasn’t long before the scene you ran from met his eyes. Your carriage stood still, the horses nowhere to be seen. 

Danny stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat at the scent of copper and death, coming across the bodies of your traveling companions. They are still splayed in the road, spilled blood browned and mixed with the earth below them. A blonde woman, he could only assume was Marta, stared up at him with cold, terrified eyes. Crouching next to her, Danny held his breath as he reached out, closing her eyes, saying a silent prayer. One final act of kindness he could offer her in the moment. 

Glancing around, he saw trunks on the side of the road, their contents strewn about. The bandits must have given up on finding you and decided to ransack your belongings. Linen and silks were torn and ripped apart, seams split as if they were looking for hidden treasure sewn into hems. Danny fought a blush to his cool cheeks as he searched around and spied a frilly, silky negligee among the items, no doubt for your intended wedding night. 

Clearing his throat, he rifled through some of the things laying around, trying to find anything salvageable. A few ribbons he picked up and set them in his pocket. He checked over the larger trunk, dirt and mud seeming to have been poured into it after the bastards couldn’t find anything of use, or took anything they could. 

As he moved the lid to the trunk to close it, a rattling sound graced his ears. His brows knit in the middle and he shook it gently. The rattling was metallic, and Danny laughed out loud. The robbers in their haste must not have heard it, nor spied the small bulge from the tufted top of the trunk. 

Taking one of his knives, Danny cut open the fabric and reached in, finding a small velvet pouch. Holding it in his hands, he squeezed it gently. He couldn’t tell exactly what the contents were, it didn’t feel like coin, but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps they had wrapped it in a kerchief to disguise it from curious minds like his. 

Danny bit back at his own nosiness and instead tucked the pouch safely into his pockets, picking up his catches for the day and turning to head back to his home. A shovel, he reminded himself. Tomorrow he would venture back and bring a shovel, and give your companions the dignity of graves. 

The rhythmic knock Danny demonstrated for you earlier vibrated through the wood of the cottage. Standing from your seat at the table, you bolted to the door, undoing the iron lock and opening it slowly. Danny smiled at you as you stepped back, letting him inside. 

“It’s near-frigid out there.” He told you, sniffling and dropping the wild game on the table. 

“I kept the fire going,” you replied, knowing it wasn’t much. Danny nodded, peering over at the small flames. You must have ventured outside at least once to get a few split logs off the pile on the side of his home. 

“Thank you.” he smiled warmly at you. He moved to take off his gloves, hat and coat, hanging them by the door. Reaching into his coat pocket, he picked the velvet pouch, holding it in his hand. “The horses were long gone from your carriage, no doubt the thieves took them as a quick getaway once they couldn’t locate you.”

“That figures.” you sighed, hoping the men treated the horses with more dignity than they did you and your companions. 

“It looked as if they ransacked the carriage and your belongings. A lot of it was destroyed.” Danny watched you nod sadly, “but I did find this.” Danny presented the pouch to you, and you stared at it, puzzled. “It was hidden in the top of one of your trunks, in the fabric.” 

Your delicate fingers reached out, sliding across the velvet before grasping it. Opening the mouth of the pouch, you curiously peeked in before dumping the contents into your open palm. Jewelry laid in your hand, pearls, to be exact. Danny had never seen anything as fine and intricate. Earrings and a brooch, a necklace too. 

“There were my grandmothers.” you said, surprise still lacing your voice. “My mother must’ve stashed them away for the wedding.”

“They’re beautiful,” Danny couldn’t hold back the awe in his voice. The two of you stared a bit longer, before you plucked the brooch and held it out to him. 

“Take it,” you insisted, causing him to go wide-eyed. 

“I couldn’t,” Danny shook his head, putting a hand up in front of him. You pushed it closer to his palm. 

“Please, as payment for your help, and shelter.” your eyes were pleading, begging him to take the jewelry you offered. Danny started at it. If he broke apart the pearls, he could make them stretch, and buy enough rations at the village market for at least a few months, maybe more. Slowly, his large hand encircled it, taking it from you. “You can have the rest too, if you like.”

“Then what would you wear to marry the prince?” Danny joked, closing your fist around the earrings and necklace. 

