#farm combine fire

[fixomnia-scribble]

WOW.

Scientists found an amazingly well-preserved village from 3,000 years ago

Text below, in case article access dries up:

LONDON — A half-eaten bowl of porridge complete with wooden spoon, communal rubbish bins, and a decorative necklace made with amber and glass beads are just a handful of the extraordinarily well-preserved remnants of a late Bronze Age hamlet unearthed in eastern England that’s been dubbed “Britain’s Pompeii” and a “time capsule” into village life almost 3,000 years ago.

The findings from the site, excavated in 2015 to 2016, are now the subject of two reports, complete with previously unseen photos, published this week by University of Cambridge archaeologists, who said they cast light onto the “cosy domesticity” of ancient settlement life.

“It might be the best prehistoric settlement that we’ve found in Britain,” Mark Knight, the excavation director and a co-author of the reports, said in an interviewThursday. “We took the roofs off and inside was pretty much the contents,” he said. “It’s so comprehensive and so coherent.”

The reason for the rare preservation: disaster.

The settlement, thought to have originally consisted of several large roundhouses made of wood and constructed on stilts above a slow-moving river, was engulfed by a fire less than a year after being built.

During the blaze, the buildings and much of their contents collapsed into a muddy river below that “cushioned the scorched remains where they fell,” the university said of the findings. This combination of charring from the fire and waterlogging led to “exceptional preservation,” the researchers found.

“Because of the nature of the settlement, that it was burned down and its abandonment unplanned, everything was captured,” Knight added.

“As we excavated it, there was that feeling that we were picking over someone else’s tragedy,” he said of the eerie site in the swampy fenland of East Anglia. “I don’t think we could smell the fire but the amount of ash around us — it felt close.”

Researchers said they eventually unearthed four large wooden roundhouses and an entranceway structure, but the original settlement was probably “twice as big.”

The site at Must Farm dates to about 850 B.C., eight centuries before Romans came to Britain. Archaeologists have been shocked at “just how clear the picture is” of late Bronze Age life based on the level of detail uncovered, Knight said.

The findings also showed that the communities lived “a way of life that was more sophisticated than we could have imagined,” Duncan Wilson, head of Historic England, the public body responsible for preserving England’s historic environment, said in a statement.

The findings unearthed include a stack of spears, possibly for hunting or defense; a decorative necklace “with beads from as far away as Denmark and Iran”; clothes of fine flax linen; and a female adult skull rendered smooth, “perhaps a memento of a lost loved one,” the research found.

The inhabitants’ diet was also rich and varied, including boar, pike and bream, along with wheat and barley.

A pottery bowl with the finger marks of its maker in the clay was also unearthed, researchers said, still containing its final meal — “a wheat-grain porridge mixed with animal fats” — with a wooden spatula resting inside the bowl.

“It appears the occupants saved their meat juices to use as toppings for porridge,” project archaeologist Chris Wakefield said in the university’s news release. “Chemical analyses of the bowls and jars showed traces of honey along with ruminant meats such as deer, suggesting these ingredients were combined to create a form of prehistoric honey-glazed venison,” he added.

Skulls of dogs — probably kept as pets and to help with hunting — were also uncovered, and the dogs’ fossilized feces showed they fed on scraps from their owners’ meals, the research found.

The buildings, some connected by walkways, may have had up to 60 people living there all together, Knight said, along with animals.

Although no intact sets of human remains were found at the site, indicating that the inhabitants probably fled the fire safely, several sheep bones were found burned indoors. “Skeletal remains showed the lambs were three to six months old, suggesting the settlement was destroyed sometime in late summer or early autumn,” according to the university’s news release.

Ceramic and wooden vessels including tiny cups, bowls and large storage jars were also found. Some pots were even designed to nest, stacked inside one another, Knight said — evidence of an interest in aesthetics as well as practicality.

A lot of similar items were found replicated in each home, Knight added, painting the picture of completely independent homesteads for each family unit rather than distinct buildings for shared tasks — much like we live today.

Household inventories often included metal tools, loom weights, sickles for crop harvesting, axes and even handheld razors for cutting hair.

The roundhouses — one of which had almost 50 square meters (nearly 540 square feet) of floor space — had hearths and insulated straw and clay roofs. Some featured activity zones for cooking, sleeping and working akin to modern-day rooms.

The Must Farm settlement has produced the largest collection of everyday Bronze Age artifacts ever discovered in the United Kingdom, according to Historic England, which partly funded the 1.1 million pound ($1.4 million) excavation project.

The public body labeled the site a “time capsule,” including almost 200 wooden artifacts, over 150 fiber and textile items, 128 pottery vessels and more than 90 pieces of metalwork. Some items will go on display at the nearby Peterborough Museum next month.

Archaeologists never found a “smoking gun” cause for the fire, Knight said. Instead, they suspect it was either an attack from “outside forces,” which may explain why the inhabitants never returned to collect their possessions from the debris, or an accidental blaze that spread rapidly across the tightly nestled homes.

“Probably all that was left was the people and what they were wearing; everything else was left behind,” Knight said of the fire.

But the preservation has left a window for people to look back through in the future. “You could almost see and smell their world,” he said.

“The only thing that was missing was the inhabitants,” Knight added. “And yet … I think they were there — you certainly got glimpses.”

[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - June 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $Kaybarr1735! And if you tip me and give me a way to contact you, at the end of the month I'll send you a link to all of the articles I found but didn't use each week!

1. Victory for Same-Sex Marriage in Thailand

“Thailand’s Senate voted 130-4 today to pass a same-sex marriage bill that the lower house had approved by an overwhelming majority in March. This makes Thailand the first country in Southeast Asia, and the second in Asia, to recognize same-sex relationships. […] The Thai Marriage Equality Act […] will come into force 120 days after publication in the Royal Gazette. It will stand as an example of LGBT rights progress across the Asia-Pacific region and the world.”

2. One of world’s rarest cats no longer endangered

“[The Iberian lynx’s] population grew from 62 mature individuals in 2001 to 648 in 2022. While young and mature lynx combined now have an estimated population of more than 2,000, the IUCN reports. The increase is largely thanks to conservation efforts that have focused on increasing the abundance of its main food source - the also endangered wild rabbit, known as European rabbit. Programmes to free hundreds of captive lynxes and restoring scrublands and forests have also played an important role in ensuring the lynx is no longer endangered.”

3. Planning parenthood for incarcerated men

“[M]any incarcerated young men missed [sex-ed] classroom lessons due to truancy or incarceration. Their lack of knowledge about sexual health puts them at a lifelong disadvantage. De La Cruz [a health educator] will guide [incarcerated youths] in lessons about anatomy and pregnancy, birth control and sexually transmitted infections. He also explores healthy relationships and the pitfalls of toxic masculinity. […] Workshops cover healthy relationships, gender and sexuality, and sex trafficking.”

4. Peru puts endemic fog oasis under protection

“Lomas are unique ecosystems relying on marine fog that host rare and endemic plants and animal species. […] The Peruvian government has formally granted conservation status to the 6,449-hectare (16,000-acre) desert oasis site[….] The site, the first of its kind to become protected after more than 15 years of scientific and advocacy efforts, will help scientists understand climatic and marine cycles in the area[, … and] will be protected for future research and exploration for at least three decades.”

5. Religious groups are protecting Pride events — upending the LGBTQ+ vs. faith narrative

“In some cases, de-escalation teams stand as a physical barrier between protesters and event attendees. In other instances, they try to talk with protesters. The goal is generally to keep everyone safe. Leigh was learning that sometimes this didn’t mean acting as security, but doing actual outreach. That might mean making time and space to listen to hate speech. It might mean offering food or water. […] After undergoing Zoom trainings this spring, the members of some 120 faith organizations will fan out across more than 50 Pride events in 16 states to de-escalate the actions of extremist anti-LGBTQ+ hate groups.”

6. 25 years of research shows how to restore damaged rainforest

“For the first time, results from 25 years of work to rehabilitate fire-damaged and heavily logged rainforest are now being presented. The study fills a knowledge gap about the long-term effects of restoration and may become an important guide for future efforts to restore damaged ecosystems.”

7. Audubon and Grassroots Carbon Announce First-of-its-Kind Partnership to Reward Landowners for Improving Habitats for Birds while Building Healthy Soils

“Participating landowners can profit from additional soil carbon storage created through their regenerative land management practices. These practices restore grasslands, improve bird habits, build soil health and drive nature-based soil organic carbon drawdown through the healthy soils of farms and ranches. […] Additionally, regenerative land management practices improve habitats for birds. […] This partnership exemplifies how sustainable practices can drive positive environmental change while providing tangible economic benefits for landowners.”

8. Circular food systems found to dramatically reduce greenhouse gas emissions, require much less agricultural land

“Redesigning the European food system will reduce agricultural land by 44% while dramatically reducing greenhouse gas emissions from agriculture by 70%. This reduction is possible with the current consumption of animal protein. “Moreover, animals are recyclers in the system. They can recycle nutrients from human-inedible parts of the organic waste and by-products in the food system and convert them to valuable animal products," Simon says.”

9. Could Treating Injured Raptors Help Lift a Population? Researchers found the work of rehabbers can have long-lasting benefits

“[“Wildlife professionals”] tend to have a dismissive attitude toward addressing individual animal welfare,” [… but f]or most raptor species, they found, birds released after rehabilitation were about as likely to survive as wild birds. Those released birds can have even broader impacts on the population. Back in the wild, the birds mate and breed, raising hatchlings that grow up to mate and breed, too. When the researchers modeled the effects, they found most species would see at least some population-level benefits from returning raptors to the wild.”

10. Indigenous people in the Amazon are helping to build bridges & save primates

“Working together, the Reconecta Project and the Waimiri-Atroari Indigenous people build bridges that connect the forest canopy over the BR-174 road[….] In the first 10 months of monitoring, eight different species were documented — not only monkeys such as the golden-handed tamarin and the common squirrel monkey (Saimiri sciureus), but also kinkajous (Potos flavus), mouse opossums (Marmosops sp.), and opossums (Didelphis sp.).”

Bonus: A rare maneless zebra was born in the UK

June 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[reasonsforhope]

"In response to last year’s record-breaking heat due to El Niño and impacts from climate change, Indigenous Zenù farmers in Colombia are trying to revive the cultivation of traditional climate-resilient seeds and agroecology systems.

One traditional farming system combines farming with fishing: locals fish during the rainy season when water levels are high, and farm during the dry season on the fertile soils left by the receding water.

Locals and ecologists say conflicts over land with surrounding plantation owners, cattle ranchers and mines are also worsening the impacts of the climate crisis.

To protect their land, the Zenù reserve, which is today surrounded by monoculture plantations, was in 2005 declared the first Colombian territory free from GMOs.

...

In the Zenù reserve, issues with the weather, climate or soil are spread by word of mouth between farmers, or on La Positiva 103.0, a community agroecology radio station. And what’s been on every farmer’s mind is last year’s record-breaking heat and droughts. Both of these were charged by the twin impacts of climate change and a newly developing El Niño, a naturally occurring warmer period that last occurred here in 2016, say climate scientists.

Experts from Colombia’s Institute of Hydrology, Meteorology and Environmental Studies say the impacts of El Niño will be felt in Colombia until April 2024, adding to farmers’ concerns. Other scientists forecast June to August may be even hotter than 2023, and the next five years could be the hottest on record. On Jan. 24, President Gustavo Petro said he will declare wildfires a natural disaster, following an increase in forest fires that scientists attribute to the effects of El Niño.

In the face of these changes, Zenù farmers are trying to revive traditional agricultural practices like ancestral seed conservation and a unique agroecology system.

Pictured: Remberto Gil’s house is surrounded by an agroforestry system where turkeys and other animals graze under fruit trees such as maracuyá (Passiflora edulis), papaya (Carica papaya) and banana (Musa acuminata colla). Medicinal herbs like toronjil (Melissa officinalis) and tres bolas (Leonotis nepetifolia), and bushes like ají (Capsicum baccatum), yam and frijol diablito (beans) are part of the undergrowth. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

“Climate change is scary due to the possibility of food scarcity,” says Rodrigo Hernandez, a local authority with the Santa Isabel community. “Our ancestral seeds offer a solution as more resistant to climate change.”

Based on their experience, farmers say their ancestral seed varieties are more resistant to high temperatures compared to the imported varieties and cultivars they currently use. These ancestral varieties have adapted to the region’s ecosystem and require less water, they tell Mongabay. According to a report by local organization Grupo Semillas and development foundation SWISSAID, indigenous corn varieties like blaquito are more resistant to the heat, cariaco tolerates drought easily, and negrito is very resistant to high temperatures.

