#highlander voice: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE !

[shdwtouch]

oki this is probably a niche thing but. seeing blogs written by folks going by an alias I used to use is just -side eye- but I'm also like. paranoid af so it's probably just a me thing lmao

[bunnyreaper]

you don't have much of a choice, forced to marry john mactavish to keep yourself safe. luckily, he will look after you, even on your wedding night.

(18+/MDNI, historical wedding night fun)

the door closing behind you has you trapped in the room, the situation. your only comfort is that you know john mactavish to be a thoroughly decent man, despite the swirling rumours of his scottish barbarism and foul highlander ways. 

you sit before the mirror, staring back at the beautiful hair and makeup done for you by the ladies of the castle in preparation for your nuptials, as john makes his way over to you. he gently, hesitantly, rests his rough, large hands on the exposed parts of your shoulders, and his new ring sparkles in the soft candlelight.

"john." you sigh your new husband's name, your eyes fluttering shut as relief floods through you at his touch. the night will bring with it challenges, but you can't think of a better man in all the highlands to be wed to.

"i know, bonnie. i wish it were nae under such circumstances." he whispers, expression soft as he squeezes you gently, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. he leans down, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the top of your head. "we can take it slow, we've go' all night." 

"i know, thank you." you bring your hand up to hold his, your matching ring so close to its counterpart. you squeeze back his hand in the hopes of offering some semblance of comfort in return. whilst john is a warrior, physically and mentally strong, but you've at least seen him vulnerable enough to know there's something eating at him too--and your instincts cry out at you to soothe him too. "it's not... for lack of wanting you. i want you very much. i'd just hoped we could ease into it." 

once more, he brushes the top of his lips across your head, before he slowly coaxes you to your feet. his fingers trail from your bare shoulders, down the silky material of your sleeves until they come to grasp at your waist. 

"we will. ill take care of ye." he whispers, voice beyond soft. 

you wish you could tell him you'll take care of him, too, but the tightening of your chest makes it tricky to usher forth even a whisper. you turn in your newly-wed husband's embrace, embracing his thick, muscular arms and rubbing them soothingly. 

it's you who initiates the kiss, the first one since you said your vows, and were tied together in matrimony. it's soft and gentle and sweet, at least at first. as your lips tremble against john's, and his grip around you tightens, the embers within you roar to life--hot like the coals in your chamber's fireplace. 

the passion that rips through you both consumes you--sensual, tender touches yet tinged with overwhelming need. one kiss turns to another, turns to desperately gripping at each other's finery until it falls away, revealing parts of yourself previously unseen to the other. 

you'd seen your now-husband shirtless many a time, seen the celtic knots inked into his biceps, his clan motto on his chest--but in the dim light and knowing you get to touch him freely, you start to take on a new appreciation. 

his hands touch reverently across each new piece of skin you bare to him, or he bares to himself, as he tears away your clothes like the hazard they are. it's not long before he has you completely revealed to him, and he kisses you breathless in response to the overwhelming love and lust inside him. 

he maneuvers you to the bed, laying you down with such care before climbing atop. when his hard cock brushes against the top of your mound, you cry out in both pleasure and trepidation.

johnny must easily sense your discomfort, as he pulls away from you with a concerned, caring look in his eyes, along with a reassuring smile on his lips. "dinnae worry, i'm nervous too." his knuckles brush softly over your cheek.  

"you are?" you ask, voice soft as you stare up at him. 

"aye." he nods, his smile turning a little awkward, a little bashful. while you've seen him burdened and raw, you've never seen him nervous. "ive no' been wit' a woman properly before." 

his admission stuns you. john mactavish is a gorgeous man inside and out, respected in his clan, and yet has a reputation for being good with the ladies. it never bothered you, as you knew truly he was loyal to his core, but such a confession from him takes you entirely by surprise.

"not from lack of opportunity, surely." you try your best to be light-hearted, to put him at ease. your own nerves, trepidation and inexperience with the act were a given--but john's could be perceived by others, and likely to him, as a threat to his masculinity. 

he trusted you with it regardless. 

he huffs out a laugh at your gentle teasing, dipping down to press a few kisses to your neck.

"appreciate yer kind words. but ah, i ken i wanted to save myself, only give tha' part of me to ma wife." the words cause something to surge through him, his hips bucking as the head of his cock nudges against your clit and sends you both reeling. your eyes flutter shut for a moment, and when they reopen, the look in john's eyes is completely feral. 

he pins you with a look you couldn't turn away from if you tried, and his hand gripping your chin leaves no room for debate. "marriage of convenience or no', you are ma wife." 

his wife.

the words alone make you shiver and quake, but your husband takes the opportunity to roam his hands down your body, lower and lower until thick fingertips find your aching clit. 

you're completely transfixed as your eyes drop down, watching the way his rough hand works against your softness, pulling pleasure from your body that aches for release. 

hot, open-mouthed kisses start to accompany his touches, working their way down your body until his mouth is hovering just inches away from your slit--taunting you with what's to come. 

you squirm wildly, trying to chase the wet heat of your husband's mouth and to finally have it on your clit, but he simply smirks, remains steadfast and steadies you with a firm grip. 

"please." a whine rips from your throat, as you've never felt such need before in your life. you thought you'd felt riled up watching john fight, work the horses, chop wood--but seeing him between your legs ready to eat you like a man starved drove you completely wild.

as a dutiful husband, he couldn't deny you any longer, lips settling against your most sensitive spot, pressing tender kisses to you. 

it feels too good, and yet still not enough. your fingers thread in his hair, try to tug him in deeper. "please john, I just need you... inside." 

he seems to ignore your pleading, mouth sinking back into your folds and immediately sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. then he pulls away for a moment, staring at your pretty lips in awe before he growls. "the lady consents, but i willnae sink my cock in ye until ye weeping for me too."

[bunnys-kisses]

i've had a horrid idea in my head, don't look at me! (maid!reader feat. soap & ghost)

so basically

you get hired through the cleaning service that you work for, to help keep a house outside the city nice and clean. you are a bit confused why whoever hired you needed a maid who lived over two hours away. but, you were assured that it would be worth it and shuffled off.

you thankfully only had two go twice a week, mondays and wednesdays with your day off in the middle. the pay was above standard, pictures of the home were shown, along with profiles of the owners.

simon riley and john mactavish. they were army men who wouldn't be at the house as much as most customers. which was a relief. this was not however the case, as the more you spent coming over the house to clean, the more they seemed to be around.

the blond one with the face scars was simon and the burnette with the mohawk and the scottish accent was johnny (he made you call im johnny). it would taken several months before they made the first move.

it started with johnny brushing up against your backside while he was in nothing but pajama pants. his erection against you.

then the snowstorm happened. you were about the go home, determined to drive when the snow came down in heaps. the snowflakes were almost as big as a two pence coin.

you ended up staying, and johnny brought out the whisky! he told you it was the good stuff from the highlands as he served you a healthy glass. it still burned like a bastard when it went down, the disgusted face you made caused the other two men to laugh. when you tried to use the bathroom you heard simon's voice ring out, "oh, there she goes!". as the snow hit the ground outside, you got drunk with your customers.

which then resulted in coy kisses, followed by loud fucking in simon's room. it had the bigger bed but it didn't matter because your hands and knees ached by the of the night. as did the back of your throat (you couldn't talk the morning after) and your pussy (you sat in weird positions to ease the pain for a week after).

simon and johnny were bullies to you sexually. you were twisted like a pretzel as both men just fucked you without abandon. you were left gasping and it didn't help that it turned you on too! you were such a bad maid, but it was hard to believe yourself when both men grumbled your praises as they moved you once more to get at just the right angle.

you tried to give the appearance of keeping it professional, but when you ended up back at work your boss told you that simon and john needed more help before their deployment, so she had moved your customers to other maids.

your priority was to help those men anyway you could! "they're serving our country! they need as much as they can before they leave once more!"

it wouldn't take long before you pretty much moved your life into their home. when you called the resign from your job at the maid agency, johnny was between your legs while you were sitting on the kitchen counter. your free hand was in his mohawk, yanking on the strands. he had spent all morning encouraging you to quit your job, which mean being laid out behind you with his hand down the front of your panties. his calloused fingers rubbing your clit until you were practically yelping from the overstimulation!

one night when you were "helping them" simon was gone for several hours and came back with boxes of your stuff. everything was put in neatly, when you tried to ask why he simply said, "you can't be wearing our civvies forever." (as if the two men weren't going to buy you clothes or anything else you needed). but it was nice to have some stuff with you. you never asked how he got into the apartment though.

sometimes the boys will still play maid with you. johnny liked it when he got to push up the skirt of the maid's dress you were wearing and simon liked when he got to tear the garter under the skirt right off. johnny's cock was soon balls deep in your while simon licked your clit.

paycheck wasn't necessary anymore, not while you were living with them full time. living in the city was nice, you would always cherish your time in it! but it was a lot nicer being sandwiched between two burly men who would capture the sun and the moon and serve it to you on a silver platter. <3

[cassiesc0rner]

Impurities

Synopsis: You’re the new girl at East Highland High, your only goal is to get through school. Until you come across Nate Jacobs

Genre: suggestive, slight angst,

Pairing: Nate x fem!reader

Warnings: manipulation, lying, misogyny, slutshaming, reader has a negative body image/implied body dismorphia, dark themes, slightly suggestive but no smut in this one, let me know if I missed something

Song rec: music to watch boys to - lana del rey

WC: +8.6k (oops)

Other parts: previous part, next part

A/N: This is my first upload on tumblr help?? Also English isn’t my first language so please keep that in mind and be nice :,) feedback is always appreciated!! Currently working on part 2 ᥫ᭡

You were the perfect prey for Nate

You were cute, just so fucking cute that it almost drove him crazy, and so polite during lessons, never refusing anyone anything, whether they asked for a pen, or if they could copy your homework, which you always had ready. In his eyes, you were perfect, the only right choice for him.

He knew you wouldn’t fuck up the way Cassie or Maddy did, you wouldn’t disappoint him like they did.

Sure, your style wasn't his thing at all -not that you dressed awful or anything, you were really into y2k, and just loved wearing baggy jeans or any jeans for that matter, and graphic tops combined with sparkly accessories, chains and rings.

He wished you'd wear something more... feminine, like skirts and cute dresses, that show off your assumingly perfect body, he also wished you'd wear brighter colors.

Another thing he loved about you, was that you were really smart and didn't seem to pay attention to boys at all, which surprised him because he was used to girls being all over boys, only wanting one thing from them and he hated it because they were all so predictable.

But you weren’t.

It also kind of scared him at the same time though, because what if you just really weren't into boys to begin with?

He didn't know much about you except for the fact that you loved music, movies and tv shows. Or at least that's what you said, when you had to introduce yourself to the new class.

It had been just a few days prior that he had broken up with Cassie at that time, but he was sure that in this moment, when you stood there in front of the class, with your trembling hands, shy smile and quiet voice, he was head over heels for you.

You just enrolled to East Highland High, you knew no one yet. That had to be his biggest advantage ever, since you didn't know about any of the bad things Nate has done so far, and no one could take you away from him once he earned your trust. Because why would you trust anyone else more than him?

It was your third day at the new school when he decided to approach you.

During lunch break you sat alone, listening to music as you tried to subtly look around the huge cafeteria, searching for someone else who was alone.

Everyone shared their table with at least two other students, except for you and some other girl that sat alone as well.

You considered approaching her and sitting with her, maybe she was nice and maybe she had other friends? But you decided not to do it, because maybe you'd disturb her or something. You sighed and scrolled through your phone, when you suddenly noticed someone standing in front of your table.

You slowly looked up and noticed it was one of your classmates. You quickly fished one of your earbuds out and stopped the music "Hey.." You said, as you smiled at him. He smiled back at you, the smile genuine as he replied "Hey, can I sit for a moment?" he gestured towards the chair in front of you.

You were confused.

Confused because he wanted to sit with you? Yes, you were new to East Highland High, but this wasn't the first school you ever attended. You could tell who's popular and who isn't.

And Nate Jacobs was definitely popular. He had to be.

Quaterback, extremely tall, and extremely good looking, there was no way he just wanted to sit and talk to someone like you. What if he's gonna bully me? Take my lunch money and beat me up? But that would be absurd.. right?

You nodded before removing the other earbud as well. "What're you listening to?" He asked, genuinely curious "Oh... um... just Lana Del Rey." You said nervously as you looked at your phone, too scared to look him in the eyes.

"Oh cool.. which song?" He'd be lying if he said he knew literally any Lana Del Rey song besides Summertime Sadness and Video Games, but he wanted to know nonetheless. Maybe he'd listen to it at home to check out what kind of music you listen to "It's called..." You hesitated for a moment before finally saying "'Music to watch boys to'" You knew how that sounded.

Nate chuckled once he heard the name of the song and saw your flustered expression "Is that what you're doing? Listening to music while you're watching the boys here?" He joked. You chuckled nervously "No, really that's the last thing I'd do. I'm trying not to look at anyone longer than a second." You smiled as you locked eyes with him for seemingly less than 0.5 seconds.

Nate nodded "Yeah, I can tell." He cleared his throat "Just came over to introduce myself since you're new and everything." He reached over the table, stopping right in front of your phone, inviting you to shake his hand "I'm Nate."

You knew that already, since the two of you had classes together and you paid attention during attendance, to memorize the names of some of your classmates.