“I’m sure there are things prepared for the day.” you murmured softly, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. Danny pocketed the brooch, not pressing regarding the forlorn look on your face. Most young ladies would be falling over themselves to marry a prince. The wealth and title and everything that came with it, it was a dream come true. But for you, it seemed like a nightmare. 

“Could you help me prepare supper?” Danny asked, changing the subject as you troubled your bottom lip between your teeth. Your sidelong glance at the rabbits and raccoon on the table made Danny laugh. “I’ll take care of those, but could you cut up some of those parsnips, and potatoes?” 

“Oh, yes, of course.” never mind you’d only lifted a knife to cut through already cooked food, you followed his instruction, using a solid wood slab on the counter as a chopping block. Danny took the game outside, preparing it away from your eyes. After what he saw at the carriage, he didn’t want you to see anything further. 

You were done chopping the vegetables when he came back in, a skinned rabbit in his hand. You avoided looking at it, and let him have the counter space, adding your vegetables to an empty kettle. The two of you shuffled around quietly, making supper in the mid-afternoon sun that flitted in through the windows. It was comfortable, the quiet in which the two of you worked. Danny found himself enjoying the sound of your footsteps as you brought in a new pail of water to add to the kettle, small grunts of effort falling from your lips. 

“I’m going back to the road tomorrow,” Danny mentioned, after eating a spoonful of stew later that night. You glanced up at him, setting your own spoon back into your bowl. “I’m going to dig and give them as proper a burial as I can.” you were silent for a few moments. 

“I would like to go with you.” Danny thought back to the scene he’d come across earlier, the grimace forming on his face. 

“I don’t think-“

“Marta was my friend.” your voice was hard, a small fire blazing behind your eyes. “And the coachmen had been with my family most of my life. I would like to say a final goodbye and prayer for them.” Danny could feel the conviction in your heart, and nodded. 

“Aye, so you will.” he nodded. “I’ll come back after checking my traps in the morning and we’ll go together.”

The mud was thick after a night full of rain, but Danny persevered, using all his strength to move the heavy dirt just inside the forest off the road. A light mist was still prevailing, making Danny’s coat and hat too heavy to properly dig in. They were discarded under a nearby tree, his white, billowy shirt becoming translucent, sticking to his skin. You had wandered off, collecting the wildflowers to set on the finished graves. The bright yellows and blues, a soft lavender hue and white petals in your hands offering a small, cheerful hue to the dreary day. 

“Stay back there,” Danny called, his voice racked with deep breaths as you approached. “I’m going to move the bodies. I don’t want you to see them,” you replied, turning your back on him. You heard him moving, your ears picking up every sound around you as you tried to focus on anything else. You fought the tears in your eyes, letting them sting and prick at your eyes as you heard the soft thuds, bodies being laid to rest. Turning your head slightly, Danny called out again. “Not yet, I will let you know.”

More time passed, you leaned against the trunk of a tree, busying yourself with the small bouquets, arranging them over and over again. A touch to your shoulder made you jump, and you turned to see Danny, face solemn as he nodded. You weren’t able to tell if it was the mist or sweat on his face, but he was glistening, and you noticed how his shirt clung to his arms and torso, soaked through. A blush crept up on your cheeks as he gestured for you to turn to the graves, pushing away the thoughts that crept in your mind. This was not the time nor place.

Three identical mounds of dirt were in front of you. Your stomach clenched, a sick feeling swirling in it as you looked at each one. Danny kept a hand on your shoulder, a comforting grounding presence. 

“Marta is in the middle,” he told you, his voice soft. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, a trembling hand reaching out, placing a bouquet on the two outer graves, pausing and saying a prayer for each man. Moving to the middle, a sob wracked your body. You hadn’t realized just how much you cared for the young girl until she was gone, too late for you to say it to her. 

Danny watched you, the shaking of your body as you clasped a hand over your mouth, whispered goodbyes to your friend. The flowers remaining in your hand fell at your feet, both hands covering your face. Stepping as quietly as he could, Danny knelt down, scooping up the flowers gently. The blisters on his hand from the digging screamed in pain as he clenched his fist gently around the stems, but he stood up, placing an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. 

It didn’t matter he was still a perfect stranger to you, comfort was needed. And Danny’s strong arm felt safe, felt warm, despite the chill of the rain. After a few moments, Danny moved and you turned, watching him balance. He kept an arm around you, leaning forward and placing the flowers in his hand on Marta’s grave. 