The Zenù diet still incorporates the traditional diversity of seeds, plant varieties and animals they consume, though they too are threatened by climate change: from fish recipes made from bocachico (Prochilodus magdalenae), and reptiles like the babilla or spectacled caiman (Caiman crocodilus), to different corn varieties to prepare arepas (cornmeal cakes), liquor, cheeses and soups.

“The most important challenge we have now is to save ancient species and involve new generations in ancestral practice,” says Sonia Rocha Marquez, a professor of social sciences at Sinù University in the city of Montería.

...[Despite] land scarcity, Negrete says communities are developing important projects to protect their traditional food systems. Farmers and seed custodians, like Gil, are working with the Association of Organic Agriculture and Livestock Producers (ASPROAL) and their Communitarian Seed House (Casa Comunitaria de Semillas Criollas y Nativas)...

Pictured: Remberto Gil is a seed guardian and farmer who works at the Communitarian Seed House, where the ASPROL association stores 32 seeds of rare or almost extinct species. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

Located near Gil’s house, the seed bank hosts a rainbow of 12 corn varieties, from glistening black to blue to light pink to purple and even white. There are also jars of seeds for local varieties of beans, eggplants, pumpkins and aromatic herbs, some stored in refrigerators. All are ancient varieties shared between local families.

Outside the seed bank is a terrace where chickens and turkeys graze under an agroforestry system for farmers to emulate: local varieties of passion fruit, papaya and banana trees grow above bushes of ají peppers and beans. Traditional medicinal herbs like toronjil or lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) form part of the undergrowth.

Today, 25 families are involved in sharing, storing and commercializing the seeds of 32 rare or almost-extinct varieties.

“When I was a kid, my father brought me to the farm to participate in recovering the land,” says Nilvadys Arrieta, 56, a farmer member of ASPROAL. “Now, I still act with the same collective thinking that moves what we are doing.”

“Working together helps us to save, share more seeds, and sell at fair price [while] avoiding intermediaries and increasing families’ incomes,” Gil says. “Last year, we sold 8 million seeds to organic restaurants in Bogotà and Medellín.”

So far, the 80% of the farmers families living in the Zenù reserve participate in both the agroecology and seed revival projects, he adds."

-via Mongabay, February 6, 2024

[badaxefamily]

Reasons to play Palia:

Cozy, gentle farming/village sim a bit like a combination of Harvest Moon and Animal Crossing, but online.

Most of the villagers are romanceable if you're into that. Either way they all have backstories that you learn by befriending them.

One time I went fishing and pulled up a charcuterie.

There's robots. One of them is romanceable because the fanbase demanded it in alpha.

You can't pet the dog but you can talk to him:

The fishing and bug catching systems are unique and fun.

When people find a rare/special resource like a Flow tree or palium ore, they'll call over zone chat to tell people where it is because everyone that hits a resource node will get the same reward no matter how many people are on it.

Crabs count as bugs so you can catch them!

Sifuu sent me a brick in the mail.

Cat people come from the moon, allegedly. Which moon? Probably the one that isn't on fire.

Concerned about too many people stripping the resources? The game is instanced and each instance only has a handful of players at a time. Even if they're all mining, or chopping trees, the nodes respawn fast enough to compensate. Plants and other things on the ground are not shared, so grab all those you want.

You can hunt for meat and leather, and there are a variety of animals that require different methods. Some of them teleport or clone themselves.

Speaking of hunting, you do so with a bow, and there's no blood or dead body. Bagged animals literally disappear and leave behind a bag which you loot.

You can climb and glide kind of like Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom.

The housing system is pretty robust, almost like WildStar. You start with a tent and then get a house which you can add rooms to. You can find, buy, and craft furnishing and sometimes villagers will gift them to you.

There's no HP and no penalty for falling, so feel free to yeet yourself from high places in order to explore!

[violenteconomics]

For thr vacation fund au and rsa exchange program thingy majigy au, please hear me out hear me out-

Imagine tge first years come back to nrc (or not idk) and then for their vacation fund they make a host club or rent-a-date (rent-a-friend for ortho or smth)

Like ramshackle is their hq and ljke what you said they originally became famous bc of the poster with bad marker quality, several malleus stickers and deuce's thirst trap photo, but the customers do find other favorites besides deuce (but hes still the most popular- like tamaki but he has no idea what hes doing lol)

And then the rsa LI hearing abt this (either from gossip or soxial media you do yiu) and then they become regulars at the nrc first years host club

(Then the seniors catxhing wind of this dear Lord may they have mercy on the rsa students)

anything 4 u, baby.

PFFFFFT-- O M G YASSSS COMBINING THE RSA TRIP WITH THE VACATION FUND IS GENIUS, THIS IS THE SPIN OFF WHERE THE FIRST-YEARS START NRC'S FIRST HOST CLUB TO PAY FOR THEIR VACATION!!! the idea that the shitty poster still makes people endlessly thirsty is so funny to me lol.

deuce is the kind, understanding date, who has a big heart but can also protect you if need be. he's literally a dreamboat come to life. the only downside is that the client has to plan their dates -- otherwise, deuce might actually take them to an egg farm, lol.

ace is the quote unquote "fun" one, who is down to literally anything as long as it's entertaining enough. polar opposite of deuce, in that he's GREAT at date-planning, and he's the second-highest in terms of ratings.

epel and yuu are a "double date" sort of deal, where yuu's simple charm and understanding personality contrasts very greatly with epel's more "rough-and-tumble" approach to life. epel is THIS close to cursing out the waitress for giving you lobster in your meal even though you specifically asked them not to because your allergic, meanwhile yuu keeps epel from making a scene (but is simultaneously calling in a favor from azul to sue this place to the ground, lol).

i honestly can't imagine sebek or jack ever agreeing to do this, but if they were somehow blackmailed into it (or drawn to the compel of more money to put into their vacation fund), it would be the most tsundere thing in existence--

AND ORTHO HAS HIS OWN LITTLE "RENT-A-FRIEND" BOOTH IN THE CORNER AHHHHHHH (he's basically taken over yuu's position as the therapist friend, fr fr)

AND THE RSA LIS HEARING ABOUT THIS MMMMMMMM. i mean, most of them are royalty, so they have enough money to basically monopolize all of the first-years' time. and the freshmen kind of actually like going out with the LIs more than anybody else, just because they know them better than random nrc strangers.)

(of course, the seniors are still stalking them from the bushes, fire spells and knives prepared in case they need them.)

(ace wipes some ice cream off song's face, and riddle has to be held down by both vil and malleus to keep him from decapitating the both of them right then and there for their indecency)

[beesmygod]

as noted by accursed farms: the lack of consumer protections in the U.S. is unprescedented when it comes to video games, probably due to a combination of successful lobbying and our leaders being 8000000 years old and dont know how electricity works let alone a computer. combine this with a group of consumers who center their entire life and personality around their expensive hobby and then cannot bring themselves to simply NOT consume when they are exploited, and you have a grease fire that leads to you not actually owning any of the games you buy

[probablybadrpgideas]

Swear Words By Fantasy Language

Common: hit your thumb really hard and see!

Dwarvish: Dwarves don’t have any swear words. Rather, a Dwarf must show their craftsmanship by combining non-swear words in a vulgar way. You’ve not been truly offended until a dwarf calls you a house-painting-horse-bargainer.

Elves: Elvish has exactly one swear word, and each elf can only use it once in their life. If uttered it kills all plant life in 300ft and everything capable of hearing must make a wisdom saving throw or disintegrate on the spot.

Giant: Giant contains such swearwords as “double fuck”, which is like normal fuck but twice as big.

Gnomish: Gnomish uses things like “tax returns” and “fiscal responsibility” as swear words. Mentioning your accountant will have you thrown out of respectable gnomish society

Goblin: Honestly, it’s easier to list the words in goblin that aren’t swear words.

Halfling: Halfling has incredibly harsh swear words, to the surprise of everyone when this pastoral little man toddling around a farm and eating muffins calls you a motherfucking shithead cockface

Draconic: Draconic swear words translate to things like “gosh darn it” and “oh heckers” but, to be fair, they come off as more serious when roared at you while you’re on fire.

Orcish: Orcish contains no swear words. Don’t assume based on stereotypes.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 14

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Poorly written smut

A/N: The gaps between chapters is killing me. I’m so sorry for taking so long. :(

You were relieved that Daryl wanted you at all. You had been all but unbearable; crying, always sick, cold. Just constantly needy. You could take care of yourself. You proved that when you went to find him back at the farm. Yet, you felt so helpless. And now, you just wanted him to fuck you so hard that you saw stars. But what would this mean for your friendship? Once that line was crossed, there would be no going back. 

“You’re thinkin’ too loud.” His lips were on your neck, sucking and nipping and licking until you were moaning and grinding yourself against him. The hand on your belly slid up to work the other breast, both sets of fingers squeezing and massaging. He had barely touched you and there was already a fire low in your stomach, twisting and spreading straight down to your clit. If he touched you there, it was over and you knew it. 

“Daryl.” You gasped and whimpered, pressing your chest into his palms, each nipple being pinched and rolled. The sensitivity dragged a hiss from between your teeth. It was a delightful combination of pain and pleasure, and you needed more. Your hands came to rest on top of his, not guiding but simply moving along with his motions. 

He shook your hand off of his right one, dragging his fingers gently down your side then working them into your pajama pants, past the band of your panties. His ring and index fingers spread you open so his middle finger could rub your cunt, dragging your natural moisture up to your clit and then back again. 

“So wet. Pract’ly drippin’.” Your clit throbbed, swollen beneath his calloused fingers. He could feel it beckoning to be touched. So naturally, he avoided it, sliding his middle finger inside you. He met no resistance, your slick providing more than enough lubricant for him to glide in all the way to the base of his finger. Your walls fluttered, welcoming the intrusion, attempting to pull him back when he temporarily withdrew. You moaned and dropped your head back onto his shoulder, his warm breath suddenly against your ear. “Gotta be quiet for me.”

You tried to nod, not sure if you achieved it. The feeling of his thick finger pumping in and out of your needy cunt was just too overwhelming. When you whimpered to bite back another moan, he shushed you, licking just below your ear. Didn’t he know that was counterproductive?

The pace increased in both speed and roughness, and you distantly wondered if it would hurt the baby. You didn’t know much about this kinda thing and found yourself grabbing his wrist to stop him. He growled lowly, his chest vibrating against your back. 

“Daryl—the baby—I—”

“Ya think I’d be doin’ it if I thought it’d hurt ‘em?” He spoke gently, his hand pulling against your hold to continue moving slowly inside of you. “Didn’t get to read all the book but I read ‘nough.” You let go of him without hesitation, and there was no reprieve, the pace back to stoking the flames within you, burning and tingling to the point that you thought you might die if you didn’t cum soon. 

“Daryl. Daryl.”

There was a chuckle against your neck, the rough pad of his thumb flicking over your clit. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, pouring a feeling of absolute euphoria over your body. You were barely aware of him finger-fucking you through the pulses and waves or his palm over your mouth to stifle your screams. It was a feeling like none other, a sensitive blend of overstimulation and pure bliss. Somewhere in the conscious part of your mind, muted as it was, you wondered how long it had lasted. It felt like an eternity, one you would gladly lose yourself within. 

When reality began to filter in, you were rolling your hips lazily against his hand and panting behind his palm. His whispered praise of good girl nearly brought the pleasure surging back with renewed vigor but then he was pulling his finger out of you, smearing your slick up over your skin until he freed his hand from your pants. 

Your legs felt weak and trembled under your weight but he wasn’t letting you fall. You knew he would never let you fall. 

“C’mon, stand up for me.” He pushed his chest against your back to motivate you. It took a moment to gather your bearings but once you did, you were both disappointed and relieved to find the ache still very present at the apex of your thighs, needing to extinguish it while never letting it end. 

Hands on your upper arms, he guided you to face him, wasting no time in pulling off your flannel and then tugging your shirt over your head. The cold air assaulted your skin, your nipples pebbling to near painful hardness. Daryl’s thumb rubbed over one, his blue eyes watching before they slid up to meet yours. 

“Too cold?” There was concern with a hint of desire in his tender tone, his index finger now tracing your collar bone with the lightest of pressure. You shook your head immediately, too aroused to allow the bite of the night air to dampen the moment. The archer hummed and lowered into a crouch, fingers whispering over the skin just above the waistband of your pants. He moved them to your boots, unlacing and pulling them off, one after the other, and then returned to your waist. You shivered at the cold grass beneath your feet but something about being so vulnerable to something made every other sensation more intense. 

