#fresh off the trauma horse - even just wants there to be no more hurt. they want the doctor to come save everyone. they want the doctor to

[quietwingsinthesky]

i think it would be less that even doesn't have a moral compass anymore after All That Shit and more that they just. need it to be re-calibrated a little bit. their ability to tell right from wrong got a bit fucked up in the need to survive a little longer, and if you just put them in a slightly healthier environment, they would figure it out.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Mind the Gap: Two

Shang- Chi woke up alone in your narrow bed and lay there for a long moment looking at the ceiling. There are plastic stars and dozens upon dozens painstakingly handwritten lines of poetry and little quotes. He wondered how you’d gotten them up there. And he wondered if you kept them because they comforted you. Or inspired you.

It was… weird seeing the parts of yourself you’d tried to hide for so long. The instruments, the books, the crystals. The way the room was flooded with colored light as the sun hit the stained glass. He thoughts of your drab little apartment. The orderliness of it. How minimalist it was. This felt better. Somehow all the missing pieces that gave him any doubts at all made more sense.

He looked at the photos. Little, frozen, out of context moments. People he didn’t recognize. Until he got to the end. Kai in Uniform and holding you, smiling while your chubby dimpled hands cover your mouth. You couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6. All puppy fat and big smiles. That made him feel warm. It was nice knowing that you hadn’t just sprung up somewhere fully formed. And that Kai, for all his unbothered attitude really did love you.

Behind him, he heard footsteps and whirled around to face the door. He wasn’t sure if it was you or not. But. He didn’t want to be caught snooping. So when Katy stuck her head around the door, he exhaled slowly. “There’s breakfast downstairs,” she said quietly, “You okay?”

“Better,” he said after a long second. “I just-”

“I know,” she said. “Her Godmother said she almost died and then-”

“And then she woke up,” he finished.

“And heard someone talking in her head, which- what?”

Shang-Chi made a soft noise that even he didn’t know the meaning of. Last night, he still hadn’t pressed on you for answers. You’d been so disoriented and tired that it didn’t seem quite fair to probe something that obviously caused that much pain. Even as he held you, you’d cried in your sleep, your hands fisted around handfuls of his shirt. And now he didn’t wonder why he frequently found you either awake and working or asleep somewhere else. You talked. Alternating between defiance and begging. It hurt. It tore at him like sharp pointed teeth. It still hurt even in the bright light of day. And he wondered if you couldn’t remember or if- if the Archive wouldn’t let you remember.

“Let’s go eat,” Katy prompted, linking her arm through his. “Lea said Y/N may not be back for hours… Something about everything being a little “off” after she loses a day or two of time.”

He nodded and reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away from the pictures. His stomach making most of the decision for him. He wasn’t sure what food was down there but it smelled amazing. And he realized that he’d not eaten anything since breakfast the previous day.

In the kitchen, he pauses for a second to take in all the details he hadn’t noticed before. Too worried about you being alone in the bedroom in the attic. Bundles of herbs are hanging to dry. Everything is copper and scrubbed oak work surfaces. The windows are open and the smells from the garden and wet earth from the rain the day before mingle pleasantly with all the pastry smells and warm coffee. It’s comfortable in a way that isn’t manufactured for the house guests. It’s a working room. One that operates the same way year round. And Shang-Chi wondered what happened to keep you away.

Even as your Godmother, Grandmother and assorted cousins quickly ply them all with breakfast and hospitality, he can’t help but feel a little… Overwhelmed. Everyone is just so friendly and warm. No one questions them. No one is apprehensive. And as the talk flies around the table, it’s quickly apparent that you come by your humor and broody tendencies honestly. Your grandmother likes to fuss and she likes guests. She especially likes having ALL of her grandkids at home which he’s given to understand is rare.

Outside there’s the sound of horses and incoherent masculine whooping sounds after a while and She smiles, “I wondered if they’d be back before lunch.”

Shang-Chi watched out the window over her shoulder and she chuckled, “I don’t know how neither of them has never broken their necks jumping that back fence… It used to take years off my life watching them do it when they were small.”

“Daredevils, huh?”

She half shrugged, “It was almost impossible to keep either of them in the house… Wild things.” But there was more fondness than heat in her voice even as she shook her head. “Though their father being what he is, it’s no small wonder.”

He’s only half listening now as he watched you dismount from the horse you’d been riding. Your hair is messy and windblown and there’s color in your face and the careless half smile. There’s a warmth that spreads through his chest, even as his heart skips a beat.

You pause in the kitchen, looking surprised to find people there and glance at the clock frowning before checking your watch. Almost like you aren’t sure which one to believe. “Sit, Eat,” Lea scolds, pressing a mug into your hands and gesturing at an empty chair.

“I don’t think I can,” you say hesitantly.

The taller woman cradles your face in her hands for a second and turns your head to the side to inspect the still fading bruises, “Is it better or worse than it was?”

“It depends on how long I’m out for,” you say after a moment. “It still takes at least a day. But sometimes a week or more.”

“And everything else?”

“The only thing that feels right is being outside.”

Shang-Chi watches Lea and Kai trade worried looks while you studiously look at the mug in your hands after Lea lets you go and deposits you in a chair. “Try any way,” she said softly, setting a plate down in front of you gently. There’s not much on it. A little fruit, some fresh bread and some ham. But even from where he’s standing Shang-Chi can see some of the color leave your face.

“I should call the Aunts and tell them we’re going to cancel the party…” your grandmother said after watching you try to pick at the fruit before giving up and trying a bit of bread.

“I’ll be fine,” you sigh, “It’s just some nausea from getting smacked in the head hell knows how many times and the usual disorientation from not being in the same timezone as everyone else.”

“Smacked in the head?” Katy asked over her mug.

“I made my phone call. The last thing I remember is getting pistol whipped before I was yanked out of the driver’s seat… You would think, given that the Archive lives in my head it would do more to prevent head trauma but… Nah. Who needs grey matter?”

“Driver’s seat?” she asked, wincing.

“It the easiest way I’ve ever found to explain it. This is a meat mech and I don’t always get to drive… The Archive has two main objectives. Protecting the vessel that houses it AND protecting the balance of the universe by preserving knowledge… Anything that interferes with those goals is typically dealt with with extreme prejudice.”

“Typically?” This time it was Wenwu who asked and you half turn that direction and shrug, honestly grateful to not have to pretend to eat.

“Archives have never had their own physical body. By their own account and every corroborating account I’ve ever found they’re… spirits for lack of a better word. A manifestation of desperation. Probably resulting from things like the destruction of the Library of Alexandria and so forth… So they don’t really have any moral quandaries. Not the way a physical entity might.” You sigh and tilt your head, popping your neck to try and relieve some of the discomfort.

“So how-”

“I was the most powerful person in the room when a previous vessel died,” you say exhaling slowly.

“You were a kid,” Shang-Chi said taking the vacant seat on your right.

“It’s- Atypical- according to the Archive for them to inhabit children… Their ability to complete their task can be hindered somewhat by the physical ability of a vessel. But. I had the potential, I guess. So here we are.”

“That was a very coherent explanation,” Kai said mildly.

“Getting out for a while helped make some space to think,” you say shrugging again, “And i did promise an explanation.”

“Space?” Katy asked, frowning.

“Imagine putting all my books into Shang-Chi’s apartment then trying to find something,” you snort. “It takes effort. And a little time. And some shuffling around.”

“Hey!” he protested, throwing one arm over the back of your chair to tug you closer.

“It’s not my fault you live in a literal shoebox.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a nerd,” he chuckles, kissing the side of your head gently.

_________________

You stand on the dock watching the sunlight on the water and sink gratefully onto the warm wood. For a person as introverted as you are, being bombarded on all sides all the time is… Overwhelming. You can hear the people in the distance. The talking and laughing and general ruckus. It’s familiar. But right now you’d kill for silence.

And you aren’t sure but, you think that the Archive might have similar feelings. That in itself is a blessing. You’re tired. Your body is sore. And all you want is to crawl back into your bed.

“You okay?”

You half turn to look up at Shang- Chi and smile a little. “Just tired,” you assure him.

“Are you always… this way?” He doesn’t really know how to put it. Or if you really want company. But, he settles behind you and pulls you against his chest.

“Tired? Yeah. The Archive doesn’t sleep. It interferes with the mission. Which means I’m more often than not awake the entire time… Unless it affects the performance of the vessel. Then I can sleep.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything. Gratified when you don’t pull away he pulls you a little closer and kisses the side of your head.

And not for the first time, you thank whatever gods might be listening for people who understand silence.

Shang-chi isn’t sure when you fall asleep. But when he hears the quiet little snores from your head being in a slightly weird angle, he smiles a little and adjusts you carefully to be laying more securely against his chest. It gives him some time to think.

For the years that he spent dancing around you as you started as a friend of Katy’s, he’d felt a pain. A sense that something was too raw to touch. It had made you feel familiar. It made you feel like a kindred spirit. A twin flame. Even as you both tried to hold back, to love people without letting them see the ugly things you kept hidden. Even as you’d tried to build a relationship on secrets. But now? This moment sitting in the sunshine on the dock with you snoring on his shoulder, it feels more intimate than any time he’d ever managed to get you naked. For you to be this comfortable with him… Not to belittle the sanctity of a drunk make out after a duet at karaoke but… It felt like progress. Real progress. He could see the person you were under all the secrets and little white lies. And somehow, it wasn’t very far from what he already knew.

Footsteps on the dock behind him make him half turn, careful not to jostle you awake. He’s not surprised to see Kai standing there. “Is she asleep?”

He nodded, reluctant to talk in case you weren’t as deeply asleep as you seemed.

“Good,” Kai said relaxing a little. “Listen, Grandma is going to turn this into a party… It’s Charity season and Y/N hasn’t been home for anything in… a while. So the aunts and subsequently all the kids are on their way. If you can I’d carry her into the house and put her back to bed. Once the kids learn she’s here there’s not going to be any more sleeping.”

When Kai noticed him frowning the other man smiled a little. “She means well. After… Everything happened Grandma just didn’t want her to be treated like a leper.” You stir sleepily and both men wince reflexively, “Can you-”

“I got her,” Shang-Chi answered, reluctant to let you go. Not even to Kai.

And to his credit, Shang-Chi thought, Kai let him go past without much more than a nod.

[imagine-that]

Good for you

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warning: angst? Anger? Idfk, breaking things, rage ig.

( A part 2 to White Horse )

AN: I didn’t have this one planned as a part buttttttttt I heard the song and I had a Loki’s perspective idea for this fic and I just started writing it and now it’s finished andddddd I kinda like it even more than I liked White Horse 😊😊 here’s the song if you want to listen while you read or whatever ❤️❤️

Loki glared up at the ceiling, staring up at the art of a mural painted over the surface for what seemed like the thousandth time that day alone. He showed absolutely no desire to do much else lately, not unless visiting Heimdall counted as something to do, but he never did that just for the purpose of chatting.

Since you’d ran away, he was even worse than he was before. He was cold towards anyone who approached him, he snapped at the very slightest of things and he spent his days obsessing. Obsessing over where you were, what you did, who you were with. Essentially, if it had anything to do with you, he demanded to know even the smallest of details.

For whatever reason, he didn’t dare go down to Midgard to look for you. Heimdall believed it was because he only worried for you and somehow deep down he knew this was better for the both of you but he kept this theory to himself, not wanting to further enrage the god.

“Where is she/he/they now?” Loki barked as he walked through the gates, not bothering with a normal greeting.

“Y/n is just out for a coffee your highness, there is not much to say from the last time you asked.” Heimdall said simply.

Loki shakes his head with a cold laugh. “And? Who is she/he/they with then? Midgardians typically go for coffee in pairs. They use it as a date.” He sneers, glaring just at the thought.

“It seems that she/he/they is with another person yes.” Heimdall says, hoping it won’t send Loki over the edge to hear.

“Of course.” He mutters under his breath, storming away without another word to Heimdall, his brain flooding with an overwhelming amount of memories with you, making his jaw grind as it tightened.

Well good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

You found a new girl and it only took a couple weeks

Remember when you said that you wanted to give me the world

His thoughts were plagued with the idea of you with another, your hand held in someone else’s, your laugh being another persons treasure. It filled him with an envy as green as his cloaks, his blood boiling at the mere idea.

He stormed through the throne room, ignoring his fathers shouts of anger for the interruption, ignoring Thor’s cries of concern and heading straight to the only place he felt he had left of you; your room in the palace.

As angry as he was, he gently shut the door behind him rather than slamming it, not wanting to disturb the peace in the empty room.

To others, that was exactly what it would look like; an empty and vacant bedroom waiting to be used. But to him it was the last place he’d seen you, the last time he’d ever seen his one true love was in this room and he couldn’t handle the idea that it could be the last time ever.

He glanced at the photos you’d left decorating your dresser, the only sign that this room was ever once used for anything more than a guest room.

He stared at one of the photos with a blank stare, grabbing it off the dresser and looking down at your still smiling face intently, as though if he stared long enough, it would pull you right out of the photograph and back to him. But then he flashes back to the last night you two had been together, the way he’d been so blinded by his love for you that you’d managed to deceit him and he cried out in anger, tossing the frame across the room where it smashed as soon as it hit the wall.

He was breathing heavy, collapsing down to the ground on his knees.

He remembered Heimdall telling him that you had been seeing a therapist, coping much better with the trauma he’d put you through when you started seeing the professional. Despite his love for you, he was jealous beyond belief.

He was a god, he was good looking, he was a prince. He should be the one thriving without you, so he thought. But instead he was the one falling apart at the seams.

And good for you, I guess that you’ve been workin’ on yourself

I guess that therapist I found for you, she really helped

Now you can be a better man for your brand new girl

He cried out again, anger filling his entire body with a hot rage.

Thor slammed the door open, rushing over to his brothers side. “Brother, what is the matter?” He asked, crouching down beside him.

Loki laughs humourlessly. “What is the matter? WHAT IS THE MATTER? The one person in this world who has ever chosen me over all else, who has ever loved me unconditionally has ran off into the sunset, probably with a mere mortal. And I am at fault for it. That, dear brother, is what is the matter.” He growls, a sad smile painting his lips.

“Y/n will return brother, at which point you may apologize for the problems between you two.” Thor assures him.

Loki scoffs, looking up at his brother with narrowed eyes. “Dare not speak her/his/their name brother.” He warns, his jaw stiff again.

Since your departure, the only person who’d said your name was Heimdall. Not even Loki himself could bring himself to say it, the pain still too raw.

Well good for you

You look happy and healthy, not me

If you ever cared to ask

“It will happen Loki. Give it time.” Thor says again, ignoring his brothers threat as he rises to his feet, patting Loki on the shoulder sympathetically.

Loki doesn’t move, stays in his spot planted on your floor, surrounded by his memories while Thor leaves.

He pulls himself up, but only to let himself lay on your bed rather than looking so pathetic and powerless on the floor, feeling he at least deserved that much dignity.

“Dearest I miss you.” He murmurs to no one, staring up at the ceiling once again, this time not quite glaring. The intricate golden and silver designs on your ceiling were more delicate, softer than the ones in his own or in any other room in the palace really.

“Loki I don’t need my own room in the palace. I have yours! That’s plenty enough for me.” He could practically hear your voice, your hesitation at staying in the palace officially due to the royalty part of everything fresh in his mind as though it were only yesterday and not three or so years ago.

Now you were probably off living your dream Midgardian life, something that was completely beyond him in your eyes apparently. He could almost see you, walking around in the streets on Midgard, savouring everything you saw, smelt, tasted. From what Heimdall had said, you were perfectly content being so ordinary.

Good for you

You’re doing great out there without me, baby

God I wish that I could do that

He hated thinking of you, every moment he did was a moment he had to spend missing your presence. In yet another fit of rage, he threw a crystal vase at the door, the shattered pieces spreading across the floor.

He forced himself to his feet, making himself leave your room, abandoning the broken items as he simply walked around them, slamming the door behind him. He’d already disturbed the peace in the room just by being there, he knew, and to think otherwise would be foolish and stupid.

“Prince Loki, are you alright? I heard something break and it sounded as though it came from your room.” A young maid asked as she approached him, worry apparent on her face. Loki recognized the girl as one who had been crushing on him for years, one who often made you bubble with jealousy whenever she was around.

He smirked at the girl, a new idea popping into his head, one that would surely have hurt you as bad as your leave had hurt him.

“I am alright, I slipped and knocked down a vase, that is all.” He explained, trying to regain his usual charm and confidence.

The girl nodded, a small smile on her lips. “I’m so glad.” She says, batting her eyelashes his way in a manner he was sure she thought was attractive to him. He ignored it, focusing on his goal.

He grabbed the girl and pulled her into his room, shutting the door and pushing her up against it, wasting no time as he attacks her lips with his own. She lets out a gasp of surprise but immediately returns the gesture, kissing him hard. He holds her at the waist with one hand, going to cup her face with the other but opens his eyes for a mere moment and is suddenly seeing your face.

He blinks harshly, until it’s the girl standing in front of him again, watching him with a confused pout. Just as she’s about to speak, more than likely to ask if he’s alright again, he pulls the door open, shoving her out and closing it behind her, his eyes wide as he runs a hand through his hair, breathing heavy once again as he falls to the floor, his back against the door.

“Loki she was staring right at you! She’s practically in love with you! And I’m standing right there and she still makes googly eyes at you!” You had scoffed whenever the maid was around.

He so badly wanted to be able to laugh about your jealousy towards a girl who meant nothing to him compared to you, whose name he couldn’t even remember. He wanted to caress the side of your face, the pad of his thumb to your lips while he reassured you that he was all yours, no one else’s. But he couldn’t turn back time, this he knew.

“My love I’d give anything to get you back to me.” He chokes, starting to sob into his lap.

I’ve lost my mind

I’ve spent the night

Crying on the floor of my bathroom

He spends the whole night there, leaned against the door, getting nothing but an hour or so of sleep. The next day, he uses a simple spell to make himself appear fine, not able to bear the embarrassment of others seeing him breaking down like this.

He ignores any castle staff onlookers, going on in his stride straight back to the bifrost, following his newfound unhealthy routine.

“Prince Loki I must advise you as to how toxic this is becoming for you.” Heimdall warns him, letting out a sigh as Loki holds up a hand to silence him, watching expectantly for an answer to his unasked question.

“Y/n has been settling into her/his/their new life. She/he/they is starting a Midgardian job today.” Heimdall finally explains, giving up on his attempts to preserve Loki’s feelings.

“I see.” Loki hums to himself, the gears in his brain shifting.

“Was that all?” Heimdall asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Send me there.” Loki says suddenly, looking over at Heimdall for the first time in all of his many visits. Heimdall looks back in slight shock.

“What do you believe that will accomplish your highness?” He asks, trying to fight Loki on the matter respectfully.

“I need to see my love there, happy. I need to see it for myself.” Loki responds simply. Heimdall glances at him once more, nodding as he knows he’d never be able to talk him out of this idea. He tells him where exactly he’d be able to find you reluctantly.

Heimdall opens the gates wordlessly, sending Loki on the way down to earth. Loki arrives, dusting off his clothes as he uses another spell to make himself appear completely different from usual.

Though he’d only spent a brief period on Midgard, he knew his way around well enough that he could find the address Heimdall had given him fairly quickly, walking through the streets of New York to find it.

“Of course she/he/they would pick New York.” He thought to himself bitterly, winding past other tourists until he reached the building he was looking for. He was about to enter when something caught his eye in the window of a small coffee shop next door. He saw a flash of y/h/c, the exact shade he’d seen so many times and froze, staring on at the source.

And there you were, with men and women and people all around you, chatting, laughing, drinking with them. He saw the warm smile on your face and his heart melted knowing he wasn’t the source of it this time. He couldn’t hear what was being said through the window but he knew it was important from the sole fact that it was making you laugh. He felt tears starting in his eyes, a wave of hurt hitting him again and again inside, drowning him.

But you’re so unaffected,

I really don’t get it

But I guess good for you

He watched, unable to move from his spot, eyes glued to the familiarity of you. He wanted your warm embrace against his cold to the touch skin, your lips on his.

But he felt another wave, one of anger. You’d left that touch, that safety net, for this. For midgardians, mere mortals. How could they possibly offer you more than he could, he wondered.

He took a deep breath, stalking into the coffee shop and getting in line to order, wanting at least one thing to come out of this disaster of a thought to come to where you are.

“No no, my ex... he’s a good guy. We just weren’t really meant to be, I guess? It was... complicated.” He overheard you say, his eyes darting to you. He tries to turn his gaze away, realizing what he’s doing but you look up, your eyes meeting his. For a moment the both of you keep eye contact, Loki too scared to look away and you confused as to why this man you’d never seen has such a familiar stance to him.

You blink a few times, turning back to your group and continuing your chat, making Loki breath a small sigh of relief. He mutters his order to the poor barista, her swooning over him, even in his disguise. Once his order comes up, he storms out, not bothering to look back at you as you start talking about your new job, new apartment, your new life essentially. He frowns at the thought of you being in any place that would be unfamiliar to him, trying to think of how you might feel living without him.

Did you miss him as much as he missed you? Had your comment in the shop been a hint that you were miserable like he was? But he knew that neither of those would possibly be true. Your smile said it all; you were already moving on perfectly fine without him. It was as though you were almost trying to erase your history with him, from his perspective anyway.

Well good for you, I guess you’re getting everything you want

You bought a new car and your career’s really taking off

It’s like we never even happened, baby what the fuck is up with that?

Unable to bear the thoughts multiplying in his mind, Loki ducked into an ally, curling into himself against a wall, starting to cry again.

He groaned in frustration, his head in his hands. You were unraveling him, he wasn’t sure how and he didn’t like how it felt. He’d always been at least somewhat levelheaded but with you gone, his mind was always clouded, his thoughts were infected with you nonstop.

It was like a disease had overcome his entire body and he had no cure, no antibodies to fight it.

“What have I done?” He asks himself, sighing into his hands, staying in his position crouched on the ground for a quiet moment, seeking nothing but a bit of peace.

He’d only wanted to show you he truly loved you but instead he’d driven you away, into a new embrace.

He runs a hand over his jaw, willing himself up. If he couldn’t hear to see you, there was no purpose in him furthering his stay. He decided silently that the best option for him was going back and waiting for Heimdall to open the gates, to get him as far away from your soft features and glowing personality as possible before he did something he’d regret, like approaching you and outing himself as a stalker, not that he really cared anymore. You’d never see him the same as you once had, this much was clear.

Memories of the first I love you came to his mind suddenly.

“I love you Loki, and I know you love me too so stop acting so silly and just say it, please.” You had begged him. He had merely smirked and ran off, telling you you had to catch him to hear it back. You’d chased him around the gardens and the libraries and balconies of the entire palace until you’d caught up, out of breath as you’d grabbed his cloak and pulled him towards you and kept him rooted to his spot until he returned the words.

He’d been hesitant, merely to tease you but he’d said them back, said them multiple times while he had kissed you all over, overjoyed by the sense of protection and love he felt with you.

He shook his head with a bitter laugh to himself at the bittersweet memory, seeing as how things were for you now.

He trudged his way back to the gates opening, kicking a rock aggressively all the way there, trying to contain himself enough to not scream out in anger the way he had been doing in his room. But every time he managed to calm himself, your smiling face found it’s way into his brain, making him lose all feelings not involving anger.

He kept trying to remind himself that it had been your choice, that you’d left him without a goodbye or anything of the sort on purpose to make the wound sting more but it did nothing but make him feel agony for the hurt he’d put you through.

And good for you it’s like you never even met me

Remember when you swore to god I was the only person who ever got you

Well screw that and screw you, you will never have to hurt the way you know that I do

His rage was finally starting to blind him again as he marched to the gates, just how he liked it. The idea of you with another person was still what really set it off. Seeing you hurt but watching you thrive and move on was more, it was worse. It filled him with feelings he’d never thought he’d feel towards you in his life but he was and he didn’t feel as bad as he thought he would.

‘No one leaves a prince. Not unless they are absolutely crazy.’ He thought to himself smugly, waiting at the gates for Heimdall to open them. He gets pulled through, up to Asgard where he dusts off his smooth suit, relieved to finally be out of the disguise he’d chosen.

The smile on your face when he’d seen you with the Midgardians was glued to his brain, his focus flying all over the place at the memory. He couldn’t figure out quite what it was that was making him so agitated himself, knowing he missed you but suppressing the extent of it.

Asgard felt empty, superficial almost without you there to watch everything in such a natural awe that he’d so admired for so long. It was as though all the colours of the home he’d so cherished for so long were drained right down the gates when they’d opened and swallowed you whole.

He couldn’t bear that you’d managed to run off with not only his trust and dignity but his sanity along with it.

Pushing such thoughts to the back of his mind, Loki stormed back to his own room, avoiding yours at all costs as he forced his doors open, slamming them behind him and grabbing anything breakable in sight, tossing it at the balcony doors. If anyone had walked in they would’ve thought he’d truly lost his mind but to him, that much was at least somewhat true.

Maybe I’m too emotional

But your apathy’s like a wound in salt

Your deceit was controlling more of his life, his thoughts, his entire being than he’d ever care to admit. He was consumed with a need for you, a thirst to be near you again and everyone could see it was driving him to the edge of a cliff, the only possible person to pull him back up being the one pushing him to it in the first place. Still, he knew it was all his own doing. That was how he knew part of his latest insanity was due to the built up guilt from so long.

Even so, he was enraged. With you, with himself, with the world. It was a mix of everything.

He could almost feel the gentle touch of your hand to his shoulder when he was upset, your lips pressed sweetly to his temple in attempts to cool him off.

“You can’t hold pointless grudges all your life Loki. You can try but I’m not sure it would be any fun.” You’d teased, making him smile despite his sour mood.

He cried out, throwing another priceless item from his hand, crumbling to the ground yet again. The stress was eating away at him.

Maybe I’m too emotional

Or maybe you never cared at all

Thor heard the crashes and smashing coming from his brothers room and went running, pushing open the door with all his strength, his mouth agape as he was met with the sight of his brother screaming in agony.