You carefully reached over and shook his extremely large hand. "I'm y/n, but you probably know that already." You once again chuckled nervously, thinking back to the painful introduction you went through at each and every new lesson you went to.

"Yeah, right." He nodded, smiling as his mind went there as well. During maths, arts, and English, he was lucky enough to see you introduce yourself over and over again. You slowly retrieved your hand again and Nate couldn't help but feel sad at the loss of contact.

He took a look around the cafeteria before setting his gaze back onto you "So, why are you sitting here all alone?" He asked in a slightly less playful tone "Hm.. I don't know," You shrugged "I guess I just don't know how to approach people." You smiled again.

What Nate had noticed in this short amount of time, is how often you smiled at him, and how you tried to keep that expression.

He didn't only notice it in this moment while he sat in front of you, but also during lessons, whenever someone talked to you, you rarely kept a neutral expression, always a friendly smile on your lips.

You were unbelievably insecure.

Always trying to remain friendly, out of fear of being perceived as unfriendly or unapproachable or anything that could be perceived as negative. He got you figured out faster than you could've imagined.

When he didn't respond, you continued "I actually considered talking to that girl over there, since she's alone as well.."

Nate looked over to the girl you were referring to before smirking and looking back to you "I wouldn't do that." You frowned in confusion "Why? Is she mean or something?" Nate shook his head "She just... doesn't talk, I don't think I've ever seen her talk to anyone before. She always sits alone and stares... into the void or something, even during lessons she barely responds to the teachers." he pointed out.

You sighed "Wow... And I thought I was socially incompetent." He chuckled and shook his head "No believe me, it can always be worse." You nodded and smiled again. Once you didn't reply, Nate continued "But, to be honest, you don't seem socially incompetent at all. You actually seem fun to be around."

You looked up at him again, this time for a bit longer than 0,5 seconds, and raised your eyebrows "You think so?" Nate nodded "Yeah, of course, you don't?"

You thought for a moment am I actually fun to be around? It had honestly been ages since you had actual friends. Sure, you had classmates at your previous schools, who met up with you from time to time. But it never felt like an actual friendship, with trust and sincerity.

You figured that you just weren't easy or fun to be around, that you just bored them eventually, even though you tried to be as fun as possible.

But your parents also played a big role.

Your mom has been strict and didn't want you to go out with friends too much, because she was scared you'd get hurt. She constantly fought with you and your father, because neither you nor your dad shared the same amount of paranoia she seemed to have.

And your dad was constantly moving cities, and even states with the two of you, whenever he had a new, better job offer. East Highland High was probably your third highschool so far, and even if you wanted to stay polite and make friends, you didn't want them to get too close to you, because the moment you had to move it'd be over anyways.

"I don't... know.." You said, and for the first time your smile actually faded. Not into a sad expression, but your smile just seemed to slip, and Nate felt like he got just the slightest bit closer to you.

"I don't really have any friends outside of school, and since I have none here either.." You shrugged again, not sure what to tell him. He nodded "Well.. you have me now, we can be friends." You looked up at him again, your eyes wide. You waited for him to laugh and tell you that all of this was a prank or something, but he didn't.

"Um... Thank you, but you really don't have to do that. I bet you already have plenty of friends." Nate shook his head and said "You can never have enough friends," He had a point, not everyone lived a socially awkward life like you did "besides, as I said, you seem cool to be around." He added.

"Thank you, I'd love to be your friend." You responded with another smile. Nate couldn't believe that he got this close to you in just five minutes, and that you didn't seem to question any of his intentions at all. In his eyes, he didn't only achieve his goals for the day, he also did you a huge favour.

You had someone you could count on, someone to hang out with, you weren’t alone anymore.

Then the doorbell rang, informing everyone that the break was over now.

"Alright, we have maths now, let’s go together, yeah?" He asked as he got up. You nodded and grabbed your phone, stuffing it in your bag before you got up as well.

Two weeks passed after you first talked to Nate, and as it turns out, he really seemed to be your friend.

You went shopping together, spent time mostly at your place, because your mom wanted to keep an eye on him since he was a stranger and most importantly a boy, and you even went to his football game once. You seemed truly happy whenever you were with him.

A little too happy for your own liking.

Because deep down you knew you might have to leave him behind eventually, or that he'd get bored of you at some point.

Not to mention that you, against your own will, developed a small crush on him. But who could blame you when he was the first boy who ever truly cared for you like he did? Or bought you gifts and showered you with affection like he did?

Yeah that was another thing that Nate did. He loved buying things for you.

At first it were just small things like ice cream from the gas station, or snacks from vending machines. But eventually, the gifts got bigger and bigger despite you telling him that you couldn’t possibly pay him back.

Sure, your dad's job did pay him a lot, but you were sure that Nate's dad had to earn at least twice as much for his son to be able to buy that many things.

Last time you two went to the mall and he saw a pair of earrings for more than 200$, he dragged you along with him and showed them to you saying "They'd look so pretty on you." It almost felt like he was your boyfriend.

Usually the girls in the movies you watched would pressure their boyfriends into buying them expensive jewelry, and into spending their money on them, but Nate seemed to be the other way he around.

He was pressuring you into allowing him to spend his money on you.

Just like that day when the two of you went into another boutique, because Nate convinced you that "it'll be fun!", to put it in his words.

The moment you stepped into the boutique, you felt somewhat uneasy. You walked in with your ripped jeans and tank top on, and the only clothes you saw were dresses, skirts, and tops that you'd never consider buying. Not to mention the shoes that they sold, looked nowhere near as comfortable as your sneakers did.

Nate knew that.

He only had to look at your face for a split second to know what you're feeling. You felt like you wouldn't fit in, or like these clothes wouldn't suit you. But he knew how to convince you.

He spent two entire weeks with you after all.

Any normal person would say that's not enough to fully know somebody, but Nate had his ways of finding out almost every insecurity, fear and worry of yours, just by subtly asking the right questions.

And none of them shocked him, since he already figured out that you were socially anxious and insecure.

But he also knew what you needed. You craved someone who loves you and gives you constant reassurance, someone who tells you what to do and who to go out with, like your mom did, because that's all you knew your entire life.

You needed to be loved and touched, craving intimacy with literally anyone, because you never had friends who'd hug you tightly when you were anxious, or hold you close when you needed it, and your parents didn't either.

And he could give you all of that and more, once the time was right.

He also figured that you haven't had a boyfriend yet, or haven't been intimate with anyone yet, and that thought alone made him crave you even more, if that was even possible.

The fact that he would be your first everything, was enough to get him going, and motivated him to show you your true potential.

And he knows that you’d let him.

He always dreamt about how easily you'd let him have his way with you, and how he'd corrupt you. Nate had sadistic thoughts as well, fantasizing about making you cry and beg him for forgiveness for something that wasn’t even your fault.

He also dreamt of leaving marks and bruises all over your body, so that you and everyone else knew you’re his.

But he wouldn't want to hurt you, he knew from experience how bad that could end for him.

And the moment he saw your innocent eyes looking up at him and your smile while doing so, the violent thoughts got replaced with the need to protect you from any man that even just walked near you.

"You okay?" He asked casually before he walked towards one of the racks with skirts. "Mhm.. I just don't think I want to buy anything here, Nate..." You said as you nervously looked down at your feet, feeling bad for possibly disappointing him.

Nate turned around and looked at you "Don't you want to try something on at least?" Before he let you respond, he came up with an idea "How about this, I'll put together an outfit and you can try it on and see for yourself if you like it or not." He asked, but it was more of a demand than a question.

You sighed and looked around the store, noticing that they also had jeans skirts, and a dark red leather skirt that you thought was really pretty. Nate's eyes followed your gaze and he immediately started searching for something he wanted you to try on.

Sure, a jeans skirt might be a good start as well, since it might make you feel a bit more comfortable and at least show off your legs, but the leather skirt was just absolutely slutty in his eyes. He didn't want you to walk around at school -or anywhere for that matter- like that, like you're 'asking for it'.

While you walked towards the two skirts, Nate walked towards another section. He picked out a pastel pink short sleeve top, with a bow in the middle and a sweetheart neckline. He smirked as he imagined you inside the rather tight top, knowing that he's the only guy that would be near you while all the other boys could only dream of being close to you.

He then picked out a pair of black flats, which he knew you wouldn't be opposed to, simply because of the color alone, white stockings and a white and pink plaid mini skirt.

Then he walked over to you, as you still looked at the various skirts. "y/n, your outfit is ready!" Nate exclaimed once he was behind you, and you couldn't help but flinch as he pulled you out of your daydream.

You turned around and looked at his full hands, trying not to grimace at the bright colours. The shoes looked alright however, and where the only dark piece of clothing. "Nate, that won't suit me," you said as he handed you the clothes over "are you sure you want me to try it on?" you didn't even finish the question before he nodded.

You sighed before walking towards the changing room. "I'll wait outside until you're done." he said before you closed the door.

Once it was closed you sighed once more and started to undress. You liked Nate, more than just in a friendly platonic way, and if any other guy would've told you to dress up like that, you definitely would've refused.

But Nate did so many nice things for you, the least you could do was to make him laugh for a bit. Because you already expected that that's what he'll do once he sees you in this outfit.

Once you were left in your underwear you looked into the mirror, feeling insecure. You didn't like your body at all. You just weren't shaped like the girls on the cheer squad, and you also didn't seem to have their proportions. And now you had to wear a skirt that would expose your huge legs and belly.

You felt sick at the thought of Nate seeing you in this outfit. You looked at the skirt and panicked because what if he thought you're skinnier, and he picked the wrong size? You'd have to tell him to get you a size bigger, and it would be super embarrassing.

You put on the top first and gulped when you noticed how tight it was, your chest on display. But you were sure it was supposed to sit a bit tighter. Then you shakily grabbed the skirt and put it on, and surprisingly it closed and sat perfectly fine. Except for the fact that it was quite short.

You then put on the stockings which ended right above your knee, and the shoes. You looked into the mirror again and turned to the side, throwing various poses to check it out from different angles.

And then you frowned, because for some reason the fit looked pretty cute, but... would you actually go out like this? Definitely no- "Are you ready?" Nate asked impatiently. You started to contemplate whether or not you wanted Nate to actually see you like that.

"Um... y-yes but it looks really stupid i'm gonna undress again-""No!" he almost yelled, startling you "Please let me see, I bet it looks good." he rolled his eyes, glad that you couldn't see him behind that door.

He liked that you weren't too confident or too sure of yourself and needed his reassurance, but he really wished you'd actually listen to him right now.

And then you finally opened the door "Come in.." and it really took everything in him to not rip the door open and gawk at you.

He gently opened the door and looked at you, his eyes wandering from your head, which was hung low as if in shame, to your exposed cleavage, to the way the stockings hugged your legs, to your shoes.

He had to control himself or else he'd pop a boner right here, right in front of you, because, god you looked so pretty. With the way your hands were fidgeting again just like the first time he saw you. You looked so shy and submissive under his gaze.

"You look so pretty..." he said in a serious tone, so serious in fact, that you immediately looked up at him. "Really? I feel kinda..." you didn't dare to finish the sentence.

The last time you called yourself fat in front of him, he almost lost it. He got just as serious as he was right now, saying that you looked fine and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with you.

Sure you weren't shaped like Maddy was, and you didn't have the perfect thigh gap, but Nate was aware that you were extremely pretty nonetheless. You were almost perfect, and everything that wasn't perfect would be taken care of.

Like your style.

This was a small step for him but a huge one for you, and it would be an even bigger step for you to dress like that on the daily, but he's sure he can help you with that.

"Seriously, you look absolutely.. wow." he added, and it only got you more flustered. Maybe dressing like this isn't so bad if Nate thinks it's pretty, hell even if he's the only who thinks so, his words affected you more than anything anyone at East Highland High could possibly say. "Wow.. Thank you.."

He cleared his throat and took a step closer, towering over you even more. "You obviously don't have to listen to me,” he lied “but... I personally think it looks better than your usual dark outfits." When you looked back into the mirror he continued "You shouldn't hide behind those… wide pants and loose tops, you should wear more outfits like this and show everyone how pretty you look."

When he saw you smile, he knew he had you where he wanted you. It wasn't just a forced smile, it was a real one, a flustered one. You loved that he found you pretty, even if you couldn't see it for yourself. And he knew how important his opinion was to you.

Hearing his compliments alone made you want to change your style a little, just so that he doesn't change his opinion. "You really think this fits me?" You asked one more time to make sure that he actually meant it.

He nodded eagerly placing his hands onto your shoulders "I promise." He felt like he could melt with the way you were looking up at him "I would never lie to you, you know that, right?" As if in trance you looked into his eyes and nodded.

"Yeah of course." You smiled up at him, feeling so small in front of him. "I'll try to check for cheaper options though, if you don't mind. Maybe something that isn't from an expensive boutique." you chuckled. He frowned instantly before responding "No, keep the outfit, I'll pay for it."

You shook your head right away, thinking back to the expensive things he had bought you already. "Nate, you need to stop spending so much money on me, I mean it. I highly doubt that i'm the only friend you spend that much money on."

Nate tried not to laugh at your statement. Of course you were the only person he spent that much money on.

As if he'd buy McKay, or any of his other 'friends' for that matter, anything above 10 bucks. "Y/n, I promise I’m not spending too much money." You wanted to believe him, but deep down you knew why Nate did all this.