“Daryl.” You whined, pressing your hands over his. You tried to push against them, desperate to feel him touching your bare skin. The memories of how he worshiped your body in the woods all those weeks ago did nothing but make you more eager. 

He smirked up at you, giving in to your demands and sliding both your pants and panties down your legs so you could step out of them. Large hands traveled an agonizingly slow path up your calves and thighs before settling on your hips. You suddenly felt self-conscious, something you hadn’t felt all the times before that you’d been with him. When you tried to step back, to cover yourself, he shook his head. In the most surprising move yet, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the small curve of your belly, a misplaced tender moment that almost had you reaching to stroke his hair. 

Just as quickly, he moved on, dragging his tongue upward while slowly rising back to his feet. The tingle he left on your skin almost burned, but his mouth on yours diverted your attention. You couldn’t describe the taste of him. You could always taste the smoke lingering from his cigarettes, but there was something else. Something that was just so naturally Daryl and it was addicting. 

Your fingers searched out his belt buckle, working it loose to leave it open while you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. His cock was straining against the denim but he didn’t seem to mind, too preoccupied with your breasts. He weighed them in his palms, turned his hands, and squeezed them, watching your movements falter under a rich haze of painful pleasure. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you placed your thumbs in his belt loops, your fingers sliding underneath the waistband of his jeans. You didn’t need to look at him for permission. He would have stopped you if he hadn’t wanted it. His pants were at his ankles, underwear along with them, when you unlaced his boots. He toed them off himself, grumbling something along the lines of ain’t Cinderella, I got it. 

“That’s putting the shoe on, dumbass.” You retorted, gasping when his fingers twisted into your hair to pull back, with the gentlest of persuasion, and have you look up at him. If you lowered your head a fraction of an inch, you’d have been able to take him right into your mouth.  

“Careful whatcha say when you’re sittin’ pretty like that.” The knuckles of his free hand grazed lightly over your jaw before he released you, your eyes landing straight on his cock. You were almost positive you were dripping onto the ground after that. He was kicking his jeans aside when you stood, reluctantly, your eyes flickering to his undershirt as he removed his vest and flannel. “No.” It was a quick answer and it was once again enough. 

He didn’t allow the thoughts to linger, on you in a moment’s time and backing you against the nearby tree. His crossbow was knocked over but that only meant it was still near if needed. His fingers were gripping your hips, his tongue delving past your lips to explore the caverns of your mouth despite the terrain being one he knew so well. He licked across the back of your teeth before he withdrew. Hot, open-mouthed kisses were teasing the skin from your jaw all the way to your breasts, his teeth grazing your left nipple before he closed his lips to suckle the sensitive flesh. 

Your pussy was convulsively clenching around nothing, begging to be filled while he adamantly ravished each breast. Back and forth, back and forth. Lips, teeth, and tongue. You were trembling with need, once again more than ready to beg. Maybe that’s why he was torturing you. 

“Please, Daryl.” You gasped when he bit down on the side of your right breast, sucking the blood to the skin for a mark you could admire later. 

“Mhm?” He did the same with the left, completely focused on his ministrations while you were beginning to squirm against the cold bark at your back. 

“Please, just—” You tossed your head back against the tree with a mewl of his name, almost certain you would soon cum again just from his attentions on your chest alone. There was too much space between your lower bodies but your hips were rolling of their own volition regardless. 

“Needy lil’ thing ain’tcha?” Daryl stilled your movements effortlessly, his hands retaining their grip just above your hip bones. A whine worked its way up your throat and past your lips while your fingers fisted into the back of his shirt. 

“Daryl, please.” The last word lost its emphasis, breaking off into a whimper at the feel of his right hand leaving your hip to cup your mound. He wasted no time in dipping a finger between your folds to rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. You were coming apart within heartbeats, your moans swallowed by his eager mouth moving over yours. 

You were trembling with the effort of holding yourself upright when he came back into focus, but the persistent ache was still there. You could feel tears springing to your eyes and tried to blink them away. His damn book probably said nothing about this. Before you could delve too deeply into the concern, he was moving you, lying back on the ground with you straddling his hips. His cock was pinned between your bodies, the length of it spreading you open. 

The archer folded his hands behind his head, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly. “G’on. Take whatcha need.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your pussy dragged wetly up his length. Tilting your pelvis, you were able to catch the tip just right and shift it upward and nearer to your entrance on the slide back. As slick as you were, he slipped into you almost too easily and very unexpectedly. Daryl’s hands jolted to your hips and yours to his chest, punching a moan from each of you. 

“Fuck.” He hissed, his fingers flexing into your flesh. He had told you to take what you needed, you could clearly see the restraint it was requiring to allow you that luxury. The first roll of your hips was a gradual process, allowing you to adjust to him while still alleviating at least a portion of your arousal. The slow endeavor was no less effective on Daryl. 

He had his lip pulled between his teeth, biting hard enough that you could see the red when it began to bleed. You dropped forward, pressing your bodies together, and licked just below where his teeth indented the skin. When he parted them, you dabbed up the blood with the tip of your tongue. You didn’t kiss him, not then at least. Your eyes met his, blue irises a mere thin ring around blown pupils. 

“Move.” He growled, the smugness of moments ago now long gone. Remaining as you were, you shifted your body forward until only the tip remained, and then back down. Two seconds in and he was already reaching to cover your mouth. “Quiet.” The attempted reminder was followed up with a groan. Had you not been completely enamored with the drag of his cock against your inner walls, you would have certainly been teasing him. 

The gentle push and pull, up and down, in and out continued, your pleasure mounted, building into a cyclonic inferno deep within your belly. It twisted and weaved into each and every cell, vibrating just beneath your skin as if it were a living thing trying to break free. You ripped his palm away from your mouth and kissed him hard. He offered no resistance, the hand that you had freed finding purchase on your ass. His other hand joined that one soon after, squeezing, kneading, spreading, and eventually assisting your movements. 

When you pulled away from his mouth, you pushed yourself up, bracing your hands on his chest. That leverage and his hands behind you helped you set a bouncing rhythm atop him that resulted in anything but either of you remaining quiet. Daryl, luckily for you, had the presence of mind to remember that noise usually equaled bad on one level or another. 

He sat up quickly, pulling you close by wrapping an arm around your lower back. With the obscene sound of skin slapping now minimized, he grabbed the nape of your neck and pulled your face to his, effectively silencing your moans. Your hips never stilled, continuing to roll and grind. 

When Daryl pulled back for air, you chased his lips, instead letting your head fall against his shoulder. You were so, so close. You didn’t need any other stimulation, his cock was hitting just right, rubbing that soft spot inside of you that was going to tip you over the edge. The buildup was so intense that you wondered if you might pass out. 

“Daryl.”

“G’on. Don’t wait for me.” He panted, angling his head to press kisses across your shoulder. When he bit down just above your collarbone, stars exploded behind your eyes. You felt like a live wire. It was too much, it wasn’t enough. The only conscious thought was the fear of coming down; returning to a broken world that had taken so much. You blinked, slowly, almost too slowly to be real. 

And Daryl was there. 

He was above you now, unmoving aside from the hand that was pushing back your hair. He tilted his head with that slight narrow to his eyes. 

“Hi.” You smiled. He didn’t return it but his expression was soft. Unlike other parts of him. A slight shift of your hips found him still very much buried inside of you. Your mouth formed a silent ‘o’ before you licked your lips. 

“Thought ya might need a minute after that’un.”

You winced apologetically. “Loud?”

He pulled a face and leaned up a little, tilting his head. “Nah, my shoulder kept ya quiet ‘nough.” Your jawed dropped. There was a perfectly shaped bite an inch away from his neck, red and bleeding. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry!” You pressed your hand over it and pulled it back with a squeak when he hissed. “How the hell are you still hard?” He smirked but said nothing else before rolling his hips into you. Your mouth fell open but then split into a grin. “You are something else.” He pressed his mouth against your yours and hummed, finding a slow, steady rhythm.

“Got one more for me?” His lips brushed yours with every syllable. 

You nodded eagerly, eyes on his mouth while you pulled him back to you. The kiss was more relaxed, gentle. Your hands wandered over his back, the muscles tensing and rippling beneath your palms as they traveled down and squeezed his ass to encourage him to push deeper. When he responded and thrust as far as he could go, a keening noise left your throat and disappeared into his mouth. 

A sensation of calm was washing over you, overpowering the heat that had laid claim on your body back at the camp. You wanted to stay that way forever, with Daryl surrounding you. You felt safe. The losses you had suffered loosened their tight grip on your heart, allowing him to fill that void. You wanted to keep him and never let go. 

When realization came crashing down into the part of your brain that wasn’t fully occupied by Daryl—the way he tasted, the weight of him settled over you, his scent, the warmth he radiated—you gasped, blinking quickly in response to the sudden sting in your eyes. 

You loved him. 

Somewhere between that first encounter in the woods and now being caged safely and pleasurably inside his arms, he had unknowingly encased your heart, soothing the anguish that would have otherwise swallowed you up and left you hollow. 

And he was utterly oblivious.

You bit back a sob and recalled your hands, pushing them underneath his shirt to warm, damp skin of his back. You fingertips brushed over a scar and he froze, holding himself up on his forearms to scowl at you. When he saw your expression, the tears in your eyes, the annoyance melted away into something gentle. 

“Please.” You implored shakily. “Wanna feel all of you.”

He regarded you silently, a refusal on the edge of his lips. There were no words to describe the incompleteness you bore with that thin barrier of fabric separating you from the entirety of him. It wasn’t just about seeing, you were beyond that. It was about his willingness to share that piece of himself with you. 

You said nothing else. The decision had to be his and his alone. The moment he took to stare at you, to study you, felt like forever. Then he was moving, rising up to balance his weight on one arm while the other hand reached over his head to snag the collar of his shirt. Your wide eyes never even blinked as the pulled the garment over his head and let it slide down the arm that bore his weight. He left it there and lowered back to his forearms. 

He didn’t linger, carrying on with thrusting into you with slow, deep rolls of his hips. The feel of his skin touching yours ignited a fire within you, not just the chase of a climax but an overwhelming myriad of emotions that were too plentiful to name. 

Your arms wrapped around him, caressing the soft skin of his back, ghosting over the raised marrs that stretched across the plane of flesh. You watched in awe as his eyes closed while you traced each imperfection with the most tender touches. You fed the desire to show softness to the areas where someone had been cruel and he was allowing it. 

Once you had graced each one with gentle attention, you splayed your fingers open and pulled him close, your mouth eagerly finding his. He seemed to snap back to the present and concentrated on chasing the pleasure that awaited the both of you. He pushed himself up again and moved a hand down to your hip, raising you slightly for a different angle. You couldn’t help but press your head back against the ground and arch upward, giving him full access to bend slightly and take a nipple into his mouth. 

You turned your head, your eyes tightly closed while you gave yourself over to the steadily building pleasure threatening to overtake you. Daryl pulled away from your chest and you let yourself drop to the ground. His hand left your hip to grasp your chin and turn your head. 

“Look at me.” It was a demand, regardless of the tenderness in his tone. “Wantcha to just look at me.” 

You nodded and drew your bottom lip between your teeth. His touch fell away from your chin to press against the grass beside your head. The intensity of his movement increased, powerful thrusts that jolted you against the ground. 

“Fuck.” You whined, your hands on his ribs with nails digging. Your eyes were still on his. 

A sheen of sweat made your bodies shine in the moonlight, beads dropping from Daryl’s face onto your skin. You didn’t mind. You didn’t even notice. You were lost, teetering on the edge while captured by those blue eyes. Your brain was in a fog of rapture. Nothing else existed beyond you and Daryl.  There were no walkers. No blood. No twisted cruel people. No stravation or running. Just you and him. 

And you loved him. 

You were seconds away from the precipice, ready and willing to fall. You closed your eyes and threw back your head only to be pulled back by a gentle grip. 

“No.” His voice was strained and you knew he would follow you over. 

You nodded and brought your palm to the side of his neck, carefully avoiding the bite just below, to guide him down to you. The angle changed, your hips tilted upward and rocking in time with his thrusts. Your bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, panting breaths against one another’s lips. 

“Daryl.” You whined, both hands finding the skin just above his hips. Your gazes were still connected. His eyes slid over briefly to glance at the tear you allowed to escape. 

“G’on. Let go.”

You came with a broken shout of his name, unable to keep your eyes open as wave after wave of raw, unbridled euphoria washed over you. You were only vaguely aware of him fucking you throughout, his choked off groan, but the warmth that filled you brought you to new heights. 