“Eternal rest grant unto them, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls rest in peace.” Danny’s voice was quiet, the prayer floating on the silence in the woods, and you echoed it in your mind, hoping the souls of the departed in front of you were safe and warm, wherever they were.

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[dragonoffantasyandreality]

Captain Scarlet and the Singing Squadron - Prologue

Heya guys! ^^

I have been contemplating about starting posting this since a few days ago, so I decided to start today, first of October >:3

This is special to me, since this is a crossover fanfic of Captain Scarlet, with a childhood film called Only "Old Men" are going to Battle, a touching WW2 film about pilots, scripted and directed by legendary actor Leonid Bykov. His characters and story had stuck with me since I was a kid, gave me a lot of laughs and a lot of tears (Recommend a ton of tissues if you get interested watching it XD), and one of the big inspirations of how I write my stories and characters.

I hope, this will give you a lot of fun reading :) Huge Thank you @uniwolfcorn and @etrnlvoid, and my Mom for the support when I was in doubt when I was writing this project. X3

@teapotteringabout @skymaiden32 @knyee @janetm74 @the-original-sineater @thundergeek59 @riallasheng @mariashades @yarol2075 @llamawrites @river-sam2 @coco9728 @hebuiltfive @thalassastra @bassic-ally @pareidoliaonthemove @graverinth

-0-0-0-

The deed was done, and a squadron of fighter jets of the new generation were burst into flames in their hangers.

While the military airport scrambled and the alarms alerted everyone to evacuate, two green holographic circles eerily traveled across the carnage.

Dark shadows rose from the terrible flames, taking the form of the destroyed fighter jets. And the flew into the dim stars of the night. Towards their designated target miles away.

Unbeknownst to the Mysterons; not too far away from a nuclear power plant, a small wind whistled of danger near the edge of a forest, rustling the leaves like night bells.

As the quiet settled, a new sound echoed from within the thousands of birch trees. A whir grew louder, and louder, and louder, as a big figure emerged from the darkness.

Branches snapped from being crushed by the moving wheels and the grass undulating from the strong spinning of the propeller. A cylinder-like metal body with a slightly squashed nose, and a pair of wide rounded wings, wheeled out into the open.

It halted at the edge of the forest, waiting patiently for its ensemble.

Eight similar mighty winged horses of the sky appeared from the woods, stopping in line as their lead, their whirring matched each other like a chorus.

Now they wait, like birds of prey. Waiting for their new enemy to strike. And their eternal song shall be sung in the sky once more!

-0-0-0-

A sharp gasp! His body jumped off the mattress. And a tumble off the bed before he ended up on the carpeted floor with a big ‘THUMP’!

His brain was barely started processing the blossoming pain on his poor back when he heard someone knocking on his door of his quarters.

“Paul? This is Adam. May I come in?” was an old, acquainted voice from the other side.

After sluggishly getting up to sit on his crumpled bed and wiping away any sweat (and tears) from his face, Captain Scarlet mumbled through his hand.

“Come in…”

Captain Blue came in quietly as soon as the door slid open, wearing a worried expression when he approached with a package under his armpit.

“The usual nightmares, bud?” asked his field partner.

Paul nodded wordlessly. His hand slipped off his tired face and quickly his eyes lit up when he noticed the treat.

“Hey, what’s that under your arm, Big Blue?”

Blue’s face turned from worry to a hopeful grin as he handed the said object to him.

“Oh, just your weekly Care Package,” his friend chirped with a wink.

Scarlet immediately smiled, the thoughts of the nightmares banished right away and the tension from his muscles evaporated the moment he took his new support treat.

“Thanks, Adam. I do really need that.”

But before Captain Scarlet could dig into the goodness inside the box, a terrible deep voice suddenly shook the entirety of Cloudbase, echoing loudly:

THIS IS THE VOICE OF THE MYSTERONS. WE KNOW THAT YOU CAN HEAR US, EARTHMEN. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LIGHT PERIOD, WE WILL DESTROY THE VITALY NUCLEAR POWER PLANT WITH THE DARK SHADOWS OF THE SKY.