Or at least you thought you did.

He was used to being used for money by his friends, there couldn't be another explanation, it had to be the reason. Why else would he feel the need to buy you, who he saw as his friend, so many expensive things?

"And also I kinda forced you to try it on, it's the right thing to do, trust me." You sighed shaking your head in disbelief "Fine, but you really don't have to, you know that?" He nodded as a smile made its way onto his lips.

He wished he could kiss you right now, but needless to say that wasn't possible yet. He couldn't wait for the day he would finally have you to himself, safe and happy with him. Walking next to you, with your hand in his, he could already imagine Cassie's and Maddy's faces when they see the two of you.

Nate wasn't blind nor oblivious, he saw the way Cassie eyed you like she wanted to murder you, or the way Maddy would shake her head whenever she looked at the two of you walking down the hallway.

Sure he had to come up with a plausible story before one of them could get to you without him noticing, and ruin his perfect plan. He honestly doesn't know what would happen to them if they decided to ruin his plan.

But that wasn't important right now.

What mattered was that you finally owned the perfect outfit, only because of him, and you’d only wear it for him too. You didn't even talk back or hesitate as much as he had expected.

Everything was going according to plan, and it was only a matter of time until you would cave in fully and listen to him all the time.

The next day you got ready for school, and decided to put on the outfit Nate had gotten you the day prior, but combined with a long cardigan to prevent you from flashing anyone at school.

Not to mention your mom who would probably freak out once she saw your outfit for school.

You brushed your hair, and put on the earrings Nate bought you previously. They were beautiful, dangling bows with a small diamond in the middle.

You told Nate he didn't have to buy them for you and that you'd find a cheaper variant online, but he insisted nonetheless.

You wondered what it would be like to be his girlfriend as you applied your lipstick.

Not that you'd actually ever be his girlfriend. He probably wouldn't even consider dating me.. was all you could think. And you also wouldn't ever consider actually dating him.

What if you'd have to move again? It wouldn't only break your heart, but his too.

"Y/n?" Your mom pulled you out of your thoughts as she stood in front of your now open door -because knocking was completely overrated anyways.

She gave you a disapproving look as her eyes moved up and down your frame. You hadn't put on the cardigan yet, so you could only assume what she's thinking. "What are you wearing?" She finally spoke.

You sighed as you looked down at your feet. "Mom I-" She immediately shook her head "Nate told you to wear this, didn't he?" You groaned in frustration, all hopes of avoiding any confrontation now gone.

Your mom scoffed at your lack of response. "Have you seen yourself? You look like..." You raised your head and looked at your mom "Like what?" She crossed her arms and sighed "Like someone else!"

You knew that this wasn't what came to her mind first, but decided not to comment on it. "No one forced me to wear this. I wanted to wear this." Your mom frowned, not believing you one bit.

And even if you wanted to go to school like that, she felt sick at the thought of all the boys seeing her daughter in such an outfit. "Get changed, right now."  Was all she said before turning around and leaving your room.

You stomped after her "I'm going to be late to school if I change now!" you yelled as you followed her into the kitchen where your dad sat, completely unfazed by the argument which was taking place.

"That's your own fault, and don't yell at me like that." She responded, not even looking at you. "Mom, I'm not going to change."

She turned around once she grabbed her mug from the kitchen counter. "Oh but you are already. You are changing, because you would never wear something like this, especially not to school."

"Am I not allowed to change my style once in a while? You never approve of the way I dress anyways so why are you making a big deal out of this now?." She shook her head once again "You don't get it, y/n. You're... changing, as in ‘you’re becoming someone that you’re not’!" you scoffed in disbelief "I'm a teenager, of course I'm changing."

You turned away from your parents, and made your way to the hallway to put your shoes on. Once you reached your shoes you heard footsteps following you "You're really gonna go to school like that?" Your mom asked.

Once you slipped into one shoe you turned around and nodded. "You're grounded young lady, I hope you're aware of that." You slipped into the other shoe as you responded "I've been grounded my entire life, mom. Try harder." you said as you pushed past her to get your backpack.

Your mother just stood in the hallway, completely baffled. But before she could think of anything to say, you left the house already. Quickly making your way to Nate's truck.

Nate loved picking you up from home.

He wished you'd let him pick you up anywhere anytime, no matter where you were, but you only let him pick you up when you both had the same lessons in the morning.

He had told you that he'd pick you up even if you started earlier than him, but you immediately brushed it off.

Once you saw him your frown disappeared and you tried to smile again.

But Nate noticed. He always noticed when you were frowning, and when he saw your outfit he could already imagine what or specifically who made you frown.

To say that Nate disliked your parents would be an understatement. Whenever he would come over to your place, your mom would eye him and make snarky remarks.

Not only that, but she would sometimes enter your room -without knocking of course- every ten minutes to check on you, always with some sort of excuse as to why, just to make sure that the two of you weren't doing anything she would disapprove of.

He couldn't even hug you goodbye when he'd leave because when he did it once, your mom eyed him as if he was hurting you.

And your dad? He didn't know if he hated him even more.

He was barely there when Nate came over, and whenever you'd talk about him you would complain about him never caring about your arguments with your mom. He simply stayed out of it until it would annoy him, then he'd simply tell his wife to 'calm down' and that you 'shouldn't overreact'

And if you still wouldn't stop fighting with her, he'd simply get up and smoke outside or drive off to god knows where.

Having an overbearing mother and an absent father didn't do you any good, he'd gladly just have you move in with him, but his dad was probably even worse to live with than yours was.

"Everything alright?" Nate asked once you stepped inside the car, put your seatbelt on and sighed. You nodded, not looking at him "My mom's just mad at me because I'm wearing this to school today.." you explained as you fidgeted with your skirt.

That's when you noticed that you totally forgot to put on your cardigan in the heat of the moment. You mentally face palmed, knowing that you'd have to walk around like that without being able to hide at least a little bit of your body.

Nate nodded as he started the car. "I'm sorry to hear that... She’s always picking fights with you for no reason..." You nodded as you looked out of the passenger's window.

He looked at your thighs, which were just slightly on display, and fuck he would do everything just to touch them.

He decided to test the waters and reassuringly placed his hand on your thigh. You flinched slightly, not expecting the sudden gesture, but you didn't react in any way, which relieved him a lot.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, yeah? You can always come to my place or call me and I'll be there to pick you up and get your mind off things, alright?" You nodded with a soft smile on your lips.

You slowly turned back to him "Where have you been all my life? I would've needed you way sooner." Nate tried to contain his happiness.

You telling him you needed him, letting him touch your thigh and wearing his outfit? He was sure that he was the happiest man alive right now.

"Yeah, I also wish I could've been there sooner. But I'm here now, and I'm not gonna leave again." he assured. You placed your hand atop his on your thigh and nodded "Thank you.."

Everything was going so so well, until this Jake guy from your arts class decided to speak to you. He must've seen you with Nate, the two of you were almost inseparable after all. Did he have a death wish or something?

The way he looked at you as well, it made him sick.

You didn't even notice it, you were your usual friendly self, telling him something Nate couldn't make out from his seat, two rows behind the two of you. But it couldn't have possibly been funny enough for him to laugh so hard, that he had to place his hand on your shoulder for support.

He never cared much about Jake, never even talked to the guy, but he'd love to beat the shit out of him right now. Only stopping when you tell him to.

But based on your personality, you'd probably stop him right away.

Nate had more than enough however, when the guy still had his hand on your shoulder after ten seconds.

Nate got up, the sound of the chair scraping along the tiles on the floor so loud, that both you and Jake turned around right away.

Nate stared daggers into Jake as he made his way to the two of you, resulting in Jake's eyes widening slightly and him finally removing his hand from your shoulder "Move." was all Nate needed to say for Jake to smile at you one last time before immediately getting up and walking to his friend's desk.

You frowned at Nate not sure what had gotten into him. "Are you mad? Is everything okay?" You asked, worry evident on your face.

He was more than happy that you reacted this way and didn't ask him what the fuck was wrong with him for scaring the poor guy like that.

He shook his head before smiling "Everything's fine don't worry.. Jake's just really flirty with every girl that he sees, I just wanted to protect you." he reasoned.

You frowned, not aware that Jake has ever flirted with any girls in your classes, or you to begin with. He just seemed friendly, but you brushed it off nonetheless, knowing that Nate probably knew him better than you did.

"Wait, you’ve never had a boyfriend?" Nate asked in feigned disbelief, as you two sat in his living room after school one day. You shook your head in response as you waited for Nate to laugh at you.

Except, he didn't.

It only made him happier that you finally confirmed his theory.

He didn't expect you to have any ex-partners, since you told him you never really socialized or had stable friendships with anyone in the past.

He figured you also hadn't been in a relationship as well then. But your confirmation only made him happier. And you didn't seem like the type to just sleep with the next best boy you meet so he figured you also must be a virgin.

And he was eating it up.

Whenever he'd jerk himself off, he’d think about you and how fucking amazing you'd feel around him. How shy you would be in front of him once you two got intimate for the first time.

And after every time he came, he craved you even more. It took everything within him to refrain from picking you up and carrying you in his bed whenever you came over.

But he always told himself that the wait would be worth it.

He'd wait just for you, no matter how long it'd take.

"I just never got to form that kind of connection with anyone, since I barely talk to people.." You said as you played with the hem of your red sundress.

Yeah, you also started wearing dresses.

You told yourself that Nate wasn't the reason for it, but you knew that without him, you would have never considered wearing them in the first place.

You saw the way he looked at that one cheerleader, during one of his games last week and despite the fact that you never wanted to date him, you couldn't help but feel the urge to be... perfect in front of him.

Nate also noticed that.

Before, you'd just wear your baggy jeans to school, preferring comfort over style. But ever since last week, you seemed to constantly wear dresses and skirts.

Not only that, but you also did your best to appeal to him. You wore more make up, you shaved your arms despite not being too hairy to begin with. You pout so much effort into looking even more beautiful than you were already.

He wasn't sure why though, because he didn't push you that much after you went to the boutique. He was praying that you only do it for him and not to impress any other boy at school though.

"Besides, it's useless anyways. Who knows when my father is gonna move again.." You said, suddenly feeling sad as you thought about your life without Nate.

Nate considered that as well.

He didn't like the idea at all and he'd do anything to stop that from happening. To stop your parents from taking you away from him.

Hell, he'd buy you a flat somewhere if he has to, or have you move in with him if that's what it took.

Nate took your hand in his, brushing his thumb over your knuckles "Hey, don't think about that alright? We'll find a solution if that should happen." he said reassuringly.

You nodded, a small smile on your face. You loved it when Nate was affectionate. You seemed to be the only person he was genuinely nice to.

"What about you though? I bet you had plenty of relationships." You grinned, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.

Nate chuckled "Yeah I didn't have that many relationships, but the ones I had were… intense." He answered "Oh, that bad?" you asked as you frowned at him.

He was more than glad you asked, because now he could finally tell you about Maddy and Cassie in a subtle way.

Once he was done, you’d never even consider believing them.

He nodded in response "Yeah... I was with Maddy for a pretty long time, do you know her?" he asked, hoping to find out whether she's talked to you or not.

You thought for a moment before nodding your head. "I think she's in one of my classes. Maddy... Perez?" Nate nodded, swallowing hard.

He was hoping you didn't know her, praying that the both of you never cross paths. But that was hopeless considering how popular she was.

"She's.. definitely something." You chuckled dryly as you couldn't help but compare yourself to her.

You didn't stand a chance with Nate if that's his type.

You always thought she was really pretty, and since she was on the cheerleading team, you knew she must be popular too. You always saw her with her group of friends and you admired her style, her beauty, her confidence, everything.

But she always seemed to give you weird looks and now you could imagine why. She probably was still in love with Nate, and didn’t like him having female friends.

Nate noticed the smile on your face falter just a slight bit, and he could only assume that she must've treated you badly that bitch, always causing fucking problems

"What do you mean?" You shrugged, unsure of how to explain it "She just... She's really pretty and I like her style. I wanted to compliment her before but she always gives me this look." You responded, your gaze locked onto the carpet.

Nate frowned at the thought of her.

How dare she even look your way? And how dare she make you feel uncomfortable? He could imagine why she was looking at you though, probably annoyed by how much time you and him spend, and how obedient you were already.

Something she could never do.

"But maybe I'm just imagining things, I might be a bit paranoid.. She's really pretty though, I bet the two of you looked great together.." Nate cringed at your words.

He couldn’t stand her, and the thought of everything he did for her, despite her acting like a bitch all the time, made his blood boil. The sound of her voice alone gave him chills, reminding him of how often she’d yell at him in front of her friends.

He's sure that you and him would look way better together.

"I'm honestly glad we're not together anymore.. She was awfully mean, and just so ungrateful." he sighed as he looked to the ground. "She constantly blamed me for everything when she was clearly at fault, fuck, she even..."

You weren't sure if you've seen Nate so vulnerable before, so hurt and all because of that girl. "…She even cheated on me at a party, in front of everyone, just because we had an argument." your eyes widened.

You did not expect Maddy to be such a bad person. Especially to someone like Nate, he seemed like he'd give his all to the person he loves. He was giving you his all and you weren't even his girlfriend.

You removed your hand from his, and scooted closer to him, wrapping your arm around his firm back and leaning your head against his arm. "I'm so sorry Nate.. you didn't deserve that.." You said as you stroked his back.