The world came back into focus all too soon, dousing you in moonlight and shadows. Daryl’s head was on your shoulder. He was still balanced on his forearms, trembling with the effort of holding his weight off of you. An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach where it had been alight with pleasure only moments before. You dreaded separating from him. While the lustful hunger had been sated, your heart still carried the burden of your love for the archer. Something you just couldn’t say to him. 

He would run. He’d leave you and your baby to fight through that hell alone. The scariest part was that Daryl could walk away. He could survive in that world alone. He had the skills and didn’t need any of the group. He didn’t need you. 

When you felt him begin to lift himself off of you, pull out of you, you couldn’t hold back the small noise of protest. He was already on his knees between your legs, stopping to look at you. There was that curious expression again. It was almost as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to form the words. 

“Need to get back.” He said suddenly, pulling his shirt over his head. 

For the first time since the two of you left the camp, you actually felt the cold. It was seeping into your bones but you weren’t sure if it was from the night air or something else. 

Clothes on, you were combing the tangles from your hair with your fingers as you walked just behind him. He hadn’t looked at you or said a word. 

“What took you two so long?” Glenn asked when you approached the wall. You ducked your head to hide the flush in your cheeks that he probably couldn’t see anyway. 

“Missed a perimeter line. Had to make one.” Daryl answered with a shrug of one shoulder. Glenn nodded but Maggie looked skeptical, her eyes on you. 

“See you guys in the morning.” Glenn gave a small wave before putting his arm around Maggie’s shoulders and guiding her to the camp. 

The archer climbed to the top of the wall, but when you started to follow him, he looked back over his shoulder. 

“No.”

“No?” You asked, blinking up at him. 

“S’what I said.” He wasn’t being cold, which confused you all the more. “Go get some sleep.”

“But, Daryl—”

“Just go.” He sighed deeply before he turned to face you, crouching down. “S’a gun in the bag on my bike. Take it. Don’t wantcha unarmed anymore.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before blinking and looking away. “Yeah, alright.” He nodded and stood, turning his back on you. 

You passed the camp, Maggie and Glenn just lying down. They didn’t seem to notice you. The bike wasn’t far. The vehicles had been parked close in case a quick escape was needed. You found the gun with ease, checked the clip and then the safety, and tucked it in the back of your pajama pants. 

The loneliness hit you on the way back. Something had changed, not just for you. Daryl was acting differently, but his way of handling anything emotional would give you whiplash if you tried to figure him out. So you focused on yourself. 

You loved him. You’d never loved anyone aside from familial love and platonic affection. This was different. It both burned and chilled you to the bone. It was terrifying. All of it. The thought of being together, your little family. Then there was the thought of him leaving. Just the mere presence of the possibility left you feeling hollow. 

You approached your spot by the fire. Maggie and Glenn were laying just a few feet away. You sat down with a sigh, trying to wrangle your anxiety and push it away but it refused to be bound. You needed to sleep. Daryl was right. But when you looked up to see him staring out toward the trees that had sheltered you only half an hour ago, you knew there would be no rest for you that night. 

[wildsaltair]

Tender Fires

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, with a few hints of spice)

Word Count: 6.4k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with another Maximus fic! This is actually part of a larger narrative in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where she tends his wounds and they fall in love but have to fight their feelings because he intends to leave to keep her safe. As always, this fic is written from the deepest longings of my lovestruck heart, and I hope that love is obvious :) Thank y'all so much for your kind words about the last fic, and I hope you enjoy this one!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“You’re up late.”

At your words, Maximus turns his head to look at you, and a soft smile crosses his lips. His features are etched in shadow, flickering with the dancing firelight.

He’s seated in front of your kitchen fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gazing deep into the flames as if searching for some hidden meaning within. You would never have known he was in here if you had not been awakened by the loud cracks of thunder outside and come in search of the warmth of the fire.

An autumn storm, a midnight fire, and the most captivating man you have ever known, dressed only in his plain white sleeping tunic. It seems like a combination intended to lure you into trouble.

As you move to sit in the chair beside him, he looks back into the hearth, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “I have stayed awake staring at many fires in my life,” he tells you quietly, his voice deep and thoughtful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you risk a glance at him, looking for the scar on his ribs. He has been with you for a little more than two weeks now, helping you with odd jobs around the farm as his strength returns. His wounds, though still vulnerable, have healed quickly, and you are relieved to see no signs of further injury on the parts of his skin that you can see.

“As have I,” you reply, eyes still lingering on him. “Though for me, it has always been the same fire. This one.”

He hums in response, nodding slightly. You have never sat by this fire together at night, and you are bewitched by the way the light dances over him, makes his golden skin shimmer. The lines of his arms and shoulders are limned in shadow, the firelight flickering on his handsome features.

You are overcome with a desire to put your hands on him, to feel the heat of his skin and the strength of his body, but you cast your gaze on the fireplace instead.

“I envy you that,” he answers softly, after a short reflection. He glances up at you, studying you intently. “A home fire, always burning in the same place.”

The meaning of his words is not lost on you.

Every day, the thought of him leaving you is more painful. At the moment, as you sit close enough to listen to him breathing, the thought is unbearable. Your home is his home now, and you long — more than you have ever longed for anything — for him to realize that he belongs here.

His shadowed eyes search yours a moment more, then return to gazing at the flames.

You take a deep, steadying breath to calm yourself. Your hands are trembling, and you smooth them over your skirt, hoping he does not notice how nervous you are from this simple interaction.

“Tea?” you ask quickly, pushing yourself to stand and get a bit of space between the two of you.

He glances up again, and your heart clenches at the gentleness in his expression. He nods. “Thank you.”

Have his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest? Are you imagining the way his gaze lingers on you, drinking in every detail of the way you move?

You can feel the tension in the room thickening, your own heart beating faster as you fill the kettle with water and set the tea leaves to brewing. Somehow, sharing space with this man is so much more intimate at night, with a storm raging outside and a warm fire bringing extra heat to the atmosphere.

Even more astonishing to you is the fact that you are not afraid of this powerful soldier. He is strong enough to do anything he wishes to you, to take whatever he obviously wants. But even now, standing here in your night shift, with your hair and your defenses down, you have no fear of him.

If anything, you wish he would initiate a touch, a kiss, anything that would lead to the passion that has been haunting your dreams every night.

Such as your dream last night. You can still feel the sensation of your body thoroughly tangled with his, your limbs entwined, his hands pulling your skirt up to your waist. Your cheeks burn when you remember all the places he kissed in your dream, all the places he touched and explored and pleasured. Such thoughts make you ache all over again, especially now that you are standing so close to him.

A blinding crack of lightning, followed by the roar of thunder, pulls you from the dream-memory of his mouth hot on your throat.

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you ramble on the first topic you can think of. “My father used to tell me stories beside this fire,” you announce as you hang the kettle over the fire and settle back into the chair beside him. You don’t dare meet his eyes, even as a smile crosses your lips at the memory. “I always begged him to tell me ghost stories even though they frightened me.”

He tilts his head to the side to look at you curiously, a smile of his own playing at his lips. “What kind of ghosts do you have in these parts?” he asks, leaning on one arm of the chair to look at you more squarely.

Somehow, having his full attention focused on you is unnerving, undoing, arousing. You can hardly find the words to speak.

His eyes are still on your face as you feel a deep blush burning in your cheeks. You hope he will attribute it to the warmth of the fire, not your intense reaction to the way he gazes at you. If he only knew how much more heated you are by his presence.

“My favorite is the Howling Woman,” you blurt out, glad that your voice is not as unsteady as you feared. “She wears all gray, with her head covered. She’s been seen in these mountains for decades.”

He does not interrupt you, but your breath catches as his gaze wanders across your face. An absent smile is still on his lips, and he seems to be content to simply watch you, to let his eyes trace the lines of your face, your neck, your hair where it tumbles over your shoulders. His gaze is searching, admiring.

How will you find the strength to hide your desire when one look from him could bring you to your knees?

Clenching your jaw and willing the kettle to boil faster, you continue your story determinedly. “They say she was the wife of a farmer who was killed after being thrown from his horse. She found him with his neck broken.” You pause, still breathless from the effects of his undivided attention. “She went mad and drowned her own children. When she came to her senses and realized what she had done, she walked into the wilderness to die.”

You wait for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he does not. He is still leaning on the arm of his chair, his dark eyes captivated by the sight of you in the firelight. You can almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down — where your shift does little to hide the shape of your figure.

But somehow, his watchfulness is not an act of seduction. He seems genuinely swept up in your story, spellbound by the sound of your voice. He listens to you intently, curiously, and waits for you to continue.

“But to punish her for her crime,” you continue, blushing even harder, “the gods cursed her to wander these mountains and valleys for eternity, never able to die and meet her family in the afterlife.”

It is the sound of your voice, you realize now. His gaze wanders over your features slowly, as if measuring them, but his silence persists the longer you speak. It is as if he cannot bring himself to interrupt you, so captivated as he is by your voice.

“She still walks at night,” you finish, finally allowing yourself to look deep into his eyes. There seems to be no end to them, no way to pull yourself out of the gaze that holds you captive. “She wanders, calling and wailing and howling.”

He swallows hard, licks his lips, though you guess he does so unconsciously. A shiver runs up your spine, and not from your ghost story.

You lean forward, just an inch or so, to finish the story. “They say you can hear her best on a night like this,” you whisper, and the silence between you is so concentrated that you feel you might choke on it.

His gaze flits down to your lips for a moment, and in this flickering firelight, surrounded by warmth and desire, you think he may kiss you.

The silence is broken by a loud crack of thunder outside, one that makes you jump at its suddenness. You both look away, realizing how intently you have been gazing at one another for an inexcusably long amount of time.

The tea in the kettle is boiling at last, and, glad for the distraction, you lean forward to take it off the fire. Your two cups are sitting on the table beside you, and you fill both before handing one to him. He nods his thanks, and the two of you sit quietly for a few moments, looking deep into the firelight.

He is the one who finally breaks the silence. “Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks softly, with that pleasant raspy quality you have come to recognize in him at night.

You smile and lean back in your chair to sip at your tea. “Of course,” you confirm lightly. “Don’t you?”

His expression grows quizzical, and he doesn’t lift his eyes away from the fire. He takes a sip of his tea, thinks for a long time before answering. You are more than content to sit in silence with him, but he finally comes to an answer.

“No,” he tells you quietly, still mesmerized by the dancing flames. Eerie shadows prance over his fine features. “Spirits do not wander the earth after death. They go to the afterlife.”

His voice is calm and even, but resolute, assured. You have talked so little with him about such things, and you cannot deny your curiosity at learning more about what he believes.

“How do you know?” you press, unconsciously leaning toward him.

He does not move for a moment, just grips his cup tighter and sharpens his gaze at the fire. “I have seen enough death to feel certain of it,” he declares, then turns his head to look into your eyes again. “If ghosts could exist,” he tells you softly, gently, “then I would be haunted by them every moment.”

Your heart aches for him now, for the pain and grief he carries with him always. His life has been difficult, laden with the weight of many lives and much responsibility. Even in a peaceful haven like your home, he is ever followed by the burdens of his past, no matter how much comfort and peace you have offered him.

“Perhaps they do not wish to speak to you,” you suggest, tilting your head to show that you are teasing him. “Perhaps you do not know all there is to know in the world.”

His haunted expression softens as he looks at you, taking in the meaning of your words. As before, his soft smile smoothes the lines in his face, lifts a bit of the weariness etched into his features. You can’t help wondering if he realizes your effect on him, if he craves these moments of tranquility and comfort as much as you do.

“I am sure of that,” he tells you in a low voice, and your heart turns over at the simple passion in his eyes.

You lapse into silence once again, each of you drinking your tea and losing yourself in thought. Your own ponderings are of him, wondering what he is thinking. He has seemed burdened ever since you found him sitting by the fire, and you long to know what worries him.

If he only knew how your heart leaps at the sight of him, how you long to cradle his face in your hands, to kiss him until all his burdens are lifted, until all he knows is this deep, all-consuming love that has swept over your heart like an autumn storm.

The thunder continues to roll outside, the rain pelting your roof relentlessly, but the warmth of the fire and the pleasant constancy of his presence is comforting.

You do not press him for several long minutes, letting him mull over his worries in silence until both of you have finished your tea. When you set your two empty cups on the table beside you, you finally decide to inquire, pushing your chair a few inches nearer to him and leaning on one arm of the chair so you can look into his eyes more closely.

“What troubles you?” you ask softly, and he finally lifts his head, dark eyes burning into yours with all the intensity of the hearth fire.

His voice is hardly more than a whisper when he replies, “Ghosts.”