“Brother, talk to me.” He commands, trying to stop Loki from throwing anything more. Loki thrashes against his brother, sobbing while he yells out, fighting his brother with all his might.

“Loki stop fighting me and tell me what is wrong!” Thor commands and Loki falls to the ground on his knees, exhaustion hitting him like a brick.

“I am fine. Everything is fine.” He murmurs, smiling at his brother easily. Thor shakes his head, not accepting the answer this time.

“Tell me.” He says again and Loki sighs, a hollow laugh choking out of his lips. He removes the spell he’d used, revealing his true self, in pyjamas, his hair an extreme mess, his face sunken in and pale, more so than usual. His eyes were bloodshot beyond belief.

Thor audibly gasped at the sight of his brother covered in his own blood, the shards of the glass having cut into his hands and his feet several times. Loki sinks in against the edge of the bed, looking up at his brother tiredly.

“There. Now you have seen the true me.” He mutters, not saying anything else as his mouth sets in a line.

Well good for you,

You look happy and healthy, not me

If you ever cared to ask

“Loki... I had no idea it was this bad brother.” Thor said quietly, sitting down awkwardly next to his brother on the floor. Loki quickly pushed away, not wanting to face anyone’s pity for even a moment.

“Leave me be brother, I keep this disgustingly weak display hidden for a reason.” Loki growled, avoiding his brothers eyes, staring at the broken glass laying at his feet.

Thor stands, not wanting to ignore Loki’s wishes and leaves him with his thoughts, his brows still furrowed in worry as he shuts the already busted door behind him gently.

Loki runs both of his hands through his mess of hair, squeezing as though to rid himself of the memories locked in place, taunting him on an endless loop.

“You can never get her/him/them back. Never ever.” They seemed to whisper in his mind, the sound of silence in the room only amplifying their nonexistent voices.

He smacked his head harshly, trying to push them out, trying to get back to the quiet while tears rolled down his cheeks, wondering once again why he had ever done anything so cruel to you as he had.

“I am so very sorry my darling.” He whispered into the emptiness softly, hugging his knees to his chest.

Never once had he ever felt so broken down or lonely in his existence, never once had he ever felt so much remorse mixed with anger as he did right then, knowing it was too late to even apologize in the first place. A part of him wondered if you felt anything regarding him at all anymore. A deeper part of him wondered how long it would be til you purposely forgot him entirely, all emotions about him disregarded just like that. And he knew if you did he had to live with the fact that he deserved every moment of it.

Good for you

You’re doing great out there without me, baby

Like a damn sociopath

Ignoring the blood drying on his hands and his feet, Loki went into the bathroom and splashed ice cold water onto his face, trying to get a more level head out of it. While the shiver it gave him did wake him up a bit, his mind was just as clouded, just as distracted.

He groaned, slamming his fists down on the edge of the sink, nearly cracking it with the strength used. Suddenly his room felt too solitary and confining. He put on his facade again, cloaking any form of injury or sadness with his powers. He walked into the gardens, nowhere else to stay away from others while not feeling claustrophobic, though sending him back in time for a mere moment.

“You know Loki, you ought to spend more time out here. These plants are so pretty. And the flowers all smell so good. How could you not just run away from everything in the world and hide out here from it?” You asked. He had chuckled, pulling you along the path and deeper through the enchanting maze of greenery until you had reached the bench.

“My mother took me here as a child. She said it was our place, for our escapes from reality. She told me to only show it to those I truly trusted or were truly enchanted with. You are both of those things to me y/n.” He had told you as he held you in his embrace, carefully picking a flower and handing it off to you, the first gift he’d ever given you.

He smiled slightly at the memory, thinking how ironic and poetic that he was now doing exactly as you had suggested that day and running from his responsibilities. He missed the way even the most mundane of things had been so easy for you to enjoy.

He laid in the grass, ignoring the stinging in his feet and the twinges of pain in his palms from his cuts, taking comfort in the memories he had. Those, he was thankful you couldn’t have taken with you. He felt pathetic. He felt weak and vulnerable and all the things he’d never wanted to feel in his life. And even worse, it was because of the one person he thought he could always count on to protect him from those terrible feelings.

He hummed absentmindedly to himself, feeling much more calm with the fresh air and sounds of nature rather than complete silence. He still didn’t feel quite like himself but he was unsure if he ever would again anyway. At least now he felt somewhat in control of his own mind.

I’ve lost my mind

I’ve spent the night

Crying on the floor of my bathroom

As he watched the sky, Loki thought of you, every mark, scar, line, feature of yours, drawing out your face in his mind, the most memorable moments with you playing like a film sequence. His smile fell a little as this day, his impromptu visit from earlier came to his mind.

Whether he was truly angry at you for leaving wasn’t the question anymore. Not really. The question had more so become whether you’d really loved him at all or if he had fooled himself into believing you did.

He silently decided on the latter, knowing you had too big a heart to ever put anyone through that level of hurt.

Still, he seethed with jealousy thinking of the boy who had been sitting the closest to you in the little coffee shop, the way he had looked at you the same way Loki always had. And it hadn’t seemed to him like you’d been too eager to pull away either, which only made it sting worse.

He closed his eyes in a small show of defeat to no one, knowing you were better off without him around to flip the world upside down for you. Deep, deep down he knew you needed a stability he wasn’t ready to provide yet, though he would never ever admit that to anyone, much less himself.

No, instead he missed holding what was his in his arms, making you feel safe and comfortable like he had for so many years. Anyone’s hands on you other than his made him feel a blind rage even on his best day and right then it was the worst day he’d ever faced, making the anger spread like wildfire through him.

The image stood at a standstill in his brain and he convinced himself that one way or another, he had to get you back to him.

But you’re so unaffected, I really don’t get it

But I guess good for you

Well good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

———————————————————————

Tagging: @peachybaes , @wolfish-trickster and @writinguntilmyheartgivesout (thank you guys for the support on White horse, you have no idea how ecstatic they made me, my heart was very happy, I appreciate you, and all my other readers 💖💖)

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 25) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6900 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 25: Y/N and Dean struggle with the aftermath of their split. Working together proves to be difficult, but other relationships within the ranch family took a hit as well. When the cowboy thinks the day can’t get much worse, complications arise, forcing him to make yet another difficult decision. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff,  angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood  trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of  addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of  blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: (opening scene) The Eye - Brandi Carlile. (Ride with Meadow scene) Home - Hans Zimmer. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Beta’d by my mom (yes, you read that right. My mom reads my stuff and is on Tumblr). Thank you, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​, @kittenofdoomage​​, @manawhaat​​, @waywardbeanie​​, @atc74​​​​​, and @winchest09​​​​​ for helping me with this story. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​​​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam���​​​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     With frustrated motions, Y/N stuffs her clothes into a bag, not even bothered to sort the items out. Her cheeks are tear-stained once again and she wipes at them angrily. Stop crying, it won’t get you anywhere, she scolds herself, done with feeling this emotional. After all, today is Monday, just another day at the ranch, and they have a lot of work to do. Garth and Ellen did the necessary stable work, but the horses which are usually trained by Jo, Dean, and herself had three days off while their riders were in Flagstaff. 

     Dean. Just the name reverberating in her head forces her to pause her actions. She dips her chin, closes her eyes, and takes a breath. Why? That’s the question she keeps asking herself. Why did he break up with her? Why did he pretend to care, only to hurt her the way he did? Why has he become so bitter, so selfish, so unlike the man she thought he was?

     The questions remain unanswered, and she doesn’t expect they will give her any consolation either. That was the whole issue to begin with, wasn’t it? He can’t be honest. Apparently, he doesn’t think she’s capable of bearing the load he is meant to share with his partner. Apparently, she’s not good enough. Just like she didn’t meet her first boyfriend’s standards, who got tired of her spending more time with her horses than with him. Her second relationship ended in a fiasco as well, this time it was his jealousy of her success that caused the split. Yesterday proved that the third time clearly isn’t a charm. But neither of her previous significant others ever caused a cataclysm as the one Dean has left behind. Her heart is a wasteland now.

     “Are you leaving?”      She’s pulled away from her thoughts by Jo’s voice, her tone matching the horrified expression on her face. She stands in the doorway, looking down at the open suitcase on the floor and the unzipped bag. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes what the scene must look like.      “No. I’m just sorting out my washing,” she says quickly.      “Oh…” the blonde cowgirl sighs, relieved. “For a second there I thought--”      “I won’t let your scumbag cousin chase me away, Jo,” her friend assures her.

     Truth be told, though, she has been thinking about it. Last night she had typed down her information on a booking website, ready to confirm her flight back to Freeport, but as her finger hovered over the ‘confirm’ button, she closed the tab and slammed her laptop closed. The intern came here on a mission. She is going to prove to her parents and to herself that she has what it takes to run her own ranch and that she deserves that business loan. She is not going to abort just because her heart is broken, come hell or high water.

     “Well, good. I would have roped you like a cow and tied you to the saddle anyway,” Jo scoffs, leaning against the doorframe. 

     The cowgirl chuckles as she collects the last of her dirty laundry, zips up the bag, and puts it on the bed. The sight of the not-particularly comfortable mattress has her wishing she could crawl back under the covers and get some much-needed sleep. That’s not an option, however, and so she takes her hat from the corner bedpost and places it on her head. Before she goes out, she quickly checks her makeup in the mirror, but thankfully her tears haven’t smudged her waterproof eyeliner and mascara, and her foundation is still covering the bags under her eyes. It’s been a while since she hid behind the beauty-products, but the confidence Dean gave her has disappeared the second he ended their relationship, so she put her mask back on. There is no way she will give her ex-boyfriend the satisfaction of witnessing just how broken she is.

     Y/N inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin as she stares at her reflection. The woman who looks back at her is fierce and resilient; the complete opposite of the little girl that’s hiding inside. Of course, she doesn’t want to face the day nor the man who hurt her, but she is left with no choice. There is so much more at stake here; her future, her career. This is business, and she will treat it as such. Y/N glances at Jo, giving her a nod, and her friend smiles faintly doing the same.

     Rubbing his tired eyes, Dean pours himself his third cup of coffee. Saying that he had a rough night, is putting it mildly. The first digit of his alarm clock had already changed into a ‘2’ when he finally drifted off, only to jolt awake an hour and a half later, his bedsheets clinging to his sweat-covered skin. For the first time in years, a nightmare has caused havoc, images of his worst memories coming through cracks in the walls he built around all that childhood trauma. After freshening up, he laid in bed again while last night’s events alternated with those same disturbing scenes he saw in his dreams, the sad motion picture of sorrow and heartbreak projected on the ceiling. He gave up on sleeping around four-thirty in the morning, got dressed, and sat out on the porch until the sun came up. But no matter how hard he focused on the sounds of the night that tried to soothe him, he couldn't get her out of his mind. The pain laced in her desperate voice, the tears that fell because of him. But after those hurtful images, he also remembers that bright smile, her giggles, the sparkle in her eyes when she has achieved something. Her tenderness, her touch… It hasn’t even been twelve hours and he’s already craving Y/N, fighting an addiction for a drug he can never have again. The girl who is no longer his Yankee.

     A door squeaks and Dean glances aside, immediately redirecting his gaze back to the coffee mug on the small kitchen counter when Y/N comes into view, followed suit by Jo. Instantly, the tension in the living room shoots through the roof, the crooked, little bunkhouse barely able to maintain the strain. He doesn’t say anything, but thankfully Garth and Benny do exchange a ‘good morning’ with the girls, the silence interrupted by the casual exchange. 

     He spots her perfectly applied makeup, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail that doesn’t  allow a single strand to escape the rubber band. Her shirt is neatly tucked into her jeans, ironed and spotless, just like the day when she arrived at the ranch. Even though she looks breathtaking, the vision saddens him; she’s back to being the woman who needs to have everything under control. He gets it, though, because when she took his advice to loosen up, she let her guard down. If she had kept both hands on the reins, Y/N would have never allowed him to get so close and comfortable. Dean only made things worse for her, and now she was left to pick up the pieces of all that he broke.

     Without saying a word, he grabs his coffee and pushes the door handle down to make his exit, not wanting to make her life more difficult than he already has.

     Ultimately, this Monday was bound to get worse with every passing minute. Dean decided to get an early start before breakfast and got on the tractor, but when the ranch hand tried to back up in order to drag the arena, he couldn't get the old John Deere into reverse. A glance underneath soon determined why and he exclaimed a loud ‘fuck!’ when he detected the puddle of gearbox-oil on the dusty ground. Turning the fresh horses out only added to his agitation, especially when the youngsters stirred up the palomino stallion Led while the wrangler was hand-walking him. The Quarter is still recovering from the nasty tendon injury he suffered on the job, and isn’t supposed to be bouncing off the concrete like a rubber ball on a leash, but tell that to an energetic horse who has barely been out of his box for the past month. Garth readied a horse for his boss, which he managed to ride before breakfast, but Dean was unfocused and gave up after thirty minutes.

     Now, they were all quietly eating their breakfast, the delicious meal giving them some consolation. Ellen observes the awfully silent crew, exchanging a look with her daughter, who with a slow shake of her head tells her mother to not bring it up, and so she doesn’t. The head wrangler is the first to get up from his seat, rinse his plate in the sink, and return to the stables. The others follow his example, the barn soon buzzing with activity. 

     Y/N works like a dog, mucking out the stable in record time without pausing. It’s a good distraction for her reeling mind, the hard labor ridding her of the frustration that boils her blood whenever she thinks of the man who ruined her faith in true love. Garth, sensing that the intern was fine on her own, took the tough job of raking the arena by hand, since machinery has let them down. Meanwhile, Jo and Dean train the animals as per usual, but there’s no bantering between them during the cool down. In fact, the wrangler’s cousin has decided to ignore him altogether. 

     Getting more irritated with every second passing, the horseman dismounts the six-year-old gelding named Santana, deciding that a light workout is enough for today. The wrangler is always careful to not let his emotions bleed into his work, but he’s finding it difficult to keep himself in check. Jo has already parked her horse next to the bay Quarter and has tacked down the buckskin without granting Dean a look. He sighs; Jo is not easily going to forgive him for hurting her friend, but he still tries to break the stifling silence.

     “Can you pass me the water?” he asks, nodding at the yellow garden hose that’s rolled up by the faucet.      Without even granting him a look, the ranch owner’s daughter throws the showerhead in his direction, the nozzle clattering on the tiles in front of Dean’s feet. He sighs, annoyed.      “So this is how it’s gonna be?” he scoffs. “I get that you’re mad, but you can at least t--”      “I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps. 

     It’s not the first time Jo is angry with him, because the two have a habit of getting on each other’s nerves. This time it’s different, though, and the bitterness in her tone sends a clear message that he has burned his bridges. Gritting his teeth, he lets the comment slide, deciding that it’s useless to fire back a counter. She has a solid point after all; he doesn’t deserve her sympathy in the slightest. Figuring that these will be the only words they exchange for at least a couple of days, the cowboy begins to hose down Santana, when Jo turns on her heels with her horse’s lead rope in one hand and her fist firmly planted on her waist.      “You know what? I do have something to say. You just don’t get to speak in return,” she kicks off, about to unleash her wrath.      Dean lifts his gaze from the dirt and sweat that he’s washing out of his horse’s coat, for the first time looking into his cousin’s fiery eyes. The petit cowgirl, who is easily nine inches shorter than the man before her, is intimidating nonetheless. He takes a breath, bracing himself for impact. Here it comes.

     “You’re a cold-hearted, spineless, self-absorbed dick, know that? For once in your life, you’ve got something good goin’, someone who was willing to look past your gigantic ego and your daddy issues, yet the first thing you do when life gets tough, is drop her like a hot potato. Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused the poor girl? Because I do! She wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she cried for hours, hours, and that’s on you! Guess who had to comfort her, huh?” Jo goes off. “I am so far past mad; I am furious! I really thought you had finally found a reason to change into something better than the abbreviated piece of nothing that you are now, but it seems like Y/N wasn’t the only one who was naive.”      “You done?” the wrangler says coldly when she pauses to catch her breath.      “Go hump a cactus, Dean,” she sneers.

     With those words, Jo strides away, the large animal next to her obediently following her, well aware that now is not the time to be stubborn. The man who’s left with the poignant insults still echoing inside his head, pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, staring at his feet for a second before he sniffs and focuses on the task at hand again. He might have pretended that her message left him unbothered, but the opposite is true. Jo could as well slap him across the face; it would hurt less. 

     Defeated, the wrangler takes Santana to his box and removes the halter from the large animal’s head. The sweet horse seeks contact, nudging her nose against Dean’s shoulder. He rubs the Quarter’s withers before he exits the stable, appreciating the only kindness that he’s received so far this morning.

     “Dean?”      He tenses, not expecting his name to fall off the lips of the woman who he parted from only yesterday. When the cowboy meets her gaze, the look Y/N gives him is as cold as the tone of her voice.      “I need a word,” she says, although it sounds more like a demand.      “S - sure,” he stutters, glancing down briefly before he looks back up again, suddenly nervous. He’s not sure if he can handle being scolded by his ex-girlfriend as well.      “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together anymore,” she states formally. “I’d like a new supervisor.”

     Dean cocks his head back slightly, unbalanced by the appeal. He rubs his temple, averting his eyes but then nods, acknowledging that she’s probably right, even though the request is a painful one.      “Yeah, uh - sure. I’ll ask Garth,” he stammers, estimating that he would be the obvious choice since she’s so close with Jo. He wouldn’t want their friendship to be tainted by the difference in rank.      “Okay,” the intern responds, her expression stark and strained, before she walks past him.

     Motionless, the head wrangler remains on his spot, setting his jaw and closing his eyes for a second. Somehow, he didn’t expect their first exchange to be strictly business. Her stance is so different from what he’s grown used to. Even on the night they met when she gave him a hard time, the tension between them didn’t feel as heavy as it does now. He realized when he called it quits that she would struggle with his decision, but Jo’s confirmation that she spent most of last night crying over their separation has him desperate to ease the pain.

     “Y/N…” he says softly while turning before she’s too far gone to pick up on his voice.      “I have work to do,” she cuts off, shooting him a short glare over her shoulder.

     Dean swallows thickly while watching her leave, fast and determined strides taking her as far away from him as possible. Damn it, he really did ruin his chances of even maintaining any sort of a friendship, didn’t he? He’s not sure what else he expected after the way they parted, but despite the loathing and vexed look she just shot him that feels like a bullet to the heart, he’s glad. Let her be angry, let her hate him. It will be easier for her to deal with those emotions, than just the overwhelming sense of sadness. He knows, because he hasn’t felt this devastated, empty, and incomplete since his family fell apart; he’s talking from experience.      Wishing the day was over already, the cowboy adjusts his hat and gets back to work, hoping that riding will offer him the therapy he so desperately needs.

     Unfortunately, the day doesn’t pass by nearly as fast as Dean would like to. After riding five horses, he, Benny, and Garth use their lunch break to look at the beat-up tractor that once again has let them down. The head wrangler doesn’t mind skipping his midday meal; he would rather avoid sitting across from Y/N in a room overflowing with awkwardness, plus, he’s not hungry anyway. 

     The machine from 1979 was bound to die on the crew sooner than later, but after the farrier slash mechanic discovers metal particles in the gearbox fluid, it becomes clear that a simple oil change isn’t going to cut it this time.      “Yep, she’s toast,” Benny sighs, wiping his dirty hands with a cloth.      “Just what we need,” his friend grunts. He’s not looking forward to his uncle’s response to the setback. “I’ll tell Bobby.”      “I can if you want me to,” the stable boy - who is also responsible for the machinery - offers.      Dean purses his lips slightly, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans while he stares at the old John Deere absently. “Nah, I’ll do it. I got a question for you, though. Do you mind supervising Y/N from now on?”      Garth shakes his head, taking in his boss, somewhat confused. “No, not at all.”      “Good,” the wrangler replies quickly, thankful that the slender employee takes on the task without question. The clueless young man didn’t pick up on the relationship between Dean and the intern to begin with, and he would rather keep him in the dark, especially now that it has ended. He knocks on the rusty hood of the tractor before he heads off. “I’ll see y’all in a bit. Can you start rolling out the hay to the pastures with the wheelbarrows? It’s gonna take a hell of a lot longer without this old thing.”

     The shade inside the stables is welcoming, and not just because it offers cooler temperatures. Dean’s eyes are still painfully sore from the lack of sleep and he rubs at them again, trying to stop them from burning. Shit, and it’s only Monday, he sighs to himself. The three-day event over the weekend means no time off for the employees who attended. The last time he didn’t have to show up at seven in the morning or earlier was late September, which means that he has been working twelve-hour plus shifts for fourteen days straight now. Work never stops on a ranch. The horses depend on him; they will always need food, a clean stable and exercise, no matter how tired, lovesick, or miserable he is. 

     The cafeteria is already empty. His aunt is probably at the guesthouses to change the sheets and towels, giving the accommodations a quick once-over. However, he finds a post-it on the long table with his name on it; ‘Don’t forget to eat. Bacon sandwiches are in the fridge - Ellen’. As the cowboy smiles for the first time today, he wonders if Bobby has told his wife anything about John’s unexpected visit in Flagstaff, hoping that he hasn’t. Knowing his aunt, she’s going to sit him down for some sweet tea and a talk, even though previous attempts of having a conversation as such proved to be unsuccessful. He appreciates her concern, though, the idea of his surrogate mom caring about him offering Dean some solace.

     The wrangler walks through the high barn doors on the other side, the sun doing its very best to cheer him up, but the rays don’t reach his soul. He makes his way to the Singer’s home, reckoning he will find Bobby there. As per usual, Dean takes off his hat and hangs it on the coat hanger, kicking off his boots before he proceeds to the office in the back of the house. After knocking, he pushes the door ajar, finding his uncle behind his desk. The place is still a mess, but the occupant’s features aren’t draped in shadows like the last time he was here. The blinders are open, the window a passe-partout of the Joshua tree, together with the paddocks and pastures surrounding it. 

     The rancher looks up when his nephew enters. “Hey, son. How’s the tractor comin’?”      “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s fried. The oil is swimming with debris,” Dean tells, taking a seat on the other side of the desk.      “Metal?” Bobby questions. When the young man across from him nods, he curses. “Balls!”

     Dean presses his lips into a firm line, keeping still in the worn chair to prevent it from squeaking. His uncle seemed to be in a good mood after the successful show, but he can tell that this setback has put a strain on the old man’s frame of mind. 

     “You’re gonna call the service station?” the head wrangler wonders.      “No, that’s gonna cost us. We finally managed to make some money, I ain’t planning on spending it on that damned thing.” The rancher adjusts his ball cap before leaning back in his chair. “You boys can give it a go first, open up that gearbox, see what’s broken. I’ll order parts once you figure out what’s wrong with that piece of shit.”

     Scribbling something down on a piece of paper, Bobby sighs, but then returns his focus to Dean. “There’s somethin’ else I need to discuss with you.”      His right-hand raises his eyebrows slightly, his interest peaked. “What’s that?”      “It’s about Cain,” his uncle murmurs. “Apparently MacLeod didn’t tell the entire story.”      Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Should I be surprised? I’m not sure what kinda vibes you picked up from that shady dude, but I sure as hell don’t trust him for the life of me.”      “I don’t either. That’s why I think we should reconsider that deal.” Bobby rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair, forking his fingers together in his lap. He expected some resistance from Dean, but not such a strong reaction as his nephew fires back.

     “What?! Are you serious?” he counters, perplexed. “You’re just gonna wipe it off the table?”      “Not ‘just’, but we need to consider our options,” his boss returns.      “How many options do we have exactly? Because the way I see it, this arrangement is a pretty damn good one. It’s good money, a steady income with the prospect of a huge bonus, not to mention what doors it might open for the future. This horse might be the break we need,” Dean advocates, remembering Y/N’s words clearly when she summed up all the possibilities that Cain might bring with him. “Look, I know Fergus is a proper dick, but he has a reputation to protect. There’s too much at stake for him, and I don’t believe he will double-cross us. If we deliver, he’s gonna pay good bucks.”      “And that’s where we might have a problem; actually delivering,” Bobby returns, taking in his head wrangler.      Dean draws his head back, slightly hurt, frowning at his uncle’s words. “You don’t think I can get the job done?”      “I’m not sure if anyone can, son,” the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch states calmly. “The horse doesn’t just have ‘some behavioral issues’, as Fergus put it. He’s unapproachable, unpredictable, aggressive. That stallion is dangerous to everyone in a square mile radius. Jody rang me this morning to warn us.”      “Jody?” the cowboy returns, puzzled. He’s aware that the female rancher knows a lot of people in this business, but he didn’t expect the news of the famous stallion’s arrival would spread so fast. “How did she even know that Cain was coming to us?”      “Because MacLeod is a client of hers. Cain is currently in her stables.”

     Dean’s eyebrows hit his hairline, emerald greens staring over the desk at the man on the other side. While gaping at his uncle, questions begin to race through his mind. Jody did business with Fergus? Jody is a good trainer with excellent judgment, so if she claims Cain is untrainable, that says something. Their last conversation in Flagstaff comes to mind, the news about Gabe’s hospitalization shocking him at the time. Could his friend’s injuries be the stallion’s doing?

     Bobby watches his trusted worker process the information, rolling his chair a little closer and resting his forearms on the varnished wood, closing his hand over his fist. “I know this complicates things, but I’m gonna leave it up to you. If you think you can handle the stallion, I will trust your judgment. But I don’t want you to risk your neck for the money, Dean. We will find another way.”

     The horseman chews on his lip as he ponders, his focus capturing nothing in particular as his eyes flick over the items and documents on the desk. “We’ll have a week to evaluate him. I’ll make the call after that,” he decides. “Mind if I contact Jody to get some insight on what I’m up against?”      “Knock yourself out,” Bobby consents. “Just leave the numbers that we agreed to out of it.”      “Will do.” 