The ringing silence followed, leaving the two Spectrum Captains feeling the ominous dread of the message.

“Oh… Gosh darn it…” Was a deadpanned groan from Scarlet.

“Looks like we got to go,” Captain Blue winced.

Captain Scarlet quickly dressed up into his Spectrum uniform and followed his field partner out of his quarters.

He managed to snatch a delicious snack from the care package, planning to eat it whole before arriving at the control center.

What mission does it have in store for the indestructible man of Spectrum?

tbc...

[strangeauthor]

i got rid of it lol

speaking of the demon wiki i dont think liam counts for this i think it's just me whos like this

[centrally-unplanned]

Been watching the original Sailor Moon with partner (@stifledlaughterao3) and there is this character, Motoki:

He is Mamoru's (Tuxedo Mask) genki bff and in Season 1 a crush of Usagi's, and overall is just a general good civilian friend of the whole squad and a recurring character all the way through Season 4. He never appears in Season 5 (I think) for no stated reason, presumably because that season stuffed a healthy dose of new boytoys into its ensemble and needed to balance the scales by putting some others on a bus, but anyway...

In the aforementioned Season 4, the main plot is a Snow White Queen style villain capturing people's "Beautiful Dreams" (shown as mirrors) in a hunt for magic crystal (its Sailor Moon, its always a magic crystal). Said crystal is btw protected by a pegasus/alicorn prince with whom Chibiusa fulfills the deepest fantasy of every eager horse girl in the audience:

Get it girrrl don't let your dreams be dreams. But anyway (again)... the minions of our Distaff Evil Queen raid everyone's dreams hunting Chibiusa's beau, and I mean everyone's; at some points they are just dragging bodies by the truckful to inspect mirrors:

Those are the mirrors - I promise you the piles of bodies they got them from are just off frame. Point is, pretty much everybody has got a beautiful dream, which is why its so hard for these minion girls to find the needle dream in the haystack, insane hairstyles or no.

Season goes on, villain finds the macguffin, fighty fighty plotty plotty and it all culminates with the villain having sealed away all of humanity's dreams in darkness and Chibiusa & Usagi calling everyone to channel the power of their dreams into a planet-wide counterspell. Or Tokyo-wide at minimum, Chbiusa speaks like God from the sky over Tokyo and huge crowds go glassy-eyed to help her:

Even our boy Motoki's sister Unazuki jumps in to help, yelling into space as a confused Motoki tries to figure out what is going on with her:

Which...wait a second, why isn't Motoki helping? Everyone else is! He is the only character on screen in this sequence in Tokyo who isn't helping. Its not just girls, you see plenty of guys, its not just "kids", we see a confirmed late 20's school principal for example doing it too.

I get that not literally everybody had a Beautiful Dream probably, but like everybody the main cast interacts with does! Its used frequently as like an inherent, thematic statement of the essence of humanity, and its lack as a serious problem. So wtf is going on with Motoki! Why doesn't he get a dream?? I thought this would have some like nitpick explanation, but digging in I can't actually find one, I think he just...is dreamless, and therefore by implication kind of sucks.

This is literally the last time you see him, too! Dreamless and confused. My new headcanon is this moment outed him as some form of an alien spy minion and he was summarily executed by the post-dream-apocalypse reconstruction authorities, explaining why we never see him again. Rest In Peace, Motoki - in death may the void of the universe finally meet the void of your heart.

[fanfics4world]

Chapter 2 - Night Encounter

Skye's room was plunged in gloom, illuminated only by the silver moonlight filtering through the velvet curtains. The air was heavy with anticipation as Skye stood in front of the mirror.

The long-tailed black gown fitted her figure like a second skin. The white corset, delicately embroidered with silver threads, enhanced her waist and highlighted her cleavage. Mother-of-pearl buttons glittered along the bodice, and Skye made sure each one was perfectly fastened.

Black leather trousers clung to her legs, and tall white boots completed the ensemble.

Her hair was pulled back in a low bun with 2 side braids, exposing the silver piercings that adorned her right ear.

She also wore earrings from which hung a small diamond heart on a silver chain.

Skye looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the white corset carefully. The moonlight outlined her figure when she heard a voice behind her.

"Where are you going all dressed up at this hour, your highness?"