Nate suddenly got goosebumps, not expecting you to hug him like that. He was convinced he deserved an oscar for that performance, that's for sure. He leaned into your touch, enjoying how close he was to you, and the sweet scent of your perfume.

"It's alright... I got over it eventually. Sometimes people just disappoint you and you have to learn to live with it." he responded.

Which was an absolute fucking lie.

He still wanted to hurt her for humiliating him like that back at the pool, and he also still prays for her downfall and a chance to humiliate her just as bad.

You lifted your head and looked at him "We don't have to speak about her anymore if you don't want to. I'll even slap her for you if you want." you said half jokingly.

You'd never purposefully hurt anyone, or risk being the center of attention at school. But you just wanted to see Nate happy. He seemed so sad right now and even if he said he's over it, you knew he wasn't.

Nate chuckled before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you flat against his chest "There's no need for that. I'm just glad that you're here right now, you're all I need." He said as he stroked your shoulder.

You tried not to freak out.

The fact that he held you so close and literally told you that you're all he needed made you feel things, you didn't want to feel.

You didn't want to feel like he liked you more than just in a platonic way. You didn't want to get your hopes up, hell you didn't even want to have a crush on him.

You were so sure that you didn't have a chance, especially when he told you who his ex girlfriend was, but then why did he treat you like that? Why did he tell you you were all he needed?

“Do you also know Cassie, by chance?” he asked after a moment of silence. You thought for a moment, before shaking your head. He sighed, both in relief and in annoyance as he remembered her.

“Cassie and I also used to date. But she turned into an absolute psycho after some time. She was totally obsessed with me…” Nate explained before he sighed. “If she ever talks to you, tell me, alright? Same with Maddy, don’t talk to any of them.” he added suddenly very serious.

You nodded in response “What exactly did she do..? If you don’t mind me asking.” You asked carefully, since it seemed to be a touchy subject for him.

“She was.. possessive, unpredictable, and insecure. I was scared of her sometimes I can’t even lie... She just has this insane look in her eyes, at first I didn’t notice it but as our relationship progressed, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Your eyes widened once again. If she really was that possessive over Nate, what if she thinks you two are together? Would she actually hurt you? You swallowed hard at the thought.

Nate observed your reaction, taking notice of how pale you became suddenly He didn't mean to scare you, but he had to warn you, in order to protect you from both of them.

"Jeez, that's... actually scary." you chuckled dryly, not sure how to react to the newfound information. "Don't worry though, I'll protect you from them, you got nothing to worry about." he said as he looked at you longingly.

Would it be too soon to ask you to be his now?

Probably the wrong moment to ask you, since he just told you about his crazy ex girlfriends. But he didn't want to wait any longer, he couldn't wait much longer.

Not when his need for you became stronger and stronger.

Sure, being your friend and spending time with you was amazing. You were sweet, funny and you wouldn't refuse him a thing. But it wasn't enough for him, not really.

He needed to act soon, because it frustrated him more and more each day. Nate just had to catch you talking to a boy from your class and it made him furious.

Not to mention how sexually frustrated he was.

His hand was not enough to satisfy him anymore, he craved so much more and that only caused him to be insufferable at times, unable to relax and always in a bad mood.

He really tried his hardest not to lash out on you like he did on McKay or his teammates. He was sure that if Cassie dared to approach him or you he'd absolutely lose his shit.

“Didn’t know you were home yet.”

You and Nate turned towards the person who just entered the living room in unison. It was Nate’s brother Aaron.

Great.

Nate rolled his eyes and sighed. Why was he home already? “Yeah, school ended earlier today.” He replied drily. He did not want Aaron to interact with you in any way, since he knew how off putting he could be.

“Let’s go,” Nate got up as he looked at you with a cold expression. You knew not to ask any questions when he got like this, so you just nodded and got up from the sofa.

“Woah, who are you? New girlfriend?” Your eyes widened as you laughed nervously “Oh, n-no we’re just really good friends.” You stated as you smiled at his brother.

And it bothered Nate so much. Why were you smiling at him? He knew you only wanted to be polite, but it bothered him because Aaron wasn’t worthy of your politeness or smile.

He wanted to be the only guy you smile at, even though that’s basically impossible with how fucking nice you were.

Aaron smiled back at you, as he playfully tilted his head to the side “That’s surprising, d’you have a boyfriend already?” He asked before he looked you up and down “Because you’re definitely Nate’s type.”

The room fell silent for a moment, mostly because you didn’t know what to say to that at all, and because Nate tried his hardest not to turn into an aggressive asshole in front of you.

You once again chuckled nervously, before you swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling like your heart would jump out any moment. “Um… I don’t have a boyfriend and I’m sure that I’m not Nate’s type.”

You didn’t even know why you said the last part, because you could tell that Nate was fuming more and more with each word you said to him. Before Aaron could respond, Nate did “Alright enough, Aaron, we’ll head upstairs now if you don’t mind.”

Aaron sighed exaggeratedly “That’s too bad, I really enjoyed the company of…?” he said as he looked towards you now “Y/n.” You responded, and Aaron nodded “Y/n, go ahead, you know where my room is.” Nate commanded.

You really wish it didn’t, but his demanding tone and sudden change of persona really did something to you. It excited you in a way.

You nodded and walked towards the hallway, where Aaron was standing. Before you could pass him though, he moved in front of you, looking down at you with a predatory grin “You know, if Nate doesn’t want you, I’d be totally down-”

Your eyes widened in response as you heard Nate stomping towards the two of you.

Nate had more than enough by now, “Shut the fuck up already!” He almost yelled. Aaron chuckled “I was just joking around why’re you so mean in front of your cute little friend?” He mocked before smirking at you again.

Nate turned towards you, this time even more irritated “Go upstairs, now.” You gulped and finally moved towards the stairs again, quickly making your way up.

You were sitting on Nate’s bed as you could hear his deep voice downstairs and you were sure he’d actually beat his brother up. You couldn’t make out what he was saying except for a very loud “Stay the fuck away from her!”

You didn’t have to wait for long until Nate entered the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He eyed you with a mixture of possessiveness and longing but also with a hint of softness.

His mind was currently occupied with fantasies about fucking you on his bed, while you moan about how good he feels, and how he’s the only one you need, while his brother is forced to listen to your moans that echo through the entire house. Knowing he could never be lucky enough to be in his spot.

He wondered if you’d be into that? If you had this corrupt side that no one knew about. Maybe you fantasized about him as well?

“Sorry about my brother, he’s a fucking asshole.” Nate stated as he walked towards you. “I hope he didn’t make you feel too uncomfortable..” He added as his gaze softened.

You shook your head, your signature smile on your lips “No, don’t worry. Are you okay though? I hope you guys didn’t fight too hard..”

He loved how considerate you were despite everything that happened. Despite Nate being somewhat rude to you earlier, and his brother making you uncomfortable, you still cared for Nate.

“No, not much more than we usually do, don’t worry.” He sighed as he plopped down on the bed next to you. “Wanna watch a movie?” He asked as he tilted his head to the side. You smiled and nodded in response.

Nate turned his TV on and grabbed the remote before he plopped down onto his bed again. He scooted towards you, wrapping his arm around you and you could’ve sworn you’ve never felt more at peace than in moments like these. Nestled against him, comfortably on his bed.

And Nate felt the same way, if not even more at peace.

You were his escape from his fucked up family just as much as he was yours, and you were the only one he truly cared for besides himself. He couldn’t wait until he could finally call you his.

In his eyes you were his already, from the moment he first laid eyes on you. And he’s come so far, molded you into perfection. There’s no way he’d let you go.

All that was left now, was to make you officially his.

✎ Thank you so so so much for reading I hope you liked it :3 again don’t be shy to give me honest feedback, likes and reblogs are appreciated!! ♡

- Cassandra

[veganpropaganda]

"A telling example of the impulse to project human stereotypes of disability onto other animals can be found in the story of Mozu, a snow monkey (a Japanese macaque) who was born in Japan’s central highlands. Mozu was born with abnormalities of her hands and feet thought to have resulted from pesticide pollution. Snow monkeys spend much of their time moving through trees, which allows them to avoid wading through the thick snow that covers the ground in the winter months. Mozu’s disabilities meant she was mostly unable to move through the branches; instead she traveled the nearly two miles that her troop covered every day in search of food by alternately walking on her abnormal limbs and crawling and sliding on the forest floor. When Mozu was born, researchers who had been watching this troop feared she would not make it past infancy. To their surprise, Mozu lived for nearly three decades, rearing five children of her own and becoming a prominent troop member.

In an episode of the program Nature featuring Mozu’s story, she is again and again referred to as “inspiring,” “suffering,” and a “very special monkey.” The dramatic music and voice-overs that describe Mozu’s struggle in vivid detail make it nearly impossible to watch her move across the snowy forest floor, a baby clinging to her belly and other monkeys flying by above her, without thinking, “Poor Mozu!”

At the same time, I am aware that the piece was edited to elicit this reaction. There are few shots in which Mozu is not struggling, and I question the effect the videographers had on her and the troop. In one scene her desperation seems to stem from being chased by the cameraperson. The music and voice-overs of course also add a sense of struggle to Mozu’s story.

Yet I have no doubt that life was hard for Mozu, and I find myself desperate to know what she thought of her situation. Was her instinct to reach for the trees unquenchable? Was she always in pain, exhausted, or fearful as she moved slowly across the forest floor? Did she wonder why she was different from her companions? I cannot help but wonder, although I realize how similar these thoughts are to the tiresome questions I have been asked again and again about my own life, my own disability. My desire for Mozu’s life not to be seen as one of suffering and struggle is also a projection, one that wishes disability empowerment onto my fellow primate. Our human perspective shapes how we interpret Mozu’s experience.

Many of our ideas about animals are formed by our assumption that only the “fittest” animals survive, which negates the value and even the naturalness of such experiences as vulnerability, weakness, and interdependence. When disabilities occur, we assume that “nature will run her course,” that the natural process for a disabled animal is to die, rendering living disabled animals not only aberrant but unnatural."

-- Sunaura Taylor, "Animal crips" in Disability and Animality: Crip perspectives in Critical Animal Studies.

[thefabulous-mostgroovy]

Beautiful Boy

"You're sure you want to do this?" he asks, softening his voice. Jon nods.

"I... I think it'll be good for me."

That's all Martin needs to hear.

(art included!)

Jon/Martin, 1.7k words, rated Gen, read on AO3. this is for day 3 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt Hair Care!!

Martin truly thinks he's an absolute genius for using one of Jon's hair clips to keep the towel in place. Jon snickers a little at his chuffed face in the mirror, holding the other end of the towel up with his hands in front of him.

"Don't laugh," Martin tuts. "Or I'll give you a bad haircut.

"I don't know if a buzz cut is possible to mess up," Jon says. Even joking, he sounds a little nervous. His eyes dart from his own reflection to the scissors in Martin's hands, and back again. Martin plants a kiss in his hair.

"You're sure you want to do this?" he asks, softening his voice. Jon nods.

"I... I think it'll be good for me."

That's all Martin needs to hear.

They've gone over his decision a few times. First of all, the long hair has gotten a bit annoying. It blows in his face, especially in the Highland winds. It's a pain to maintain. But, mostly, it has too many negative memories attached. The only reason it's as long as it is, is he's been too tired and stressed and scared to go outside to get a proper haircut. He didn't grow it out, it got out of control. Just another thing he couldn't fix, couldn't get a handle on. Not to mention the fairly recent fear of strangers welding blade near his throat. Chopping it all off is about as good of a fresh start as Jon is going to get right now.

He remembers Jon's hair when they first met. It had been a bit long, even for how short he used to keep it. He kept it loosely pushed out of his face, but it fell in loose waves over his face whenever he was concentrating on anything else. Martin was never able to pay attention to the day's to-do's because he was always too busy watching Jon's hands run through his own hair, flipping it out of his face, the grey strands at his temples revealing themselves when he combed it back.

Despite his scruffy, ill-fitting suit jackets and trousers, his hair always fell perfectly with seemingly very little effort. Martin has curly hair himself, and he's never been one to get jealous over someone else's hair, but he really thought that's what he felt about Jon in the early days.

(It was not jealousy. He was just completely arse over kettle for his boss. But, can you blame him? Jon might be the prettiest man Martin has ever met.)

After Prentiss, Jon let his hair grow out a bit more. Well, let is a strong word. More like, he neglected in getting a haircut as his paranoia grew and grew. It reached his shoulders in just a few months, and Jon had taken up keeping it tied back in these large clips that's currently holding up the towel that will catch all that hair when Martin shears it off.

Martin remembers being quite surprised at how long his hair had gotten when he returned from his brief stint of running from the police. It was hanging in loose strings over his shoulders, like it hadn't been very well taken care of. Part of him had wanted to sit Jon down and detangle the nest residing on his head. Maybe give it a good wash.

The next time he saw Jon, it was with his hair in a braid. Or, an attempt at a braid. It was a bit more like a series of knots, a bit lopsided and kind of falling out. In his week-long shock at the fact that his boss was not, in fact, just a creepy middle aged man who was way too into administrative work, but an evil eldritch monster who is still way too into administrative work, he told Jon this. While he waited for Jon's tea to steep, he turned around and told him, 'Hey, your braid's a mess. Want me to fix it?'