     Dean gets up from his seat, pushing the chair closer to the desk before he intends to slip out of the office before he’s stopped by his boss.      “One more thing,” the wise man says, looking over his enclosed hands. “What’s going on with you and the intern?”

     Caught, the head wrangler freezes, eyes wide with shock and pure horror staring into the hallway. Shit. How the hell is he going to answer that? Is he referring to the dance at the opening night of the horse show or the palpable tension that has surrounded the former couple whenever they were in close range of each other? Dean doesn’t know, but he has the feeling that the continuation of this conversation is going to be anything but pleasant. Composing himself before he turns back to face his uncle.

     “Nothin’. What do you mean?” He shrugs as the corners of his mouth draw down, pretending to be careless.      “Don’t play dumb, boy. I was born at night, but not last night.” Bobby glares at him knowingly. “Are you messin’ around with her?”      “No,” Dean says firmly, the truth in his words hurting him deep down.      His uncle lifts his chin, holding the cowboy’s gaze while narrowing his eyes. It’s clear that he’s not buying. “You wanna explain then why you two were like two peas in a pot in Flagstaff, but can’t even look at each other now?”

     With his hand still on the door handle, his nephew attempts to keep his act together, but then he sighs. Damn it, he was so close to making it out of this meeting alive. Oh well, what’s one more lecture, right?

     “Look, there’s nothing going on, not anymore. I - uh, I got carried away and I shouldn’t have let it,” he admits. “I broke it off. It won’t happen again.”      “Is this gonna be a problem?” his boss asks sternly. “If you two can’t work together--”      “It isn’t. Garth will supervise her from now on. Just to prevent any issues in the future,” he continues, hoping the fact that they actually discussed how to carry on as colleagues from this point forward will put the concern to rest.

     “There better be a future for her here on this ranch. I can’t afford to lose a free worker, especially not one as skilled as she is,” Bobby warns, not convinced. “I’d pray that she won’t pack her bags if I were you, ‘cause I’ll give ya one guess who’s gonna have to work twice as hard and whose ass I’m gonna bust.”      “She won’t leave,” his head wrangler guarantees, willing to bet his life on it. 

     His promise might seem based on a hopeful hunch, but Y/N hasn’t given Dean any indication to question her professionalism. She even approached him in order to change the conditions of her internship, which couldn’t have been easy for her. Their interaction will be minimized and strictly business from now on, something he reckons she will handle much more gracefully than he will, simply because she has a bigger purpose to focus on. This placement is a stepping stone to her dream of owning her own ranch, and that goal hasn’t changed. He knows she won’t leave Gold Canyon.

     Bobby observes his nephew, still bothered by the fact that he didn’t listen to him when he specifically told the bachelor not to get involved with the intern. He’s going to save the rant for another time, though, the sight of an already dejected man before him having him hold back. It seems like this is doing a number on young fellow, and considering how they were with each other at the horse show this weekend, he’s not surprised. The two reminded him of his twenties when he first got together with his Ellen. The boy is hurting, more than he lets on.      “Alright then. Get goin’, I’ve got bills to pay,” he eventually says, shooing Dean out with a flick of the wrist.

     Relieved that his uncle is cutting him some slack, he nods and silently pulls the door shut, putting a barrier between himself and the conversation he has been dreading for weeks. If only he could be able to tell Bobby that he’s with the girl he’s in love with; he would have taken the grumpy rebuke with a grin on his face. If only.

     While stepping outside, the cowboy pulls his cellphone from his jeans pocket, looking up Jody Mills’ number in his contacts. He begins to slowly stroll back and forth on the porch in its sheltering shade, the floorboards moaning and cracking under his boots as he waits with his Nokia pressed against his ear. The steady tone beeps twice before his friend picks up.      “Hey,” it sounds from the other side of the line. “I was hoping you’d call.”      “Yeah, Bobby told me about Cain,” he returns. “Kinda complicates things, don’t it?”      “I need to listen to me very carefully,” Jody starts, earnest and worried. “Do not take that horse into your stable.”

     The cowboy sighs, glancing over the land while hooking his thumb behind his belt. He figured the female rancher would try to convince him to back off.      “It’s good money, Jody, and I’ve handled difficult cases before. Cain deserves a shot. I have to try.”      “I get it, but hear me out. If Fergus offered you a deal that seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. I know you’re an excellent trainer, hell, the best that I know. But I’m telling you, we’re not talking about a stallion with some authority issues here. That horse is twisted, has wires crossed. I have never seen such behavior,” she presses. “So many people have tried to straighten him out already. I did some digging, and Fergus’ supposedly ‘million dollar prospect’ has moved in and out nine different stables over the past year. No one has succeeded.”

     He ponders, not taking her warning lightly. Jody is an experienced equestrian who has dealt with many tough animals. She even passed some horses on to him when she couldn’t get through to them. The woman is well aware of the limits to her expertise and has always been honest with clients when a horse was too much for her to handle, but never before has she doubted that the wrangler from the Gold Canyon Ranch could do the job.

     “When Gabe got hurt, was it…?” Dean wonders, hesitant, not finishing his sentence.      “It was Cain.”

     He sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. Although he assumed it was the stallion who has put his former colleague into the hospital, it still shocks him. He continues to pace the deck in front of the Singer’s home.      “How is he doing?” he wonders.      Jody pulls in a deep breath, the message she’s about to deliver clearly a difficult one. “He’s never gonna walk again. Paralyzed from the waist down.”

     Dean closes his eyes and swallows thickly. It’s the outcome they all feared, but hearing the confirmation makes his gut churn. Losing one's legs is a nightmare for everyone, but for a rider? He can’t possibly picture it, becoming wheelchair-bound. Honestly, he would rather die than to never be able to get in the saddle again.

     “Dean, I know you believe every horse deserves a second chance, but please, let this one go. He is beyond repair. I’m not asking, I’m begging,” she pleads, a tremor in her voice. “If you take on Cain, it’s only a matter of time before you get hurt, or worse.” 

     The words are backed up by a heavy silence. The two stay quiet for a while, the words sinking in with the wrangler. Flight animals fueled by fear can do either two things; run or attack. If getting away from the supposed threat is impossible, they tend to go for the last. It’s not something the horse will even think about; it’s a survival instinct. When a naturally kind creature takes a turn like that, it becomes a thousand-pound killing machine. If Cain is truly that far gone, it is likely that he is indeed beyond saving. The trainer has to see it for himself, though, and not just because the ranch can use the cash. He realizes that if he doesn’t take on this task, someone else will, someone with less experience. If this stallion is really that lethal, the next novice trainer might make an error of judgment that will be his or her last. At least Dean has the skills. It seems like he is Cain’s last resort, because if he isn’t trainable, he will get the bullet at some point. He wouldn’t be the first horse to be put down because of similar problems.

     “Thanks for the warning, Jody,” he responds after a long pause. “I’ll keep it in mind.”      “Dean--”      “I know. I know what you’re gonna say, but if I don’t do this, who knows what might happen to him. I’ve got a week to decide if we wanna go through with it. That’s the least I can do.”      He can hear his friend grunt, frustrated, probably realizing that changing his mind was a long shot to begin with. “Just… be careful, okay?”      “I will, promise,” Dean assures. “Talk to you later.”

     The cowboy hangs up, staring at his phone for a few more seconds before he puts it away and steps out into the sun, heading back to the stables. The admonition continues to ring in his ears, and he allows the caution to imprint the decisions he needs to make in the upcoming days. After all, warned is forearmed.

     Y/N wishes anyone had warned her how painful it is to have her heart broken by the person who made it beat just for him. Maybe she would have been more mindful then, more guarded. Maybe she wouldn’t have let him have it, had she known how careless he would be.

     Around 5 o’clock, her new supervisor said it was okay if she wanted to take her own horse for a ride. Normally she trains Meadow either before or after shift, but she got all the work done at record speed, desperate for a distraction, that all her daily tasks were fulfilled two hours before dinner. Maybe Garth detected that she needed some alone-time with her four-legged friend, because he suggested the ride with a sympathetic smile and a kind nudge, sending her towards the Quarter’s box.

   �� After straightening out the saddle pad, the cowgirl tightens the cinch. Meadow, who can be a bit of a grumpy mare when it comes to tacking up, stands still without moving a muscle, allowing her owner to ready her for a ride without pulling a prank like she usually does. Sometimes the cheeky horse will try to fish Y/N’s phone from her back pocket, nibble at her hat or her sleeve, or refuse to take a step aside when requested, but not today. Maybe she can sense that such an action could set her human off. 

     The horse accepts the bit when the cowgirl offers it to her, after which she pulls the headpiece over Meadow’s black-tipped ears, securing the straps skillfully. She sniffles, wiping her nose and forcing herself to keep her composure a little while longer. In a few minutes, when she’s away from prying eyes, she will allow to let the tears flow again, but not now, not yet.

     Y/N unties her horse, places her left foot in the stirrup, and swings her right leg over the back of her bay mare, softly landing in the saddle. Picking up the reins, she steers her horse away from the tack up area, the smooth leather between her fingers giving her a sense of control that she’s missing in her love life. 

     Instead of leading Meadow towards the arena, the rider guides her towards the gate that leads to the trail. Her horse had an eventful weekend and gave it her all in competition, so it wouldn’t be fair to put her through a full workout. The performance took a lot out of the willing horse who never seizes to bring her best efforts and more. Even though the freestyle only lasted minutes, the athlete peaked with a brilliant execution of the routine, which takes a lot of skill and strength. Then there’s the ambiance of a show, the new environment, all the sensory overload. The combination of all those factors did a number the Quarter, and she deserves a calm and relaxing ride, much like the young woman she’s carrying on her back. Y/N is in no state to train, well aware that the heightened emotions will get the best of her if something might not work out the way she planned, and that’s not something she wants her companion to bear the consequences of. If anything, Meadow has been absolutely wonderful, seeming to understand that her person is sad and needs someone to lean on.

     After closing the fence behind them, the girl and her horse follow the path that leads towards the hills. Cacti flank the road ahead towards the Superstition Mountains, which stand tall in the backdrop. The beautiful amber colored volcanic rock formations seem even more vibrant now that the setting sun blesses nature with a warm glow. The vegetation is much greener than it was when they searched for the herd of youngsters in the reservoir. Autumn is here, and within a couple of months, the ridges that reach for the sky will be covered in snow. It’s supposed to be a beautiful sight, at least that’s what Dean told her.

     Now that it’s just her and Meadow, Y/N finally allows the suppressed tears to fall. The battle she has been fighting all day is one she knew she would lose eventually, she just wanted to be with her most faithful friend when the levee breaks. She doesn’t even intend to wipe the drops of despair away, knowing that she has to let it out now in order to keep up the facade later. And so the last rays of the day catch the shimmering pathways down her cheeks, similar to how the water cobbled at Willow’s Creek, where she and Dean shared their first kiss. All the memories, those perfect little moments that she thought to cherish forever, they are worth nothing now. It was all just a dream.

     Y/N transits into a slow canter, hoping that the wind in her face will chase the sorrow away. She has to feel something completely opposite to the grief that is ripping her apart. She needs to experience freedom and the bond that comes along with this unique partnership between her and Meadow, the simplicity of moving across the desert like men and their horses have been doing so for centuries. No engines, no computers, no engineering. Just two souls of completely different species merging as one. 

     Resting her free hand on her horse’s neck and gripping the black mane, she pushes her heels into the Quarter’s flanks, aiding her to pick up speed. The bay mare takes over, her rider is no longer in control, but she no longer has to be. Y/N doesn’t need to direct this movie, because she trusts Meadow with her life. If there is any being on the face of the planet that she would follow blindly, it’s her companion. Meadow has never let her down, not once, and her owner knows there will never come a moment when she will. And so she breathes in, welcoming the wind to fill her lungs with newfound courage, brought on by the majestic animal that gallops across the landscape, carrying Y/N on her wings. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if   you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog   my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-six here

[sapphicvampyy]

I’m not okay I really fear what this ending will do to my mental health, villanelle has a character meant so much to me and she is and will remain my comfort character with that being said this really fucking hurts. Like I’m trying to process and describe how I feel well first villanelle and eve were finally soft together, finally having a conversation just enjoying each others prescience and Eve finally told Villanelle she wanted to be with her and they were just existing in the others space and finally finally Eve admitted it and you know what we should have gotten a full season of that of them like that together on the run from the 12 but instead they kept them separated and my favorite thing was the fact we got to see Eve and Villanelle only in the first 2 episodes very little from that cunt snake bitch Carolyn ( Fiona Shaw you did amazing but Carolyn the character can choke let’s separate the actor from the character yeah or daddy K. Okay so Eve and Villanelle are finally together and she kills the 12 and I’ve always said this that killing eve could be so so iconic even more so by giving an iconic ending that fits the tone of the show the shows tone hasn’t been tragedy porn the shows tone has been cheeky, not concerned with morality which is a breath of fresh air the show could have gone out with a bang and been iconic if they had them fake there deaths and really just like something we didn’t see coming and that would have fit the tone of the show but of course there still on the moral high horse concerned with black and white thinking and she died and we were so close to having that iconic ending it could have ended at the hug it could have ended with eve and villanelle together but no they were so insistent on killing her, I can’t believe they chose this good awful ending truly for no reason from that shit stain Carolyn I will not be watching the Carolyn show the only fucking way I would watch that show is if villanelle survived and we got a glimpse of her and eve together but now no that was the worst spin off idea and fuck that character for real. i can not believe the only straight characters got to survive besides eve who’s soul basically died. Imagine how iconic and cheeky and fun it would be to see eve looking at villanelles gravestone then we see villanelle right beside her and she’s like wow not alot of people came to my funeral and then they hold hands and boom the end or villanelle gets shot they jump into the water and eve pulls her out 10 months later they are together. Or even eve thinks villanelle died and villanelle lived and it’s like the books and then we here a hi eve but killing her so brutally to where she doesn’t even get a burial eve doesn’t even get to mourn her properly she just sinks to the bottom of the sea???? Fuck no. Villanelle deserved better villaneve deserved better. Villanelle a character that means so much to me and has taught me so many things you can love who you love and you don’t have to fit into a box or a stereotype of what that looks like, you can work through your trauma a character that was so traumatized that was trying to be better that wanted something else for herself she didn’t want to fit into a system she taught me it’s okay to be fearless and fuck what people think it’s not what they think of me, but what I think of them that counts she gives me confidence and strength you don’t have to be confined to who you were growing up you can change your name and become someone else birth who you wanna be , and it’s okay to be different and she was so free so unbothered by others having her special sense of humor, and so so unbothered and not caring about men, villanelle killing those abusive husbands was so fulfilling to me and was a bit desire of mine she took justice into her own hands because no one ever helps those women but she did and they did deserve it. But to just kill her when she finally was going to get to be with the love of her life was devastating and heart wrenching to watch. This was bad writing not because they didn’t give the ending I want because.

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

Episode 4x04 Thoughts

Okay, dead brother? It's a *little* soap opera-y. HOWEVER, this could be balanced and well handled, so long as the writers, directors, and editors keep a firm grip on the tone. They were heading that way this episode with the amount of humor they infused in the telling of the secret, but by dragging it out the whole episode it got a little melodramatic.

I will say though, the Big Secret isn't *entirely* out of nowhere. We've known since Maddie was introduced that their home situation is... Unusual, and definitely lacking in support, which becomes all the more evident when the Buckley siblings go through crisis and near-death situations and there's just CRICKETS where the parents should be. (Like, yeah Eddie's parents overstep left, right, and center but at least they *showed up.*) The point being, yeah this is dramatic, but it’s not like TA-DA! DRAMA because it has a decent foundation in existing canon. So  even though there was zero clue or mention of a dead family member beforehand, the more than I think about it, the more I think there are enough building blocks to support it if everyone's careful.

Also, it’s not new for 9-1-1 to be this dramatic either. All the traumas that other characters have experienced, the way the writers handled them, the amount of drama and melodrama allowed? We’ve been here before. This is definitely one of the more dramatic arcs, but I think it can hold. 9-1-1 has walked this path before and we will walk it again! (We might sign for custody of the characters when we're done, but we're gonna see it through.)

Admittedly, I'm still too close to the new episode, it's too fresh in my head. As soon as I refine this shit down and it joins the rest of canon in my brain, I'll reassess. 

Right now I'm gonna go rewatch because this episode had some GEMS!

Buckley siblings being there for each other, even though they're a little awkward at it, the love and good intentions and fear of screwing up and causing MORE pain was always the motivation.

The Han siblings trying their best to be there for the Buckley siblings. It was ADORABLE, and beautiful to see. Even if being there meant physically running away (I see you Albert helping your bro keep a secret! Also damn, you can sprint!!)

Chimney trying his HARDEST to keep the secret. Did he succeed? Not by most people's metric, there were A LOT of slip-ups, but none of us can claim we didn't see real effort there.

The entire firefam helping Chim keep Buck's secret. They knew it would take the *lightest* prompting for him to explode with it, but instead never asked and made sure he wouldn't tell. Extra shout out to Hen, who had it literally DANGLED in front of her and was like "Nope!" That shit is DIFFICULT to do

Eddie and Buck playing The Hardy Boys (y'know if the Hardy Boys flirted with each other while solving crimes.) That was hilarious, it's fun when Eddie gets off his Dad/Military-Man horse to screw around with Buck, and I'm pretty sure Buck's one of the few people who get that side out of him. It was funny and cute!

May being a total BADASS at the 9-1-1 center! Woman, you have EARNED your solo run and then some! Cool, calm and collected is our May and reaching out for assistance and counseling as needed. 100/100 for communication, my friend!

Bobby being there for May!! Loved that! His perspective on being a first responder sounds like it might be more helpful for her than Athena's, and that isn't shade on Athena. They just are different people, and I think her step-dad telling her it was okay to feel bad without also taking unearned blame. It helped her cope.

Shout-out to Michael. It takes a big man to step up and offer a solution. It takes a bigger man to admit--especially to his own child--that he might not have the solution. That moment of "this isn't really my field of expertise so I can't advise but I'm here and I love and support you anyway"? That is some delectable shit right there, three thumbs up.

Second shout-out to Chimney this episode! His handling of the bomber was f-ing brilliant on so many levels!! Getting Eddie out of harm's way. Talking the bomber down, distracting him, he de-escalated the situation single-handed and ALSO found an outlet to vent about Buck that wouldn't cause him harm. Genius! And HYSTERICAL.

Eddie's growth! He's past the hitting out his feelings phase, and he's reaching out to make sure Buck doesn't follow that path. Also, trying to make room for Buck to talk about what's bothering him? Standing back and giving him space when he didn't want to talk? He was there for him so good.

Shout-out to Buck for speaking his mind! Notice this: he swallowed so much shit against himself, but the thing that made him break the first time? Is when they were hurting his sister. His protective instincts are very strong, we see it in his job as well. But the second time he spoke out?? That was for himself. PEOPLE we got Buck sticking up for himself to the people he is DESPERATE for acceptance from and that is one of the most difficult things to do. Dare I call this the emerging of Buck 3.0? And I suspect we'll see more in the upcoming episode.

In conclusion, I think the 118 should be renamed Bobby Nash's Home for Kids with Shit Parents. We got Eddie, Chim, Buck. At this point can we just assume that Hen's parents are shit as well? And then there's Bobby, like he knows he's got step-kids, but does he realize just how many? He must, he cooks dinner for all of them every day... Right?

Next episode I'm looking forward to:

Good tone and pacing that steers clear of melodrama while still delivering tasty dramatic beautiful emotional moments.

The firefam proving to Buck that they love him, accept him, and have his back

Buck realizing he doesn't need his parents in order to feel whole. A continuing growth arc where he is able to acknowledge his feelings and ask for what he needs.

A good balance between the emergencies and the personal moments. After episode 1, the focus has HEAVILY been on the personal, leaving the emergencies to fit themselves in where they can. Obviously not expecting next episode to rebalance that scale, it's a Begins episode, but after that? Back to business.

This is a Buddie wish: continue to see these fun moments between them that we're seeing this whole season. All the banter. I REALLY hope Eddie and Chris get a chance to show up for Buck the way he's showed up for them so many times without undermining Buck's personal journey or ability to stand on his own two feet.

I REALLY hope Bobby gets a moment to be the dad Buck needs. That would be beautiful and so necessary for Buck. His heart is so big, he needs to know who he can trust with it.

I'm sorry 9-1-1 writers. Your job is thankless and my demands are MANY. But I still have high hopes for next week!

Whoever made it to the end of this, thank you. It was supposed to be like a paragraph, I swear, but... Well, here we are. I'll probably write more throughout the week as I process, too. I'd love to know your thoughts as well, hmu!

[inyourfantasyfanfics]

Arya Stark x Fem!Reader

"Breath of Fresh Air"

*SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8*

It was no easy task for Arya to leave Winterfell after she had just defeated the Night King. Many eyes were on her, after she trained so long to disappear it was slightly unsettling for so many people to seek her out. 

She gathered what she would need to survive trying to kill Cersei and spotted Sandor setting his saddle on a horse, 

'maybe the road won't be so bad with some unexpected company' the fiery girl thought to herself. 

But as Arya had spotted an old friend so had y/n and she was more than a bit saddened to see the woman she admired for so long, packing and ready to leave.

"Arya?" Y/n said quietly as if she was going to startle her long time friend. Arya's gaze fell upon y/n and for a moment she let herself feel a little bit of remorse for wanting to leave. 

"You want to leave don't you?" Y/n said with a bit more confidence trying not to let her voice give away her worry, yet her voice still failed her and she sounded a little more weak than she wanted to. 

"I'm going to kill Cersei, you know I have to." Arya stated more than said. Y/n nodded, she knew how much her friend had changed since she left for Kings landing so many years ago. So had she, y/n studied medicine becoming a makeshift nurse in the north, she had seen her share of blood throughout the years but probably not as much as her companion that stood before her. She thought for a moment before letting the next few words slip from her mouth...

"I know you do. That's why I will want to go with you." Arya paused for a moment considering it, but a wave of everything that could ever go wrong washed over her. 

She knew y/n was by no means weak, when they were children her and y/n would sword fight in the woods with sticks. Arya accidentally hit y/n square in the mouth knocking out a baby tooth. Much to Arya's worried crys y/n couldn't control her laughter even when she was bleeding from the mouth. Oh how they both got in a good deal of trouble that day..

Turning away slightly from y/n, Arya faintly smiled at the childhood memory. Her smile quickly faded and became somber. "You know I can't let you do that. I may never even come back.." Arya trailed off.

Y/n expected this answer and nodded. She had anticipated this but it secretly wouldn't really stop her. Both girls turned to each other and a familiar feeling washed over them. 

Y/n knew it was looked down upon to love another woman, many suspected she was one for the same gender due to her refusal of all men who have tried to court her in the past. She knew that she had been in love with Arya and the feeling grew once they were reunited. Contrary to y/n, Arya didn't know what to make of this feeling. It wasn't by any means what she felt for Gendry, her small crush. It was much stronger. In her Younger years she thought she was just jealous of y/n, now she was just left confused. 

Y/n moved forward and cautiously wrapped her arms above Arya's strong shoulders and lightly rested her cheek on Aryas. With a deep breath Arya wrapped her sore and aching arms from the fight only days earlier, around her confusing childhood friend.

Y/n pulled away as she felt her eyes start to burn with tears. Quickly she turned to the door and paused at the frame to utter a "Be safe, please." Y/n felt her heart ache and her stomach churning as she walked away.

The night after Arya left Y/n snuck a horse out of Winterfell and set course for Kings Landing. Y/n knew deep down she just had to follow after Arya or she may regret it for the rest of her days.  

It was a harsh ride but once y/n got to Kings Landing the gates were closed she mentally cursed heavier than the men of the night's watch. She saw the dragon and heard the faint yells of confused men and women on the other side of the wall. soon enough she didn't feel so horrible as the bells rang

this could mean peace, Arya wouldn't have to risk her life if she already hadn't, the thought gave y/n a little bit of hope but the feeling soon died where it arose and only got worse as Denarys’s dragon roared and blasts of fire erupted over the wall, the girl turned her horse and rode from the wall till she made her way onto a small hill to get a better feel for what could possibly be happening and to get a sense of the new danger that may be arising.

What felt like hours y/n could only see the city crumble with fire from a distance. Smaller spots erupted with green flames. She felt her mouth dry and her eyes stung once she blinked; she had been staring for long enough for it to hurt. Her body felt numb as she clamered off her horse.. she could only hear screams, horrific screams of children calling out for their mothers and vise versa, the pained screams of men being stabbed, slashed and possibly much worse. innocence being burned alive was apparent through the stench and horrific screams. This is what filled y/n's senses, slowly but frantically the gates were thrown open and the people of King's Landing poured out, but they were only small amounts of people compared to the vast population of King's Landing. Y/n's legs started moving without her fully acknowledging it, she rushed into the crowd of bloody, burned and dirt covered crowds. As more filed out of the gates. She rushed to many people's aid, y/n carried basic medical supplies with her from the trip to Kings Landing. But despite her efforts she saw many die as she searched for something, anything that could possibly help.

Sweaty, clothes covered in blood and out of breath, y/n stood and slowly walked towards the quieting city gates she saw northern soldiers and Dothraki exit the city looking just as bad as the citizens who survived. They lined themselves a ways out of the city. Y/n's heart pounded and hurt as her eyes frantically searched for Arya, but had no avail.  

Arya who had just seen the worst of it all, slowly rode out of the city on a surviving horse her lungs burned and eyes were fogged and dirt and blood covered her whole body, she was aching and in massive pain, suffering from many head traumas, but somehow she lived. And this was something she had never expected. Although she didn't get to kill Cersei herself she knew that the so called queen could have never survived the fall of Kings Landing. So she made her way out of the city.

Still outside of the walls Y/n was gaining more anxiety by the minute as her eyes locked with Jon's, concern grown in both of their faces, they made there way to each other

'What are you doing here??'

'Where is Arya??'