“Memories?” you ask, entranced by the way he slowly leans forward, closing the distance between the two of you one inch at a time. Your skin suddenly burns, aching for a touch, one simple touch, that will answer your constant longing for his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, in which he seems to ponder the consequences of what he wants, he finally lifts one hand and trails his fingertips down the side of your face.

“Shadows of things I do not understand,” he murmurs absently, and he traces the line of your jaw with fingers so gentle you cannot imagine them ever wielding a sword.

He gazes at you more openly now, his eyes traveling down to your lips as his thumb brushes over them. You suppress a shudder at the contact, and he strokes your lips a few times, transfixed by the sight, before sliding the backs of his knuckles down the column of your throat.

Stars in the heavens, if he only knew how your body is aching for him, how you respond to the slightest touch he gives you.

You finally find your voice to speak. “Is it your men?” you ask softly, as if the room has suddenly been overtaken by a spell.

He sighs, brow furrowed deeply in thought. “They were not my men,” he replies at last, still stroking his fingers down your neck. “Not the ones who betrayed me. My men were loyal, courageous.” His voice is thick with sorrow, and you sense that recalling this memory is painful for him. “They were my brothers,” he half-whispers. “They would have risen up in rebellion if they had known.”

Your heart aches again at the sadness in his voice, the sadness he works so hard to disguise throughout the day. Somehow, in the darkness, in the stillness of nighttime, he seems more vulnerable.

“Why does the Emperor want you dead so badly?” you finally venture to ask.

His hand stills on your neck, eyes not quite focused on your face. He seems to be traveling back in time in his mind, and he draws a deep breath as he thinks. Almost as if he does not realize what he is doing, his hand wanders to the base of your neck, absently stroking the sensitive skin there.

It’s all you can do to hold still, to keep from betraying how perfectly wonderful his touch is to you.

His voice is low and measured when he answers your question. “I once received favor that he believed should have been his.” He pauses, then raises his eyes to meet yours meaningfully. “By his own father.”

His words take you aback, and you know he must notice your wide-eyed stare. “Marcus Aurelius?” you squawk in disbelief. “You knew the great Emperor?”

“Yes,” he replies, his face softening into a smile at the memory. You are shocked by the revelation, but his fond smile warms your heart after seeing his heavily burdened expression a moment ago. 

He presses on, though his hand is now running softly over your shoulder, skimming over the top of your thin shift. “I was young when he took me under his wing,” he explains, eyes tracing the path his hand is making on your shoulder. “I had won some small battles, and he saw in me potential for greater things. He made me what I am today.”

He strokes your shoulder once, gently, then removes his hand, as though he cannot trust himself to keep touching you there. Again lifting his deep blue eyes to meet your gaze, he looks at you so tenderly, so affectionately, as he raises the same hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You want to melt, to close your eyes and sigh in pleasure at his simple touch, but you fight for your composure. “He must have been a great man,” you manage instead, meaning every word.

“He was the greatest man I have ever known,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers through your hair at your temple now. “He is the closest thing to a father that I ever knew.”

You have noticed how the man is drawn to your hair whenever you leave it down. He seems fascinated with it, with the way it cascades through his fingers when he cards them through it. His attentions are so gentle, so unobtrusive, as if he is unable to keep himself from simply admiring your beauty in this soft firelight.

“And that is why the Emperor envies you,” you observe to keep from losing your breath.

“Yes,” he answers quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “He believed that his father wanted to pass on his power to me.”

You nearly startle in surprise at his words. Not only the commander of the northern armies, not only a confidante of Marcus Aurelius, but the rightful future emperor himself?

You almost feel dizzy, though you’re not sure if it is from the shocking news or the way his fingers keep brushing your temple as he plays with your hair. “Did he?” you prompt him breathlessly, genuinely curious.

He ponders for several long moments, letting your hair stream between his fingers. You are entranced simply by looking at his features — his dark eyelashes, his sharp nose, the gentle creases by his mouth. He is so exquisitely lovely to you, so unaware of how deeply he affects you.

“I do not know,” he finally admits, tracing the side of your face before letting his hand fall back into his lap again. “He never told me.”

His words silence some of the shock you were feeling at wondering if you were in the presence of a man who was supposed to have ruled Rome. The thought of this man, this humble, honest, unpretentious warrior, ruling such a corrupt and conniving empire is almost unthinkable.

You are struck by the absence of his touch, and he seems hesitant to initiate any more contact now that he realizes how close he has drawn to you. He’s still watching you carefully, as if gauging your reaction to his touches, but you cannot resist reaching out to him now.

Your fingers seek out the necklace that hangs down to his chest, a simple cord bearing two wolf’s teeth on the end. You have never asked him about its origin. You handle it carefully, and the man barely breathes as your hand hovers over his chest.

“What would you have done if all this had never happened?” you ask softly, caught in the intimacy of this quiet moment. “Would you have been a soldier all your life?”

Your question is a heavy one, full of unspoken desire and curiosity. You can tell he senses that desire by the way his dark eyes burn into yours, by the way his chest rises and falls more quickly, as if you are taking his breath away just by touching his necklace.

He thinks for a few moments, still gazing deep into your eyes. “I always imagined I would die in battle,” he tells you, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “There seemed no other fate in store for me.”

Your heart tightens, and you let go of your loose grip on his necklace. Suddenly, all you want to do is touch him, to make contact with his body somehow. His words have struck a chord in your heart, reminding you how grateful you are that this world-weary soldier has come to your home, to your hearth, instead of falling on a battlefield hundreds of miles away.

With your pulse racing, you press your hand flat against his chest, splaying your fingers over his heart. Even through the fabric of his nightshirt, you can feel his heart pounding like a war drum, perfectly in rhythm with your own.

Oh, how you long to press your heart against his, to be wrapped up in his arms, so thoroughly tangled with his body that you cannot tell where you begin and he ends.

His breath comes more quickly now, his lips parted and his eyes scorching yours with a hunger that stirs your blood.

“But,” he begins in a hoarse whisper, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then back up, “I did imagine, sometimes…” He pauses, licks his lips again, takes a slow breath, “that if I did have a chance to grow old… I might…”

He halts again, his voice dying in his throat. You press your palm more firmly against his chest, and his heart skips a beat beneath your hand. You can feel his skin burning hot under his shirt.

“Tell me,” you whisper, and a look of unadulterated desire flashes across his face.

He leans close to you, close enough that his breath skims over your lips. “That I might one day have a home,” he breathes. “A family.” He sighs softly, the longing in his voice especially evident. “A life of peace always seemed… unlikely.”

The hesitation in his words is palpable, and suddenly his own larger hand is covering yours, pressing it tight against his chest. You realize that he is relishing your touch the way you relished his a moment ago.

After holding your hand against his heart a moment longer, he grasps your hand in his, lifts it to his lips. Your own heart skips a beat now, when he presses a slow, languid kiss to the back of your hand.

“And now?” you whisper, breathless and tingling with need.

He breathes against your hand, slowly and calmly. “Now,” he echoes, his voice rumbling in your bones. “Now a life of peace seems impossible.”

No. No, he cannot mean that. He cannot still mean to leave you when his gentle eyes speak of the passion he holds for you.

“It does not have to be,” you insist, lifting your free hand to touch the side of his face. He actually sighs at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips are slightly parted, and it takes all your willpower not to lean forward and kiss him until he can breathe nothing but your name.

His eyes remain closed when he responds, your hand still cradled in his. “To believe otherwise would be foolish,” he tells you, though his voice is anything but resolute. “Dangerous.”

You stroke the side of his face tenderly, enraptured by the way he reacts to your touch. He seems so relaxed, so overwhelmed when you caress him gently. The thought suddenly strikes you that this man has probably never been touched this way — not as light as a feather, with such love and affection that he can feel it beating in rhythm with his heart.

When you brush your fingertips down his neck, over the sensitive skin of his throat, he makes a sound so soft, so unguarded, that you nearly come undone for him right there.

“Are you not well acquainted with danger?” you whisper, leaning in closer to him. He opens his eyes when he feels you drawing nearer, and his fathomless eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You want him to stay. You want him to love you as you so desperately love him. You want him to never stop looking at you the way he is now.

And when you press your hand flat against the side of his neck, your gaze fluttering over every perfect feature of his face, his soul opens to you, and you see all the love you bear for him reflected deep in his own eyes.

“Yes,” he breathes, and he leans forward to close the few inches that separate your lips from his.

The first sensation that strikes you is his blood pulsing in his neck, hammering against your hand as you caress him. His own hand tangles in your hair, holding you in place while he presses his lips against yours.

There is no hesitation in this kiss, no second-guessing or reluctance. His lips move against yours in a rhythm so natural that you wonder if he has imagined this as many times as you have.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, drowning in your kiss like a dying man seeking air. You can feel the breath knocked out of your lungs, so unaccustomed to any attention as passionate as this. The man lifts his other hand to cradle your jaw, still kissing your lips, gently but insistently, over and over and over.

This is what heaven must be like, you realize distantly when his tongue slides against yours, every inch of your skin tingling in response. His undivided attention, his unashamed desire for you is so arousing, so delightful in every way.

You can feel your cheeks burning, your skin heating up, the longer his hands linger on your face and neck. His fingers stroke your jaw, and his other hand grips your hair just hard enough to hold you in place. He is still reveling in your kiss, still using his lips and tongue to draw out the softest moan you have ever made in your life.

As soon as he hears it, he moves his lips to press against the corner of your mouth, much as he did the first time he kissed you in the barn. He trails his lips down your jaw, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he passes.

Thoroughly excited by his kisses and touches, your mind is all too eager to provide any number of tempting images. When he dips his head to one side, lips touching the place where your jaw meets your neck, all you can imagine is the careful way he would undress you, lay you down, and make love to you, slowly and gently but passionately.

He drags his lips down your neck, his curious tongue coaxing another soft sound from you. Again, your mind flashes to all the ways he might use his tongue on you, all the places he could seek out and tease until you are so dizzy with pleasure that all you can say is his name, over and over.

Another press of his tongue, and it takes all your strength not to beg him to take you right here. You can imagine it so easily, the way he would grip your waist, your hips, the way you would wrap yourself around him and touch every inch of his bare skin if he would only give you the chance.

What would you not give to see him shudder in pleasure, to throw his head back and hold you tight as you cling to him and make him feel the same thing he ignites in you?

It’s at that moment that he whispers your name, tenderly, reverently, like a prayer, against the soft column of your throat. Your whole body shudders in response, your hands tightening where they have landed on his broad shoulders, and he finally fulfills what you have been aching for.

One strong arm wraps around your waist, the other around your upper back, and in the space of a breath the man has pulled you against him, leaning you to the side so that you are cradled in his arms across his lap.

You are suddenly very aware of how thin your shift is, of the way he must be able to feel every curve of your body pressed against him. His fingers are gentle where they wrap around your waist, and you feel with heightened awareness all the strength of his own body, all his powerful muscles and vigorous energy.

All you can do is sigh in pleasure as he keeps his head buried in your neck, still kissing your sensitive skin as though he cannot get enough of you.

You can barely take a breath, so overcome with the multitude of sensations he ignites in you. His hand flexes against your waist, and you respond in kind with your fingers digging into his back.

You have the distinct impression that the man is having to physically restrain himself from going further, that all he wants to do right now is yank open your shift and kiss his way down your bare body. As irresistible as that thought is, you let him take the lead, and he chooses to simply kiss you rather than ravish you.

He is a noble man, a man of honor, and though your body is aching for him to truly make you his, you take pleasure in his self-control, his respect for you.

His fervent kisses to your neck finally slow, and he breathes against your skin as though trying to memorize you. When he nuzzles his face against your neck, all you can do is close your eyes in absolute ecstasy. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, and it’s his turn to shiver with pleasure, pulling you even closer against his body and resting his lips against the curve of your neck.

He goes still in your arms when you stroke his hair, slowly and tenderly with your fingertips. Again, you are struck by his reactions to your gentle touches, by the way he melts into your arms as though overpowered.

Several long moments are spent in that position, with you cradled against his chest, his face against your neck. You would be content to stay like this all night, just listening to him breathe, feeling his heart beating against your side.

But the moment passes, as all moments do. Another crack of thunder shakes the house, and you can’t help but jump a little in his arms.

As if pulled out of his daze, the man smiles softly against your neck, strokes your back soothingly in a way that only serves to make you arch your body against his. A moment later, he lifts his head from the crook of your shoulder, letting his face brush against yours as you disentangle yourselves.

Though you have just spent the last few moments passionately embracing and kissing, and though both of you are still flushed and breathless with exhilaration, the following moment is not awkward. You do not look at each other as you part, but you can sense your own relief and contentment in him.