Skye pursed her lips. The damned smokeball always appeared at the worst time. Through the reflection in the mirror, she saw the Cheshire Cat, Chessur, his smirk hovering in the air.

"Why don't you evaporate somewhere else, Chess?"

The cat blinked, as if considering the question. Then his smile widened.

"Because, my dear Skye, this is my favorite place to pop up. Besides, where would the fun be if I didn't bother you at the most inopportune times?"

Skye rolled her eyes. Chessur always had an answer for everything.

She turned to confront Chessur, but he was gone. Only a faint trail of smoke remained. It was then that Chessur appeared leaning on her shoulder.

"So, are you going to tell me where you're going, princess?"

"None of your business."

Chessur decided to get on her nerves, standing in front of her. "I'm not sure the queen feels the same way," he said.

Skye gritted her teeth. There were limits to her patience. She drew her sword quickly and tried to cut the cat in half, but it vanished again, leaving Skye cutting a faint trail of smoke.

"My, my... What a temper," Chessur replied behind her. Skye was sure that someday this damn cat would drive her crazy. She sighed and sheathed her sword again, turning to confront Chessur.

"You're not going to say anything to the queen, or anyone else, not a word. Because if you don't, I swear on the jabberwacky I'll find a way to evaporate you forever."

Without waiting any longer, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving the cat and his floating smile behind.

After her confrontation with the Cheshire Cat, Skye moved stealthily through the corridors of the palace. The moon still illuminated her path, and every shadow seemed to whisper a secret to her. The doors to the guest rooms were closed, and guards patrolled the corridors.

Skye remembered a secret passage she had discovered years ago. It led to the library, where a seemingly ordinary bookshelf concealed a back door. Knowledge of that passage had served her well on more than one occasion.

Her heart pounding, Skye reached the library. She pushed the bookshelf carefully, revealing the hidden door. The passageway was narrow and dark, but Skye advanced without hesitation. The damp air and smell of antiquity enveloped her as she descended a stone staircase.

Finally, she emerged into a garden behind the palace. She could not risk taking a horse from the royal stables; if any of the guards noticed that any of the horses were missing, her plans could go wrong.

So she started walking towards the border through the forest, going through the village would be quicker, but also riskier.

The forest closed in around her, the trees forming a canopy of leaves that barely let the moonlight through. Skye plodded forward, the crunch of branches beneath her boots echoing in the stillness of the night. But she was not alone.

She didn't need to turn to know who it was. Bander was following her. His yellow eyes glowed in the shadows, and his dark fur blended into the undergrowth.

"I know it's you, Bander."

With a sigh, Skye turned, facing the imposing animal. Bander emerged from the trees, his gaze sad and his ears flat. He looked embarrassed at having been discovered.

"What are you doing here, Bander?" asked Skye.

Bander let out a soft grunt, as if searching for the right words. Skye knew he couldn't speak, but his expression said more than enough.

"No, you're not coming with me," replied Skye, Bander tried to put on his best puppy dog eyes, which made Skye smile. She reached over and petted him. "Sorry big guy, but I can't let you near the Queen of Hearts castle, it's too dangerous" Skye said, Bander whined, clearly disgusted by the answer. Skye sighed.

"Fine, you can accompany me to the border, but nothing more, then go home," Skye said, and Bander wagged his tail, happy with the deal. Bander was about to give her a lick, but Skye jumped away.

"Not today big guy, I have to make myself presentable for Bridget," replied Skye, "Come on, let's go, I have a dance to attend."

The walk to the border was quiet. Skye looked down every so often to check that her outfit looked good, she wanted to impress Bridget. There was something about the encounter that morning, something that made Skye feel different, it was the first time in a long time that she felt like she really lived, that encounter felt real, Bridget wasn't pretending, she wasn't looking to get close to her for her power, considering she was a princess too.

Skye had grown up in a home marked by expectations and perfection, a home where she didn't fit in, because to her mother's chagrin, she wasn't perfect. She was impulsive, rebellious, adventurous and always getting into trouble or looking for trouble, and in a world where perfection was demanded, she was the only black dot on a sheet of paper.

But Bridget's feelings were genuine, after all, she had asked her to her mother's ball. How could she refuse, how could she say no to experiencing that feeling of reality again.