Both of them said simultaneously

"Arya is here?" Jon said with more worry in his voice than before. Y/n's stomach dropped, her chest heaved as she ran a shaky hand through her disheveled hair, and looked around catching glimpse of a figure covered in greyish white ash. Without completely thinking she ran towards them leaving a more than worried Jon behind her

"Arya!" Y/n called rather breathlessly as the stress of laboring hours took a toll on her. Hearing her name being called through the ringing of Arya's ears she looked to the source and a welling of to many emotions spilled over once her eyes locked on to Y/ns distressed figure running to her in the distance, and she stumbled off of her horse trying to run yet limping at the same time suddenly everything made sense to her, she loved y/n she felt nothing but breathtaking relief, pain, grief and...love.

The two met practically falling into each other on contact. Both landing their knees y/n broke down and let her tears that had been held back for so long fall, Arya breathing so heavily was desperately holding onto the girl she loved for so long like she would somehow disappear. After everything holding on to y/n was like, a much desired and needed.. Spark? Fire? She couldn't think of the right words for the experience but she didn't care.

The weeks that followed the two didn't really need to say that they loved each other. both knew exactly how each other felt the moment they embraced outside Kings Landing. Y/n knew once Arya said she wanted to sail west that there would be no debating on whether she would stay behind. Arya didn't try to either, both were inseparable.

On the ship ready to set sail Arya looked to Y/n who was looking out at sea next to her. 

"Don't stare too hard you might knock me off the boat" y/n said jokingly with a small chuckle looking back at Arya who then smiled a genuine smile, leaning in their lips connected. It didn't feel like fireworks or anything super extravagant but no less important, as they kissed Arya finally found the words to describe the feeling she had after Kings Landing, y/n was like...

A breath of fresh air.

[anyoneseenadam]

Home: Chapter Five

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also some for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing, THIS PART HAS THE SEXC TIMES YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

word count: 4k

a/n: this is pretty much just fluff so pls enjoy :) also please comment you have no idea how much it means to me I cry when I get them lol :) also I have a playlist for this one so go listen if you would like!

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When you woke Azriel had somehow wrapped his entirety around your frame, including his wings, tucking you tight against his chest. You pulled back slightly, moving your legs, trying to regain feeling in your muscles only to be greeted with a grunt and being pulled even tighter against his chest.

“Good morning to you too,” You giggled reaching up and pecking his jaw, smiling when he tilted his head to look down at you. He had a frown on his face but a playful look in his eyes none the less.

“Morning,” The deep tones of his voice vibrated through his chest and you bit your lip at him as he chuckled at your reaction. You lay your head back down on his chest listening to the soft patter of the rain on the roof, the storm had hugely calmed down however it was still raining lightly outside. Azriel’s hand moved to your back and you tensed as his hand moved over your scars, tracing pictures, and admiring them as if they were a piece of art. You lay in silence for minutes or hours, losing track of time as his scarred hands and your scarred back became one, soft murmurs keeping you barely awake as you spoke about nothing.

You eventually had to pull away when Azriel’s stomach was too loud to ignore. A shiver went through you as you sat up, not only losing the direct body heat but also the comforting press of his shadows as they had settled over you. The feeling of their embrace was an odd one; they were cold, and their darkness was everything you had grown to despise, yet they made you feel safe, indestructible. They felt like armour passed to you by the man you were falling for and gave you the feeling that as long as he was beside you, nothing would hurt you again.

Your eyes moved to where he was pulling on his trousers, the expanse of his back rippling with restrained strength and making your mouth turn dry. He turned when he felt your gaze on him and you were once again shocked by how pretty he was. You had admired handsome celebrities before, but he was different, he had an elegance you hadn’t seen before. Every movement was planned and smooth, no stumbles or mistakes as he moved, even when he was ill he still held that perfectly poised form, you presumed centuries of training did that to a man.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to get me some food woman?” he said, grinning cheekily when you smacked his shoulder.

“I will hurt you.” You scrunched your face at him, pulling your underwear on and rolling your eyes when you picked up your ruined bra.

“I promised you wouldn’t need it didn’t I?” He smirked, climbing over you, and pressing wet kisses into your neck. You smiled leaning into his attentions, bursting out laughing when you were once again interrupted by his stomach and he looked at you with pleading eyes.

“Ask nicely,” you nudged his cheek with your nose, and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh please my darling, please do me the honour of eating your food so I may have the pleasure of devouring you on a real bed.” You laughed and sat up again, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Better.”

--

You were sat on the small balcony you had fashioned, leaning against Azriel’s firm chest, his arms tight around your waist. The clouds had cleared away and the forest was filled with the smell of evaporating water, you had been pointing out and naming species of lizards you saw basking in the morning sun, trying to get their internal temperatures back to a temperature they could function at. Azriel listened patiently as you spoke animatedly about the Komodo dragon you had seen the first night, he was in awe of how excited you were talking about animals, smiling as you explained how reptiles had always fascinated you.

“We once had a quest in L.A and I made everyone stop for like twenty minutes cause I wanted to take pictures of this frog I saw.” You giggled craning your head back to see him shake his head at you.

“You’re insane.”

“And what about it?” You closed your eyes, leaning back against his shoulder, letting the sun sink into your skin and imagining you could feel the individual particles wake up with the newfound energy.

“How are you feeling anyway? Do you think you could get us home today?” You asked, pulling away to sit next to him cross legged, your head resting against his bare shoulder.

“Probably, I just need more food and I don’t actually know where your house is.”

“Do you need like coordinates or something cause I don’t have that.”

“No, more like the area, it would help if I had been there. I could probably get us to the alley in that tall city again.” You laughed at his phrase.

“Okay that’s fine we can get a cab.” You stood up and climbed down the ladder, moving to a fresh patch of earth.

“A cab?” he appeared besides you, making you yelp and press a hand to your chest.

“I hate you, and yes a cab, it’s a car.” You explained, passing him an apple.

“Car?”

“Gods, an automobile. A carriage that isn’t run by horse but instead machines.” He just made a sound of agreement and you giggled.

“Oh you’re going to love it, those big ol’ wings stuffed in a metal tin.”

“Please no,” he dropped his head on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there and you debated the question that had been stirring in your head all morning. You frowned and focused on the potatoes you were growing, trying to still the thoughts gnawing at your brain. Was this a one-time thing? Gods he’s going to go back to his world and forget about me. I mean he’s immortal. But we’re acting like a couple, is that what we are now?

Azriel sensed your panic as your eyes glazed over, the vacant expression a sign that you were too deep in your own thoughts. He quickly looked around for something red, ready to get rid of it at any cost, but couldn’t see a glimpse of red in the green that surrounded the two of you, so he instead tilted your head to look at him, your eyes wary.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asked, thumb stroking your cheekbone reassuringly.

“It’s nothing, I’m just being stupid,” you tried to laugh it off, but he persisted. “I just- where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that, you’re immortal right? And I’m not. And you’ve probably got other girls lining up back in your other world and I,” He motioned for you to continue, eyes unbelievably soft.

“I don’t want to be alone again. I was alone when we met because I can’t socialise like I used to, but I’ve got so used to this, and I want- no I need you to be happy and I’m sure that’s home for you but. I don’t want you to go, I don’t want you to become a memory that I think of when I’m sad.” He didn’t know what to say, hadn’t even considered it really. After he realised you were mates all he could think of was a house that you would make a home, he imagined a cat and maybe chickens and you with a rounded belly and a toddler on your hip. He hadn’t thought of the reality, you were mortal, you wouldn’t have eternity with him, your body couldn’t bear Illyrian children and he would lose you before you had really even had time together.

His heart broke as you took shaky breaths, hidden in his chest, and he wrapped his wings around you. He was determined, he wasn’t going to let fate cruelly pull you away from him. The first women that had ever loved him in the same, deep, all consuming way he loved her.

“I don’t know yet, but we’ll figure it out okay. And in the meantime you could come with me?” You looked up at him with glassy eyes and smiled sadly.

“I think I’m falling for you.” You whispered into the crook of his neck and he smiled tightening his arms around you.

“I already have.”

--

A few hours later you were standing looking up at your makeshift hut as Azriel readied to leave behind you. You watched as a finch flew over and perched on the side of your hut, a small twig perched in its beak, bristling its feathers as it rested.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Azriel sidled up beside you, an arm wrapping securely around your waist. You turned into his embrace.

“My thoughts are much more expensive than that.” He laughed at your difficult answer and tilted his head down, pressing his forehead to yours.

You sighed, tilting your head back to the side. “I think I have to destroy it. Keep the natural world natural y’know.”

“I suppose you do.” He said, the same sadness in his eyes as he looked at the makeshift home you had created him. The one where you had coaxed him through countless sleepless nights as he was overcome with sickness. The house you had shared as he took you for the first-time last night, and then the countless other times that followed.

He frowned but watched in awe as one hand reached out towards the house, your other wrapped firmly around his neck as you grounded yourself. The walls starting to warp and flow back into their original pattern and even when you dropped your hand, a faint sheen of sweat coating your brow, the branches still moved slowly.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked softly, picking you up despite your protests, walking the two of you out of the glaring sunlight and into a shadowed area.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whispered, looking up at him with those impossible soft eyes. To think not so long ago he couldn’t read them, believing that they were emotionless and cold, only to now feel his chest grow tighter and the air escape his lungs every time he locked onto them.

As he looked over your campsite one last time, the small fire pit sitting next to a vegetable patch where you had slept. The river where he had seen your scars for the first time. The whole place was filled with countless memories and as he thought of them, holding onto you tightly, he heard your soft voice.

“I think I’m going to miss being the only person in the world with you.”

--

You forgot how much you fucking hated shadow-travel. At least when he first did it you were hopped up on adrenaline and traumatic memories. This time however you were mentally present for the whole experience, feeling the sickness overcome you the way it did in the early days of autumn. There was a complete lack of life in the shadows, yet somehow the dark was still grasping at you. Azriel’s shadows had a different feel to them, however. Like the difference between a domesticated and wild dog, and you felt comfort as they protected you against the dark.

Thankfully, soon you were back in the light. The onslaught of noise making you flinch as cars honked and voices filled the air. You looked at Azriel to see he had a similar disgruntled face on as he gently placed you on your feet, steadying you when you wobbled.

You surveyed your surroundings, realising he had taken you to the exact alley you had met him, and you fought away the image of his weakening body on the ground, blood flowing out of him, when you saw the dark stain. You looked at him now, colour in his cheeks and the stern expression he had when you first saw him on. His eyes visibly softened when he saw you staring at him and he grasped your hand tightly.

“Come on,” he said, walking forward briskly, still not at all accustomed to the strange world he was in. it had seemed more familiar when it was just the two of you, but now as he watched you march ahead of him, a tight grip on his hand, head up and face impassive as you stared down anyone who so much as blinked at him the wrong way, his heart tightened again and he pulled you into the next alley he saw. You blinked at him confused but he just pressed his lips to yours in a deep, fierce kiss.

“What was that for?” you asked when he finally pulled away, breathless.

“You’re so hot when you’re scaring people.” He muttered and you giggled, repeating the sentiment, and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips again. He smiled into the kiss, confused at how naturally it bloomed across his face and gathered you up in his arms, taking off with a strong boom.

You shrieked and he laughed, holding you tight as he swooped about, before starting a steady pace and looking down to where you were huddled in his arms, eyes clenched shut.

“Open your eyes baby, you need to give me directions.” He said into your hair and smiling as you hesitantly opened your eyes, swearing as you saw the sight of New York below you.

“It’s beautiful.” You muttered, completely sincere as the view took away any sarcastic comments you had bubbling. He grinned and did another loop as you laughed loudly, hair flying about your face. He finally stopped and nudged your head with his nose, you slowly lifted a shaking hand as you released it from the death grip you held him with a pointed in the direction of your home. He took of that way, with you sometimes muttering more specific direction until he landed you on the road in front of the gate that led to your cottage.

Your legs were shaking when he let you down, but you pulled him along the small path that led to your front door, whispering to the plant that kept your spare key and smiling when it passed it to you. You pushed open your door and Azriel followed inside, smiling when he was overcome by your scent. His gaze trailed over your house as he moved through the archway that kept the entrance from the rest of the house. The kitchen was simple, wooden with old fashioned dishes kept in glass cupboards and sage green accents, a worn-down table with mismatched chairs and a simple stove with a kettle and more sage green cupboards underneath. He looked then to the living area, there was a small fireplace and a few armchairs around, the whole house filled with natural light, plants and books in a language he didn’t recognise, but he also noted the string lights you had looping around the beams in your roof, interwoven with trailing ivy.

You wandered over to him, smiling as you tugged on his hand leading him upstairs into a small bathroom. He cringed as he caught sight of himself in the mirror above your sink, before laughing as he saw even more plants on the windowsill over-looking the road.

“Now I really like you Az but I’m afraid this relationship will be over quickly if you don’t shower right now,” you laughed at him as he frowned sniffing himself before grunting in agreement. You reached into the shower and turned the nozzles letting a stream of warming water run, then peeling of your old clothes. Once you were done you stepped under the water, groaning as it hit your aching muscles and Azriel joined soon after, his hands finding residency on your hips and pulling you in for a kiss. You reached around him when you pulled away and grabbed your shampoo, rubbing it between your hands before moving to massage it into his hair, laughing when his expression became that of a blissed-out cat. Practically purring under your touch.

You pulled away allowing him to rinse off as you did your own hair. Soon after the two of you were done cleaning up he pushed you against the wall of your shower, kissing you harshly and pressing the length of his body into you, smirking when you mewled and arched your back into his wandering hands. One of his hands groped your breast as his other travelled south, gentle fingers trailing between your legs and stroking your wet folds. He moved to press kisses against your neck when you gasped for breath as he pushed two long fingers into you, the texture of the rough scars adding to the euphoria you felt as you moaned into the steamy room. His thumb moved to rub softly against your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you, your walls tightening around his fingers as you neared your orgasm. The pads of his fingers pressed into the spongy spot inside you that always made you see stars as he tugged on your nipple and rolled you clit under his thumb all at once making you fall over the edge with a silent cry.

He grinned as he pulled away from you neck, obsessed with way you fall apart from just his fingers. HIs hands usually only brought him shame and guilt but now were filling him with pride as you clenched around them. He pulled them out slowly, sucking your essence off them as you slumped back against the wall, spent. You reached a hand to his erection, but he pushed it away and turned the shower head off and stepping out of the shower, wrapping you in a fluffy towel.

“Later baby, you need some rest.”

You both slowly dried yourselves in silence and you groaned when you looked at your dull skin in the mirror and turned to Azriel biting your lip.

“What?” he laughed,

“Can we do facemasks later?” He looked at your hopeful smile and rolled his eyes, unable to say no to you.

“Later.” He muttered and you smiled before walking through to your bedroom, Azriel trailing like the lovesick puppy he was. He smiled at the sight of your room; it was so very you. The sun was glowing over the unmade bed that was covered in pillows and blankets and, upon further inspection, stuffed toys, making it look ethereal. There was even more bookshelves and a wardrobe and burnished mirror, your windowsill had soft cushions on it and a pile of stacked books next to it. And of course, plants. Everywhere. He walked further in as you fished out clean clothes and he frowned when you passed him a pair of boxers.

“Whose are these?” he asked, trying to keep his possessiveness tamed as he thought of another man living with his girl, his mate.

“Mine, they’re comfy.” You shrugged, pulling an oversized sweater on and bringing it to your nose, revelling in the clean smell. Azriel blushed bright red and quickly pulled them on, adjusting them as he watched you bend over to pull on another pair of boxers. You moved to sit in front of your mirror, fixing your hair as he ran his hand over the spine of the books, not recognising any titles, jumping when he heard music suddenly play and quickly searching for the source. He moved over to where you were looking through folders of disks.

“I lost my phone and I only have my dad’s old disks so it’s a lot of 50’s sorry,” you giggled as he stared in wonder, listening to the soft tunes. You turned to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying softly to the music, your head on his chest.

There's a place where lovers go To cry their troubles away And they call it 'Lonesome Town' Where the broken hearts stay.

You can buy a dream or two To last you all through the years And the only price you pay Is a heart full of tears.

He smiled and held you softly, dancing with you as your breathing slowed, completely relaxed. Soon the song finished and a new one started but instead of continuing to dance you looked up at him with tired eyes and a soft smile and he tugged you over to your bed, laying you down gently. Your body sank into the impossibly soft mattress and he laid down next to you, your arm waving slightly as your trailing ivy tugged your thin curtains together. His shadows settled over the two of you and you grinned up at him, as sweet as spun sugar.

“I love you,” you whispered softly, voice shy.

“I love you.” He repeated, kissing your head gently as you burrowed deeply into his arms, the two of you falling asleep as soft music played through the room.

--

Azriel woke alone, golden light in his eyes as he noticed the lack of your weight pressed into his side. He panicked instantly, jumping out of bed, and racing down the stairs, only calming when he saw you in your kitchen signing quietly along to a song coming out of the radio on your table. His heart rate returned to normal as he moved wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the side of your neck as he watched you flip pancakes.

“Pancakes?”

“I’m allowed to be a stereotype if I want to be, it’s my house.” He laughed and moved to where a pot of coffee sat on the table, preparing his cup. His friends always laughed at the feared shadow-singer when he put two sugars in, and he was struck with homesickness when he did it now. You turned off the stove and put the plate in front of him, pouring your own coffee and drinking it black with a longing sigh. He groaned as you laughed when he reached for the creamer.

“What was it you did for a living again?”

“Shut up.”

You giggled and took two pancakes, coating them in fruit and syrup as he followed suit. They both devoured the mountain in minutes, and he reached over, pulling you onto his lap, your kisses sticky and sweet with sugar coated tongues. He took you again right on the table, before carrying you back to your room to take you there too, addicted to the soft sounds that fell from your lips.

When you finally pulled away from each other, some hours later you reached for your laptop. “I believe I promised you movies and Tony Stark,” you said, fingers moving across your keyboard as Azriel watched over your shoulder as the screen changed before his eyes. You found the first Iron Man movie and started it as Azriel stared at the screen, blown away.

“So this is your technology?” he asked, eyes filled with childlike joy as the movie began.

“Yup, and this film had technology we don’t have in its universe.”

“Cauldron.”

“Plus I figured I should introduce you to the loves of my life that are the marvel men,” his grip on your waist tightened and you laughed, “they’re not real Az, I’m not going anywhere.” You pressed a kiss to his lips and leaned back. You brain finally at peace as you laid back in the arms of the man you loved.

You tensed when the suit first appeared, the red colour of it making you clench your hands into fists and Azriel was quick to reassure you, moving to turn the film off, but you stopped him.

“This is my comfort film, and if I don’t start somewhere I’ll not make any progress. Just- can you hold me please,” you asked him, and he kissed your temple.

“Always, my love.”

You finished the movie together and moved to watch the next, hours passing as you found yourself completely consumed by the man by your side, ignoring the pressing concerns for now and instead focusing on his steady heartbeat. Content to stay in his arms forever.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 51- Fallen Angel

(Sorry this is late! i got my vaccine and it mcfucking knocked me out lol)

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits return to Eremita from a restocking trip, to discover they have been raided. And one hermit has been taken. 

Warning: Capture, slight torture scene

_________________________________

Eremita has become their safe haven, the last bastion for the guild. Even when the arcane guard chased them all the way to the water’s edge, no sane person would dare follow the hermits into the Ashioll sea. Which is exactly why they lived in its mysterious, misty embrace. 

They could no longer simply fly off upon the backs of sky turtles, or even teleport into the towns they frequented. Now, when the hermits absolutely had to go into public for supplies they couldn’t make or grow themselves, they sailed in on Cleo’s pirate ship. And when they had to leave, they made sure that if anyone was following them, they took a roundabout direction back to their home. It adds time, weaving between the islands and through the mists, but ensures no one can guess where they live. 

Cleo’s pirate ship beaches up onto the sand, nestling back into place as a wrecked vessel once more. The dream magic fades, revealing broken oak boards, seagrass growing through seams, and splintered masts of the ghost ship Cleo commands. Hypno blinks free from his sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Already? Man, my dream was just starting to get interesting.” 

With the help of rattling skeletons, their bones held together by magical muscle and sinew, the hermits unload food, meats, fabrics, and more. Enough for months, as if they were preparing to be snowed in after a massive blizzard. Almost all the hermits were a part of the flow of supplies. 

Almost. Only three hermits stayed behind. Zedaph had an accident with his two explosive friends, and while it wasn’t the first time, Grian wanted to keep an eye on the burns in case the magic lingered. Mumbo stayed behind as well, but for very different reasons. One, he was easily recognizable. Everyone knows the multimage that Dolios wants captured alive. Him and Grian are the only two who Dolios demands be captured alive. He also was in the middle of inventing some new contraption, and was not about to leave it behind and lose all his progress. Last Cleo saw of him, he was extinguishing burning locks of hair. She wonders if he’s made any progress, or if he’s burned all his hair away at this point.

Once Impulse and Tango have unloaded their share of the shipment, they go in search of their friend. Both still feel bad for burning Zed, even if it was by accident. And they’ve all been burned at this point in all their years together. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel bad, especially leaving Zed behind. At least they brought back a caramel apple from his favorite stall in the market, as well as fresh hay for his barn and animal friends. 

“Zed? We have a surprise for you!” Tango calls, his voice twinged with mischief, as if they plan to prank their friend rather than give him a gift. No response comes from the flat roofed barn, except the distant bleat of a sheep. Tango looks at Impulse, fiery hair remaining vertical even as his head tips to the side. “Could he be taking a nap?” 

“You know Zed and his sleep schedule, he wouldn’t interrupt it, even when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.” Impulse waves it off. “He probably just isn’t listening, or maybe pulling a prank of his own. Let’s go in.” 

Impulse waves Tango through the gate, careful to keep the sheep, goats, and other farm animals from getting between Tango’s feet and causing his hair to ignite the dry hay in his arms. A horse nips at the bale, but Tango keeps it well away from catching fire. He’s relieved to lighten the load he’s carrying as soon as they're inside the barn. Both mages look to the bed tucked in the corner, but no Zedaph. Tango tosses the haybale aside. “He should be resting.” 

They clamber over the piles of hay, searching every nook and cranny for Zedaph. Even his cookie stash, which they let him believe is still a secret. But Zed is nowhere within the barn he chooses to live in. 

Concern pales both Impulse and Tango’s face, and Tango’s hair reacts in kind to the revelation. “Perhaps he’s being treated by Grian?” 

Tango doesn’t answer, already following the path across the width of the island, from one shore to another. Grian’s floating cloud, the quartz tower with large archways and a glass domed roof. Perfectly built for a sky angel, his wings and speed. Not so perfect for his roommate, and all of Mumbo’s redstone machinery, his own lanky body climbing up onto the solid cloud and stairs to sleeping quarters.

The redstone workshop at the base of the building has been cleaned up, though a few vials seem to have rolled away, as if they were grabbed then subsequently dropped. But, just like the barn, no sign of Mumbo. 

But there is a sound. Echoing from the glass dome, a sniffling, stifling cry escapes from above, followed by a gasping, shuddering breath. Impulse runs up the steps as fast as possible, each bounce from stair to stair accentuated with a tiny explosion to give him more speed. Tango blazes behind, fire burning bright as the sun as energy courses through him. He notices on the way up grey streaks against the pure white quartz. 

“Zedaph?” Impulse breathes, screeching to a full stop. In the center of the room, Mumbo and Zed are huddled close, holding on tight. Their eyes wild with fear, and in Zed’s eyes he can see a shared memory. A shared trauma him, Impulse, and Tango all share. Two hermits, holding onto each other like its their last hope. 

Only two. “Where’s Grian?” 

Mumbo opens his mouth, but a strangled cry only escapes. Tears fall from both their faces, shaking like leaves. Something bad has happened to their friend. Tango slides across the floor, grabbing Zedaph and Mumbo. “What happened? Where’s Grian? Are you hurt?” 

They both shake their heads, but finally Mumbo gathers enough of his voice to speak. It’s weak, broken apart like glass shattering. “He took him.” 

__________________________________________________

A cold, wet air fills Grian’s lungs, biting into his skin like ice on a cold morning. When he tries to open his eyes, the dull ache of his skull becomes sharp, forcing the angel to screw them closed again. Grian grimaces, trying to figure out why he has such a terrible headache. Did he hit his head in training? No, he wouldn’t have been allowed to sleep with the hermits hovering over him. Perhaps he drank too much. Once again, impossible. Grian knows what his hangover is like, and it’s not this. 

He realizes he’s definitely hanging, but not from drinking. Cold, hard metal presses flat against his wrists, suspended over his head. The iron bites into his skin, all his weight rubbing his wrists raw. 

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to get bored waiting, though I do quite enjoy relishing in finally having my prize thirty years in the making.” The snide, even tempo of Magistrate Dolios’s voice hurts worse than any headache or wrist, and Grian finally manages to open his eyes. The cavern he finds himself in is foreign, not even remotely similar to the brick and iron dungeons where he last woke up in Dolios’s clutches. So long ago, it feels like. The Championship. At the time, he felt like he was at the top of the world. Now? Now he feels like the world was crushing him. 

Grian resists his bindings, but even when he kicks outward, his feet don’t even scrape the dank floor. He tips his head back, until the crown of his head collides with a smooth, hard material. Just at the touch, he can feel the oppressive energy of the crystal. In his vision, he sees the sharp tip of the massive gem. Each wrist is locked tight against the crystal, the nails buried deep in the crystal lattice. 

He looks around, searching for other hermits. For Mumbo, the last face he remembers before…

The memories flood in, cascading alongside the fear and panic. He remembers everything, every terrifying second. Leaving Zedaph to meet with Mumbo, he remembers the scent of marigolds on his hands, just after crushing the petals to make a paste for Zedaph’s burns. The quiet island, most of the other hermits gone. He remembers patting his pocket, the note from his best friend telling him to meet at Iskall’s place. 

But when he arrived, Mumbo was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t unusual, Mumbo tended to get distracted and be late. So he waited, plucking orange petals from his clothes, hair, and hands. He should’ve noticed the way the wind shifted, becoming cold and stale, before disappearing completely. 