You do not know what will come of this. You do not know if he will stay much longer. But in a moment like this, with your lips still swollen from his kiss and your skin still burning from his touch, you feel as though no heartbreak can be as vast as this perfect fulfillment you feel with him.

You stand slowly, glad that you are not as unsteady as you feel, and you lift the kettle off the fire just to have something to do. You can feel the man’s eyes on you, though he does not speak.

“It is a fierce storm tonight,” you comment, almost without realizing that you are speaking. The silence between you was comfortable, but you long to say something, to know that he is still at ease with you.

He takes his time in responding, especially since you have your back to him. “Yes,” he says simply, his voice deep and husky.

Stars, how you want to hear that voice in your ear, in your bed, murmuring to you while you both reach the height of your shared pleasure.

You swallow hard to banish your intrusive thoughts. You move to set the kettle down in your cabinet and scramble to think of something else to say. Rain continues to pound against your roof, sending a slight chill through the air despite the warmth of the fire.

“Will you be warm enough tonight?” you ask over your shoulder, still conscious of his eyes burning into your back.

Again, he takes his time answering. “Yes,” he finally replies. “Will you?”

You let the question hang, still standing with your back to him. You hope he can understand your wordless answer, especially after sharing such an intimate moment.

The only warmth I crave now is the heat of your body against mine.

Still trying to avoid meeting his eyes, you half-turn to pick up your two empty cups from the table. Doing so makes you lean against the side of the little square table, and you notice with great surprise that it does not tilt dangerously to the side as it has for the last several months.

The table legs are perfectly even now, and you suddenly raise your eyes to look at the man squarely. He is gazing at you with the oddest combination of expressions — desire, contentment, admiration, sorrow, longing, affection, and several others you cannot name.

“You fixed my table,” you observe, genuinely struck by the kindness of his simple gesture. You don’t know when he did it, but sometime in the last few days he must have noticed the unsteadiness and taken the time to fix it somehow.

He holds your gaze for a long moment, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “It needed fixing,” he replies simply.

Your heart leaps into your throat, though you can’t say quite why. Despite the fact that just a moment ago you were wrapped up in his arms, sighing while he covered your neck with kisses, you are much more affected by his modest demonstration of kindness — fixing something of yours that was broken.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, returning his small smile with all the warmth blossoming in your heart.

You finish your task, setting the two cups in the cabinet to be washed tomorrow. The storm outside has quieted somewhat, but you can still hear the constant pounding of raindrops on the roof and walls.

Quiet thunder rolls in the distance as you turn to look at the man again. He is still seated, leaning forward with his knees on his elbows, gazing at you curiously.

This is what you want: this man in your home, always, sharing your fire, sharing your space, looking at you as if you hold his heart in your hands.

The words spill from your lips before you can consider them. “My father always told me that a storm can make a person change their mind about anything.” You hear the significance in your own words, and you press on anyway. “He said it’s in their nature to bring about transformation.”

The man’s darkened eyes do not leave yours for a moment, and you hold his gaze steadily, wanting him to hear your unspoken plea.

Stay with me. Let me love you as I do in my dreams.

His face does not betray any decision, but his gaze is tender, filled with a weary longing. His eyes explore each feature of your face as gently as his fingers did a few moments ago.

“Perhaps I will listen to it for awhile, then,” he murmurs, and your heart sighs.

All is not lost. You must simply wait.

As you start towards the doorway that leads to your bedroom, you pause beside his chair. The man is looking up at you with eyes that melt you to your very soul. Overcome with your affection for him, you lift one hand and stroke the side of his face, smiling down at him fondly.

“Goodnight, general,” you whisper, and your heart whispers, Beloved.

Before you can drop your hand, the man wraps his fingers around it and brings it to his lips. An unhurried kiss to the back of your hand, one that sends another shiver down your spine, and he releases you. His eyes burn into yours, intense, ardent, yearning.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and your heart hears his whisper, Beloved, long after you have slipped into the next room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[infiniteglitterfall]

I keep thinking about a post or a comment I saw months ago that basically said, "if this isn't a genocide then why haven't I seen any photos of Israel on fire"

So here are some photos of Israel on fire.

Starting with the obvious:

October 7th, 2023. Hamas attacked 21 towns. Be'eri, Kfar Aza, Re'im, and Nir Oz were essentially burned to the ground; it will take years to rebuild them.

Satellite images during the attack show fires burning all over.

On October 7, Israel’s farming industry lost approximately 40% of its workforce and 30% of its physical area when the nation’s agricultural center became a warzone and the site of mass death and destruction.

The war forced thousands of people in Israel’s north and south to abandon their homes, leaving hundreds of acres of farmland to lie fallow while the IDF secured the area from further Hamas attacks.

Devastating losses About 20% of Israel’s agricultural land is located in the Gaza border area.... 75% of the vegetables consumed in Israel usually come from the Gaza border region, plus 20% of the fruit and 6.5% of the milk. Meanwhile, Israel’s northern region — which has been facing increasing rocket attacks from Hezbollah in Lebanon — accounts for a third of the country’s agricultural land, and according to the Agriculture and Rural Development Ministry, about 73% of its domestic egg production is concentrated in the Galilee and Golan regions.

Hezbollah's rocket attacks upon Israeli civilian areas, and Hamas rocket attacks from Lebanon, have caused massive fires across northern Israel.

The elimination of Israel has been a primary goal for Hezbollah, just as it is for Hamas and its affiliated groups.

Unlike Hamas, which targets Jews per se and cites the Protocols of the Elders of Zion to explain why, Hezbollah's reasoning follows that of the dictatorship of Iran:

"God, according to Hezbollah theology, cursed all Jews as blasphemers damned for all time and throughout history. Hezbollah, as well as the political/religious leaders of Iran, believe that the destruction of Israel will bring about the 'reappearance of the Imam (the Shiite Islamic Messiah).'"

Fire and brimstone it is, I guess.

April:

Nature and Parks Authority says that some 80,000 dunams (20,000 acres) in the Upper Galilee and Golan Heights have gone up in flames since the start of the month.

The Katzrin fire in early June:

Since the fighting erupted, the total scorched area in Israel is three times greater than the area consumed by the two greatest fires in Israeli history: the Sha'ar Hagai blaze west of Jerusalem in 1995, and the Mount Carmel forest fire in 2010. In each of those blazes, some 20,000 to 25,000 dunams of forest went up in smoke.

The total area burnt down now is also three times the combined area incinerated in 2016 when extreme weather conditions caused a wave of fires that consumed some 41,000 dunams. A similar size of woodland and forest also burned down during the Second Lebanon War. In 2019, a huge blaze consumed large swaths of central Israel's Mevo Modi'im community.

According to a Haaretz analysis of satellite images, which matches with estimates by authorities, some 210,000 dunams (about 52,000 acres) of land burned down in Israel and Lebanon: about 150,000 dunams in Israel from Hezbollah attacks and Israel Defense Forces anti-aircraft fire, and around 60,000 dunams in Lebanon. The burned-down areas in Israel stretch over a large area in the Galilee and Golan Heights, while in Lebanon they are concentrated near the border – due to the Israeli military policy of setting deliberate fire to [complex fortified] areas there in order to keep Hezbollah combatants away and to damage the vegetation that provides them with cover.

...These included trenches, bunkers, rocket-launching positions and arms storage sites.

June 4:

'If the fire spreads to the mountain – everything changes': Residents try to survive amid Hezbollah rockets

As rockets rain on their homes and wreak havoc, some Israelis believe the government's lackluster response shows it has forfeited the north to terrorists. "This is Hezbollah's new strategy – intentionally firing on open areas to ignite fires and burn the north," says former mayor.

Gay Eyal, the security officer of the Golan Regional Council, hasn't slept a wink since yesterday. More than 20 communities in the north, including two evacuated towns of Avivim and Dovev, fall under his wide purview.

"It seems this is the new method of the enemy: They see and hear what's happening – they understand burning the north is more effective," Eyal stated grimly. "We're coming off a night of fires. And this morning another blaze started in the Yir'on Forest. Our biggest fear is the fire spreading to Mount Meron. If that mountain ignites, all the communities of Meron, Safsufa, and the Galilee panhandle will be in danger." Eyal claims they prepared in advance, positioning 24 water trailer rigs of 1,000 liters each in every community. "It's a drop in the bucket. We geared up this past year with many water trailers to assist with firefighting, but it's not enough. We're working with fire stations in Safed, Kiryat Shmona, Tiberias, and Carmiel – our council is dealing with four fire stations. The firefighters are doing everything they can, working ceaselessly. They're tearing themselves apart, but the fire is spreading like a field of thorns."

...Another resident from the north who was out all night at the various fire scenes also tells Israel Hayom this morning: "It's impossible to describe what we went through here last night. Everything burned, an entire region was ablaze. I drove between the fruit orchards, between communities as the fires raged, and my heart burned. The feeling is terrible, of destruction. There's no way to explain the feeling of people watching their life's work burning before their eyes."

June 12:

Hezbollah launched some 215 rockets and several more missiles and drones at northern Israel on Wednesday, in what it said was a response to the killing of a senior commander in the terror group by an Israeli airstrike a night earlier.

The successive Hezbollah attacks began on Wednesday morning with a barrage of at least 90 rockets fired at several [CIVILIAN] areas in northern Israel, including Tiberias — for the first time amid the war — Safed and Rosh Pina, sending tens of thousands of people to shelters, as Jewish Israelis celebrated the Shavuot holiday.

The Israel Defense Forces said another 70 rockets were then launched at the Mount Meron area, home to a sensitive air traffic control base. Ten more rockets were fired at the northern community of Zar’it, and an anti-tank guided missile struck a factory of the Plasan armored vehicle manufacturer in Kibbutz Sasa, causing damage. Later in the morning, a drone launched from Lebanon detonated in an open area near the northern community of Zivon, local authorities said. Several more rockets were fired in the afternoon hours at the upper and western Galilee areas.

[aheathen-conceivably]

From the moment Jo and Antoine arrived back home it was clear that something was different. Antoine had grown quiet, contemplative even, while Jo’s newfound confidence was even more pronounced than it had been these last few weeks. She proceeded to the cabin and then the farmhouse, calling out for Gio and Zelda before walking away without an explanation to either. As she did so, Antoine remained outside, throwing branches into the bonfire and staring at them as they went up into flames.

That was the way Zelda found him - staring forward and unmoving even as she looked to him for acknowledgment. Her eyes roamed upward from him to Gio, who was on the opposite porch looking just as confused as she felt. A sort of sympathy passed between them alongside the knowledge that something had fundamentally shifted while they had sat alone in their houses, unincluded and unaware. Jo reached Antoine first, patting him familiarly on the shoulder as though to awaken them all from a dream.

She had a plan. That much was clear from the start. That, and the fact that the reactions she was eliciting would do nothing to change it. So she told them every detail of Hosa Grove’s offer without stopping to let anyone speak, until she had finished reciting each and every date, number, and location he had given her. But as soon as she did, Gio was the first to answer. “Jo, I-I don’t know about this…”

She interrupted him before he could go any further, “You got us into this mess, Gio. If this is what it takes to get us out of it then it’s what I’m going to do.” He dropped his eyes to the sand and went quiet, which was precisely her intention. “Now it's not the full loan amount, but it should be enough to get them off our backs for a while. I can’t imagine there’s a line of people waiting out the bank. Still, it's only enough with me and Antoine’s money combined, and I’m not putting any in unless I get part ownership in return.”

Gio turned toward her incredulously, his obedience momentarily forgotten. “You can’t be fucking serious. Why the hell would you want any of this farm? You hate it and you know my share is as good as yours…”

Her eyes set and the look on her face told them all that the conversation was over before she even said a word. She met Gio’s gaze straight on and lowered her voice into a cold, measured tone. “You offered Antoine half. It’s no different. He can’t pay the full share, but if we split it, then he and I each get a fourth of the ownership.” She paused briefly, letting the gravity of the choice sit on them all for a moment, “Otherwise we lose the house.”

The very fire seemed to cackle at him, punctuating her words and feeding into his guilt-ridden idea that this was simply retribution, some sort of divine justice that placed him neatly beneath the heels of her red shoes after he had tried to tuck them away at the back of their closet. “Fine,” he finally relinquished, the uneven tone of the word signifying that it was anything but, “The farm will go half into Duplanchier ownership, split evenly between the two of you.”

Jo finally turned her full attention to Antoine, leaving Gio’s defeated face happily in her periphery. “Now, Antoine, what about you? All of this is moot if you don’t agree.”