When they reached the border, Skye said goodbye to Bander before approaching the secret passageway in the wall, covered by a curtain of ivy that concealed an opening in the border.

She still remembers how she discovered that escape for her life, it was a day like any other, she had argued with her mother, who wanted to organise a dinner with her court, and wanted Skye to wear one of her tight dresses with hundreds of unnecessary jewels, instead of wearing her usual leather jackets and comfortable clothes.

"You have to look presentable for once Skye. Is that so hard?" she said. "Behave like a princess for once and pretend, if only for one night, that you're part of royalty, part of this family."

That was the last straw, Skye ran out of her room, ignoring her mother, who was shouting her name, and escaped from the palace, managing to easily throw off the pursuing guards.

She ran into the forest, letting her feet guide her, she was too angry to think of a place to go, then she came to the border wall. And that only made her angrier, she knew there was no escape from her world, no place to run. They had closed the door on her freedom, limiting it.

In her outburst, she threw a stone at one of the ivy-covered areas of the wall, but it didn't bounce off, it went right through.

Skye, confused, reached over, and with her hand moved the ivy curtain, there was a hole, big enough for even Bander to fit through.

She looked back for a moment, hesitant to cross to the other side, but perhaps this could be the doorway to the freedom she desired. So she stepped through the gap in the wall, eventually finding another curtain of ivy, hiding the hole at the other side.

And when she stepped through it, her breath caught. The landscape was beautiful, full of vibrant colours, something she never thought she could see.

She knew that crossing the border meant she was in the Kingdom of Hearts, but she didn't care, this was her escape route to freedom.

From that day on, crossing the border into the other kingdom became a regular occurrence, day or night.

Now she was facing her secret entrance, no longer crossing the border to explore, she was crossing the border to meet Bridget at a royal ball, with that girl with the pink hair and the smile that Skye wouldn't mind seeing every day of her life.

She was worth the risk.

Bridget stood in front of the mirror while one of her maids finished adjusting her dress.

It was a light shade of pink, sleeveless, with a ruffled skirt that came to just below her knees. It had a flower pattern in a darker shade of pink. Bridget was nervous, she hoped this dress would impress Skye.

She didn't even know why she felt this way, but she wanted to surprise Skye. Her thoughts drifted to Skye's figure, that snow white hair, her blue eyes that lived up to her name, her melodic laugh, and those lips that-

Bridget blushed and cursed herself for thinking about such things. It hadn't even been a day since she'd met Skye, but there was something about her that made Bridget want to see her soon, to hear that laugh every day, and to feel something inside her warm up again knowing that she'd made that angelic sound.

Bridget smiled unconsciously, drawing the attention of a new figure in her room, she had been so deep in thought that she hadn't noticed who had entered.

"You seem very happy today, my dear."

Bridget looked through the reflection of the mirror at her mother, who was watching her with a mixture of affection and curiosity. Bridget couldn't help but blush.

"I'm just happy for the ball," Bridget replied, there was no way to explain to her mother that her happiness had been brought about by a certain white-haired princess who had crossed the border to explore her kingdom.

Her mother hummed at the answer, she knew her daughter was like a radiant sun, full of kindness and joy, but this joy was different, she was excited, and she was sure there was more to it.

"Is there someone waiting for you tonight?" her mother asked. Bridget didn't want to lie to her, so she decided to blurt out a half-truth. "Maybe," she merely replied. Which made her mother raise an eyebrow curiously, a knowing smile on her face.

"May I know who is?" her mother tried. Bridget smiled, "I'm afraid not, besides, I don't know if she'll show up, I invited her to the dance, but she might not come, maybe she doesn't think I'm worth it, maybe-"

Her mother got up and walked over to her daughter as she raved. She held her face in her hands, interrupting Bridget's monologue.

"Darling, I assure you that any second with you is completely worth it, and I am sure that if she knows how to value you, she will show up, and if she doesn't, it's because she doesn't know how to see the best when it's right in front of her. And in that case, I want first and last name," her mother said.

Bridget hugged her, melting into her mother's affection. 

After saying goodbye to her mother, Bridget finished fixing her hair, preferring to let her wavy pink hair fall over her shoulders. She carefully placed her tiara on her head, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

Bridget fiddled with the hem of her skirt as she waited in the palace gardens. The ball had already begun, and she stood for a while greeting the court and her mother's guests, then wandered away from the crowd towards the gardens, but not before receiving a knowing glance from her mother.