He should’ve realized something was very wrong when the grey stormcloud appeared. But he didn’t. He was so focused on waiting for Mumbo, then on getting rid of the flowers in his feathers, that he didn’t see the husks crawl their way free of the ocean. At least, not until the husk of a soldier came barreling for him, empty glowing white eyes and ashen, flaky form charging with halberd drawn.  

Grian squeaked, dodging the attack. Stumbled over the writhing form of a cactus cat, the fading spines still quite sharp, he was saved by a pair of not-grey arms. 

Not grey arms draped in wine red fabric, the hems decorated in gold thread. He realized who it was immediately, and scrambled to try and get away. But Dolios’s magic kept a strong grip, vines of black twisting and tying Grian’s wings to his back, while a hazy fog had grown around them. 

He remembers the feeling of Dolios’s hands in his hair, pulling him to his feet as he struggled and fought against the vines and the fog that filled his mind. Hands clawing at his binds, even biting the magistrate at one point. He remembers the taste of blood, iron on his tongue and Dolios swearing, blasting Grian with magic. 

And the last thing he remembers, before being knocked out and torn away from his home, was Mumbo’s face. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the fight occurring. It was at that moment that Grian realized, when his eyes locked with Mumbo’s that it wasn’t him that sent the letter. The confusion, of seeing Grian, the surprise on his face. He was walking towards the infirmary, dropping the box  in his hand upon seeing the sight before him. 

The fear on Mumbo’s face matched Grian’s own, as he was dragged into the sea. A second later, a swift burst of sonic energy knocked him out. 

And now he’s here. Dolios saunters across the room, gathering ingredients and writing down notes. Grian swings his legs, and summons his wings to try and be free. But as soon as the blue and white feathers appear, they crumble into ash. Crushing weight sets in on his head, his shoulders, his lungs, and his magic, and the crystal he’s trapped against hums with power. “You’re quite different from the last angel I hunted. At least you fought back, but in the end they left me without the gift of their magic. This time, I’m not letting anything go to chance.” 

The magistrate sets his bowl of guts aside, approaching the crystal and Grian. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high. The weight of the oppressive dark magic doesn’t bother him. Grian’s not ready to give up just yet. He attempts to kick Dolios, but the dark mage stands mere centimeters out of reach. So Grian decides to use his words. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” 

“I’ve been told that once or twice before, yes. But the rest of Lairyon loves me. And why wouldn’t they? I’ve brought prosperity to this kingdom, done more than that stupid rainbow king could ever do, and all of this because of my power.” Dolios sweeps his hands, vapors of dark magic swirling from his fingers as his fingers clench to fists

“Stolen magic. If the citizens knew, they’d hate you just as much as I do.” Grian reels back his head, and does the best he can to annoy Dolios. He spits on him. The glob of spit lands on Dolios’s cheek, the magistrate flinching, then reaching up and wiping it away. A fresh anger in his eyes. 

“And who would believe you? An outcast mercenary orphan? The last of your kind?” Dolios stoops low, plucking a husked feather from the floor. He walks back to the table, mixing the components and ingredients from his jars of death with Grian’s feather. “Your power is rare. Angelic mages are always powerful, a power I crave. You will be a wonderful addition to my collection of magic. The last of the angels to complete my set!” 

A fearful shiver ricochets down Grian’s spine. “You’re going to turn me into a husk?” 

“Oh, gods no!” Dolios laughs, so loud that it echoes off the cavern walls as he throws his head back, brown curls dancing across rich fabric. “I wouldn’t dare waste such magic to become simple energy for me and my beast. No, no. Do not fret, little bird, you will become so much more. I don’t plan to drain your energy. I plan to steal it.” 

The hunger in Dolios’s eyes as he turns, the concoction in his hand, Grian realizes what he's seen all this time in Dolios’s eyes. Hunger. A madman hellbent on taking what he sees as rightfully his.. A predator stalking his prey. And Grian was cornered, pinned. Unable to fight back, unable to fly away. Fear is replaced by terror, a sensation Grian struggles to fight back. He needs to think clearly if he hopes to survive. 

“The last angel died before my powers were…” Grian pauses, seeing the coy smile on Dolios’s face. 

“I always had a-” Dolios pauses, waving his hand nonchalantly before marking the ground around the crystal spires with dark seal. “-fascination with angelic wizards. A dear friend of mine in my youth was one. Ever since then, I knew I had to have that kind of magic in my collection. So strong, each and every one of you. With magic even the ancient ones revered. And now?” 

Dolios steps back, casting his magic circle. Rather than emitting color and light, it absorbs all color to make the pattern of his magic. He raises his hands, and two satellite crystals awaken. Darkness swirls in the lattice of the gems, mist eeking out through pores and filling the cavern with darkness. When the mist reaches the seal surrounding the crystal Grian’s chained to, the spire behind him, pressed against his back, activates. The pressure on his body, his magic becomes unbearable, breaking into pain. Like a harpoon through his chest, the dark magic takes hold. Biting down, biting in. 

And slowly, agonizingly stealing his magic. So intrinsically tied to his soul, hsi lifeforce, it feels as if his very being is being dragged from every inch of his body in contact with the crystal. He writhes to escape the painful magic, but the bonds hold firm and he struggles to catch his breath. Dolios steps back, basking with ravished delight at the scene before him. Enjoying the pain that tears at Grian’s skin, soul, and spell. “Now the magic will soon be mine.”

[tigerkirby215]

5e Rell, the Iron Maiden build (League of Legends)

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

I SHOULD BE MAKING AKALI RIGHT NOW :))))))

I did a coinflip with Rell: it was either her or Akali and she ended up winning. I’m honestly super hyped for Rell which is odd because I don’t really play tank supports. I find Leona and Nautilus boring as sin, though I do enjoy Galio and Maokai on occasion. I guess I’ve just been playing in top lane a lot more and I want a big bulky tank who I can dive into teamfights with as a support.

Also the memes for this champ are freaking golden.

But Rell presents a very unique kit that has a lot of potential in D&D. Basically I get to make a character other than Nunu & Willump who rides a mount and I get to stick everything I can remotely justify as being Ferromancy onto this character.

GOALS

Run ‘em all down - Rell is the third champ to have a mount. Aren’t horses just the best?

We fight together - Your outside may be cold but connecting to people is how you move on from trauma... or use that trauma for a massive stun in a teamfight.

I’ll bust you down to scrap! - Rell’s quirk is Ferromancy, the magic of manipulating metal, most specifically through magnetism. Fucking magnets; how do they work?

RACE

Rell is a human... but we can’t always go for Variant Human, so let’s spice it up a bit! She may not have divine blood but I’m sure someone at the academy had healing magic. So since she’s a support with eyes aglow with energy why not go for an Aasimar? More specifically a Scourge Aasimar. Your Charisma increases by 2 and your Constitution increases by 1.

Your glyphs give you a big mix of magic from your friends back at the academy: Darkvision for darkvision, Celestial Resistance for resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, Light Bearer for the Light cantrip, and Healing Hands for a bit of healing magic. Your Scourge subrace also gives you Radiant Consumption at level 3, which I’ll cover when you get there.

If you’re set on playing a human: A Variant Human (+1 CON, +1 STR) with either the Mounted Combatant feat or Heavy Armor Master feat would make sense. There are other feats to consider but these would be the most in-character for Rell.

ABILITITY SCORES

15; STRENGTH - Iron stands eternal, and iron is heavy.

14; CHARISMA - You may be a grouchy teenager, and you may also be incredibly awkward when hitting on people, but Charisma is considered as “inner strength” in 5e. You’ve certainly got plenty of that!

13; CONSTITUTION - You are a tank after all, and with the +1 from our race that equals a 14 for a nice boost to HP.

12; DEXTERITY - As heavy as iron is you were trained for peak physical condition. DEX is tied to many things, notably Initiative which is very important for a frontliner.

10; INTELLIGENCE - You went to an academy, but it was a Noxian war academy. Still it’s possible that you got some history lessons.

8; WISDOM - You’re a hothead in both the metaphorical and literal sense. You think asking questions is on the mind of a teenager who’s angry with the world?

BACKGROUND

There’s a lot of backgrounds that would fit Rell, though unfortunately nothing edgy enough like “Test Subject Turned Human Superweapon.” But considering your lifestyle of roaming the Noxian countryside Outlander is probably pretty accurate. You get proficiency in Athletics and Survival and while you’d normally get a Musical Instrument I’d actually suggest you grab Smith’s Tools instead because... yeah duh. You can also learn a Language of your choice so pick whatever you think would constitute Noxian.

Your Wanderer background feature will make sure you survive and thrive on the Noxian countryside. You always remember the general layout of the land, and you can find food and fresh water for yourself and up to five other people each day. And you can even rip some iron out of the earth to make them bowls and cups to eat and drink with!

(Concept art by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - PALADIN 1

Starting off as a Paladin because even if proficiency in Wisdom saves is weird we need the Heavy Armor proficiency because... yeah duh. Speaking of proficiencies take Intimidation because you’re a murder-hungry metalmancer, and I dunno Medicine would make sense since you’re a support and all.

You also get Divine Sense, as the magic in your veins helps you detect celestials, fiends, or undead. And because you’re a support you can use Shattering Strike to heal thanks to Lay on Hands. I could explain both these abilities in detail, but I’m also an angry teenager who’s sick of explaining abilities with insanely long descriptions that you can read for yourself.

LEVEL 2 - PALADIN 2

Second level Paladins get their Fighting Style, and of course for a tank support Defense would be best for more AC. You also get some Ferromancy Spellcasting. (Well technically Divine spellcasting but don’t tell anyone that.) You can prepare a number of Paladin spells equal to your Charisma modifier plus half your Paladin level:

To sharpen your lace (or more realistically pike) a little more Divine Favor will make every blow hurt just a little bit more.

Heroism will help in times of strife to let your anger take over any fear.

To manipulate armor to block some more blows Shield of Faith will increase the target’s AC for a time.

To stun with Attract and Repel Thunderous Smite will do damage and knock enemies prone, making them easier to hit and forcing them to spend time getting up.

But of course you can just as easily ignore all of that in favor of Divine Smite, channeling all your magic and hatred into a burst of Radiant damage on your weapon attacks. Particularly effective against undead!

On Rell’s weapon: I’d suggest a Pike over a Lance because a d12 isn’t worth Disadvantage in melee range, even if you will eventually be performing mounted combat. Feel free to have a lance as backup for when you do start riding a horse.

LEVEL 3 - PALADIN 3

At third level you can choose your Sacred Oath, and I know how much you hate Noxus but Oath of the Crown actually has some pretty good abilities for our purposes. Yup of all the champions to break out the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide for it’s Rell.

You get two Channel Divinity options: Champion Challenge makes enemies unable to move more than 30 feet away from you for a Magnetic Overload, and Turn the Tide will heal everyone of your choice for a d6 plus your Charisma (if they’re below half health) for some Redemption saves.

But both of these Channel Divinities are admittedly situational, so if your DM allows Tasha’s rulings then Harness Divine Power will also let you recover a first level spell slot. Speaking of spells as a Crown Paladin you get Command to twist your enemy’s armor to your whim, and Compelled Duel for a single-target Concentration version of Champion Challenge.

And as a Scourge Aasimar you get now get Radiant Consumption. As an action you can unleash the magic within you, glowing violently and doing Radiant damage equal to half your level to everyone around you. Additionally, once on each of your turns you can deal extra radiant damage when you damage an enemy with an attack or a spell. The extra radiant damage equals your level. You can only go all out just once per long rest, so if your ever wonder why anime protagonists keep their ultimate attack until the end of the fight: it burns you so much you can only use it once.

LEVEL 4 - PALADIN 4

4th level means another Ability Score Improvement but instead we’re going to be taking a Feat. You’re probably thinking we’re going for Mounted Combatant, right?

WRONG! We’re taking Heavy Armor Master, because you can literally control your armor to make it stronger! Your Strength increases by 1 and any damage you take from non-magic weapons is reduced by 3!

You can also prepare another spell, but we’ll wait for...

(Concept art by Riot Games)

LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 5

5th level time for Extra Attack. Two attacks in a turn to pretend you’re the ADC!

Also time for HONSE! Find Steed lets you summon a Warhorse, and others but a Warhorse is probably the most accurate representation of your mount. The steed is considered a celestial, fey, or fiend (your choice), and its intelligence is set to 6. It can also understand one language you can speak, which is good because you can speak to it telepathically.

You can make any spell that only targets you also target your steed, and when it drops to 0 hit points, it disappears, leaving behind no physical form. You can dismiss your steed at any time as an action, causing it to disappear. In either case, casting this spell again summons the same steed, restored to its hit point maximum.

And thanks to your subclass you also learn Warding Bond to bond with an ally, and Zone of Truth to get the Black Rose to admit to what they did. Technically speaking you can’t put a ring on your horse, but as a DM I’d probably allow you to make a 50 gp platinum horse shoe to give the honse a Warding Bond.

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 6

6th level Paladins get Aura of Protection. You and everyone within 10 feet of you gets a bonus to saving throws equal to your Charisma modifier, because iron stands eternal and so does teenage angst.

You can also prepare another spell like Aid to steel your party’s resolve for any danger. Metal pun unintended.

LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 7

Here’s why we aren’t taking Mounted Combatant. 7th level Crown Paladins get Divine Allegiance, allowing you to use your reaction to take damage for a creature within 5 feet of you. They take no damage, but the damage you take can’t be reduced or prevented in any way.

Sure a 5 foot aura is just objectively worse than the Redemption Paladin’s 10 foot Aura of the Guardian that does literally the exact same thing (pro tip: ask your DM to just increase the range of the aura), but you know what’s always within 5 feet of you? Your horse. So feel free to take hits for your trusty mount. And if an ally is nearby you should probably tank for them too.

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 8

8th level means an Ability Score Improvement. We’re still riding around in big bulky armor so more Strength to carry that armor would be nice.

You can also prepare another spell like Lesser Restoration for some Tenacity.

(Concept art by Riot Games)

LEVEL 9 - BARD 1

How’s this for a surprise? Multiclassing into Bard gives you proficiency in one skill, and one musical instrument. Take Animal Handling because you literally summon a horse for yourself, and a Noxian War Drum.

Bards get Bardic Inspiration: d6s equal to your Charisma modifier to help support your allies. They can add the d6 to an ability check, attack roll, or saving throw they make. Buff up their armor, or weaken the enemy’s armor!

But of course as a Bard you get more Spellcasting! Check page whatever-it-is for how multiclassing works. You get two cantrips from the Bard list: Mage Hand will let you magnetize an object closer to you, and Vicious Mockery will let you yell angrily at the enemy not to hurt your friends.

You can also learn 4 spells from the Bard list: you are a support so you can take Cure Wounds for some Summoner: Heal. Disguise Self will help you if Noxian police are looking for you. And both Earth Tremor and Thunderwave will help you manipulate the metal beneath your enemies’ feet and sunder the ground beneath them.

LEVEL 10 - BARD 2

You have a little bit of everything in your glyphs which means Jack of All Trades will always be able to help you. You can also recuperate after a long night on the Noxian countryside thanks to Song of Rest.

You can also learn another spell but we will wait for...

LEVEL 11 - BARD 3

Third level Bards can choose their Bardic College and you did go to the academy to become a weapon after all. College of Valor Bards are instruments of war with Combat Inspiration, letting allies use their Bardic Inspiration to hurt more with their swords or defend themselves better with their armor. “Fight like you mean it. Die for something that matters!” You do also get some skill proficiencies but... you already had them.

You do get Expertise in two skills however! Intimidation comes naturally to a living weapon, and even though it’s technically not a living animal in LoL you still need Animal Handling for your mount from Find Steed.

And finally you can learn spells. If you want the honest truth the only reason we took Bard levels is for Heat Metal, the obligatory Ferromancy spell. But you can also grab Hold Person to lock a foe’s armor in place.

LEVEL 12 - BARD 4

4th level means an Ability Score Improvement, and since we’re now investing in the spellcasting side of things I’d recommend some Charisma to make that better. Remember that more Charisma does mean more Paladin spells, so be sure to hop back there to prepare more.

Because I’m not going to tell you what to prepare, as we need to concentrate on your new cantrip! You are the ferromancer, so Mending is kinda obligatory. You can also learn another spell but again we shall wait for...

LEVEL 13 - BARD 5

5th level Bards get Font of Inspiration, letting their Bardic Inspiration come back on a Short Rest. Which is good, because your Bardic Inspiration increases to a d8!

You can also learn third level spells now which means we can finally take Mass Healing Word to further our support role, and Hypnotic Pattern for a massive team-wide stun.

(Artwork by @Cookie3v3 on Twitter)

LEVEL 14 - SORCERER 1

You were born with magic after all, so I’d have to go into Sorcerer at some point. It’s just that the other levels were more important, and this kinda ends up being more for flavor than anything. Regardless you get your subclass at level 1 as a Sorcerer and hey I actually get to use the Clockwork Soul for a Ferromancer. You can Restore Balance at level 1, denying Advantage or Disadvantage and turn it into a straight roll.

Oh and hey: more Spellcasting! But this time with a side of Clockwork Magic for Abjuration or Transmutation spells. Since both the spells you’d normally get a little iffy I’d suggest replacing them with both Absorb Elements and Shield for some Magic Resistance and Armor.

You also get four cantrips and two leveled spells. Fire Bolt lets you fling a piece of molten metal at the enemy, because you may as well have a ranged weapon. For some basic metal sundering from the ground Mold Earth will let you manipulate small pockets of iron in the soil. Message will let you coordinate with your teammates without yelling everything in /all. And because you’ve got a ridiculous amount of cantrips you may as well grab Prestidigitation for basic magic manipulation.

For your leveled spells Magic Missile will let you fling metal with the utmost precision, and Burning Hands for burning metal addressed to “whom it may concern.”

LEVEL 15 - SORCERER 2

Second level Sorcerers get a Font of Magic. You get 2 Sorcery Points that can be converted into spell slots... for now. So basically you get another first level spell slot!

LEVEL 16 - SORCERER 3

3rd level Sorcerers get their Metamagic. These are features that use your Sorcery points to augment your spells: to make sure that no one lives to hide the tale of the academy Heightened Spell will give an enemy disadvantage on their first saving throw against one of your spells. Alternatively if you want to both stab and smash Quickened Spell will let you cast a spell as a Bonus Action, to really maximize your APM.

You also get more Clockwork Magic, but since you already have both Aid and Lesser Restoration I’d instead suggest taking Levitate for some reverse-magnetism, and a little spell from Elemental Evil called Maximilian’s Earthen Grasp.

If your opponent doesn’t know how magnets work then Blur can really mess with their ability to hit you. And you know I haven’t taken Flash yet so... Misty Step!

LEVEL 17 - SORCERER 4

Fourth level Sorcerers get an Ability Score Improvement and well we did invest in 3 different spellcasters, so increasing that spellcasting with more Charisma would probably be smart. Remember that more Charisma means more Paladin spells! As well as a stronger Paladin aura and more Bardic Inspiration.

You also get another spell known and honestly there are a lot of great ones at second level of Sorcerer but Shatter is the best for ripping through metal. You also get another cantrip because I guess Sorcerers don’t have enough cantrips: if you get surrounded you can sunder the ground as if swords were bursting around you... in a Sword Burst... yeah...

(Artwork made for Riot Games)

LEVEL 18 - SORCERER 5

5th level Sorcerers get third level spells and I’d hate to admit it but both Dispel Magic and Protection from Energy from Clockwork Magic do make sense for Rell.

But you know what we don’t have enough of? Ground-based attacks. So take Erupting Earth, because your magic is Ferromancy. Not Fireballs or Haste, both of which would probably honestly be stronger. Honestly feel free to drop some of your early Sorcerer spells, because you’ve got more than enough spell slots for the big stuff.

LEVEL 19 - SORCERER 6

6th level Clockwork Soul Sorcerers get the feature we kinda went into this subclass for: Bastion of Law. As an action, you can spend 1 to 5 sorcery points to create a magical ward around yourself or another creature within 30 feet.

The warded creature gets a number of d8s equal to the number of sorcery points spent to create it. When the warded creature takes damage, it can expend any number of those dice to roll them and reduce the damage taken by the total rolled on those dice. This is going to be one of your main supportive features... atop of all your other “main supportive features.”

Oh and you’d get more spells but I kinda want...

LEVEL 20 - SORCERER 7

7th level Sorcerers can learn 4th spells like Sickening Radiance for some good old-fashioned war crimes, and Fire Shield which was added to the Sorcerer spell list thanks to Tasha’s! Clockwork Magic also lets you weaponize your horse with Summon Construct, but I’d suggest grabbing Banishment as your other spell to lock the weak away like they did to the Null.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Fighting together? Guess it's not too bad - You’ve got plenty of good assists. Bardic Inspiration and Bastion of Law shields, and a big pile of spells to help the team.

Nothing gets in; no one gets out - Turns out that manipulating metal means very little can get at you. Strong AC, very good range with Reach to play keep-away in melee and a horse to run around, and of course Aura of Protection to turn your weakest save into a +5! And decent HP to boot!

This is who I am now - It wasn’t my intention when making the character but... turns out Jack of All Trades does in fact make you a jack of all trades. Decent skill checks all around and a crazy good Intimidation check means that while you maybe won’t be the first choice you’ll always be up for the task.

CONS

“Excellence is measured in sacrifice”... or whatever - Three way multiclassing gives you a lot, but not a whole lot of it. Your spell slots go all the way up to 8th level but your best spells max out at 4th level. Smites exist and you can always melt down your spell slots, but perhaps it would’ve been smarter to lessen the number of classes and get more value out of what you have.

That's... that's cool... I'm cool... - Ever heard of the concept known as “choice paralysis?” With so many spells to choose on top of subclass features that take your actions it can be hard to pick what’s right in every scenario. Woes of playing support, where you need to think of everything at once. Can’t just run in and stab.

The helpless fight; the hardened live - Jack of All Trades is good for skill checks... not for combat. You can fight, heal, and sling spells decently but don’t really stand out in any particular area. You’ve got a hundred different tools to deal with the rabble but when your friends go All Out you’ll likely be stuck getting assists.

But you’ve got all a girl could ever ask for: a cute pony and enough armor to survive a ballistic missile. You were built to be a weapon and a damn good weapon you are: as sharp as you are sturdy, and as versatile as you are resourceful. Who cares if you’re a little rough around the edges? You’re sixteen! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you! Minus the lingering trauma of being tortured by your own mother... Eh. Who doesn’t have a tragic backstory nowadays?

(Artwork by @dreadstardraws on Twitter.)

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 113

Sooo.... I completely did not realize my queue dumped itself again, or that this chapter didn’t post when it should have. So I’m sorry for the slightly-delayed update!

Thanks to @baelpenrose​ for their beta-reading, as always.  This chapter loops back to something that came up previously and I hate loose ends dangling around everywhere. Content warnings for anger issues, trauma, and poor coping mechanisms.

“Dude, I’m making soup,” I jokingly scolded Maverick as I took the bowl of pumpkin seeds away from him.  After the camping trip, I had made the brilliant decision to roast the seeds we had harvested. All of them. Ten pounds of them, it turned out.  How he wasn’t sick of eating them, I had no idea.

 With a pout, he made grabby-hands at the bowl. “What kind?”

 “Potato,” I informed him as I pivoted away and carried the bowl back to the kitchen and put the lid on it.

It didn’t take long for him to join me and start requesting potatoes from the food console.  Even though they were freshly-generated and already clean, he started washing them anyway.  I was pretty sure the action ranked up there with utensils being in exactly-the-right place, because he always washed the vegetables that he got from the console.  It didn’t hurt anything, though, so we generally just let him do it.

About an hour later, we were sitting at the table with two bowls of velvety, off-white soup - his topped with sour cream, bacon, and cheese, mine just topped with scallions - and dug in.  Conor was on Beta-shift at work currently, so we made sure to put the lid on the rest to keep it warm.  Even though the temperature on the Ark never changed beyond a ten-degree variance, the camping trip had triggered something in me that said “Autumn”, and soup was exactly what I needed right then.

I had just finished my first bowl, and Maverick was halfway through his second - with somehow even more bacon - when the door opened and Conor stalked in.  Everything in his body language screamed that he was angry about something, and I subconsciously held my breath.  Glancing at Maverick, I saw him arch an eyebrow at me before turning to our clearly-upset partner.

“Everything okay?” he ventured slowly.

“Work. Huynh,” he grunted, shoving a hand through his hair as he started pacing into the kitchen, past the table, into the living room, and back.  “Stupid pre-fab structures. We don’t… Stupid!” Grasping for words, he only seemed to get more and more frustrated.  On his next trip into the kitchen, he grabbed a bowl and  thought he was going to try to eat, but instead I saw him start to raise the bowl higher.

Maverick stood, rushed over, and snatched the bowl from him. “We talked about this. If you throw that, you’ll give Sophia the panic attack she is trying not to have right now. I told you before, if you give her a panic attack again, I would knock you out. Please don’t make me keep my word.” Rather than angry, he sounded distressed and sad. “What are you supposed to do when you get frustrated like this?”

“Run,” Conor grunted, rubbing his face briskly before gesturing at his sweat-stained coveralls. “And I did. For miles and miles. It didn’t help. And I’m supposed to try to talk about what I’m angry about, but that’s even more frustrating, because I… I can’t explain it fast enough.”

Nodding, Maverick ladled soup into the bowl before gently pushing Conor to the table and setting the now-full bowl in front of him.  Without even realizing what he was doing, Conor started tearing a roll in half and dipping it in the soup - he ate every soup like that, and it was the weirdest thing I had ever seen. But it meant he was calming down, apparently, because he couldn’t rant and eat at the same time, and the man had priorities.

“I’m frustrated, because Huynh wants us to start prototypes for the pre-fabs that we will be using on Von,” he confessed, angrily dunking another chunk of bread and shoving it in his mouth. “I still think it’s too early.  I talked to Noah, and the last information they have about the planet is a decade old.  We aren’t close enough to drop out of whatever FTL we are using and get fresh scans, and we can’t get communications while we’re travelling, apparently, because… FTL.”