He knew that the question was rhetorical. Jo had already made an agreement with Hosa, and so he had very little choice in the matter. The deal was nothing without him, and it was the only thing standing between them, bankruptcy, and the fate of the Okies. Even knowing that, he didn’t want to do it. He wanted to stay there on the ranch during the day and wake up next to Zelda every morning. To go outside and see his daughter before she left for school, only to still be there when she returned. He wanted to be home.

But home would cease to exist if he didn’t leave it. His daughter’s dollhouse, his wife’s books, Gio’s fields, Jo’s vanity - their very lives fell on his shoulders and his unwillingness to say yes. Still, he knew he would never make the choice to leave if she didn’t as well, no matter what it cost them. He looked at her profile, which was staring wordlessly into the fire like his had been moments before. 

When Zelda looked back at him she misinterpreted the hesitation in his eyes as worry for her, so she did her best to put on a brave face and looked back at Josephine, “I meant what I promised you all those years ago. Both of you. When the time came for him, I’ll do whatever you need of me.”

With her words, the deal was sealed, and Antoine looked back at his sister with a begrudging nod. He and Jo were going on the road.

[ross-hollander]

Lesser Known Legends...

...of the Inner Sphere and Beyond: everyone knows their The Bounty Hunter and their Black Marauder, but some notables never seem to really find the fame they deserve. For instance...

"The Grinch", name unknown, attacked Christmas tree farms in a pine-green Hatchetman across the Commonwealth in the years following the Jihad; speculated to have been disgruntled with the omnipresent holiday season sales advertising. Never apprehended. The damage was estimated to have been in the tens of millions.

Willy Divou, the "Red Paper Clip Bandit". Started in a raggedy CattleMaster, broke into military bases ranging from the Capellan Confederation to the furthest reaches of the Combine, swapping for a new, better 'mech each time. Arrested and executed after being baited with a rumors of an 'experimental improved Atlas'.

Theodora Mirene, the "Brick Wall". A Civil War mercenary whose grotesquely modified Stalker avoided differing weapons restrictions and parts availability in the various systems she operated in by not having any. She butted and body-checked over twenty enemy 'mechs down over her career, before retiring from battle strain.

Toni Anathol, "The Solaris Menace". Active from 2904-6 as the only person to ever reach double digits (27, all told) for streaking in the 'mech arenas. Was captured when he twisted an ankle brutally mid-run, but fans demanded his release. His career was over after that, though he received the only official Solaris Medal of Spontaneity.

"The Possum Pilot", spotted across numerous battlefields but consistent in their tactics during the Andurien Crisis. Always piloted an Archer so dilapidated as to appear to be a wreck, then sprung up and fired on unsuspecting FWL troops. Killed when stepped on by a Zeus that took them for underfoot wreckage. Body was unidentifiable.

Susan Ravenwater, "The Party Bus", a Hell's Horses pilot active during STAMPEDE with a dicey strategy of ordering every Elemental in their Nova onto their 'mech, and moving as a flanker to drop twenty-five Elementals into the fight when the enemy was fighting what they assumed was elements of a standard Star.

"Big" Boots A. Tajag, a mercenary for the Dominion during their war against the Combine. A dedicated Trebuchet pilot who practiced the self-taught "art of 'mech-jitsu". Never scored a confirmed kill in the field: only ever knocked over or tripped enemy 'mechs. Died to a Locust whose reverse knee joints baffled his technique.

Jared Hada, the "Turtle of Terror". Piloted a massive, over-armored Rifleman which would drop into planetside docks and depots, firing on anyone trying to enter or leave until a ransom was paid for access to the supplies. This worked until a Lyran supply depot simply waited him out, breaking in and arresting him when he fell asleep during the standoff.

[queenbees21]

BNHA Their nickname for you | Them

Characters : Katsuki Bakugo | Izuku Mydoria| ★Shoto Todoroki★ | Tamaki Amajiki | Keigo Takami [Hawks] | Dabi [Toya Todoroki] | Hitoshi Shinso

Warning | Grammar error | Not proofread

Type | Bullet Point • Fluff

A/n: I really need to finish this character list 😭 I’ll try my best write them quickly, also I’m still working on some requested works so I’m sorry if I’m slow right now (​꒦ິꈍ​​꒦ິ)

M.List

| ꜱʜᴏᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ | | Y/N |

✯ Love ✿ ✯ Icyspicy

✯ Princess ✯ Hot stuff

✯ Darling ✯ Candy cane

✯ Peach ✯ Shou ✿

• Shoto never thought about giving you any nicknames. Both of his parents weren’t the most, affectionate couple; so it never crossed his mind. Until he noticed how other couples gave each-other cute nicknames, and so he seek advice from an export at romance.

“Hmmm, well you could call her maybe love? Love is a good start, for relationships starters. ^^” Ochaco advice, and that’s exactly what he did. As he did; it made you shy around him.

• Where there’s a prince, there’s always a princess. Yes, you’ll always be Shotos princess. He calls you Princess when he's in a good mood. And he thinks it suits you very much. Because of how charming you tend to be, you do it without realizing it. <3

• “Hello darling, how are you?” yes, this is a classic nickname he calls you when you're alone. It may be cheesy but, he loves be it. And as for you, you love it as well. You feels so special in a way, when he calls you darling. It gives you butterflies in your stomach.

• Peaches are your favorite fruit, although; you rarely ate them. Shoto figured it was because you didn’t have time to pick some. For you both were way too busy with hero studies to do so. Therefore, he somehow convinced Mr. Aizawa to take him to a peach farm… Perks of being the number one hero’s son.

When you had first heard him say that, you were confused. So when you asked him how he got the nickname, you were surprised and very amused at the same time.

“Aww! You remember! I like peaches! That’s so sweet Shou!”

He only nodded, and there was a stumble small smile when you called me Shou.

| Y/N |

• How do I even begin with this… nickname. Icyspicy? Really? What kind of nickname is this T^T? I can’t even believe how nonchalant Shoto was about it.

He was a bit confused, though; there was surprisingly faint pink hue upon his cheeks when you called out his “nickname”.

“Where did you even come up with that?” He questioned.

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I figured since you have an ice and a fire quirk. I’d give you a nickname that is combined with it.” You smile. He pat your head in amusement.

• “Hey there hot stuff~” You purr in Shotos ear, as you gently ran your fingers through his hair. Okay, now this took him by surprise. He was barely getting used to icyspicy, but now you are coming up with nicknames left and right.

“Where do you get theses nicknames…”

“From my heart hot stuff ❤︎“

• At this point Shoto doesn’t even know nor question, where you get your.. unique… nicknames for him… “Marry Christmas candy cane! I love you!” You say, as you handed him a present and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Merry Christmas to you too love.” He kissed your nose and walked away.

“Hey! Candy cane! You can’t just do that and walk away!” You exclaimed, flustered by his action.

• Shou is his permanent nickname. Out of all the nickname you called him. You’ve been thinking about it for a while, but never came up with anything. You wanted to give him a permanent nickname. One that you could proudly call him out to without embarrassing him. “Hmm…” you thought as you wrote down some nicknames.

You played around with it, until you “accidentally” spelled him name wrong. “Hmm… oh! Opps—wait…” you looked at the writing. Shou… “sounds like shoe hehe.” You giggled as you doddle around.

The next day, you had accidentally called him Shou. He was confused. “Oops! Sorry, I wasn’t trying to call you that—“

“I like it. Sounds cute.” He smiles slightly. You blush a little. “Oh.. alright than,” you giggled.

“Anyways! Shou~ let’s go on a date! I wanna have you all to myself today!” You cheekily winked. He agreed and left to go change. “Oh! Shou!” You called out to him. He turns around curiously. “I love you!” You smile, before running off.

————————————————————————

A/n: Thanks for reading! Have a good day and night! I’ll be working on the rest, so stay tuned! 🐝 👑 2️⃣1️⃣

[starrblossom12]

Wild Life Session 6 Summary

Below the cut are all deaths and wildcard information for session 6,

Wild Card: Random Wild Life! (The mobs not the series)

Around every ~10 mins ALL mobs, passive, neutral and hostile, are randomly relocated then randomized as increasingly dangerous and rare mobs... this process is incredibly laggy.

Chronological Record of Deaths:

(number in parentheses are lives left after the death//kill)

Lizzie(3) sacrificed herself to Jimmy(2) in the not-so-secret Bamboozler bunker, thinking she would die anyways to witch poison

Gem(3) pretty much intentionally stands in line of fire for Skizz(3) to land a TnT minecart on her

Lizzie(2) was slain by a Vex

...Skizz(2) gets blown up by a creeper... by Bigb(2) (as revenge for last session, in which Skizz killed Bigb for no reason) Lizzie warns Skizz loudly but alas...

Bigb(1) was slain by a Vindicator

Scar(2) was slain by a Vex

Etho(2) was shot by a Skeleton (Joel, Grian, Scar and Etho were in a Trial chamber when the wildcard went off, Scar died due to not paying attention to his hp and not eating, apparently Etho died to lag)

Skizz(1) was doomed to fall by Martyn(3)

Jimmy(1) was slain by Bloop, a named iron golem he stole....

Martyn(2) blew up from a trap set by Lizzie, meant for Skizz

Lizzie(1) was impaled on a stalagmite, trap set by Bigb (Martyn narrowly avoided the same fate)

Skizz(0) was doomed to fall by Tango(3)... yet another Tango wind charge sent at the sub-one spanners... this one 100% caused the final death

Total Deaths: 12

Lives at End of Session:

(number in parentheses is lives at start of session)

3: Bdubs(3), Grian(3), Tango(3), Gem(4), Ren(3), Scott(3), Joel(3)

2: Etho(3), Martyn(3), Scar(3), Impulse(2), Cleo(2), Pearl(2)

1: Jimmy(1), Lizzie(4), BigB(2)

0: Mumbo(0), Skizz(2)

Sorted by alliance (average ignoring eliminations: total lives):

The Fast & Furious Family(3:6): Gem(3), Joel(3)

Sub-one Spanners...(3:3): Grian(3), Skizz(0), Mumbo(0)

Tuff Guys(2.67:8): Bdubs(3), Etho(2), Tango(3)

Renwood Mound(2.5:6): Ren(3), Martyn(2)

GGGG//The Final Girls(2:10): Scott(3), Pearl(2), Impulse(2), Cleo(2), BigB(1)

BAMboozlers(1.33:4): Lizzie(1), Scar(2), Jimmy(1)

Chronological Deaths by Player:

Unchanged: Bdubs, Grian, Tango, Ren, Scott, Joel, Impulse, Cleo Pearl

Gem(4->3): Gets blown up by Skizz

Etho(3->2): Gets killed by Skeleton + lag?

Martyn(3->2): Gets blown up by a trapped chest set by Lizzie meant for Skizz

Scar(3->2): Gets killed by a Vex in the trial chamber

Jimmy(1->2->1): Kills Lizzie -> then dies to an iron golem named Bloop he was trying to kidnap

Lizzie(4->1): Semi-sacrifices to Jimmy -> gets killed by a Vex -> then dies to a trap set by BigB

BigB(2->1): Dies to Vindicator, unsure how

Skizz(2->3->0): Killed Gem w/ a TnT mine cart -> Creeper killed by BigB -> Doomed to fall by Martyn -> Wind charge knocked off a high place by Tango...

Events of Note//Misc. Comments

Gem and Pearl having "therapy" on a murder camel (aka: Gem justifying her behavior this season to Pearl with actual reasons for why Gem has a vendetta vs Pearl in Wild Life: You didn't remember it was MY EYE in the portal + you pulled a 2v1 on me!)

P.E.T spot a warden and instantly Etho goes to nametag it (I think he said he named it "goobert"), I guess those three aren't really scared of Wardens b/c of all that Decked Out 2 experience, lmao. -> Pearl gets a totem of undying from the slow trident community warden kill -> gives it to Impulse b/c she wants him to win

Speaking of Impulse, there are some absolutely evil traps set up in the GGGG's creeper farm, behind the tree and wheat fields. Also Pearl and Impulse start a lvl 5 raid at Gem and Joels, it fails b/c the raid mobs get randomized

Joel stumbles upon a trial chamber -> Joel, Etho, Grian, and Scar, raid the trial chamber... then the wildcard hits... Scar and Etho die, Etho doesn't go back, Bdubs joins in.

Grian and Scar combine forces to give Etho a shulker box after Scar pulls a "what does this button do?" on Etho while he was trying to set up a trap, lmao

...Grian is all alone after his Trio dies... again...