She stood in front of the small palace pond, fireflies flew over the water and the sky, making it look like she was surrounded by hundreds of lights.

"Wow cupcake, you have to stop stealing my breath if you want me to live."

Bridget turned to look at Skye, and in that moment, she was the one who stole Bridget's breath.

Her eyes roamed Skye's figure from head to toe, the black long-tailed suit fitted her figure as if it was made just for her. The white corset, delicately embroidered with silver threads, enhanced her waist and highlighted her cleavage, causing a slight blush to form on Bridget's cheeks.

Black leather trousers clung to her legs, and tall white boots completed the ensemble.

Her hair was pulled back in a low bun with 2 side braids, exposing her full face, and damn, if Bridget already thought Skye was beautiful, this only doubled her thoughts.

"I hope I didn't take too long, it took me longer than I expected to dodge the guards," said Skye as she approached. And it was then that Bridget became aware again of the reality they were in, their worlds were separated by a border, their families were enemies and even this sneaking meeting was a reflection of the rift that separated them.

The sound of music coming from the ballroom was like an echo, but it was loud enough to keep up with the rhythm of the song.

"Well, what do you say princess, may I have this dance?" Skye made a graceful reference as she held out her hand for Bridget to take.

Princess… Even though Skye had called her that before, there was something in her tone, something that Bridget was sure that if what Skye wanted to get her as hot as an oven, she was getting it.

Bridget, with a slight blush, accepted Skye's hand. "It will be a pleasure, your highness," she replied, the nickname making Skye giggle, a light, melodic laugh for Bridget.

Oh girl, you're going to be my ruin.

Skye pulled Bridget to her, her hands finding their place on Bridget's hips, and Bridget's arms tightened around Skye's neck, as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that had just fit together.

They began to dance, moving to the music, as if the whole world had disappeared and only the two of them existed.

For Bridget, each step was a revelation. She felt the firmness of her grip and the gentleness with which she guided her. Her thoughts swirled, wondering how someone who should be her enemy could make her feel so safe, so understood. Every turn and every movement seemed synchronized, as if they had been dancing together all their lives.

Skye, for her part, couldn't take her eyes off Bridget. The light from the lanterns reflected in her brown eyes, and her smile was a beacon in the darkness. Skye caught herself wishing the dance would never end. In that intimate moment, she realized that Bridget could understand her in a way that no one else did.

The garden faded around them, and only the two of them were left, moving in perfect harmony. Bridget could feel Skye's heartbeat, and wondered if Skye could feel hers. The closeness was intoxicating, and for a moment, Bridget forgot all the tensions and conflicts surrounding them.

Skye was lost in her thoughts as well. Every time her eyes met Bridget's, she felt a deep connection, as if their souls were destined to meet. The music, the garden, everything faded in comparison to the intensity of that moment. Skye knew she was crossing a dangerous line, but she couldn't help it. She was drawn to Bridget in a way she had never experienced before.

The dance continued, and with each step, Skye and Bridget grew closer, not just physically, but emotionally. In that magical garden, under the light of the fireflies, they found a refuge in each other's arms, a place where they could be themselves without fear or reservation.

And so, as the music continued to play and the stars twinkled in the sky, Skye and Bridget realised that, despite everything, they seemed made for each other. In that intimate moment, dancing in the garden, they found a connection that would change their lives forever.

Bridget felt an irresistible urge. She leaned into Skye, their lips about to meet. Skye did the same, their hearts beating in unison, anticipating the kiss they so desired.

"Well, your highness. This I didn't expect."

Skye and Bridget broke off abruptly, turning to see the Cheshire Cat hovering behind them, his trademark grin lighting up the darkness. The moment had faded, but the spark between them still burned.

Oh... Skye was definitely going to evaporate this cat.

"What are you doing here Chess? I think it was pretty clear from our conversation that what I had to do was none of your business," said Skye.

Chessur evaporated, appearing over Bridget's shoulder. "In our conversation you forgot to mention that you had a date," Chessur replied, looking at Bridget with his trademark smile.