I nodded tentatively, encouraging him to go on, and started putting butter on a roll to keep myself calm.  So far, he wasn’t nearly as angry as it usually took for him to start throwing things, and he hadn’t had an episode in a while, so…. So far, so good.

He saw my nod and kept going. “I just think he’s putting the cart before the horse. We shouldn’t be constructing things based on old data, and major climate change can happen over ten years.” We’d found that out the hard way, unfortunately.

“What does Charly think?” Maverick asked.

“She’s on Gamma shift this week, so I didn’t get a chance to ask her,” he confessed sullenly.  At this point, he was out of soup and still trying to stab a piece of bread through the bottom of his bowl, so Maverick gently took it away and refilled it. “Thanks, love. So, I couldn’t ask Charly her suggestion, Huynh won’t listen, and I just… I feel like I’m barking in the wind.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I tried to do everything I was supposed to do.”

“I don’t think it’s working.” Maverick’s statement wasn’t said unkindly, and Conor shrugged and nodded in response. “What else have you and your therapist discussed?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow,” he answered, rather than answering the question.

“Then you need to talk to them about another way to vent your frustration,” Maverick insisted. “And where these anger issues are coming from.”

Conor mumbled something, prompting us to lean forward to better hear him.  When I made a gesture to repeat himself, he sighed. “We’ve talked about that, and I think I know where it’s coming from, it’s just…. It’s embarrassing.”

“It can’t be any more embarrassing than anything you know about either of us,” Maverick tried to point out, prompting me to scowl at him. “Hey! I literally slept through the end of the world.”

That got a chuckle out of Conor, but he got serious again quickly. “The anger…” he started, clearly reluctant. “So, I was an orphan. Parents died when I was - four? Five?” We nodded - this wasn’t new information so far. They’d died in an accident, and neither had any family. He’d mentioned siblings, but they were his foster siblings throughout the years. “I got bounced around the foster system a bit as a kid, but I think I got lucky.  None of my foster families were bad, necessarily, but I think that made it worse when I got moved from home to home.  Every time I started to let myself get close and open up…. I would get taken and moved to another family for one reason or another.  This family moved, that couple got too old to keep fostering kids, one of my foster mom’s got cancer and her wife couldn’t take care of me and Mum at the same time.  No one’s fault but… I felt so betrayed. So I… I started getting angry and pushing people away, making sure that I wouldn’t get close to them just to lose them again.” That word, betrayed, tickled something in my mind.  It was too familiar. “I got moved from family to family even more after that, but it hurt less, right? Because I wasn’t getting attached, and I was being moved because of anger issues. Because of something I did.”

“So… you’re pushing us away?” I asked, not even trying to hide my hurt feelings.

“I’m getting there, swear.” His response was very firm before he picked up where he left off. “Eventually, I turned eighteen, I was on my own, and now I really felt like I had control over my life.  I started an engineering program, I saw a therapist, and a lot of that anger went away.”

“That’s where the You we normally see came out?” Maverick asked, direct as always.

“Yeah. I was happier, calmer… I wasn’t a scared little boy anymore. I felt more stable.”

“And then…?”

“And then the world went tits up,” Conor laughed sadly. “I didn’t have much control over which people were in my life and which weren’t, but it was the After, right? I did manage to find a group who were pretty peaceful, and I stuck it out there.  Then I woke up here, and I could be happy again. I tried to be the version of myself that I liked, instead of that angry little boy.”

That was when it clicked. Betrayed. “Then Arantxa…”

“Yeah, then Arantxa,” he confirmed quietly.  “And you almost died.”

Tyche’s words from the day she busted my lip came back to me. For three weeks, I had to watch you try to figure out if you were going to live or die! Conor had to watch you… “Three times,” I whispered without realizing it.

“Twice,” Conor corrected, not realizing I was talking about what Tyche had said. “Once after you were attacked, and once when we were trying to figure out what was going on with Else.” Huffing, he shoved his now-empty bowl toward Maverick. “Please take that, I’m getting angry again.”

“Thanks for recognizing that,” Maverick nodded. “But I don’t think you’re mad. I think you just feel out of control again thinking about it.”

“That’s what my therapist says,” he admitted. “But inside, it feels like anger. And after Arantxa, when I started feeling that kind of angry, I… I felt like that scared little boy again. I didn’t realize I was doing it, until I started talking to Josh, but they think I subconsciously started pushing you away more every time something would happen.” He took a deep breath to compose himself. “To… I don’t know, make you show me who you ‘really’ are, to make you leave me before you can decide to leave, or before you actually die one time.”

“So, this is about me,” I ventured slowly. “Not Maverick at all.”

“I don’t mean it’s your fault,” Conor objected quickly. “None of this is your fault, that I react the wrong way when I feel like I need more control over situations.”

It started dawning on me what he was talking about. “PTSD.  You’re talking about PTSD. Not just the kind we all have from the After, but… from moving around so much when you were growing up. From not having a secure situation.”  

My mind started racing, connecting the dots.  Before moving in with me, neither Maverick nor Conor had what would have been considered ‘proper’ quarters - both had essentially chosen personal quarters barely big enough for a bed.  Maverick had admitted early on when we were still only friends, that he had chosen his because he never really had anything and spent his entire life after his dad died wandering from place to place, never really belonging. So he had a habit of being ready to pick up and go at a moment’s notice, and tried to take up as little space as possible in the process.  It was no secret - he did it deliberately and had no shame regarding the situation.  

It had never occurred to me that Conor did the same thing without realizing it.

Maverick shook his head.  I thought he was negating what I had said, but then he sighed. “We’re a mess, you know that?” Leaning back, he stretched and put his hands behind his head. “I think we should have a therapy session or four, together, about all this.”

Both Conor and I turned slowly to stare at him, wide-eyed. “When did you start being the sensible one?”

He pointed a finger at me. “You run headfirst into every dangerous situation you can find.” The finger flicked to point at Conor. “And you are convinced you’re an idiot, which is the only idiotic thing I’ve actually heard you say.”  Smugly, he put his hands back behind his head and smiled. “I’ve always been the sensible one.”

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[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 20)

She has left Chin. That was her only intent. But she knows that, that isn’t good enough. Not when her WuJing is within walking distance.

It’s desecrated, skeletal shadow haunts her. She knows that she needs to get out from under its shade. There is nothing in the Earth Kingdom for her anymore anyhow and somehow it has managed to instill more hurt and trauma than the Fire Nation had. It is time to go home.

She isn’t sure what she will do when she gets there, she is certain that they won’t even take her back. Or that they will but they will transfer her right back into an institution where she belongs. But she is going to do it. She is going home.

.oOo.

The grasslands are so empty and so vast. And this time she only has her own mind for company. She hasn’t even a mongoose-lizard nor an ostrich horse. And by Agni, her mind isn’t good company.

It yells at her. Chastises her. Mocks her for being too weak to protect herself and her family. Mocks her doubly for letting herself sink so far under. She thinks that she has managed to put herself in a worse state than the one she had been in on the day of Sozin’s Comet. At least she’d had some fight in her then. Some scrap of dignity to be retained. This Azula is simply pathetic. Pathetic and lonely and directionless. More so than before.

At one point, somewhere around a week and a half into the grassland she stops walking. Her feet are sore and her shoes are becoming worn. Her back aches and her belly pangs more often than not, she has nothing to fill it with. Having exhausted all other options, she resorts to eating grass. She finds out the hard way that this is a mistake.

That night was spent without any progress at all. That night was spent doubled over and queasy and heaving. By the end of it her sides ache and her stomach is somehow emptier and achier than before. She thinks that she may be seeing her loved ones sooner than she had imagined.

She is in a much worse state than before she’d consumed the grass. Her throat is dry and her body shakes. She quite literally drags herself for several excruciating miles. Only when she hears the sound of a stream does she will herself to her feet.

And only when she actually sees the stream does she hasten her pace. She is desperate with thirst and near ferally ravenous. She cups her hands and takes mouthfuls of water, lapping at it as though it will disappear if she doesn’t consume it fast enough.

She has the sense to stop for a moment and refill her waterskins.  She is thankful that she had found the courage and willpower to enter Wujing one last time to gather some supplies for her journey.

Hunger makes fishing difficult, but desperation makes it doable. She cooks her first fish while she catches her next few. Her next dozen. She isn’t sure when she will come by her next meal so she eats until she is nearly sick.  

Until she feels sluggish as she forces herself onwards. She thinks that she is only delaying the inevitable. The grasslands had been nearly uncrossable with a mount, to take them on foot, she realizes, had been an extended invitation to death.

Occasionally her mind wanders to a more pleasant place. Occasionally the field resembles a hill on the southern outskirts of Wujing.

This hill had been the perfect place for a picnic. The day before, they had made kites. She had made herself a blue dragon, Hajime had made himself a plain diamond with bright and intricate drawings, and Atsu tried his very hardest to make a badgermole.

Food was anything but scarce on this grassy hill. Ojihara’s family had come to join them and with baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables. And by late afternoon, it was a town event.

But to Azula it will always be a family memory. She was only two or three months pregnant then, but Hajime still pampered her as though she were at least six months along. She held her kite out and watched Atsu and Caihong race with theirs down the hillside. She wasn’t sure who the third child was but she tripped and Atsu helped her up. She remembers the feeling of Hajime’s arms wrapping around her middle. The feeling of his lips against the nape of her neck. She remembers the gentle caress of his hand over her bump and the breeze that tugged at her hair. She remembers having cupped her hand over his.

She remembers the moment being ruined by the breeze picking up their picnic blanket and slamming into the both of them. Their kites had knotted around one another. She remembers that she wasn’t angry or vexed. In fact she vividly recalls Hajime practically falling over with laughter as she tried to untangle the both of them from the blanket. If only the kites hadn’t tangled them up as well. Ultimately Seukhyun was the one to free them.

She remembers declaring that she was going to go back to eating strawberries and letting the children play with kites. She remembers Hajime laying down next to her and feeding her the strawberries.

She misses being spoiled like that. She misses hearing his laugh. Hearing Atsu’s laugh. Misses laughter in general.

That day she learns not to take things for granted.

.oOo.

She draws back and Sokka says nothing for a very long time. Agonizingly long. She should have just stumbled her way through an awkward declaration of love.  That probably would have been far less awkward. Perhaps she had gauged their interactions the wrong way. Her face is flushed quite vividly.

Sokka still doesn’t say a thing. He isn’t Hajime and she shouldn’t have made a move so abruptly. She would rise up and make a hasty retreat for her room, but they are still sitting upon her bed. Of course she could retreat to any of the guest rooms or the training room or perhaps  to take another bath just to have a bath…

She hasn’t quite stood fully when she feels a hand come around her wrist. Sokka gently pulls her back to the mattress, still silent. She thinks that he might be looking for something to say. And she supposes that it would have been rude to have kissed and fled.

“Sorry.” She grumbles at last.

“For what?” He asks.

She touches her fingers to his lips. “I thought that you…” he gives her fingers a small kiss before taking her hand and giving the back of it another small kiss.

“I don’t want you to apologize.” He rubs the back of his head. “I was actually kind of waiting for you to do that.”

“You were?”

“Sure.” He replies. “Though I kind of thought that you were going to kiss me while we were gardening.”

Apparently, even when she has the right emotion, she still has the wrong timing. It had been Hajime who had done much of the work. Hajime who had guided her in the right direction. There had been so many little signs and hints along the way. And then he’d ultimately given her their first real kiss. It had felt right. Natural.

This feels different. It feels jarring and frightening somehow. And maybe it is because she is still apprehensive about finding love at all. With anyone who isn’t Hajime. She isn’t sure that it would be fair to begin a relationship when her last one is still so heavily there. She knows what she will do if she should choose to pursue. She knows that she will compare every little aspect of Sokka--every little thing that he does--to Hajime. And how can she do that to him? How can she put him in a position where he’d be second choice to a dead man.  

She doesn’t think that she can do this. It had been an impulse decision. A spur of the moment action. She doesn’t even know if she loves him; isn’t love supposed to take time? It had taken her a year to decide to marry Hajime, and months before she even kissed him. It had taken time and she has only been around Sokka for a short while. And yet it feels the same as it felt with Hajime. Sokka is fun. He is patient. He is easy to be around.

She is hard to be around. Hard and awkward and confused.

She stiffly apologizes again, gets to her feet, and in one fluid motion, pulls herself from his grasp and out into the hallway.

Somehow this feels just as wrong as kissing him. She doesn’t want to make a rebound of him, neither does she want to write him off.

Azula steals away into the palace hot springs. She casts her robes aside and submerges herself as though her conflict and distress can roll off of her body with the steam. As though she can scrub her troubles away with a bar of soap and a handful of shampoo. She stays in the water until her skin goes wrinkly. And then a little longer after that.

She hadn’t the foresight to grab her pajamas so she changes back into her day clothes.

Somewhere deep within, she hopes that Sokka will be sitting on her bed when she gets back.

He isn’t.

She thinks that she must love him if it hurts this bad to see that he wouldn’t be waiting on her to get it together. She is a fool and she doesn’t know what she is doing. He doesn’t have time to wait for her to figure it out. Likely, he thinks that she has been playing some cruel game with him, just for the sake of making him upset. It is what she would have done some years earlier.

At least she won’t have to worry about tragically losing another lover. She had a second chance and she has already let it go. And for what?

Yes, she definitely loves him. She would be able to sleep if she didn’t.

[love-killed-the-superstar]

super late but here is day 6!! also: if the cottage was actually destroyed i’m sorry, but i combed through TOTS a LOT and couldn’t seem to find any proof it was actually fully destroyed so... please just suspend your disbelief for this one, lads

CASSUNZEL WEEK DAY 6 - TRUST AND HEALING

Interior decorating is something Rapunzel never figured she and Cass would have in common, but somehow, here they are.

To be perfectly honest, when Rapunzel decided to return to Gothel’s old cottage (or what was left of it, anyway) she wasn’t really sure how Cassandra would take the news. How exactly does one explain that they’re rebuilding your nearly-destroyed childhood home that may or may not hold a boatload of trauma inside its walls? In the end she had taken the coward’s way out and written her to break the news, fully expecting to be met with silence on Cass’s end, as so often happens when she receives news that’s hard to swallow. The fact that she returned to Corona less than a month after the letter had been sent surprised Rapunzel to no end.

(“So, we’ve got our work cut out for us,” she had said nonchalantly, climbing off of Fidella’s back and rolling up her sleeves as Rapunzel stared in shock. “Where should we start?”

“I-I didn’t think you’d actually – well, hang on a moment,” Rapunzel had replied, chickening out of the tough conversation. “Let me just find my clipboard.”)

Cass has been… a little quiet on the matter, to be honest. It’s been easy enough to keep distracted by the house; the foundation and floors have been rebuilt where they’d been torn through by black rocks, and Rapunzel had the roof rethatched several weeks earlier. Cassandra has thrown herself into repairing furniture, refitting the window panes and getting the water mill back up and running again, while Rapunzel has taken to repairing torn curtains, scrubbing mould and mildew and moss from the walls, weeding the cracks where plant life has inevitably sprung up from and filling them in afterwards. The effort to seal up the entrance to Gothel’s strange underground mirror lair takes the both of them, and although neither of them have much to say, it gives Rapunzel a grim satisfaction that the burned, smashed up hideout can’t be reached any longer.

This part of fixing the house takes just over two weeks of dawn-til-dusk of hard work, and each evening they ride back to the castle and fall into Rapunzel’s bed, too tired to really talk about it. Eugene finds the whole thing bizarre and doesn’t shy away from telling them so, but Rapunzel kind of got the feeling that he wouldn’t understand it from the moment she mentioned the idea to him.

(“Why are you dragging this ordeal out?” he had asked her one night, just two days before Cass showed up at the house without warning. “And why bring Cass into it at all? I don’t want to police your process, but isn’t it time to put Gothel behind you both and… learn to let go of the past?”

Rapunzel hadn’t known how to answer him. “It’s just something I want to do,” she had said instead. “And Gothel hurt her too, Eugene. I can’t keep it from her.”)

They don’t need to talk about it; not if they don’t want to. Rapunzel and Cassandra seem to have come to a silent agreement that they won’t push for some big heart-to-heart that ends in tears, or an argument that eventually turns into a greater understanding of each other’s pasts.

When it comes to the house that Gothel built, nothing really needs to be said at all. Right?

…

“I can’t believe we’ve done this, Cass.”

“Tell me about it. What exactly ignited this passion project of yours, anyway?”

“I wanted to breathe new life into this place, I guess.”

The two of them stand back and stare at their surroundings in satisfaction. There’s no more cobwebs or ivy or moss covering the walls, and where there are stains Rapunzel has thrown on a cream wash. The floors and ceiling and roof are repaired, the windows are no longer cracked and smashed, and the creak of the water mill can be heard faintly from outside. The salvaged furniture is stacked up in the centre of the room, and Rapunzel has decided that tomorrow they’ll take a trip to the market to replace the items that were too far gone to be saved.

Today, they’re focusing on the walls.

Rapunzel’s vision is a little… eclectic. Pale, neutral walls might be best, and perhaps they can be accented with floral imagery, or maybe even a mural of the cottage itself. Another part of her, however, dreams in full colour; cerulean walls, or perhaps celadon, with bright sunny yellow flowers and trees with purple leaves – and why stop there? She could paint some horses in a meadow, or birds soaring through the sky. Why not paint fairies, unicorns, dragons? Make this house its own storybook experience?

“I’m so torn on my vision,” she confesses to Cassandra as she stands between buckets upon buckets of paint, an entire rainbow of choice laid out in front of her. “I need a better idea of what to paint before I can even think about washes. Any thoughts?”

“I’m a little creatively stinted, Rapunzel,” Cass deadpans. “I thought you had a clear vision of this place when you started out?”

“I can’t narrow it down. Do I want to go simple, or do I want to completely transform this place?”

Cass shrugs listlessly, sitting down cross-legged by the stacks of furniture. “You just have to listen to your gut.”

Oh, if guts could talk, Rapunzel would be all ears. Her frown deepens as she contemplates her options. Maybe she should find a compromise. Pale walls, vibrant art? Maybe that will work best.

Hesitantly, she reaches for a muted green (the bedroom area can be a forest mural now, she’s decided, or maybe a marsh) and heads over to a wall in need of a fresh coat. Cassandra joins her, a comically large paintbrush in hand, and they paint in a sullen silence.

“So, Cass. I’m… I’m glad you came back to help me out with this,” Rapunzel ventures. “You didn’t have to.”

“You sounded afraid in your letter,” Cass says coolly, with a long sweeping stroke. “Like you thought I would be angry at you for doing this, so I thought I should come back. Besides, I… I wanted to see it for myself.”

Cassandra can be frustratingly hard to read sometimes, and now happens to be one such instance. Rapunzel isn’t sure what she wants right now. It was easy enough not to talk at first, but something about pouring some of her own flair into these walls makes her uneasy – has her overcome with this urge to get everything off their chests before she proceeds. What memories does Cass have of this place? Does it hurt to be here, even if she refuses to show it? Is there some good left in this place, parts that Cassandra might not want to let go of?

“Do you like what you see?” Rapunzel asks quietly.

“...I don’t know yet. I need a fuller picture before I draw any conclusions.”

Rapunzel feels like – hopes – she has some insight into how Cass might be feeling right now. Returning to the tower for the first time since reuniting with her family had given her all sorts to think about, and watching it fall had filled her with a nauseating combination of crisis and catharsis. After all, there were some good memories amongst all the long, drawn out days of agonising boredom and walking on eggshells around Gothel, always so afraid of saying the wrong thing and making everything worse. It wasn’t love, and her world was so small before she left the tower behind.

Even if her time with Gothel was far briefer, Rapunzel can’t help but wonder if Cassandra holds echoes of fond memories somewhere in there, as few and far between as they may have been.

“You know, when I returned to this place, I didn’t think the house would be salvageable,” Rapunzel confesses to the silence. “Given the spike tearing through it, and the way the mountain crumbled inside, I figured it would probably have fallen apart. So seeing that there was still a chance to restore it… I don’t know. I couldn’t really think about anything else, for weeks afterwards. In the end, Eugene just told me to get it all out of my system. He’s not exactly happy about it, but…”

“Well sure, the wedding will suck if you’re too busy thinking about complimentary paint colours to focus on your vows,” Cass points out dryly. Rapunzel laughs.

“Yeah, you have a point.” As she goes to dip her paintbrush again, she glances to the wall adjacent; cream, blank, inviting.

“...Do you have a date in mind yet?”

“Not yet. We’re thinking spring or summer though. We need time to get all the arrangements together, after all.” Rapunzel purses her lip. “You know, I think I’m going to start on some detailing. Mind finishing this off?”

Cass nods, and carries on in that same long silence. Rapunzel moves onto the wall. She envisions a recreation of that cottage. She’s been sketching it a lot, lately, and goes to retrieve her journal.

“You’re making a mural of the cottage?” Cass wrinkles her nose as Rapunzel leans the journal up against a beam at the edge of the wall. “So you step inside, just to see the outside all over again?”

“Well, it’s picturesque!” Rapunzel says. She lingers, paintbrush trailing in the beige she picked out for the base of the house. “Unless you don’t want me to paint it?”

A pause. “No, go ahead. Paint it. It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

Rapunzel begins slowly at first, glancing between the wall in front of her and the woman two metres away, still listlessly dragging the brush. She’s changed a little; her hair is getting longer, scraped back into a slightly lopsided ponytail to keep it out the way. Rapunzel is tempted to drag a comb through and tie it more evenly, but judging from the tension in Cassandra’s shoulders, it would probably be met with resistance.

After a while, however, Rapunzel soon falls into the trance of painting – absorbed into the gentle strokes of the brush, planning the subtle lighting and how to translate the details of the house in simple splotches of paint. She even forgets her original plight to talk things through with Cass, losing her awareness of the world around her until it is simply her and the brush and the wall, coming together to paint this fairytale home, where from now on only good things will happen and happy memories will be made and no child will ever feel abandoned or unwanted or hurt ever again–

“Rapunzel!”

Cass grabs her arm and Rapunzel jerks out of her vision, staring at her in confusion. Her paintbrush, dripping jade, is just inches from the edge of the beam in the corner. The stretch of grass she was in the middle of painting now has an uneven glob that slowly rolls down like a teardrop. Cass grips her arm tight, eyes bright with alarm.

“Cassandra, what’s wrong?”

“I…” Her grip loosens and, brow furrowing, she releases Rapunzel’s arm. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong, you just…”

“I just?” Rapunzel prompts, bewildered.

“The beam. You were – you were going to get paint on the beam.”

“Oh. Uh, good reflexes! I didn’t realise.” She laughs nervously. “Guess I got a little carried away, huh?”

“Yeah, well.” Cass mutters, stepping back. She sets her paintbrush back in its bucket and runs her fingers through her hair, uncaring that she smudges green paint against her scalp in the process. “Just be careful, Rapunzel, all right?”

“Uh, sure.” Rapunzel frowns. “Cass, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Raps.” She turns her back. “Look, I’m going to get some fresh air.”

She heads towards the door without looking back, leaving the door wide open and swinging as she goes. Rapunzel watches after her, thoroughly confused, before turning back to the wall. Maybe Cassandra does hate the mural. Maybe she hates everything Rapunzel is doing right now, and is just here to intervene when things get too much? After all, things have been strange between them since she returned. They’ve barely hugged or kissed or held hands, and Rapunzel knows they’re not in the giddy, starry-eyed closeness stage of their relationship anymore, and Cass has never been huge on big gestures of affection, but still… it’s impossible to ignore this atmosphere any longer.

As she sets her own paint brush aside, dejected, something catches the corner of her eye and she pauses. There’s something on the beam. When Rapunzel looks, she can’t work out at first why it grabbed her attention; it’s just a chip in the wood, a scrape maybe, but it’s fairly deep. She only noticed it from bending over, it’s not too far off the ground… and that’s when she sees more scratches. Some are shallower than others, some more controlled and some extremely wobbly and veering off to one side. But she can make out that they’re more than just someone chipping away at wood when they’re bored. There are… scribbles, wonky bodies, twigs for arms.

The lower part of the beam is covered in a child’s carvings.

The longer Rapunzel stares, the colder she begins to feel inside. This beam isn’t the only one; there are dozens of wooden trimmings, as her feet carry her across the room, and each with the same cast of characters – a tall scribble and a shorter scribble. Mother and daughter.

She needs to find Cass.

Rapunzel doesn’t need to look hard. She barely takes two steps outside before she sees the glint of Cassandra’s sword as it slashes through the air, sparring with herself. If she hears Rapunzel approach, she doesn’t acknowledge her until Rapunzel offers, “I saw the carvings. I’m sorry, Cass.”

“Why be sorry? You didn’t know they were there,” she mutters, swinging again, and again. “Nobody did. Even I didn’t, until we started the wash. Once we were standing there, the memories kind of hit me all at once.”

“They were yours, then.” No response. “...They looked quite advanced, for a four-year-old’s drawings.”

“Well, what else was I supposed to do to pass the time, once the floors had been swept and the beds had been made?” Cass snaps. Another swing. “I had nothing but free time with the house to myself, after all.”

“Cass, can we please talk about this without the deadly weapon thrown in?” Rapunzel pleads. Cass ignores her. Another swing.

“I’m just lucky she was never around long enough to really pay attention to them. I mean, can you imagine how she would have scolded me? Or worse?” Another swing.

“Cassandra, please. Put down the sword. Let me near you.”

“I don’t get it, Rapunzel! Why did… why did I just – why did I ever let Zhan Tiri fool me into thinking she might have loved me?”

“Cass, stop!”

Cass raises her sword to strike again when she feels arms wrap around her waist, halting her in her tracks. Rapunzel clings on, pressing her cheek to Cassandra’s back and feeling her erratic breathing as she stands still, finally allowing the sword to lower gently.