In other news this is the best Jimmy has ever placed, also only Jimmy's parrot gets burnt by the blaze's stray fireballs...

The GGGG's make another birthday cake looking base, like Grian and Scars from DL... Scott is well aware that it will burn down

(I only had enough time to watch Pearl & Scar's episode + a skim through Scott's, I bet I'm missing a lot of information on POV's I haven't seen, apologies)

[hyper-pixels]

Analog Horror List

Analog horror is uniquely known for its low quality and low visual styles. Or VHS style. They can widely range to a found footage or a visual guide style formatting.

Here are some noted ones:

These videos can contain disturbing content, as well as content that can induce a epileptic seizure if you choose to watch any of them.

2h32: A series of videos that are all two minutes and thirty-two seconds long.

Backrooms - The Otherside: A found footage of the back rooms.

Basswood County: Humanoid creatures that kill humans.

Cave Crawler: A video game (no commentary) about a special remote controlled bot meant to look for missing people (or bodies) in caves.

Chezzkids Archives: An archive of games from a website called Chezzkids. The developer went missing and her photos are showing up in the game. May need to have an episode explain it (this one by Minaxa did it well) as there are clues outside of the videos as well.

Cloud Observation: A short observation video on a cloud that seems to be growing limbs.

Escape the Backrooms: A combination of found footages and commercials, it details the backroom and people trying to escape from it.

Eventide - Anomaly Infestation: A news report of anomalies.

Fear Virus: A quick guide on how to protect yourself from a new, highly infectious virus that causes mutations in humans to become something they fear.

Floaters: A video and short guide. It details how humans are suddenly floating into the air.

Gemini Home Entertainment: A series of VHS styled video tapes. Neptune has mutated and is now infecting Earth with strange things called "woodcrawlers" and other mysterious happenings.

Green Mountain Broadcast Center: A archival for tapes. Only one on this channel labled "Live Traffic" which documents a strange storm.

Greylock: One of my favorites so far. About the government experimenting with tulpa and possibly uncovering an ancient god.

Happy Meat Farms: Animal testing that causes severe deformities.

Hi I'm Mary Mary: A woman wakes up in a house with no exits. She then has to face her greatest fears.

Identity Test: A test on whether or not you can tell the difference between normal faces, and distorted ones.

Itch File: A diver touches a random creature that ejects a pus like substance on him with a virus. Severe trypophobia warning.

Koala Superdeep Borehole Incident: The deepest man-made hole has a bit of an unnerving find.

Local 58 Season One: A news station trying to report on the news, when a broadcast alert stating to not look at the moon is reported. Season two

Harmony and Horror: A VHS style of film. as you watch, you discover the oddities and mysteries of the toys tore.

Marble Hornets: You know what this is.

Mister Manticore: Asks you to memorize a picture before asking you to find the differences. Has quick fleshing images.

Midwest Angelica: A piece of an alien breaks away and onto Earth as it passes the exosphere. It quickly folds into horror beyond comprehension.

Monument Mythos Season One: In an alternate world, where the statues seem to be more than just simple monuments. Season Two Season Three

Omega Mart Ad Compilation: Adds that are attempting to be targeted towards humans. More silly and deranged than scary.

Raining Fire (EAS Snario): A EAS scenario of a mentor shower suddenly hailing Earth on Christmas Eve. Leading to event after event.

Surreal Broadcast: A news station with things happening in the background that are related to a cult. Season Two Season Three

Searching for the Five: Five men suddenly disappeared, only leaving behind a few clues.

Sinkhole: A very hungry sinkhole.

Stone Cold Series: Strange eyes have suddenly started to show up in the night.

The Anglers Trap: A guide on what to do when you encounter a tree called the anglers trap. Which lures in humans like an angler fish.

The Backrooms: Where it all started, I believe. The Backrooms are limital spaces.

The Children Under the House: A therapist tries to find out why a young girl has suddenly stopped talking. Her imaginary friends of course, know why.

The Mandela Catalogue: Hostile creatures called alternates (alters for short) that mimic humans, but don't do it quite right. It mixed Christianity and horror together.

The Oldest View: A man finds a random stairwell in a tree that leads miles down. It turns out it's an old mall. Made by the same man who created the Backrooms.

The Scrimblo Catalogue: A joke analog horror based off of a twitter meme. Part Two

The Smile Tapes: A new fungai releases spores that infect humans that causes the muscle in the faces to distort into a smile and causes hysteria.

The Swarm: Aggressive, hungry mosquitos created by a science project gone wrong.

The Quentin Sanders Tapes: A man named Quentin sanders goes to Foxwood university only to discover a eldritch monster.

The Walten Files: Possessed animatronics, one of the founder's family goes missing while the other conspired against them. And not to forget the possessed animatronics.

They Lie Above: Follows the story of a son of a missing farmer who was abducted by aliens, and Neil Armstrong. Who's memories were erased after encountering a alien space craft.

VibingLeaf: Three videos that have a early youtube "lost videos" esque style.

Vita Carnis: A guide on strange fauna and flora seemingly made entirely, out of meat.

White Door Opened: Set in Poland, monsters and strange red mist begins to spread. Of course it starts with humans messing with things they shouldn't mess with.

Winter of 83: Snowmen come to life, and they aren't happy.

-Did I miss any? Let me know! I'll try to keep this updated as I deeper and deeper, but I can't catch everything.

[bippiti]

bishops k. brekker

an first kaz fic! lmk what y’all think

pairing kaz brekker x healer/ tailor reader

req yup

wc 1.8k

synopsis after a heist goes terribly wrong, you’re the one who comes to kazs aid

heads up typical soc violence, fighting, broken bones, stab wounds, not proofread

dangling off of a high building wasnt kazs ideal way of spending his friday night. but here he was, covered nails digging into the crumbling roof of some rich merchers mansion.

before going on any further i suppose some back tracking is in order.

a while before one of the dregs monitoring the ports overheard a group of stadwatch talking about some rather valuable cargo. precious gems, fine arts, and antique instruments were all set to come in the following month, and we’re to be delivered to a marcher named Stefan Terpstra.

further investigation from inej led to the discovery of an auction being held at terpstras manor. this of course, meant a heist.

kaz already had the blueprints in his office, saints knew where he got it from. but now all you had to do was figure out what roles to play. since they were all too recognizable you were key to this going well.

while you were first and foremost a healer, you were still a relatively skilled tailor, with the proper materials you could alter someone’s face and have it not revert for almost half a day.

the night before kaz called all of you down ti go over the plan again. after you changed inej and jespers face, they would go to the auction posing as a wealthy couple. while the party before the auction is taking place kaz would sneak into the safe, pick the lock, and then him and matthias would collect everything they could carry. nina would be with them to ensure no hold ups took place, and all the while you and wylan would be on the roof scouting out for potential threats.

it was simple enough, you’d had a million harder jobs than this one. so it was kindve funny how almost everything went wrong

before anything even started there were issues with the clothes. the fabric of the dress inej was supposed to wear was really itchy, and when you peeled it away from her skin you saw the rashes and raised red bumps forming. you fixed it easily, but it still had you pushing for time. once their faces were altered and ready, they were off to the manor.

this is when the second problem came up. after everyone went to sleep following kazs rundown, wylan spent the rest of the night working on a few potassium nitrate bombs. (more commonly known as smoke bombs) he kept a fire on low heat as he mixed sugar and the potassium nitrate together. the combining process took hours, but the yield was impressive. 8 bombs total, 4 for inej, 4 for jesper. and there were 8 left on the table as he came up the stairs after hearing the horses set off.

great. since they both were more than capable of holding their own it wasn’t a total disaster, but it was a night wasted sitting at a desk.

once you all arrived things seemed to be going smoothly, jesper floated from person to person, making conversation and laughing along with other party goers. you could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of jealousy on wylans face before he turned away. while jesper was frolicking inej was say at the bar, nursing a drink that looked to be at least 15 kruge overpriced. while going up the stairs you met with kaz and the others, wylan gave them 4 of the bombs, and w kaz gave them the timeframe. 15 minutes, in and out then they should be done. if they weren’t on the roof in time then they were to rendezvous at the neighboring farm a few roads down.

problem 3: it had been almost 15 minutes and there was still no sign or the others. you checked your watch nervously and you heard wylan kicking at the rocks to your left. on your end things had been fine, no other gangs or stadwatch had shown up.

as of on cue, the door burst open and matthias and kaz ran out

if i’m you hand my been concerned the moment mightve even been funny, kaz had what seemed to be his weight in gold adorned around his neck, and a painting almost as wide as you strapped to his back. matthias wasn’t any better, he had to crown crookedly placed on his head and had bracelets up to his elbows, and what looked to be a violin case strapped to his back.

they were telling at you both to jump into the tree, something about a few bodyguards catching them and nina staying behind to fight a few off.

kaz shrugged off what he had on and gave it over to wylan who put in the bag. matthias followed suit and the propped up the bag and took off. scaling down a building wasn’t kazs forte which is why he was supposed to go back through and out the building, but that obviously wasn’t an option. while you were trying to figure out what to do, some men came through the door and went at you.

growing up you learned how to fight, so you were that bad. as you dodged a punch and countered you saw kaz fighting in your peripheral. instead of having his cane be a part of his weakness, he had managed to turn it into one of his strengths. as he swung it at what seemed to be the last man you straightened your back, letting out a breathy laugh. both of you were bruised and by the inhale you just took you had a rib or two broken. the heavy steps of someone coming up the stares broke you out of your trance. as the woman came up the stairs you wanted to crawl up and die. she was huge her biceps were always as thick as your waist and the look on her face showed she wasn’t here to play.

you were never one to back down though so with a deep breath you began to form your hands. because tailors could alter physical appearance and bone structure you had been trying to take it to the next level. while so far it had only worked on the dead you thought it might work. as you brought your hand up her arms began to pulse, changing shape in an almost grotesque way. she began to stride over to you before a heavy crack made her turn around.

kaz wasn’t really sure what you were doing, but he could tell you were going to have to focus in order to do so. as he began to fight the woman her arms began to.. change. they became smaller, larger, then began to shrink onto themselves. she vegan to maker her way to you again. before he could do anything else he felt his feet tip back and he fell. he opened his eyes to see his hands barely holding onto the brick wall. he prayed to saints he didn’t believe in to help him hold on.

you saw kaz plunge and your mind went on autopilot, you felt your power wash over you and you watched her legs began to shrink, growing smaller and smaller until there were none left at all. in the back of your head you heard someone laugh, it was scary, shrill. it took a moment before you realized it was you.

snapping back into reality you left her there, rushing over to kaz who was by the grace of saints still hanging on. you grabbed him by the arm and yanked him forward, sending you both rather harshly to your backs.

you breathed in once more as you shakily stood, kaz did the same, pain evident on his face. during this whole mess his cane had landed up in the dirt below you both. together you began to long journey back to the barrel.

-

the door to the slat burst open as you carried a passed out kaz. it was well into the night, so the was nobody there save for the crows and some dregs. as you hauled him over to a table inej and matthias swiped it off, maps and cards fell onto the floor around you all.

you peeled off his clothes later by later, stopping once you got the his shirt. as you unbuttoned it you signaled for the others to leave, you assumed kaz wouldn’t like them to see their ‘all powerful’ boss in such a position.

as your hands ghosted over his chest you let your manic deep putt of you. you mended the broken ribs, the fractured wrist, and the cuts he had gotten on his back. they were deep, but not enough to make them life threatening. as his skin stitched itself together you began to focus on your own. by the time you were done rearranging your own bruises and scrapes you were far too tired to rid his face and body of the bruises. instead, you patched him up, wrapping bandages around his stomach and back before shrugging his coat on over him.

as you bridal carried him up the stairs you took a moment to appreciate his face. you didn’t let yourself stare very often, kaz was observant and he could pick up the slightest of glances. you looked at the curve of his nose, the shape of his lips. they looked soft, kissable even

before you let yourself get too carried away you opened the door to his room, taking his coat, hanging it, and then taking his gloves and placing them at his bedside.

before you left you filled a bowl with warm water, dipping a towel in you began to rub small circles into his face, ridding it of the dried blood that was starting to form. once the water turned crimson you dumped it out.

kaz awoke the next day, he wasn’t in any more pain than he was used to, but he was still bruised beyond belief. he didn’t remember much other than clinging onto you as you both made your way back to the slat.

he brought his hand up to his head, he needed to figure out what had happened. after finding jesper and figuring out what had occurred, he didn’t know what to do. how was he supposed to thank you? how could he in words, explain how thankful he was it was you that saved him, you that helped him. you. you. stupid you.

y/n l/n.

the only person that had managed to win over dirty hands heart