"I'm sure that went into 'None of your business'" said Skye. At that moment all she wanted was for the damn cat to disappear and resume her interrupted moment with Bridget.

"Well, your highness, I'm sorry to interrupt your moment, but I thought you should know that your mother knows of your absence and has deployed the royal guard to search for you," Chessur replied, Skye sighed, to her chagrin, she knew she had to get back.

She turned to Bridget, who was clearly not amused that her moment was going to end so soon.

"It's been a pleasure princess, but I must return to the White Kingdom," Skye apologised, a sad smile on her face.

Bridget nodded. "I understand," she said. Skye walked over to her and grabbed her hand. "Tomorrow I'll probably have a lot of explaining to do, but I want you to meet me in two days at the place where we first met" she said. Bridget felt a spark of hope ignite inside her at the promise of another meeting with Skye.

"I'll be there."

Skye smiled before she leaned closer to Bridget and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "I'll be waiting for you, princess"

Skye disappeared into the darkness, the night hiding her like camouflage. And Bridget stood there, her hand reached for the spot on her cheek where Skye had kissed her, she couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face, their moment may be over too soon, but the promise of that new encounter was enough for her.

Little did Bridget know that that secret meeting hadn't been so secret after all, a pair of eyes watched her from one of the palace balconies.

"Would you like to explain to me where you've been Skye?" her mother asked.

After crossing the border, Skye had intentionally let herself be found by her mother's guards near the castle. And they had taken her to the throne room, where her mother, with a tired look from staying up and a look that Skye knew could only mean one thing, disappointment, was waiting for her.

The room was adorned with silk tapestries and furniture carved from ebony wood. The throne, with its high back and embroidered cushions, stood in the centre. Her mother sat there, her snow-white gown contrasting with the dark velvet of the throne.

"I couldn't sleep, I went for a walk around" Skye lied, her mother sighed. "Out for a walk? Dressed in a halfway acceptable manner?", Skye couldn't help but roll her eyes, for once she was dressed up, even her mother didn't think it was good enough.

"Where did you go Skye?" her mother asked, she got up and started to walk over to her.

Skye lied again, it was clear this wasn't going to end well. ‘I was strolling through the gardens. I needed some fresh air.’

But her mother didn't believe her, "You can't lie to me. That's not the behaviour of a future queen" she said, it was clear that was all she cared about.

Skye pursed her lips, feeling the tension in the room. "I have done nothing wrong, mother"

Her mother watched her, her expression implacable. "Where have you really been? With who?" she asked, beginning to get fed up with her daughter's attitude.

"It's none of your business"

She should definitely look for a better answer.

Her mother grabbed her arm tightly. "It is! You are my daughter, and not only that, you are next in succession to the throne of the White Kingdom. You can't keep behaving like this. You must live up to your position" she said. 

Skye clenched her fists, feeling anger bubbling up inside her. "Live up to what, your impossible expectations? I don't want to be like you, mother. I don't want to be queen"

Her mother grabbed her by the collar of her robe, her voice low and dangerous. "You must learn to rule, to make hard decisions. You can't spend your life wandering the kingdom and doing as you please" she said.

Skye let go, her gaze defiant. "I don't want to rule like you. I don't want to be a puppet in your hands. You've always wanted to mold me in your image, but I'm not yours"

The sound echoed through the room, and Skye felt the sting on her cheek, it hurt far more than Skye remembered.

She holds herself in place, her cheek burning and her chest aching as she fights her instinct to cry.

She won't give her mother the pleasure of knowing she made her cry.

"I wish you hadn't been my mother. I wish I had not been born in this kingdom"

Her mother grabbed her by the wrist, her eyes defiant. "This isn't over, Skye. You can't escape your destiny"

Skye let go abruptly. "Yes, it is over"

And without looking back, she stalked out of the throne room, leaving her mother staring blankly into the darkness.

"So Princess Bridget of Hearts? It's clear you like danger your highness" said Chessur, Skye watched him through her dressing table mirror as she finished removing her hair, the red mark on her cheek was evident, it stood out thanks to her pale skin, but if Chessur saw it, he preferred not to say anything.

"For your sake Chess, I hope you keep your mouth shut" growled Skye.

But we were talking about the Cheshire cat, for whom not telling a secret was as irresistible as a ball of wool.

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