“...Why did it have to be this cottage, Rapunzel?” she croaks. “Isn’t it better to leave it all buried?”

“I don’t think so,” Rapunzel whispers. “Darling, I don’t think that will work forever.”

Cass sinks to her knees, taking Rapunzel with her, and they kneel in silence as the breeze rustles the trees around them.

“I feel sick,” Cass says dully, setting her sword down in the grass. Rapunzel presses her forehead to the space between Cassandra’s shoulder blades, breathing in her smell, trying to soothe her somehow.

“This is too weird, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

“Rapunzel, it’s so fucking weird.” Rapunzel winces. Cass does well not to curse in front of her, but, well… maybe now isn’t the best time to comment on it. “You never even lived here. Why do you have this need to mold it to your worldview instead of letting it rot away quietly like everybody else was happy to do?”

“This is a beautiful place,” Rapunzel protests. “Isn’t it beautiful? Why should it have to die because of the terrible things she did? You were born in this cottage, Cassandra, that means something! Gothel was a horrible person and she made both of our lives miserable, but – but that doesn’t mean we can’t still find something beautiful in this place.”

“Not everything has to be beautiful, or even saved. Fixing a house isn’t going to fix us, is it?”

The sharpness of her words cut right through Rapunzel, and pulls away from Cass, stunned. Cass cranes her neck to face her, regret already written all over.

“You’re right. I’m a fool, aren’t I, Cass? Because I – I actually hoped it would.” Rapunzel buries her head in her hands. “Darn it, I… I want to move on, just like you do. I always think I’m over the tower and Gothel, but then when I found this place… I just thought about how good it would feel to take it away from her and make it beautiful and then some new family could live here, a loving family who take care of each other and don’t b-belittle their kids…”

Cass turns around fully, and reaches over to squeeze Rapunzel’s shoulders.

“Don’t, Raps. You’re not foolish for wanting those things, all right? I just… I don’t think painting some walls will bring you any closure. And being here, surrounded by all these things that remind us of her, isn’t helping either.”

“I shouldn’t have written to you. Eugene told me to leave you out of this because he knew this was a bad idea and we’d both get hurt from it, but I didn’t listen, and now-”

“Seriously, stop. Do not give Fitzherbert the satisfaction of being right about something.” Rapunzel peeks up at her, and Cass offers her a small smile. “I didn’t feel like this the whole time. It has been kind of fun, repairing things and putting it all back together, but then I’d remember where we were and wonder why we were doing this, and – and I didn’t know how to even talk to you about it.”

“I thought you just didn’t want to talk, so I didn’t try to push it.” Rapunzel smiles faintly. “Eugene is going out of his mind, trying to understand the logic of the situation.”

“He’s not the only one.” Cass leans forward and kisses Rapunzel softly. “Look, if you truly believe that redecorating will somehow cleanse this house of Gothel forever and give us some catharsis, I’ll trust your judgement. But only if you trust mine when I say that this isn’t the only way to do that.”

Rapunzel nods, leaning over to kiss her back.

“I’m sorry Gothel hurt you,” she murmurs. Cass sighs sadly.

“I’m sorry she hurt you too.”

“I wish Zhan Tiri hadn’t forced you to remember all of this, but… do you regret knowing?” Rapunzel asks, running a thumb across Cassandra’s cheek soothingly. Cass leans into her touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“No. I always knew something was missing, so even though it hurts, at least the pieces are all there. I just – I wish it had gone differently, that’s all. I wish she had been different.”

They sit in silence, neither sure of what else to say, and Rapunzel glances back over at the house. It stands stout and quiet, charming on the outside, but somehow she can't bring herself to go back inside. “...You know, maybe we should leave it for today.”

Cass quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Really? It’s barely noon, and the walls won’t paint themselves.”

“It’ll still be standing tomorrow! Besides, we’ve been perfect strangers since you came back. I want to take a moment just to be with you.”

She flops back, stretching out on the soft grass and staring up at the cloudless sky above. It truly is beyond beautiful out here. Cassandra’s face hovers over hers, presses a kiss to her brow, and then she lies back beside her.

“You know, when you take Gothel out of the equation, this place is really peaceful,” Cass comments.

“If we have our way, by the time we’re done no one will associate it with her ever again,” Rapunzel agrees. “Wouldn’t it be nice?”

“Paradise,” Cass remarks, and Rapunzel can hear the wry smile in her voice as she speaks. “It would be just paradise.”

When it comes to the house that Gothel built, they’re going to build it back up, better than ever before. Nothing else needs to be said. The clouds drift on and they lie there, hand in hand.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong: Chapter 11 And Mother Will Catch You

Chapter 10

Read on AO3

Claire was woken from a deep sleep by the sound of whimpering. It took her several seconds to comprehend what she was hearing. She slowly turned herself over; changing positions in bed was getting more and more difficult in this, the middle of the fifth month of her pregnancy. Once she was finally facing toward the center of the bed, realization came crashing into her.

“Fergus?”

He was murmuring incoherently in French, tossing his head back and forth, kicking his legs.

“Fergus, it’s alright.” Claire struggled to sit herself up and gently touched his shoulder.

Claire’s heart was breaking, and she felt pangs of guilt surge through her. It had been over a year since Fergus had had his last nightmare, or so she’d thought. Had she been so consumed with her own grief that she had missed that her son was still struggling with his trauma?

“Fergus, love, I’m here. Wake up, it’s alright.”

She gave him a gentle shake, and his eyes finally popped open with a ragged gasp. His whole body froze for a moment, his eyes frantically searching his surroundings, then finally landing on Claire’s face.

“You’re safe, Fergus. I’m here. You’re safe.” She stroked his hair, watching as he slowly came out of his terror. He gradually dissolved into tears, and Claire scooped him into her arms, holding him close.

“He came for me! He dragged me away from you, right out of your arms! You were screaming, and he shot you! He killed you and the baby!”

“We’re alright, darling.” She rocked him and kissed his head. “I promise.”

“There was no one to protect me, he dragged me into the woods and he…he…”

“Shh…darling…” Claire blinked away her tears. “He is dead and gone. He will never, ever hurt you again. And there will always be someone to protect you. Always.”

“It hurt like it was real, Maman…” he whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart, I know…” Claire could not stop the tear that escaped her eye, unable to stop herself from imagining the pain he spoke of. “Oh, my poor darling…everything will be alright. I’m here.”

He wept quietly for several more minutes, Claire rocking him, kissing him. Fergus had not slept beside her in a few weeks now. She’d figured he wouldn’t do it forever, of course. Even now he was older than most boys that still enjoyed sharing a bed with their mothers. Today he’d asked out of the blue if he could join her again, and she’d of course agreed, figuring he’d just been missing his father a bit extra.

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“Fergus?” Claire said gently. “Is this the first nightmare you’ve had in a while? Or have there been others lately?”

He didn’t answer right away, but she let him take his time.

“There have been more,” he finally admitted. “I thought…I thought maybe if I slept beside you it would stop. I am sorry for waking you…”

“No, no…” Claire took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. I am your mother, and this is exactly what I’m here for.” She kissed his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having nightmares? I could have given you some herbs to help you sleep better.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said, averting his eyes. “Worry is not good for the baby.”

“I have two children to care for, Fergus. I think mon petit will understand if his mother has to worry about her other child for a while.”

Fergus nodded. “I was…ashamed, too, Maman,” he said. “It was so long ago, and I did not have any dreams for a long time. I thought it had…stopped.”

“I understand. Sometimes our dreams like to remind us of things we thought we’d already forgotten. It’s happened to me with lots of different things. Before Prestonpans I was…reminded of something terrible from another war I was part of, something I thought I’d forgotten.”

“When you fell, in the grass,” Fergus said. “I remember.”

Claire nodded. “It’s also happened to Jamie.”

“To Milord? I do not believe it.”

Claire smiled sadly. Jamie was an untouchable, infallible pillar of strength to this boy, and perhaps he always would be. “It’s true. I used to hold him and soothe him in our bed, just like I’m doing to you now.” He finally met her eyes again. “So you see? There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Fergus nodded hesitantly. “I do not…want to go back to sleep, Maman.”

“I understand.” She ran a hand through his curls again. “How would you like to go for a walk outside? I heard the weather in July is loveliest in the dead of night,” she teased.

He nodded. Claire got out of bed and pulled her robe on. She slid her feet into her slippers as Fergus pulled on his boots. They quietly tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

They left the house through the back door, and Claire wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into her as they walked aimlessly through the grounds. They eventually reached the mill, and Claire smiled at the sound of the rushing water, the sight of the mill turning.

“Would you like to hear a story about Jamie and this mill?” she said as they got closer.

“Yes, I would.”

“The first time he ever brought me home to Lallybroch the mill wasn’t working. So, being the pigheaded fool that he was, he marched himself over here and stripped down to just his shirt, and jumped into the water.” They stopped at the bank of the water, watching it flow, listening to the soothing white noise.

“Did he fix it?”

“Well, while he was in there, some Redcoats started riding toward us, and he still had a price on his head at that time. He took a deep breath and went under, and he stayed there the whole time. Jenny tried to get them to leave, but one of them insisted he could fix the mill. Somehow, while he was under the water with hardly any breath left, Jamie managed to get the mill moving again, and he’d put his shirt on one of the paddles to stop them from inspecting the cause of the problem.”

“So he was naked under there?” Fergus said.

“As the day he was born.” Claire shook her head, remembering how much she’d wanted to throttle him at the time. “When they left and he came up for air he had to cover himself with his hands.” Fergus laughed. “He looked quite foolish.”

“That sounds like Milord!”

Claire laughed as well, wrapping her other arm around him as well, rubbing his upper arm and resting her chin atop his head.

“Can you tell me more about him?” Fergus asked. “I never realized…or I never thought about your lives before Paris. I always thought of you as being in that house forever, but of course you were not.”

Claire’s heart swelled, leaving her feeling full and yet painfully empty. To be able to share details of Jamie’s life with her son would bring her such joy, and yet the fact remained that the reason she had to be the one to do so was because Jamie himself was dead. 

“Why don’t we sit down, hm?” She suggested, and she and Fergus settled into the grass. The night had left it wet with dew, but neither of them seemed to care. It was soothing to feel its coolness, in combination with the late night breeze that passed over them.

“Well, my first interaction with Jamie was putting his dislocated shoulder back into place.”

Fergus laughed. “Exactly as I would imagine!”

Claire laughed as well, and then proceeded to spin the tale of those first nights, Jamie stubbornly refusing to reveal his gunshot wound, toppling off the horse unconscious. How he’d threatened to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off; how much she’d utterly despised him in the beginning.

At some point, Fergus had laid his head in her lap, and just as she’d finished relaying the night that she’d caught him sleeping outside her door, she was interrupted by the sound of his even, heavy breathing. She sighed, gently running her fingers through his hair. Despite the catharsis that it brought her to talk about the time she had cherished with Jamie, it still overwhelmed her with the reminder of his absence, and it made her heart ache.

After briefly indulging her grief, she turned her attention back to the sleeping boy in her lap. She’d have to pay closer attention to him. She’d had no idea that he was suffering nightmares lately. She’d have to observe him closer during the day, make sure there was nothing triggering it, and she’d have to be sure to give him that tea that she’d given Jamie in Paris to soothe his nightmares. And of course let him stay in her bed for as many nights as he needed before he felt safe in his own mind again.

Her eyes felt heavy, and her head lolled from side to side. If she were able, she’d scoop him up into her arms and carry him to bed so they could both sleep through the rest of the night, but unfortunately he was too big for her. She suddenly had the strange realization that she’d never even known him to be small enough for her to pick up, and with that realization came a small pang of sadness. She wondered what he’d been like as a baby, as a little boy. Had he come out of the womb with that wild mop of curls? His eyes must have taken up half of his head when he was little. She smiled softly at the thought. He was a beautiful baby, I’m sure of it.

Jamie would carry him to bed if he were here.

As much as she craved sleep, she could not bring herself to wake him, and nor would she leave him alone in the grass. She leaned back on her hands and let her head hang loose, her eyes closed. She breathed in the earthy smell of Scotland, the fresh scent of the water as it ran by them. The sky had gradually turned from black, littered with stars, to the blank, grey-blue of early dawn.

Just as she thought she was about to fall asleep sitting up, she felt something unmistakable inside of her. Her head jolted up and her hands flew to her stomach. Then it came again, a gentle thud from the inside, pressing into her hand.

She exhaled loudly in awe. After a quiet moment of disbelief, he kicked again.

“Fergus,” Claire stammered. “Fergus, wake up!”

At that moment, she couldn't even think of how she should likely not be disturbing his sleep. Keeping one hand on her stomach, she shook him by the shoulder with the other.

“Maman?” he said groggily. “Are you alright?”

She wordlessly took hold of his hand and pressed it onto her protruding stomach. Confused, he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the hand that was not being pinned down by Claire.

“He kicked, Fergus.”

Any trace of sleepiness immediately vanished from his face, and his eyes lit up. “Mon petit?”

“Yes, yes! Just wait…he’ll do it again…”

As if on cue, another soft thud came again, and Claire cried out with joy, and Fergus gasped.

“You felt it?”

“Oui, Maman!” He beamed up at her for a split second before glueing his eyes back on her stomach. “It is incroyable!”

Claire laughed, tears leaking out of the corners of her crinkled eyes. “It is, isn’t it?”

Fergus pressed both of his hands into her now, waiting patiently for the next movement. They waited with bated breath, but nothing else came.

“He’s all done now, I suppose,” Claire sighed.

“He tired himself out, no?” Fergus looked up at her again.

“Seems that way.”

“Does it hurt?” he asked curiously.

“Not at all,” Claire assured him.

“Will he remember when he comes out? That he kicked his brother?”

Claire smiled wistfully. “He might.”

Fergus beamed proudly.

“I’m so glad you were here for it.” Claire cupped his cheek. “All this time I imagined feeling it and…having no one to turn to like I did with Faith.”

“We promised each other we would not be alone, Maman. I am glad I was here, too.”

Claire pulled him in to embrace him and kissed the top of his head.

“Now, we don’t have to go to sleep, but I think we’d better at least go inside before your Auntie Jenny has a heart attack upon realizing we’ve disappeared.”

Fergus chuckled. “Alright, Maman.”

He stood up and then she gave him her hands to help her off the ground. It was trickier than she’d have liked it to be.

“God, this isn't even the largest I’ll be, and I can already hardly move…” she groaned, leaning into Fergus as they ventured back into the house.

“Do not worry, Maman. I will fetch whatever you need if you cannot move."

“I appreciate that, darling, but I actually need to keep moving. Of course I need rest, and I…I learned my lesson about running myself ragged.” She shuddered guilty at the horrible memory of her loss in Paris. “But it’s very healthy for me to go on walks, keep the blood and air flowing. For me and the baby.”

“Then our walk tonight was good, no?”

“Yes, it was. For both of us.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Oui, Maman.”

Once they were back inside and in Claire’s bedroom, it took Claire all of two minutes to fall dead asleep, feeling guilty even as she did it, because she could not stay awake to make sure Fergus fell asleep again. The last thing she felt before she fell asleep was a tentative, brief kiss on the largest, roundest part of her stomach. Her heart burst, overwhelmed with love for her sweet, affectionate boy, and she let the comfort of his presence, his love, and his devotion carry her to sleep.

[kyoujurous-eyebrows]

can i request headcanons (or whatever you see more fit!) for Rengoku when his s/o gets abducted, and after a few days when he is able to find them and their captors they are severely hurt and nearly dead, maybe even missing body parts? What if they survive? What if they die in his arms? (I'M SORRY IF THIS IS TOO GRUESOME FEEL FREE TO DENY IT ;v;)

Had to put in a cut since this ended up very looong

Also I got very giddy with this request Lettuce, thank you so much 💕

Rengoku Kyoujurou x Abducted!Reader

Angst

Words: 1.4k

TW: Blood, Gore (Missing Body Parts)

Rengoku Kyoujurou sat on the engawa of his home, patiently awaiting your return. You had sent him a message with your kasugaigarasu that you would be returning home tonight, and he couldn’t wait to see you. His leg was bouncing with his excitement, heart starting to beat rapidly as the minutes passed by. One hour, two hours, three… He waited until almost four o’clock in the morning when his father, Shinjuro, yelled at him to get some rest. Needless to say, the Flame Pillar was a little disappointed.

Everything will be fine! (Y/N) is a capable fighter and is probably just running a little late on the mission. Perhaps it rained where they are! Kyoujurou dismissed the gnawing feeling in his gut with his positive attitude and went to sleep.

He awoke to a cold futon and you nowhere to be seen. It was currently ten o’clock; he had overslept. Swiftly Kyoujurou got himself changed into his slayer garbs, grabbed his sword, and headed to the Ubuyashiki manor to see if you would be there, making your report. The walk took little to no time at all with his speed and soon he was hastily making his way towards the master’s chambers.

“Excuse me! Oyakata-sama!” He announced before sliding the shoji screen open. “I was wondering if (Y/N) had returned from their mission yet?” Ubuyashiki Kagaya regarded the passionate man with a soft smile.

“My apologies Kyoujurou, but they have not returned yet. Did you get their crow’s message?” Kyoujurou gave a nod of his head. “Then I’m sure they’re fine. We both know how capable a slayer they are.”

“Mm! Thank you for your words Oyakata-sama. If you’ll excuse me then!” Kyoujurou closed the shoji screen and headed instead for the Butterfly Estate. Perhaps you had gotten injured and weren’t able to make a report yet? He reassured himself once again, pushing the gnawing feeling even deeper. A quick check into the Butterfly Estate ward told him his answer. Feeling mildly defeated, he wandered around town for a bit before returning home.

I’m sure they’ll return tomorrow! There’s no need to be worried, they can take care of themselves! Kyoujurou would soon hate himself for thinking those words.

Three days. Three days had passed since he had gotten the message from your kasugaigarasu. The gnawing feeling he had grew stronger with each passing day until all he could think about was it. Did you get injured on your way back and couldn’t move? Did Kibutsuji somehow reach you? What if you had called for his help but he never received it since he was too busy looking for you? His mind was plagued with terrible thoughts, though he tried his best to keep that sunshine smile on his face.

A caw from outside grabbed his attention and he was bounding out into the courtyard as fast as he could. He saw your crow slowly flapping it’s way towards the home, and made a nose dive when it saw the Flame Pillar.

“Caw! Message for Rengoku Kyoujurou! (Y/N) has been abducted! Caw! They need your help, caw!” The crow was injured and looked nappy, like it had barely escaped with its life. Kyoujurou grabbed his sword and ran out into the streets, your crow sitting on his shoulder.

The crow did their best to guide him towards your location. He had to borrow a horse while passing through one of the towns, realising he was not going to make it to you fast enough on foot. The crow pointed its injured wing towards a worn down temple just off a path into a forest. Kyoujurou quietly tied the horse to a tree before sneaking up to the building; faint voices could be heard inside, all male. Kyoujurou made a circle of the temple, peeking through one of the broken boards. He saw a group of people all standing around something he couldn’t see. They were talking and pointing to it, laughing and then kicking it.

Coming back to the front, he casually opened the half broken shoji door and stared down the group, hand already placed on his sword. The room smelled terribly of blood and rot and a random thought passed quickly through Kyoujurou’s head. Tanjiro would die in here!

The group of people noticed him and immediately turned. They seemed to be demons and at their feet, the thing they were kicking, was your unconscious body. The minute Kyoujurou saw this, his blood began to boil and the whole room grew hotter. That upbeat smile that usually rested on his face was long gone, and a look of pure hatred and rage replaced it.

炎 Breath of Flames, First Style: Sea of Fire 炎

Swifter than the wind, Kyoujurou rushed the demons, decapitating them all instantaneously. He watched as they began to disintegrate with his brows still furrowed. He noticed one of the bodies wasn’t turning to ash, rather, a pool of deep crimson began to pour from the opening Kyoujurou’s sword carved. A human. Just this once, Kyoujurou thought that a human had deserved the death given to them.

Not wasting anymore time, he rushed over to your motionless body quickly assessing the damage you had taken. His heart slowly broke into a million pieces as he looked at you. There were puddles of blood around you; some fresh, some dried and stained into the old wood. Your face had such bad bruising and swelling it was hard to tell it was you, you had three slashes across the front of your chest, and a deep gash on your back. You were missing your left forearm, and it was only bandaged hastily, the bandage long past its use for soaking up the blood. The bruises and cuts continued to trail down your body to your right leg, which was very visibly broken. The Flame Pillar sobbed as he carefully took your body into his arms, checking for a pulse, and began sobbing harder. You had one, but it was faint and barely there; he didn’t have long to save you.

He rushed out as fast as he could, taking care not to jostle you too much and placed you on the horse.

“(C/N)! If you’re able to fly once again, please send a message to Oyakata-sama and Kochou-san that I’ll be arriving with a gravely injured (Y/N).” The kasugaigarasu immediately took flight, going as fast as it was able to. Kyoujurou untied the horse and rushed his way back to the Butterfly Estate. He was not going to let you die, not like this.

By the time he reached the estate, Aoi and Shinobu were waiting to greet him, quickly showing him the way to Shinobu’s office.

“Rengoku-san, I’ll have to ask you to wait nearby until I’m done. Aoi and I will do our best to save them, but they’re in critical condition.” Kyoujurou nodded slowly, the bright light had faded from his eyes to a dull glimmer during the ride over. He paced the halls back and forth, back and forth, back and forth for hours. Finally, after five hours, the door to Shinobu’s office opened.

“Rengoku-san, you can come in now.” Shinobu smiled softly at the haggard Pillar, who seemed to be on the verge of an emotional breakdown. He dashed over to the office and peeked inside. On one of the few beds in there was you, laying peacefully. He clearly saw your chest rising and falling from here, and his tension he had built up released all at once, causing his knees to buckle as he fell to the ground. Shinobu just patted his shoulder softly.

“They’re going to make it, however, they’ll never be able to work as a Demon Slayer again, and they’ll likely have some trauma they’ll have to work through. If you care about them enough, you might want to ask Oyakata-sama for some time off until further notice.” Kyoujurou meekly nodded his head as he slowly stood up from the door frame.

“Thank you Kochou-san.” She smiled before leaving you two alone in her office. Kyoujurou gently sat on the edge of your bed, taking your only hand into his and pressing it softly against his head. Never again, he thought, never again will I let something like this happen to you. He placed a gentle kiss to your palm and the back of your hand before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead.

Never again.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part ten) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±6500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part ten: Y/N is about to go on an adventure. Good thing she has her friend Jo to help her pack and her crush Dean to guide the way. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: The Man With The Harmonica - Ennio Morricone, Hide And Seek - Gareth Dunlop (end scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

    “Wait, you’re not planning on bringing all that with you, are ya?”     Y/N’s eyes leave the three pairs of boots from which she still has to choose. Not to decide what two sets to leave behind, but which to wear and which to pack. Jo stands in the doorway of her tiny room, staring at the bed, which is covered in flannels, shirts, tops, several hats, jeans, jackets, sweaters, towels, socks, matching underwear, swimwear, a makeup bag, and a toiletry bag. Even a hair iron and of course her phone charger lay amongst the collection of items that one way or another are going to have to fit into her bag.

    The season is coming to an end now that September has reached its final days. It’s time to move the two-year-old horses down from the summer reservation. Bobby had asked his intern if she wanted to come along and of course she blurted out ‘yes!’ before he could even finish his sentence. She was so excited about the trail ride and started packing immediately. This is going to be quite an experience, especially for a show rider like herself who usually sticks to riding in a fenced arena.     It’s a good thing that she started gathering her things early, because she has been contemplating what to bring for over an hour now. She’s the kind of girl who pays extra for exceeding the luggage weight limit on her flights, so no wonder she’s having it tough choosing what to bring.

    A little helpless she looks over at Jo, who’s waiting on her response.     “I was planning on bringing this, actually,” she returns, hesitatingly.     “Damn… poor horse,” the blonde cowgirl comments, eyeing all her friend’s stuff.     “Too much?” Y/N assumes.     “Just a tad,” Jo scoffs as she walks in. “And what the hell are you bringing the entire electronics store for?”     “It’s just my charger and my hair iron. I will look like birds are nesting on my head if I don’t straighten this out,” she objects, holding out the strands of hair that have escaped her ponytail.     “And you can’t have that with Dean around.” The ranch owner’s daughter crosses her arms in front of her chest, knowingly frowning at her friend.     Y/N tilts her head and glares back, but fails to come up with a decent counter, because she’s not wrong.     “Shut up,” she mutters instead.     “By all means, pack it.” Jo shrugs as she turns back to the door. “But unless you tie a generator behind that horse of yours or find a cactus with a plug, you ain’t charging a damn thing.”     “Wait. What?” Y/N responds, confused.

    Jo sways around, her blonde braid hanging down from one shoulder. She narrows her eyes, trying to understand how her friend could be so oblivious to the fact that there won’t be any electricity where they are going. “What did my old man tell you exactly?”     “That we might have to spend a couple of nights out camping,” Y/N recalls, trying to remember his exact words.     “Have you ever been out camping, city girl?” Jo wonders, her tone indicating that she has figured it out.     Now Y/N crosses her arms defensively. Just because she comes from a wealthy family, doesn’t mean that she has never been on a trip back to basics.     “I have, as a matter of fact,” she returns confident.     “Let me define ‘camping’,” Jo kicks off. “I’m talking ‘bout the sleeping-in-a-tent, no-shower-for-days, cooking-your-own-food-above-a-fire kind of camping. Not the kind where you park the luxurious double axle camper nice and close to the restaurant and the power station and get that satellite working as soon as possible so y’all can watch Netflix.”