To his everlasting surprise, Jon said yes.

With shaking hands and a beet red face, Martin had sat behind Jon on the couch, and carefully brushed Jon's hair through with his fingers. His hair looked healthy, like it had been recently washed, and smelled of coconut and bergamot. There was a lot more grey in it than when he first met Jon (but not as much as there is now).

Jon had sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back as Martin had brushed his hair back. He had wanted so badly to run his nails over his scalp, and he just barely restrained himself from doing so. His hair was soft under his hands, and it bounced back into shape when his fingers ran through the ends.

Actually putting the plait in was easy. Martin fell victim to being a girl's Gay Best Friend while he was still in high school, which is never all that great, but he did actually enjoy styling her hair. It came to him as muscle memory, twisting the three sections around each other, careful not to pull or tug by accident. He kept it fairly loose to not give Jon a tension headache, and the shape of his curls were still visible as they flowed into the braid.

After tying it off, Jon had gotten a bit stuttery and smiley, tucking the shorter strands that fell over his face behind his ears, and Martin had practically short circuited and fled the room.

Jon never got around to properly cutting his hair, even as it reached further and further down his back. After Daisy, he could never let anyone near him with a blade without falling into panic. So, he simply put up with the choppy cuts from cutting the dead ends off with a pair of kitchen scissors. It was good enough for him, apparently. And he never had to let any strangers near his neck.

Martin can't help but feel a little pride at the fact that Jon is allowing him to do this. Sure, he's screwing his eyes shut and bordering on holding his breath, but Jon is letting him do this in the first place.

"I'm gonna start now," Martin warns him. Jon hums and nods minutely, and Martin gathers some hair in his hands. He gives him another moment to change his mind, then makes the first cut.

He starts near his nape, moving along in as straight a line as he can manage. He cringes a little at the slope he creates—he somehow manages to cut a bar graph into Jon's ends—but it doesn't matter. He drops the cut strands into the bin below him, not bothering with the bits that stick to the towel. His hair goes from ending at his mid-back, to... whatever Martin has managed to make. It sits in an odd, blunt bob, just above his shoulders. When Martin sets the scissors down for a moment, stretching his hands, Jon's shoulder slump and relax, and reveals that Martin has actually cut much further than he thought.

"You look like Lord Farquaad," Martin snickers as Jon opens his eyes. They glow green for just a second, and Jon gasps in offence, then laughs.

"So mean to me," he bemoans. "Why must I face such treatment? Go to jail."

"If I go to jail, I can't do the rest of your hair, m'Lord." Martin picks the scissors back up, ready to cut more off before going with the razor. Jon closes his eyes again.

"I'll just visit you in jail," Jon says, seeming much more relaxed now that the first shock is over. "Give you a spoon to dig your way out."

"I'll Shawshank Redemption my way out of there," Martin promises as he cuts shorter and shorter. "Come back with scissors and a vengeance."

Jon laughs quietly. After another few minutes, Martin has gotten his hair into a rather shaggy short cut. It looks awful.

"Okay, I'm gonna plug in the razor, don't look at your hair."

"Why not?" Jon immediately opens his eyes and starts to laugh at the sight.

"Don't look!" Martin splutters, scandalised.

"I look like I got attacked by Edward Scissorhands!" Jon cackles, running a hand through the choppy sections.

"I'll fix it, just hold bloody still," Martin grumbles, face red. Even through the buzzing of the razor, he can hear and see Jon humming with giggles. He never could have guessed that Jon's favourite hobby, should they ever have actually started dating, would be winding Martin up at every opportunity.

He starts, again, at the neck and works his way up. His grey hair sits in patches through the black, buzzed hair. Martin wouldn't tell him, but it makes him look like a spotted cat. The hair falls into the towel above Jon's lap, onto the floor. Once Martin is done, and it looks a relatively even length, he turns the clippers off, and kisses the top of Jon's head.

"All finished," he says softly.

Jon opens his eyes and stares at the mirror. He runs a hand over his head, tilting it to the side a little. Martin, to busy his nervous hands, removes the hair clip from the towels and gathers it up with the pile of hair in it.

"Do..." Martin tries to act and sound casual. He does not. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," Jon says, and finally smiles. There are pinprick tears in his eyes. "I do. I really do."

Martin kisses the top of his head again, running his hand over his hair. The short strands are still soft, but sliding his hand up the opposite direction leaves his palm a little scratchy. Jon doesn't stand, but he reaches up and pulls Martin down into a proper kiss.

"I love you," he whispers on Martin's lips.

"I love you, too," Martin whispers back. He brushes some of the stray hairs that somehow found their way onto Jon's jumper before he kisses him again.

That night, in bed, Martin strokes his hand back and forth over Jon's hair while he sleeps, tucked under Martin's chin. It feels nice. Different.

And Jon is still the prettiest man that Martin has ever met.

[livingddeadgirlrl]

nate jacobs smut (cw: degradation, creampie, size kink, videoing… yeah)

wc: 2.7k, 2 parts

It was your last finals week of your high school career. you were absolutely drained from the hours of testing and all of the studying you had done. you came back from school, bag slung over your shoulder, trudging to your room. after your long day, all you wanted to do was lay down, but you couldn’t even do that. your brother’s room was right across the hallway from yours, always causing disturbance. your asshole brother was the same grade as you, but the complete opposite. he was a total fucking dipshit. he was om the football team, always drunk as shit, and probably failing all his classes, per usual. he always had his loud ass jock friends over, screaming at the top of their lungs over the most idiotic things. they were always either watching porn on full volume, slamming doors, and stomping as loud as possible as they walked around the house. you were really not in the mood for their antics today, already pissed off from all of your exams. you got to your room and slammed the door shut, letting your brother and his friends know that you were home. tossing your bag onto your ground loudly, you began to quickly slide your jeans off, then pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it onto your bed. you always had cute undergarments, and today you were wearing a cute pink and black lace thong with a black bow on the waistband and strappy sides, and a matching bra that accentuated your pretty tits so perfectly. you were always naturally girly, always looking so perfect, almost like a doll, even when you weren’t trying. you changed into your little lounge dress, pulling it over your head as you stretched your arms up- it was a white babydoll dress with black bows all over and black lace trim. your hair was still slightly curled from your earlier appearance, but it was now looking a bit more disheveled. your lips were still a soft red shade and a little bit glossy, your cheeks a soft rosy shade. you plopped down on your bed face first, your ass up in the air. you could hear the pounding bass coming from music in your brother’s room, and several male voices inside. you rolled your eyes. they kept laughing at full volume, making your blood boil. you were about to snap. “CAN YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP?!” you yelled out at the top of your lungs. only a few moments later, there was a hard pounding on your door. you sighed and hissed out, “what.” then, there it was. the door opened with a slight creak, and your least favorite friend of your brother’s was there. the one who leaked your nudes to the football team last year. the one who continuously slut shamed you in the hallways at school. the one who would always take long and obvious glances at your thighs when your skirt was just a little bit too short. nate jacobs, the star quarterback and prized student of east highland high school, was standing in your doorway. you barely turned your head to take a short glance at him, letting out a small sigh. your positioning on your bed gave him a clear shot of all your precious bits- your cute thong under your dress that covered your slit juuust barely. your legs were up in the air and crossed behind you, with hello kitty socks on your feet.

“sup y/n. long time no see..” he said softly in that stupid cocky tone that bitch always had, leaning on your doorframe with no shirt on. for some reason this guy, along with all of the other football players, had an odd obsession with going shirtless any time they got the opportunity. i mean, not like you were complaining. his body was so perfect to look at. you hated how he made your stomach fill with butterflies and your panties just a little bit damp at the sight of him. ‘what do you want..” you mumbled out. “just coming to check in on my favorite little whore. i see you haven’t changed a bit,” he smirked, letting his glance travel up your legs. “fuck you,” you hissed out. “well you see… that’s why i came here.. to do juuust that,” he said through a soft chuckle, fully entering your room now and pressing the door closed with his bare and muscular back. “yeah fucking right. you know i hate your guts” you retorted. he turned the lock on your door without saying a word and slowly walked over to the foot of your bed, standing right behind your legs. he slid his big hand up the side of your shin, playing with the lace on your hello kitty socks. you tried your best to ignore him, but his touch was just so addictive. he began to slide his hand down your shin, caressing the back of your thigh and giving it a light squeeze. you picked up your phone, scrolling through your instagram feed to show that you were still ignoring him. he let out a low chuckle and decided to take things up a notch. he wasn’t gonna let you ignore him. he got down on his knees at the foot of your bed, his mouth oh so close to your thighs now. he leaned in even closer, placing small kisses all over the insides of your soft and plush thighs, trailing up towards your thong. you let out a small little squeak like sound, unintentionally letting him know that he was getting to you. he slid both of his hands up the back of your thighs and up to your pretty hips. he gave another squeeze, slightly harder this time. he gripped your hips, pulling you up slightly so you were now resting on your knees. his hands were so fucking big, making you look so small compared to him as his grip completely enveloped your hips. he tucked his fingers underneath the waistband of your thong, beginning to slowly slide it down past your hips, then your thighs, and then your knees, oh so slowly. your cheeks immediately began to flush, still looking at your phone, not wanting him to see your reactions. with absolutely no warning, he pressed his lips to your puffy clit, lapping in between your folds with some intensity. this caused you to jerk forward slightly, not expecting the sudden contact. He chuckled lowly again, pulling away slightly. “if you hate my guts so much, why are you soaking right now, hm?” he asked in a low and seductive tone, his breath hitting your folds lightly. ‘shut up..” you muttered softly, pressing your chin and mouth into your soft pink bedding. “just admit it. you’re a fuckin slut who loves attention,” he replied in a slightly stern tone, brushing his fingertipslightly around your pretty pink and slick pussy. “no, i’m not,” you said into your sheets again. “i bet if i pulled out my phone and taped me fucking your pretty little pussy, you would’nt even fight back. you’d probably just let me have my way with you,” he began pressing his middle finger into your cunt, watching it get sucked in. you let out a tiny little whimper. his fingers were so long and thick, you could only imagine what his cock was like… probably really long… really thick… make you feel really good… oh god. you were getting so turned on, and the way your pussy was clenching around just his one finger was telling him all he needed to know. he slowly pulled his finger out and stood up, leaving you unsatisfied and needy. you didn’t wanna let that show, though, so you kept scrolling on your phone, swapping through apps and doing absolutely nothing. you didn’t hear your door open, so you knew he didn’t leave, but you had no idea what he was doing. (cont in pt 2 :>)

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - i. a badge of honour

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. synopsis: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all. a/n: well, here it is! the first chapter of my new series, set in what is now scotland, during the romans' conquest of the british isles in the 1st century. hope you guys like it! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you so much for reading! <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. death, aftermath of a battle, burial of family members. reader is an original character - female, has a name (callie) and a physical description, family history, etc. i'll try to keep the references to a minimum though. age gap (callie is 26, marcus is 48). mention of infidelity and becoming a widow. marcus’ and reader’s pov. i have taken some historical licenses for ease of writing (use of "clan" as synonym for "tribe", references to irish/celtic gods, the caledonian people speak modern scottish gaelic instead of a (proto-)brittonic language). w/c: ~4.2k. dividers by @saradika-graphics i'll be tagging some people at the end of the chapter who interacted with this post. dw, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you ask me to! also, if you want to be removed from this post, please send me a dm.

A light breeze whistled through the nearby standing stones. The dying sun provided no heat, and the ethereal landscape was cold with hues of blue and grey. Despite the shimmering wildlife that came with the first hints of spring, the meadow was uncannily silent.

The crows cackling in the distance broke such tranquil peace and woke you from your slumber.

Slowly you blinked, something wet and warm covering your eyelids. You felt it slide down your skin, pooling in the dip of your collarbone. Your limbs felt so heavy, you couldn’t lift a hand to rub your eyes clean. In fact, you were so tired that even taking a deep breath hurt.

Your orbs fluttered shut, shattered and defeated.

Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, was calling you to His side. His presence was soothing, so inviting, the most melodic sounds guiding you to Him. With the eyes of your dying imagination, He extended a welcoming hand towards you, a soft smile on His mythical features.

“Come with me, sweet child of the tribes.” A guttural voice escaped His lips, so dark and sombre it enveloped you.

You nodded, gaze down, submitted to Him.

“You can’t just take her, Dhuosnos. Callie is yet to avenge them — her purpose must be fulfilled first before she can greet you as an equal.” A second voice, feminine, otherworldly and reassuring, interrupted your exchange.

Morrígan, Goddess of War, placed Her hand on Dhuosnos’ forearm as to stop Him from reaching you. A stone of relief, but also of disappointment, sat low in your stomach when He took a step back, head bowed towards Her.

Steadily you undid your curtsy, your green eyes locking on Hers. They were black as the night sky, Her pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another. You looked into the abyss of Her sight and felt a deep-rooted longing, one you never experienced before.

“You are not done yet, mo leanabh (my child). Your people await your return.” Morrígan palmed your trembling hand, escorting you back to the earthly plane.

“But…”, you turned around to look at Her, ask for Her advice.

But She had already vanished, a sweet scent of lavander left behind.

You gasped awake, your eyes so widened, the cloudy, sunset sky above felt like it was crashing down on you. You were laying down on a pool of mud. A deep, raspy grunt escaped your lungs as you tried to move your arms. When you couldn’t, you looked down, confused.