    Y/N opens her mouth to claim that she is not that kind of person, but has to admit her loss. She’s right, down to the double axle camper and the satellite TV.     “So, no electricity? No shower?” she asks, intimidated by the matter, a trace of panic in her voice.     “Nope,” Jo confirms, amused. “Better start prioritizing. Let me get my saddlebags, you can use those. Everything that doesn’t fit in there except for your sleeping bag, is not comin' along for the ride.”     “Alright,” Y/N agrees reluctantly, nonetheless grateful for the help. “But how are you going to pack if I have your saddlebags?”     “Simple: I’m not. I’m staying home,” the ranch owner’s daughter says.     Astonished, the intern looks at her. Wait, her friend isn’t coming on this trail? The thought actually scares Y/N a little, because Jo has been there to guide her since she picked her up from the airport over a month ago.     “Are you kidding me? Why?”     “Someone has to run this joint while y’all are having fun. Usually, the stable crew guards the castle, but with Ash gone…”

    Y/N drops her head, her mind going out to the former cattle worker. Ash left a week ago. Bobby gave him two weeks' notice but said he was free to go anytime. The loyal employee showed character and stayed as long as Bobby could afford to keep him. But after those fourteen days, Ash had no choice but to leave. Everyone was sad to see the quirky fellow go. The exchange of hugs between him and every member of his working family was moving to witness.     “Dad offered to stay behind by himself, but he’s getting too old to work that hard,” Jo explains. “Garth and I will make sure everything runs smoothly here.”     “What about me? How am I supposed to function without my conscience?” Y/N pouts.     “You’ll be fine. You got Dean to hold your hand the entire way,” Jo mocks.     The worried cowgirl chuckles. “That’s the whole problem now, isn’t it?”     Jo gets up and intends to leave the room to get the saddlebags. She halts in the doorway, though, offering good advice. “Just remember: don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”     “He’s your cousin. Of course you’re not going to sleep with him,” Y/N returns smartly, pulling a laugh from the blonde cowgirl.     “See my point?” she returns, winking back before she leaves the room.

    Thirty minutes later, Y/N is packed and ready, but sacrifices had to be made. Obviously, the hair iron and phone charger didn’t make the final cut, but neither did her shampoo, conditioner, and moisturizer, since she won’t be able to shower anyway. Her makeup didn’t fit into the bags either. It hurts to leave it all behind and she already feels insecure about spending days with the others wearing a blank canvas of a face. Sure she isn’t as fresh at the end of a working day as she was at the start of it, but so far she has been able to keep her hair and makeup in check. Now she won’t even have a mirror to judge how tired and ordinary she looks without a brow pencil and mascara.     “You’re all set.” Jo, who is on her knees on the wooden floor fighting with the saddlebag, secures the last strap, shifts her weight back on her heels and places her hands on her narrow waistline.     “I owe you one. I would have never managed alone,” Y/N says, appreciating her friend’s help.     “You know you can count on me.” She shrugs it off after getting up. “I’ll lend you my raincoat and my gloves too. Never sure if you’re gonna need ’em, but if the monsoon decides to throw a curveball at ya, you’ll be thanking me.”     She pops out of the room again, as excited for the intern as Y/N is herself. Jo’s bubbly personality has her smiling even after she leaves. It’s funny how it feels like they have known each other for years and yet it was only a month ago that she got into the pickup truck at the airport. One month ago, this challenge started. Her dad tries to hide the surprise in his voice every time she phones him to tell him how much she is enjoying her time here. He probably expected a plea for money. That, or a one-way ticket back to luxury and easy work.

    Y/N looks at one of the pictures that she nailed to the wooden wall. It portrays her family; Mom, Dad, and her three brothers surrounding Y/N at her graduation ceremony. Sure, she misses them, but she is starting to become a part of this ranch family too. That’s how it feels anyway: accepted, wanted… even loved. Her eyes hover over the picture frames and other decorations that she used to spice up her room a little. Many of the photos show Meadow, some snapped during shows, others at home in the fields. Won belt buckles and ribbons are trophies of their success together, each memory a highlight of her partnership with the special Quarter mare. Y/N remembers when she won every single one of them.

    “You’re not getting homesick, are ya?”     She startles, jolted awake from her daydream, and turns her head to face her handsome supervisor. Dean leans against the doorpost, and judging by the amused expression, he has been standing there for longer than a second. Dear Lord, she got so caught in recalling past victories and happy memories, that she didn’t hear him walk up to her room. The sight of him has her lost for air, even after recovering from the scare. He stands on one leg, the other bent and crossing his back foot, resting on the nose of his boot. Fringe from his worn chaps fall down over his jeans, a dark brown Stetson to match it. Dressed in a red plaid buttoned shirt and a denim jacket over it, he looks even better than he did this morning. The handsome models in the old Marlboro commercials have nothing on him.     “Don’t worry. I’m not going back anytime soon,” she responds before Dean can call her out on staring. “Besides, this is beginning to feel a lot like home, too.”     The wrangler glances at the wall next to the bunk bed and lets his eyes roam over the photos, ribbons and buckles. He smiles at a goofy picture of her and her three older brothers.     “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he compliments.     Y/N smiles at that. “Well, I am going to be staying here for a while. Might as well make it cozy.”

    He grins, his green eyes catching the rays of sunlight coming through the window. Specks of gold stand out amongst the apple green, his pupils adjusting as they flick over the captured moments. They stop when he notices a photo taken during a prize-giving ceremony. He recognizes Meadow instantly, her trademark white face is hard to miss. She stands proudly with a white and blue sash hanging from her neck, event sponsors standing next to the horse, presenting the prizes won while smiling at the camera. But the person who smiles the brightest is Y/N, who sits squarely in the saddle with a wide grin on her face and sparkles in her eyes.     “You won the State Championships,” he says impressed, reading the footnote. “That’s pretty damn impressive.”     Y/N lights up but stays humble. “Meadow was on fire. It was the ride of my life.”     “I bet it was.” Dean watches her for a second, admiring, while she reminisces over the highlight of her riding career. Then he glances at his watch briefly. “We leave at ten. You’re all packed?”

    “She is now,” Jo interrupts, holding out a rolled-up sleeping bag and neatly packed raincoat. “Gloves are in the pockets.”     “Thanks, Jo.” Y/N takes them and looks over her shoulder in search of her saddlebags. Dean instantly moves in to pick them up, since she has her hands full anyway.     “I got it,” he states, lifting her luggage over his shoulder.     “Oh, how noble of you!” Jo teases her cousin, not at all impressed with his manors. “What are you gonna do next? Buy a white horse?”     Y/N snorts, but quickly straightens her mouth into a thin line to silence herself and hide the sign of amusement. Luckily, the wrangler is too busy countering her friend, as he follows the two girls into the living room.     “It’s called ‘being nice’. You should try it sometime,” Dean snarls.     Before the ranch owner’s daughter pushes open the front door, she looks over her shoulder. “Would you like to hold the door for her too?” she suggests, a challenging smirk on her face.     “Would you like to shut your piehole?” Dean fires back after rolling his eyes.

    Y/N giggles at the bickering, and opens the door herself by pushing it with her foot. If she didn’t know any better, she would think the two are siblings. Maybe not by blood, but they spent a great deal of their childhood together in the same house, at least that’s what she understood from Jo. Over the years, the youngest Singer figured out that she might not be able to beat her older cousin when it comes down to strength and speed, but verbally she stands her ground just fine. Now is no different, because Dean might have had a comeback ready, Y/N doesn’t fail to notice the color on his cheeks. He carefully glances at her from under his hat, the cowgirl smiling back reassuringly before she descends down the stairs.

    At the tack up area, the Joshua tree stands tall, offering meager shade to the horses and humans underneath its branches. It’s rush hour. Benny and Garth are readying the horses, assisted by the three riders that are coming along for the trail. Dean was against bringing people along on such a long and potentially dangerous ride, but Bobby said the tourists paid good money and were experienced, so eventually, he agreed. Eight horses are tied up to the rails around the yucca tree. Six of them will be ridden, the other two will be the group’s packhorses. Y/N spots Joplin amongst them, the feisty mare that has grown on her over the past weeks.     “She’s yours for the next couple of days.” Dean points her out, heading over to the dark horse with Y/N’s baggage. “Since the two of you get along so well.”

    Delighted, she faces the mare, who pushes her soft nose into the folded raincoat in her arms, sniffing up the aroma. Y/N likes the little dark horse. She is not easy, has different ideas about what the pace should be, and can get very offended when her rider tells her otherwise, but there’s something about her attitude that the intern appreciates. She’s fast, tireless from the second her rider puts a foot in the stirrup, to the second he or she gets off. The Quarter is perfect for a trail like this. It didn’t cross her mind to bring Meadow for the ride. The reining horse, which is used to train on smooth arena footing, would most likely injure herself on the uneven rocky slopes and narrow paths. The hours under saddle would be much longer than regular training too, and Y/N does not want to confront her four-legged best friend with a task that she isn’t up for.     Dean swings the saddlebags over Joplin’s back and straps them to the saddle. He mounts the sleeping bag and Jo’s raincoat that he takes from the intern on top, his fingers briefly brushing against hers in the transfer. The tingling sensation lingers on the surface of her skin where he touched her, causing her to be the one who is flustered now. The wrangler carefully glances over as he secures the baggage. She feels caught, but his expression is soft and comforting; he felt it too.

    “Okay, y’all! We’re goin’ in five!” Benny shouts loud enough for everyone on the square to hear with his Southern accent thick on his tongue. “If you have to use the john or forgot to pack clean undies, now would be your last chance to do so.”

    Last preparations are made by the crew. Benny secures his lasso to the horn of the saddle with a leather rope strap, while Dean consults his uncle one more time before departure, the two of them looking at a map of the Superstition Mountains. Then Dean folds the map and shoves it into the inside pocket of his jacket, after which he walks over to Ted Nugent, the big brown gelding that he will be riding for the upcoming days, since his favorite buckskin is out with a tendon injury ever since that rainy morning when the cattle broke out.  Ellen walks up to her nephew and hands him a paper bag which, without a doubt, contains something delicious.     “Made you some pecan tassies for on the road,” she says. “Wouldn’t want you to miss my baking too much.”    “Thanks, Ellen.” Dean gives her a grateful nod and puts the tassies in his saddlebag.     “Be careful out there, alright?” she presses, clearly worried about the quest that lies ahead for the wranglers. “Bring them back home safely.”     “I’ll take care of the bunch. I promise,” he assures comfortingly, gently pulling her into his chest after which he gives his aunt a kiss on her hair.

    Ellen and Dean aren’t the only ones who exchange a few last words before the group leaves.     “Okay, grasshopper. This is it,” Jo’s voice sounds from behind Y/N.     She spins on her heels in between the horses to meet the ranch owner’s daughter, who folds her arms around Y/N and hugs her tight. Happily, she returns the embrace before Jo pulls back and holds her by the shoulders.     “Stay away from chollas if you don’t want Joplin to turn into a two-year-old who never had a saddle on her back before. And if the horses get nervous and you hear a rattle, get the hell out of Dodge, because there’s a rattlesnake within a few feet from you. Check your–-”     Y/N cuts Jo off, because she has heard this before from either her or Ellen.     “I know, I know. Check my boots for spiders and scorpions before I put them on and keep the tent closed,” she fills in.     “Not just to keep out insects and reptiles, but horny cowboys as well,” Jo adds.     Y/N snorts. “I’ll handle him. I will miss you, though.”     “I’ll miss you, too, sis,” her friend returns, smiling.

    They say goodbye while Dean unties his gelding and gets on swiftly, overlooking the group from the higher point of view.     “Y’all ready?” he asks the company of six.     When the riders cheer, he takes the reins with one hand and pulls it gently towards him, an aid for Ted to backup and move away from the other horses. The excitement rises noticeably, comparable to what one would feel when on an aircraft just before take-off and on its way to a new destination. Some of the animals start to get restless in the thrill, Joplin included. Y/N doesn’t waste any time and pulls the safety knot in order to free the mare, then puts her left foot in the stirrup and pushes herself off the ground with her right, swinging it over the back of the black horse.     “Good luck, y’all,” Bobby wishes the six men and women.     “See you in a couple of days!” Jo calls out.

    Y/N waves at the people staying behind, a bright smile spreading from ear to ear. Looking forward to the adventure that will come next, she straightens herself in the saddle and faces the vast landscape. She might be twenty-four, but she feels more like a seven-year-old going on a field trip. In front of the rider, a pair of alert ears belonging to Joplin point forward. Beyond that view, the promontory of the Superstition Mountains stretches out. The sun has risen from behind the ridges in the East hours ago, already warming up the valley with its strong rays.

    Dean watches the young woman, consumed by a different kind of scenery as his horse follows the path. In the past few weeks, she has grown more comfortable in her role as a wrangler and a ranch hand. The daily routine is starting to become her second nature and the people she works with are her friends now. He wouldn’t have guessed it at first - and he’s quite sure she herself wouldn’t have guessed it either - but she fits in perfectly. The rich girl from upstate with a master’s degree under her belt feels at home surrounded by a bunch of country folks in the dry desert lands of the south west. Who would have thought that? Dean smiles, content; something tells him that this trip will help her blossom even more.

    She could almost hear a harmonica play the theme from Once Upon A Time In The West, and she’s still waiting for tumbleweed to roll across the path. Cacti reach for the sun, their arms outstretching upward, like the giants are growing actual limbs. It’s a nice variation to the evergreens that she is used to, back in Maine. The rain that came down two weeks ago has laid a blanket of green over the dry lands; it’s amazing how nature can change in a matter of days. Jo warned her about the sun, and with good reason. Over the last month, the intern slowly but surely got used to the extreme weather circumstances that Arizona offers, but she has never been on a horse during the hottest hours of the day. It might already be late September, but the heat is blistering. She could use a shower right about now, and just the thought of not being able to take one for the next couple of days grosses her out. The temperatures weigh on the female rider, more than she thought it would, but her partner Joplin doesn’t seem to mind much. Her neck and shoulders are sweaty, but she still dribbles impatiently every now and then, eager to cover more ground.

    Dean leads the group, guiding them from spring to spring. The group left the Hieroglyphic Trail about three hours ago, which ended at a small creek and a poor excuse for a waterfall. They took a break there and had a few of Ellen’s delicious pecan tassies while the horses drank. Now, they are well on their way to Willow Spring, but the trail isn’t getting any easier. As they conquer the steep slopes, the pace slows down. Y/N is amazed at how the horses are able to maneuver on the rough terrain, which consists of loose pebbles, slippery boulders, and cracked volcanic rock. One misstep could severely injure the large animals, but they seem to be aware of that. Joplin proceeds agile and fearless, almost like a bobcat, and her rider learns quickly to let her take care of the drops and jumps. She doesn’t need guidance, the mare knows the way. All Y/N has to do is sit tight and move along with her to maintain the balance.

    “How y’all doing back there?” Dean is looking over his shoulder, his free hand resting on the cantle of the saddle.     “We’re good!” one of the tourists assures.     His name is Brad, the young guy riding next to his sister Macy and their buddy Jonathan. The head wrangler chatted a little bit with the three members of the group and they turn out to be good company. The trio is traveling across the country, enjoying a gap year from college. With Brad and Macy’s father being a rancher in Colorado, they know their way around horses. Jonathan is a little less experienced in the saddle, but he’s managing just fine. No doubt about it, though, that he’s going to be left with a serious muscle ache in the coming days.         The leader of the pack shifts his eyes from them to his intern, asking her the same question silently. She nods, smiling reassuringly at her handsome supervisor, telling him in the same language that she’s doing fine. Content, Dean smiles back and winks at her before he straightens himself.     It’s a good thing he’s not facing her anymore, because Y/N is sure that about a hundred butterflies hatched from their cocoons in her stomach, the feeling triggering her to take a shuddering breath. She huffs, annoyed with the response he triggered. Just look at him. He’s infuriatinglygorgeous, looking way too good on his horse, in those darn chaps, wearing that darn western hat. A part of her wants to dislike him, just for being so distracting. But she can’t be mad at him, not really. Just a glance her way with that grin and she’s a complete goner. Y/N watches as the cowboy catches up with Benny, slowing his horse down when they are side by side.

    “Tell me, Chief, how are things between you and the intern goin’?” the Southerner wonders, making sure the woman in question is unable to pick up on the conversation.     Dean looks aside at his best friend, amused by his curiosity. “It’s not going anywhere, really. Things are good as they are,” he claims.     “Oh, c’mon, now. Did she turn you down again?” Benny guesses.     Dean eyes him. “She didn’t turn me down. I just didn’t make my move.”     The wrangler next to him seems to need a second to process the information. Dean Winchester didn’t make a move on a girl he likes in 0.2 seconds? That’s a new one. “Wait a minute. So you two haven’t even…?”     “We’re just friends, Benny,” Dean claims, aware how terribly unconvincing it sounds the moment he pronounces the words.     “Horse shit. You didn’t pass up Casey to be ‘just friends’ with the gal. You called dibs,” he reminds the head wrangler. “Besides, I see the way you look at her. You don’t look at a pal like that.”

    Dean shakes his head, remembering the arrangement well. It’s not like he can deny he made that deal with the farrier, despite that it felt wrong to do so. But back then when he claimed her in order to keep his notorious friend away, he was still clueless about the affection he felt for her. The affection that steadily grew stronger to the point where he cares more about what’s best for the free young woman than what he wants for himself.     “So what, Benny?” He shrugs, hoping his friend would let it go.     “So what? I know it’s a little dusty here in the desert, but did you get sand in your eyes?” Benny returns, perplexed.     “Look, I know she’s awesome, and yes, I wouldn’t mind hooking up with her, but I can’t, okay?” Dean claims.     Unable to understand the math behind his choice, the broad-shouldered ranch hand throws him a look that somewhere between dirty and confused. “Why not?”     “Well for starters, Bobby will kill me if he finds out, since he took me aside to specifically forbid me to pull anything. Secondly, she’ll only stay for six months--”     Benny interrupts him, however. “Invalid, Chief. Bobby told you before to quit bouncing around with clients and staff and it never stopped you then. And since when is six months too short for you? You usually get bored with your lady friends after a--”     The cowboy from the South stops mid-sentence and Dean can almost hear it click in his mind. Oh, boy. Benny has figured it out. Even though he tried to make up excuses in order to avoid being confronted by his best bud, there’s no way of dodging that bullet now.     “Well, fuck a goat and call her Nancy! You’re in love with her,” Benny announces, shocked.     Dean raises his eyebrows at the rider next to him, then scoffs and looks away, trying to act like the very idea is ridiculous. “That’s - that’s just… Y-you’re insane,” he stutters, unable to flat out deny it.     Benny starts to laugh out loud, apparently very much amused with his discovery. “I can’t believe you walked straight into that love trap!”     “Would you keep your voice down?” the rider next to him hushes.     The farrier looks over the back of his horse at the intern, but she’s about thirty yards behind them talking to Macy, clueless what the two wranglers leading the group are discussing.     Dean stays quiet for a few long seconds, trying to decide if he is ready to admit that she means so much to him. “She’s a nice girl, Benny. I don’t wanna hurt her,” he claims.     “Oh, c’mon now! You’re seriously telling me you grew a conscience all of a sudden? You used to love ‘em and leave ‘em without a second thought.” Benny has crossed his wrists over the horn of his saddle, the reins loosely between his fingers, as he looks aside to catch anything that would indicate what’s going on in his best mate’s head. It’s clear that he’s astonished by the shift in his demeanor.     “I’m gonna ignore the urge to ask you who you are and where my friend is,” the Southerner chuckles. “But is it really just her heart you’re scared to break?”     Dean ponders, trying to make sense of the odds and ends that scatter his thoughts. Benny is not entirely wrong. It terrifies the wrangler to give in to these emotions. Is that maybe the true reason why he didn’t kiss Y/N that night under the Joshua tree? Or when she came looking for him after he had that argument with Ash? Maybe it’s a bit of both.     “How long have we known each other? Fourteen, fifteen years now?” Dean recalls.     “Give or take,” Benny confirms, looking down at the trail as he moves his hand over the mane of his horse in order to steer it a little wider around a boulder.     “Do I seem like the kinda guy who does that? Fall for a girl? I liked the way things were, no attachments and all that,” the head wrangler continues, confused.     “That’s the thing about falling in love, Chief. It happens to the best of us and always at a time when you least expect it. It hits you like lightning and you’re toast before you even got a clue why you’re feelin’ so crispy,” Benny says wisely.

    The head wrangler glances at his companion sideways, reading into his words. It almost sounds like the Southerner knows what he’s talking about.     “You’ve been there,” he realizes.     “Oh, I’ve been there. I’ve been beyond falling in love, I loved her with my whole damn heart,” Benny acknowledges, smiling at the memory. “Her name was Andrea. We were both eighteen. She spent the summer with relatives in Louisiana and I was a lost cause from the moment I laid eyes on her. A Greek Goddess, and I ain’t exaggeratin’. She was pretty as a peach! Kind, funny as hell, too.”     “Since she’s ain’t here, I reckon it didn’t end well?” Dean assumes again.     “It didn’t; she went back to Greece and I moved here because everything reminded me of her at home,” his friend tells him.     “You know you just proved my point, right?” the head wrangler says, a hint of triumph in his voice trying to mask the sadness in his eyes. “If love always comes to bite you in the ass, why even bother?”     “‘Cause the heartache ain’t the clue, brother. What I had with Andrea was so good, so pure, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Even if I knew what I know now, how it would end, I would take that plunge again without a doubt in my mind.”     Dean huffs, unable to believe that. “Despite that she left you?”     “Fuck, yeah,” Benny states. “Better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.”

    Dean is quiet now. The path narrows and he holds Ted back a little, merging behind Benny’s horse. As he lets his friend’s words sink in, he glances down the slope at the intern again. She’s several yards down the steep hill, focused on Joplin as she rides her up the trail. Her braided hair already has strands peeking out from under her hat, and he is sure if she had a mirror she would fix the mess, but he loves it. He loves it when the wind rustles her locks, or when the desert dust smudges her skin. Once again that feeling overcomes him, the feeling of a lantern being lit in the pit of his stomach, warming his body as it slowly rises through his core to his chest, where the heat lingers. It feels so good, but there’s a catch to the sensation. It comes with the emotion that creeps up on him when he lays awake at night thinking about Y/N; fear. The fear of her leaving him after her internship. The fear of her reaction if he would let her witness the scar tissue that lays thick on his soul. The fear that this love will consume him, just like the love for Mom consumed his father. The fear of failing her. But now that the true meaning of Benny’s message dawns on him, another kind surfaces. It’s a thought that he hasn’t had before, and as it pops into his head, the question reverberates louder through his mind than all the others. What if he misses his chance? What if there are only so many opportunities to win her over?

    He straightens himself before she looks ahead and spots him staring, and he closes his eyes and tips his hat forward. Shit, you’ve been so worried about losing her that you forgot that in order to lose her, you have to have her first, he thinks to himself. A sigh slips from his dry mouth, reminding him how thirsty he is. He reaches for his water bottle from his saddlebag, pulls out the cap with his teeth and gulps down the water, knocking his head back as he takes a few swigs. Nope, he’s not dehydrated. In fact, he’s still having these contradicting thoughts. When he slips the bottle back where he took it from, his eyes wander down the path again, this time looking straight into hers. As he tries to decide on his next move, he holds her gaze as she smiles up at him. Dean wasted two shots already; what if it’s three strikes, you’re out? If he fucks this up, at least he tried, but if he won’t give this a try at all, he’ll beat himself up over it for the rest of his life. Either way, failure seems to be inevitable.

    Then he remembers something. Something that he was taught at a very young age. He had just turned four when he took a fall off the neighbor’s Shetland pony. It was the first time he had rode alone without his mom holding the miniature horse and the naughty pony took advantage of that situation. The Shetland picked up speed and bucked once, sending him straight into the dirt. After making sure that her son was okay, he recalls his mom picking him up.     “You wanna give it another go?” she asked.     “No…” he said.     “So that’s it? You never wanna ride again?” she questioned again, her voice gentle.     Now he was quiet, not sure how to answer that. “I don’t wanna fall off,” he mumbled eventually, looking down at the ground.     “Falling is a part of riding, sweety. It’s a part of life. It’s okay to fall,” she told him.     “But it hurts,” he said, rubbing his scraped elbow. “And it’s scary.”     “Yeah, sometimes falling can be very scary,” Mom acknowledged. “But you won’t get any better if you stop trying. You have to face what you’re scared of, to grow. You know what they say about falling?”     He shook his little head, waiting for the elaboration patiently.     “You have to fall off seven times before you'll become a good rider,” she says.     “Seven?!” he repeats, eyes wide.     “Seven,” Mom pointed out. “But you know how he becomes a great horseman?”     Dean shook his head again and listened eagerly. All that he wanted was to become a horseman, so this was the time to pay attention.     “A good rider becomes a great horseman when he falls seven times and gets up eight.”

    The wise words always stuck with Dean as he grew older. He remembers when he was twelve and got back to his feet after his seventh crash landing, this time from a young bronc. He was a horseman now, because he got up beaming, and brushed the dirt from his jeans. Every time when life beat him down, he did the same. Sadly, Mom wasn’t there to see her son become a horseman. She was long gone by the time he reached that age, but her life lessons will never be forgotten. Life is filled with setbacks. No one walks this journey without encountering them. For some that one setback is enough reason to give up and never become good at anything, for others, it’s a way to push through. And yes, getting up and trying again is not easy. But Mom taught him to look fear in the eye and get back in the saddle anyway, because quitting will definitely not get him anywhere. Whenever he hit the ground, literally or metaphorically, he would think of that memory. Now is no different. Mom was right; he has to face what scares him in order to grow.

    Dean slows down his horse, pulling the bit just enough to stop Ted, giving the horse behind him a chance to catch up. When Joplin comes alongside, he glances at the rider from under his Stetson.     “Hello, Cowboy,” she greets, a small but delighted smile on her lips.     Dean chuckles at that, his eyes not leaving hers.     “Hey, beautiful,” he returns.     The compliment brightens her eyes even more and heats up her cheeks. The trail barely allows the two of them to ride side by side, their stirrups touching occasionally. He aches for her knee to brush his like he would crave rain after a long desert ride. When the denim of her jeans does rub against him, it leaves him electrified. And then he realizes that Benny is right, too. It is better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.

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Read part eleven here