Aengus’ lifeless body was resting on top of yours. Your father’s henchman had made the ultimate sacrifice by hiding you underneath him, away from the prying eyes of the Romans. The dense liquid caressing the skin on your face was none other than his blood. A trickle of thick red dripped from the gnarly wound in his neck on to your cheek. His eyes were staring at you emptily, his soul had already left this world when you regained consciousness.

Your father, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis, the Caledonian Overlord, had come to the aid of the Taexalian Overlord, whose territory was succumbing to the legions of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, a Roman governor with a high desire to impress his Emperor, Titus Flavius Domitianus.

Your father had gathered as many fighers as the Caledonian lands could give him. Both men and women were called to arms when the tribes were threatened. Being the daughter of the Chieftain would not spare you. You would not have chosen differently anyway, had you been given the opportunity. Fighting for land, clan and honour was your duty as much as your brothers’ and sister’s.

The journey from Inbhir Nis (Inverness) to Cala na Creige (Stonehaven) had been unforgiving, with illness and evil lying in wait. But you all had been warmly welcomed by the Taexali tribe and were fed copiously, the uisge-beatha (whisky) being served like water.

Your combined armies, shy of fifteen thousand folk, had been ambushed at Raedykes during a repositioning exercise by the Roman troops led by Agricola’s most trusted man.

General Marcus Acacius.

His mere name made you sick, anger crawling under your skin.

Fighting off your own opponents, you had seen the Roman General charge against your father like a beast, wielding a gladius over his head. The metallic impact of their swords rang loud across the landscape. The men looked into each other’s souls, an exchange of words shared between them. You were too far to listen, too far to fully see what was really happening as warriors from both sides danced through the grass.

Then you foresaw it before it happened: the heavy Roman sword fell on your father, who was struck to his knees with the General’s blade lodged in his belly.

You tried to get to him, screaming “Athair (father)!” at the top of your lungs. His eyes locked on yours before he fell sideways. You lunged forward but didn’t get to him, Aengus stopping you in your tracks.

“No, Callie, it’s too late now”, he had sorrowfully whispered in your ear before throwing you off to one side to fend off an attacker.

And then blackness swallowed you, an enemy hit you in the head so hard you lost consciousness.

That was how you came to be where you were — with your back flat on the silt and Aengus’ body blanketing yours. The grey sky above you sensed your pain, and, at Taranis’ command, it parted in the middle. The God of Thunder released a downpour to clean the blood, soot and woad’s blue dye off your face and hair.

You cried your sadness away, rainy tears sliding off the corners of your eyes — your anger, your loss, your torment, you purged it all, sobbing until you were devoid of all emotion. Taking a deep breath, which caused a needling pain on your ribs, you pushed Aengus to one side to free yourself from his weight.

The thudding sound he made almost brought more tears to your eyes.

“Sorry, uncail (uncle)”, you muttered, hovering your fingertips over his eyelids to shut them for him. Now he could finally rest.

You stood up, your knees trembling like a newborn calf. A searing pain stabbed your skull, dried blood and dirt gathering on the wound on your scalp. With a straight back, you dared to look around you. The bodies of your own men and women were scattered around the hills of Raedykes. So many lives lost, you heard all your ancestors screaming from above, their cries falling upon you in the way of rain. The green, long grass was reddened with blood, but the weeping sky had started to wash away the atrocities committed by the Romans.

Then you saw him. Your athair.

“No, no, please, no...”, you whispered as your sight became blurry again, dragging your feet towards the fallen body of your dad.

Your soul tried to tear itself apart, become its own entity. You had to summon the last drop of the royal blood that ran through your veins to keep yourself in one piece. You knelt before him, craddling his bloody hand between yours. Unconciously your body rocked back and forth until you hugged him, laying flat on top of him.

Time stood still, like a thread on the expert hands of a wool weaver. It could have been minutes, hours or days, your pain too great to bear, to comprehend.

And then you felt a hand lightly tap your shoulder.

You startled, your mind and body jumping back into survival mode, gripping your sgian-dubh (small knife) close to your chest.

“It’s okay, mo phiuthar (my sister). It’s me, Torcall”, a raspy, masculine voice forced you to focus on the man in front of you.

He was your father’s most important tacksman and also husband to your older sister Mairead — your sweet Maisie, as you always called her. She was the eldest of the four siblings while you were the youngest. Always so witty and quick with a joke, Maisie kept up the spirits even when the circumstances were dire — in fact, before your paths had parted during the battle, she jested about your H-shaped shield being larger than you.

When you turned around, Torcall flattened his hands on your shoulders, slightly shaking you so you would come back to reality.

His blue eyes pierced through you, the situation becoming clearer in your mind. Thousands of your tribesmen were dead. Your father too.

“Maisie?”, you asked in a hush. Your heart clenched when your brother-in-law shook his head no. You were afraid to speak, but you did nonetheless. “Aodh and Somhairle?”

Torcall stared at you, his silence speaking loudly. “They are all dead.”

The air evacuated your lungs, feeling as if a spear had run through you. Learning about the death of Maisie and your twin brothers broke something within you, something fundamental and primal. They were your everything, your most trusted confidants. Despite being of different ages, you all were so tight-knit it was difficult to find one of you alone.

A heart-shattering wail escaped your lips as you bent over yourself, your chest snug against your knees.

Morrígan had unashamedly claimed most of your family that day, except for your beautiful mother. Now Her words made sense: you were yet to avenge them, to fulfil your purpose. She had spared you for a reason, not so you could pity yourself, knees deep in the mud.

To avenge them, you had to kill the hand who showered this tragedy upon you.

General Marcus Acacius.

A raven’s strident, gurgling croak forced you to look up to the skies — a subtle reminder that Morrígan was watching closely. The massive bird was circling above your heads, like a vulture waiting to feast on a carcass. With resolution, you wiped away your tears, your sobs now silent, and nodded at Torcall.

“I understand. How many…?”, your voice faltered before you could finish your question.

“A couple of thousands. We have found cover in the Dunnottar Woods while we regroup and… bury our dead.” Torcall replied, his eyes averted with the last sentence.

You had lost a sister, but he had lost a wife, the mother to his now half-orphaned children. “I’m sorry”, you muttered, your lips pouting once more.

“She died fighting, the death of a warrior.” His proud voice did not waver. “And your father?”

Your heart wept at his mention but managed to control the anxious fluttering.

“The General killed him.” Your teeth gritted with hatred.

“Mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, one of your father’s retinue members bowed his head to you once you walked into the circle they had formed in a meadow between the trees.

A few dozen men were scattered around the area, fires lighting the dark night while shades of red and orange flickered, creating fiery, dancing shades. You held a torch and carefully waved it in front of you, looking at the faces who watched you back eagerly.

You saw in your men what was brewing inside you: despair, defeat, sorrow. All your souls grieving in unison — all of you had lost someone that day.

At six and twenty, you did not expect to be in this position. You were the youngest daughter of the Overlord — you were never meant to lead your people. The task ahead of you felt titanic, unachievable.

But you had no other option. General Marcus Acacius had forced your hand.

He came, he saw, he conquered.

And now you had to deal with the gut-wrenching outcome of his departure.

“We’ll go back home to Inbhir Nis. But before that, we must give burial to our people.” You had to make a herculean effort to infuse your tone with steadiness.

Torcall first, and then the rest, bowed their heads to you.

“As you command, mo bana-phrionnsa”, he replied, and quickly barked orders around in your stead.

Your chest felt heavy with responsibility and grief. What pained you the most was not being able to carry your brothers and sister with you back home. They would not be buried under the cairns near you family home with the rest of your ancestors.

And what was worst — thousands of lives now depended on you. The weight of your tribe's destiny heavily rested on your shoulders now, like Atlas carrying the heavens.

Maisie, Aodh and Somhairle had been lined up on a patch of wildflowers that you had picked yourself the night prior — their arms were threaded together with your sister in the middle. Your clansmen had also surrounded the makeshift burial pit with wood to aid the combustion.

As you placed the last stone on top of them, you also deposited a bright, bloomed thistle. The flower that blossomed in every nook and cranny of your beautiful motherland, despite the harsh winter or conditions it faced. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, it would always come back, stronger and more brightful than ever.

Devotion, bravery, determination, and strength — the thistle was a badge of honour for the Caledonians.

With a renewed brawn unbeknownst to you, you threw the lighted torch and watched as the fire consumed the bodies underneath the stones.

There were no tears left within you. Only purpose and resolution.

The way back to Inbhir Nis was tiring and soul-crushing. Hiking through the Cairngorms had been a difficult task with so many people behind you, but luckily you all managed to make it through without any losses.

With each mile covered, you saw the devastation left behind by the Romans. If this was any indication of what awaited ahead, you should start bracing yourself for what you would see. It seemed that the Romans were set towards the northwest — Inbhir Nis was right in their path.

You quickly recognised the landscape as you walked towards Loch Moy. A thick, dark column of smoke towered above the pine trees. Your heart raced as you picked up your dark green skirt and ran towards the loch, ignoring the calls of your brother-in-law.

You could run through those woods blindly — this was the land where you were born, the land you were named after. Your name was an unusual one — Caledonia, in honour of the earth beneath your rushing feet. Just a few people called you Callie, mainly your family and closest friends. With your bright, fiery red hair, green almond eyes and a face dotted with freckles, you were the epitome of your people. That was probably why when someone new learned your name, they always said it suited you.

Dodging the last few trees, you made it to the edge of the loch. In the shallows, the crannog of Naimh, your community’s healer, was burning down to its foundation. You covered your mouth with a sombre expression, your eyes itchy because of the dense smoke and unspent tears.

The Romans had gotten to your settlement before you did.

“Callie, wait up”, said Torcall behind you, struggling to catch up with you.

He halted right behind you, the silence between you was almost tangible.

“The rangers have returned from their reconnaissance mission.” His voice was plain, contained. You turned your heard towards him, slowly, hardening yourself for his next words. “Your mother is dead.”

The last glimmer of hope within you vanished. A single tear skidded through your cheek — angrily, you wiped it off.

You were alone in this world. Everyone you cared for had been taken from you.

“Is everything to your liking, Dominus (Master)?”, the male roman servant asked in a low hush, head bowed, eyes fixed on the cobblestone.

“Yes, now leave”, Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The General looked around him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. He was accustomed to much more elegant surroundings. Although the barbarians did try, their architecture was nothing in comparison to Rome’s.

The castle he was in was small and it only had two floors. It was mainly made of sturdy, grey rocks and dark wood. The design was not very sophisticated, all square and rugged edges. It had two towers and a barbican. The decoration inside was bare, with just enough furniture and no luxuries.

The only warmth was brought by the colourful tapestries adorning the cold, thick walls — one had caught Marcus' attention at his arrival when he first entered the dais. It told a story he had not heard before.

A dragon-like figure lurked beneath the rippling surface of a lake, attracting the attention of the villagers. At dusk it would emerge, a guttural sound echoing in the dead of night, as if it was calling another. Any bìrlinns (wooden vessel) left on the shore would appear destroyed the next morning. Fishermen were worried and called upon the town's druids, afraid of the Loch Ness monster. To appease the beast, every full moon, the druids would whorship the creature, bringing oblations and sacrificies to quench its thirst.

Marcus made a mental note of keeping his distance from that Loch Ness. As a devoted Roman, he was wary of the mystic creatures that skulked in the depths of human fear.

Although he missed his home, he had several debts to pay. The Emperor would not accept no for an answer, so he had to be a reluctant participant in this incursion — in fact, neither Domitian nor Agricola had really asked him to tame the highlanders up in Caledonia. They knew his skills would be most needed in combat, having been praised by bards and poets alike after his many years in the battlefield.

At eight and forty, Marcus Acacius had had his good share of tragedy and death, both personal and in war. His life had not been easy, having to forge a name of his own since childbirth and then having been recently betrayed by his own spouse.

The thought of Livia still angered him — she had had the audacity of blaming him for her infidelity, accusing him of always being away, of loving Rome more than his own family. Her cheating had been going on for as many years as their arranged marriage, throwing a doubtful shade on his paternity to both his children.

His life had come crumbling down in the last few months, so maybe coming to Britannia had not been such a bad idea. Female adultery was a crime penalised with death and that was a decision that Marcus had yet to make — outing Livia’s unfaithfulness would condemn her to Pluto's realm. Did he really want that for who had been his wife for more than thirty years?

Pinching the bridge of his hooked nose, Marcus walked towards the only window in the room. The roman took a deep breath and exhaled steadily — he needed to think of something else.

His mind went back to the battle of Mons Graupius. The spilling of blood never became easier with time — if anything, it had become harder, splintering his soul further. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the piercing, pained shriek of a woman as he imparted death on Murdoch of Inbhir Nis.

Her hair was dyed with black soot and tied back, her face covered in a blue paste and ash. He was too far to catch the colour of her eyes, but he thought them dark azure. The fierceness of her expression took him aback, her voice shouting a word he did not recognise. But his eyes did not have time to linger on the feral woman a few yards away, because a savage attacked him.

His hand stilled on the rocky window’s sill. The barbarians called this place Inbhir Nis. The stone castle was that of the chief’s family, atop of a hill with views to the scenery underneath. It was rudimentary and lacked many commodities — nothing comparable to his villa in Rome. The tribal settlement was formed of huts made of stone, timber and hay.

Agricola had decided to burn down the outskirts of the town and killed the wife of the clan chief making a macabre example of her, so the people would submit to the Roman’s yoke quickly, crushing any opportunity of rebellion. The message was clear: Rome would not tolerate being challenged. Anyone who did, would face the most painful of deaths. The governor left to go northward, leaving Marcus behind to rebuild the area to Rome’s standards. The emperor had deemed the location an important enclave for his empire, being the main town in the Moray Firth.

Marcus was standing in what he thought was the bedchamber of Murdoch. With the Overlord and his family alienated, the primitive people of the highlands needed educating and he had been given the task of doing so. Not a welcomed one, but he had a duty to Rome that had to be fulfilled.

With a heavy sigh, he undid the brooch at the base of his neck, relieving himself of the heavy, white sagum (cape) that was part of his attire. He threw it on the uncomfortable bed. He unfastened the golden, laurel-shaped bracelets around his wrists, and then proceeded to undo the tight knots that held his armour in place.

Then a knock on the thick, wooden door broke the silence of the room.

“Come in”, thinking it would be his male servant, he didn’t turn around.

“Dominus, dinner is ready”, a very soft voice with a very marked accent made him look over his shoulder.

A pair of very bright, almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes locked on his, framed by what he would describe as fire hair — so red it looked like a hellish aura crowning your head.

So bright were your eyes, he almost felt his soul being examined by your hypnotising gaze. Marcus had never seen eyes like those.

How dared he stand where your father did? Anger shimmered under your skin, but you kept it in check. When you realised you were holding his gaze for longer than what was appropriate for a servant girl, you averted your eyes, inspecting the stones under your feet.

Torcall called you mad for doing this, but you had made up your mind. If you really wanted to overthrow the Roman General and win back your family’s castle and land, you would need to sew yourself into his everyday life. Gain his trust, learn his secrets and use that information against him. Your people were counting on you for freedom, and you would not allow yourself to disappoint them. Even if it was the last thing you did.

“Who are you?”, his raspy voice filled the atmosphere as he resumed the task of undoing the ties on his armour.

Did he have no shame, undressing himself in front of a maid? Mind you, you were not an innocent servant, having been widowed recently. But still. The romans had no modesty, you assumed.

You had to think quickly. You had learnt that the governor and the general both thought the whole chief’s family dead, so you could not out yourself. A very few, selected people called you Callie, almost always in the intimacy of your home, when strangers were not around. Your nickname was precious to you because it was only used by those you loved.

“My name is Callie, Dominus”, you offered your nickname in a rusty Latin. It had been a while since you had to use a language that was not your native one.

“Callie.” The way your name rolled off his tongue gave you goosebumps. You didn’t like the way he pronounced it — it lingered in his mouth for too long, dragging each letter. You wished your words back, but you couldn't change it now.

Instead of clenching your jaw, you nodded. “Yes, my lord, I’m one of the servant girls who tended to the clan chief’s family before you.” You explained, your head still bowed.

You ventured your eyes up for a second, catching a glimpse of his naked torso. Unconsciously, you pursed your lips. The way your heart pounded loud for that one second made you furrow your brows in confusion.

He might be a gorgeous man, but he was a killer. And you had no taste for soulless murderers, that much you knew about yourself.

“Call my attendant, Atticus, to help me get ready for supper. I have no need of you. And ask the kitchen staff to heat some water and bring it up here.” His tone was emphatic, unwavering.

His rejection, in other circumstances, would have been most welcomed, but you needed him to trust you, to confide in you so you could plot his demise — to destroy him. This was not a good start to your plan, but you needed to play the long game.

“I could certainly help you with a bath now, Dominus, but your wish is my command.” You forced the words out, when in reality you wanted to spit them to his murderous face.

He just nodded in your direction, his movements stiff and measured. “Just my attendant will suffice, now go.”

With your fingers laced on your back, you curtsied, walking backwards towards the door of your father’s bedchamber. You could not seem too eager, or he would become suspicious.

When you were in the corridor with the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath and straightened your back.

You would not take no for an answer. Marcus Acacius would yield to you, whatever the cost.

@devilbat2 @subterralienpanda @lordofthundersstuff @just-mj-or-not

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[yawnderu]

Doomed — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Happy Ending

Happy ending of the Doomed fic based on this idea by @actuallyhiswife from this post!

Black. It's all you can see, all senses numbed by the water sneaking into your lungs, burning everything in its wake like a raging fire. You can feel it— her pain is your pain, his distress while he holds the body of his lover is just as yours, even when you don't recognize these people.

''Shh, s'alright love, I'm here.'' Simon's deep voice snaps you back to reality, your lungs greedily taking in the air like a man starved. You suck in a sharp breath at the touch of his bare fingers against your stomach, one of his bloodied hands coming up to cup your cheek while the other one applies pressure to the bullet wound.

"What h—" A groan takes over your sentence, face scrunched up in pain as your brain finally registers that you got shot. Blood pours out of the wound no matter how much pressure his strong hands apply, now using both of them in hopes that'll keep you alive.

"Stay with me." It's not an order, it's a plea, tone laced by pure desperation. You cry out as the bullet digs deeper into your flesh, tears already falling down your cheeks at the pure agony, body growing weaker and weaker as the blood pours out of your body.

"Simon." You call out softly and he ignores it, refusing to let you go. Refusing to let the sun that casts away his shadows go. Simon finally had one good thing in life, and he'll be damned if he ever lets it go.

"Simon." You call out again only to be ignored. Your bloodied hand manages to drag its way onto Simon's forearm, squeezing gently to get his attention.

"I love you. I'm sorry we—" A choked breath escapes his lips as he takes in your image. Roughed up and dirty, yet still the prettiest fucking thing he's seen his whole life.

"I'm sorry we can't go pet the fluffy cows in Scotland together." A small laugh manages to come out of your lips, followed by a cough. He recognizes that look in your tear-covered eyes, the way you're trying your hardest to fight death barehanded... and somehow winning.

''We'll go pet those bloody fluffy cows, love. Just gotta stay with me.'' You nod again, a small smile settling on your lips as you think of the brooding soldier petting the cute, fluffy cows. Animals seem to love him no matter what, so the image of a giant cow resting its head on his lap is not that farfetched.

''Trying, L.T.'' The nickname manages to make him roll his eyes despite himself, playfully flicking your nose before his hands go back to applying pressure on the wound.

''Si, look!'' Your excited laugh gets his attention immediately, watching you run towards the highland cattle Johnny's family owns. He jogs after you, a small smile tugging on his lips when the cows simply allow you to pet them while they eat, not at all bothered by it.

His bare hand joins yours, matching rings decorating both of your fingers as they run through the hair of the animal.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Warrior's Wrath - Part 2

Source for pic

Word Count: 5994

Tags: Medieval Scotland AU; Highlander Kid; Blurry non-con; Angst without happy ending; Fluff and angst; have I mentioned ANGST? soft Kid; feral Kid; Blood and gore; Killer might have a crush on reader (didn’t notice I did this until I was editing); MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You and Kid, the fiercest worry of your village, get married and happiness is just within your reach. Until Blackbeard, the laird, comes to claim prima nocta and takes you. Somehow, you are able to placate Kid’s anger before you go, yet, when you return filled with marks and bruises, Kid can no longer be controlled.

Notes: Highlander Kid lives rent free in my head and I can’t help it. This one got away from me, though. I meant it to be around 5 or 6k words, it turned out to be almost 13k. Historical note, there’s no concrete historical evidence to support the existence of prima nocte, but this story was heavily inspired by Braveheart - God, I love this movie. I do hope you enjoy it! I’m so sorry for breaking your heart again. I thrive on angst! 

PS: Decided to compromise and split this into two parts but posted at the same time!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane

MASTERLIST

|Part 1|

Kid slept through lunch and most of the afternoon and when he woke up, you had already instructed Killer to ask him for help with a very important task that needed his craftsman expertise, so he wouldn't observe you too closely again. 

Killer gave you a frown and a veiled judgmental look that you decided to ignore and, by the time they returned, you had dinner on the table. Kid's portion had a special ingredient in it. 

And it wasn't just love. 

He fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow and a soft sigh left your parted lips as you cleaned the table and applied more poultice to your wounds. They seemed less inflamed now. Their colour was a bit more faded and the swelling on most of them had gone down. 

You nodded as you prepared for bed. You could do this. 

-*-

You were woken by a wave of heat and pleasure. Something so strong that immediately pulled a moan from your open mouth. 

The room was dimly lit by the light of the crescent moon coming through the window and the small flame of the burning embers in the fireplace, but you could make out Kid’s fiery red hair between your parted thighs. Though you didn't need any sight to realise what he was doing.

His tongue licked and lapped at your lower lips, tasting, sucking nibbling. He was teasing you awake with the gentleness of his touch, purposely dragging his tongue around your clit. 

“Kid!” You huffed, eyes shutting hard as your fingers clenched the sheets. 

“We still haven't tried this bed out, lass. I don't know why I've been so tired, but I'm not postponing this anymore.” His calloused hand grabbed the back of your knee as he hoisted your leg over his shoulder. “The other one.” He commanded you as you silently obeyed and placed your other leg on top of him. 

The room was dark. He wouldn't notice the dark finger-shaped bruises around your hips. There was barely any light, he wouldn't notice the crust already coating the bite mark on your right thigh. You could scarcely see the orange of his eyes so there was no way he would notice the purple of the bruises on your buttocks. 

Right? 

Besides, you couldn't even think straight as he plunged two digits inside you and bullied your throbbing nub. His efforts now only aimed to get you off as you were already awake, all previous gentleness quickly forgotten. The pressure building in your core made your legs clench around his head and he groaned into you, the low vibrato of his voice adding another layer of pleasure, tightening the coil and making your back arch. 

The pain from the bruises on your back and the bites on your nape mingled with the waves of pleasure that overtook you almost without warning. 

“Mmph, Kid! I'm gonna-...” You didn't even finish your sentence as it turned into a litany of moans and mewls, thighs clenching and squeezing Kid's head, pulling him further into you as you rode out your high on his face. “Stop, enough, love.” You tapped his head lightly as your legs released him from your grasp, clit aching and throbbing, begging for rest. 

He emerged with a wicked grin on his face. “All tapped out, lass? This is just the beginning. I'm not done with ya.”

Your heart leapt and rejoiced at his words, but your body was so tired and sore that it begged for rest. You needed to stall him. 

“My love, let me just brew us some tea. I'm so tired that I need a little pick-me-up.” You kissed his forehead and swung your legs to the side to get up. You were naked - Kid's work - but quickly stirred the embers in the fireplace, adding some kindling and bringing it back to a roaring flame so you could heat some water. You planned to mix a bit of nightshade in Kid's tea. That would put him to sleep. 

Except you didn't notice how your husband silently followed you to the brightness of the fireplace - he was the fiercest warrior for a reason. 

As big as he was, he moved with the stealth of a stag, so you didn't hear him until his hand was on your arm, stilling your movements. Biting your lip you tried to suppress a hiss. He could see you clearly now. 

All of you. 

All of your bruises and marks and cuts. 

All of your shame. 

Your eyes searched for his, embarrassment and fear written all over your face. He gazed at you with a piercing scowl on his lips, orange orbs scrutinising every bit of skin, taking in the full extent of what the laird had done to you. 

To his wife! 

“Kid…”

“So ya weren't disgusted by me.” He grunted. “I thought ya just didn't want me anymore. But ya were just hiding this.” He dragged out the last word, his growl shifting the sound to something dangerous. 

“I…”

“That fucker.” The eerie calmness of his voice made all the hairs on your body bristle and brought tears to your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid.

The tea, he needed the tea. 

“Let me just-...” He cut you and your movements off by grabbing your waist and laying you down on the deer pelt you had on the floor - you had put it there for cuddling. 

“Shut up, lass.” His voice was hoarse and pained. He forced you to lie back as his eyes ran over your body, taking in all the wounds, bites, scratches, cuts and bruises. There were so many. You knew. 

You lay still. Your eyes shut as you tried to keep your tears hidden inside. You never wanted to hide something like this from him, but you had to. 

“Did ya really think I wouldn't notice this?” You had never heard him speak so calmly. It was another stage of rage you had never encountered. And it was terrifying. 

“I hoped I could hide it from you.” The whisper that left your lips felt foreign and odd. And you still couldn't meet his gaze. 

“For how long? Ya were going to deny me for how long?”

Biting back a sob you shook your head and scrunched your shoulders. “How long it took.”

“That fucker hurt ya. Why? Ya fought back? If ya wanted to fight I was ready for it before he took ya! Ya didn't have to do it alone!” He emphasised his anger with a punch to the floor and you inhaled deeply. This type of anger you were familiar with. 

“It wasn't like that. He realised I wasn't a maiden anymore. Then he ripped my wedding dress and told me he would make me forget you.” Finally your eyes met Kid's as you smirked and a silent tear ran down the corner of your eye. “I told him there was no chance of it happening with his tiny dick.”

You saw as your husband's lips twitched, and his orange eyes brightened with the slightest hint of humour. Yet he didn't laugh. 

“So he did that.” He gestured to your body and you nodded solemnly. You had to find a way to drug him before he did something drastic. 

Except he just inhaled. A deep breath as he closed his eyes. You could almost feel his anger draining away from him so you didn't dare speak a word. 

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but love in them. Kid lowered himself above your body and you felt his lips on yours, very softly, then they moved towards the bruise on your jaw. You let out a low hiss because of the pressure but he didn't say anything. Instead he continued, kissing every bruise on your neck, on your breasts, chest, belly, legs, thighs… 

Your husband worshipped your body like he had never done before. You knew he loved you deeply, and you loved him beyond anything rational, but he showed his love with coarse gestures, with brutish affection. Never like this.

Slowly you laced your arms around his neck, pulling him back to you just as you saw his fist clenching, knuckles turning white and veins protruding from his biceps. He was stuck on your thighs, where there were some of the worst bruises. 

“My love.” You brought him back to reality, pressing your lips firmly against his, noticing the lingering scent and taste of yourself in his mouth, not caring one bit. “It’s still me. I’m fine. Forget it, please forget it.”

Kid didn’t say anything. He pressed his knee against your legs and you parted them so he could slot himself there. He kept trailing kisses all over your body. Soft kisses. So, so soft. He was trying to caress you at the same time, but with only one arm he couldn’t find support to keep upright.

Grunting and cursing about his limitation, he sat down and used his arm to hoist you up so you could sit on his lap, one leg on each side. You used this leverage to grab his face with your hands, tracing your fingers through the scar on his face and kissing him gently. “Kid…” You didn’t quite know what you were about to say. Something to try and steer away his anger. 

Whatever it was, it was quickly set aside when he claimed your lips again. A kiss so sweet and so soft, so unlike anything you were used to, that it almost brought tears to your eyes. Clawing with your hands, you pulled his shirt over his head and aligned yourself with his hard dick.

His arm circled your back as his hand settled on your nape, deepening the kiss and he gave a gentle thrust, sheathing himself completely and swallowing your soft moan. You rocked your hips gently, following his slow pace. 

It was utterly different from all the times you had been together with him and yet, still as pleasurable as when he was using you brutally. You couldn’t explain why this heat coming from within you felt different, except that it just did. It built in soft waves, spreading slowly to your toes and making your head light. So much so that you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck, your fingers tangling themselves amidst red locks as faint moans escaped your lips, just to keep you tethered to reality. 

His head fell on your shoulder as well, lips kissing softly instead of biting angrily; his hand caressing you instead of pressing and bruising. He was treating you as if you were a delicate flower instead of the wild thistle he knew you were. 

And for all the old gods and the new, you didn’t even know you needed to be treated this gently until the tears started streaming down your face. Hot droplets, one or two at first, and then an unending torrent. You saw them fall on Kid’s shoulder, and you were sure he felt them because he stopped for a second before resuming his languid, soft thrusts. 

“It’s ya and me lass.” He whispered near your ear while his arm gripped you tighter. “Always ya and me. Always.” He punctuated each word with a harder thrust and the wave of pleasure that hit you with the last ‘always’ came unannounced, crashing over you like a raging tsunami, making you cry out his name as your whole body clenched around him, locking him in a desperate embrace.

He finished a few thrusts later and you remained locked together for a while. You don’t really remember falling asleep, you recall him softly cleaning you up and helping you to bed as you muttered softly: “It’s me and you Kid.”

And then darkness took over.

-*-

The dawn came too fast. Light seeped through the window lazily as the birds chirped their morning song, too close to your window, reminding you that it was time to get up and get ready for the day.

You felt happy. Your heart lighter than it had been since your wedding day. Last night you had made love with your husband. You loved the way he roughed you up, taking you hard and possessively, claiming you as his whenever and however he pleased.

But last night felt different. And it was healing in more ways than one.

Your hand reached for his side of the bed, searching for his body so you could claim some cuddles and kisses. Even if he protested a bit, you knew he was a softie for your affection. 

But the bed was cold and he was gone.

Gasping, you jolted upright, stifling a cry of pain as your body protested with the effort. Your eyes immediately went to the mantle, to the designated place of his axe, silently praying and begging all the gods for it to be there, resting idly against it. 

It wasn’t there. 

Nausea overtook you and you barely had time to find a bucket to vomit of bile that surged up from your stomach. You knew where he was.That was why he had been so gentle and so caring last night. 

He had gone to seek vengeance. 

-*-

After he put you to bed, Kid donned his kilt, a scowl on his lips as he regarded your spent, sleeping form. He could still recall the shape and indent of every bruise, every bite mark, every scrape and - that fucking fucker - every cut. 

There was no way he would let this pass.

Throughout the night you were gone, he had come to terms with what happened. Flanked by his best friends - Killer, Heat and Wire - they had drunk themselves into a stupor. He was willing to forgive that laird bastard for what he had done. 

Kid had promised you.

But now he was seeing red. After what he had seen, after the marks that useless arse had left on your body and your soul - your tears had broken Kid in two - he would never let that bastard live another day. 

With you tucked safely in bed, he pressed his lips to your forehead. You were the love of his life. He had never felt this way about anything or anyone. He had learned long ago that vulnerability was a weakness, something to be taken advantage of. 

Except with you.

With you he could be vulnerable, kind, gentle, warm… you would never judge. Only reciprocate.

“I love you forever.” He mumbled into your hair as his hand lingered with one last caress before he left your home.

He was going alone. With all the rage he felt, he knew he could take on the world if it stepped in his path. Except the one who did was Killer.

“Where ya going?” Killer asked, a soft chuckle letting Kid know he already knew the answer.

“Claim some blood. Wanna come with?” The growl that accompanied his statement was involuntary. 

“Been waiting for it. I saw that fucking bruise on her jaw. That fucker.” 

They both started to pace towards the dense forest. “Those were not the only ones. He scarred her all over. Fucking bastard, I’m gonna carve a grin on his fucking face.”

“We’ll help.” Heat and Wire said, emerging from the shadows.

Kid grinned maniacally. Fuck, the four of them would burn the world down.

Just for you.

-*-

As you left the house, looking frantically for Kid, hoping he was just sparring with Killer, you realised that all of the four warriors were gone. Your stomach churned again and you threw up some more behind a bush.

Your worst fears had come true. This was all your fault, you forgot to give him the tea.

Tears streamed down your face as your heart clenched in your chest. He would come to you alive, you knew that perfectly well, but he would never live down the murdering of a laird. He would be sentenced and executed. Hanged, most likely, beheaded if there was any justice left in this world.

But he would be torn from your arms. For eternity.

As you slumped to the floor, your wet eyes fixed on the battered path that came from the woods and led straight into the village, you heard him. A boisterous laugh, a thunderous cocky roar of victory. He’d done it.

-*-

Kid had gone straight to the laird’s quarters, leaving his men to handle whatever else came along. They were told to try and hold back on the killing, but they were free to do as they pleased. 

Fortunately for them, most of Blackbeard’s household hated his guts. They let them pass without bothering them. Only some of his personal guards gave them trouble. But Kid strode on. His eyes burned with rage, his hand clenched around the handle of his axe, which was calling for blood.

Kicking the door of his room down, Kid rejoiced from the startled yelp that came from the bed. The bastard had been in a deep slumber, but Kid wanted him wide awake for what was coming next.

“Lass, go away.” Your husband growled at the girl that was in bed with Blackbeard, a very young girl. And that only managed to fuel Kid’s rage.  A groggy Blackbeard tried to get up, but Kid drew a knife from his belt and threw it at him, hitting his nose with the hilt and eliciting another yelp. 

“Ya stay right there.”

With two long strides and while the laird was still clutching his nose in pain, Kid approached and, as soon as his enemy removed his hands from his face, he delivered a powerful punch to the same spot where the knife had hit, effectively making him lie back down. 

“I said, stay down, fucker.”

Kid snarled, his lips curling back, revealing his menacing canines. 

Blackbeard opened and closed his eyes between groans, as the punch from your husband had made him very dizzy, almost unconscious. A perfect stage for what came next. 

With dexterous fingers, Kid tied Blackbeard’s wrists together, threw them over his head, and secured them to the bedpost. He repeated the procedure with his legs, and then nodded in approval.

“Just like a fucking pig ready for slaughter. Ya fucking asshole.”

The laird blinked, his mouth opening and closing, revealing his many missing teeth and lending him a terrified look. Your husband leaned down, putting his face right next to Blackbeard’s bleeding nose. “Remember me?”

Blackbeard spat in Kid’s face, which only managed to make Kid's cackle more menacing. “I remember your wife very well. She squirmed a lot beneath me and-...”

Kid didn't let him finish as his forehead collided with Blackbeard’s mouth, knocking out a few more teeth. “Keep my wife's name out of ya filthy fucking mouth or I make this last way longer than it needs to. And ya won't like it.”

“Her name wasn't the only thing in my mouth.” He taunted and Kid cracked his knuckles against his leg. 

“The long way it is, then. Even better.” It was a good thing that Blackbeard was too busy blinking back tears from the sting of the headbutt, or he would've noticed the unhinged glint in Kid's eyes. 

It was also fortunate that he was spitting out teeth and blood for a good part of the minute because he missed seeing Kid lay out his knives, ready to exact his vengeance. In the slowest, most painful way possible. 

-*-

You got up on shaky legs, nausea still making you wobbly, but you strode with purpose towards your husband, your eyes wide as saucers and your mouth hanging open. 

You had seen him bloodied from fights and hunts before, but right now he was soaked in blood. Head to toe, there was barely an inch of skin that was clean. 

With each step you took, more tears fell from your eyes, and your heart clenched more tightly. Breath hitched in your throat as your limbs trembled and shook relentlessly. 

“You idiot, reckless, careless, moron!”

Killer whistled as he, Heat and Wire stepped out of your way. 

“Feckless gowk, you're always, always, thinking with your fist instead of your head, Kid! Why?” Your voice grew louder and louder, reaching a screech so high that would make a forest banshee squeak in fear. As soon as you reached him, he greeted you with his cocky smirk, tilting his head sideways and looking down at you with a bit of blood smeared near his lip. 

“Hello, lass. Miss me?”

You clenched your fists, relentless tears still dripping down your face, drenching you in sorrow. Pressing yourself against him, you punched his chest, over and over while your eyes tightened and sobs clawed at your throat. 

Somehow you still managed to speak between heaves and hiccups. 

“You promised me a lifetime! A lifetime entails an actual life! Why did you do this, Kid, why? Gods, why?” Your legs gave out but before you collapsed, his strong arm enveloped your waist, pulling you into a crushing embrace. 

You locked eyes with him and his were filled with tenderness. Something he reserved only for you. 

“Lass, for ya I'd make the whole world bleed. Over and over again until all the rivers ran red.”

His words hung around you, heavy and painful and you kept sobbing into his chest, your fingers clawing and clenching his blood-soaked shirt. 

“It's ya and me, love. No one in between.” He finished as you felt yourself drifting into unconsciousness. “Forever.”

-*-

You barely had a few hours with him before the sheriff came to take Kid away to the gaols. He didn't protest. You however did. 

Your screams were heard all over the Highlands. How it wasn't fair, how the laird was dreadful and terrible and how no one liked him or thought he was fit to lead. You even showed them most of your bruises. 

When none of that worked, you dropped to your knees and pleaded. You begged like never before. 

To no avail. 

They didn't even let you say goodbye to him properly. 

-*-

Kid had weeks to ponder his wrongdoings as he sat in jail. He was pondering all right, but they were not wrongdoings in his eyes. 

He thought about the way it felt as the tip of the knife sank into the laird’s thigh, right where you had a mark. He thought about the cut he made from Blackbeard’s lip to the exact place where the bruise on your jaw was. He also thought about the joy it gave him when he ripped the laird’s balls out with his bare hands. 

It was such a shame the bastard passed out from shock and blood loss immediately afterward. Such a shame. 

On other days, most of them, actually, Kid thought about you. Your scent, your touch, your lips, your hair, your smile… 

But mostly, your love. 

-*-

You tried everything. You spoke with the highest ranks in the clan - the ones who were deciding both Kid's fate and who ruled the land - but they quickly dismissed you. 

You spoke with the druid who had officiated your wedding but he couldn't do anything to help. When you managed to speak with the sheriff, he told you Kid had made a deal of his own. He would gladly pay the ultimate price and serve as an example: even if the laird was a total bastard, there could be no rebellion, much less from within the clan. 

But only if his friends were spared the repercussions. Killer, Heat and Wire wouldn't be charged. 

The sheriff accepted. 

-*-

They decided on a beheading. Which was much more humane than just leaving someone dangling from a noose. That was torture if the neck didn't snap right away. 

Kid was grateful for that. 

They were going to make an example out of him, but they were still thankful for the service he had provided. Blackbeard had been in charge for a short time but the damage had been extensive. Both to the vaults and to the towns and villages under his command. 

The sheriff confessed - over drinks Kid should have been denied but wasn’t - that he should be made a hero instead of a martyr. But life was just like that. ‘One minute you're here, the next you're dead.’

Kid tried to push his luck a bit more and asked to see you. 

The sheriff said he would see what could be done, but his smile and wink gave Kid hope. 

Kid just needed to make sure you were all right. He knew you would be mad at him, cursing him, condemning his soul to wander aimlessly with all the grudge you held against his actions, and he needed to apologise to you. 

Not for what he did, he would do it all over again - except, maybe, leave the laird  conscious for more time - but for what he put you through. And for breaking his promise. 

He would love you forever, that he would. Except his forever would be far shorter than yours. And perhaps that was something you couldn't forgive. 

-*-

When the sheriff came to get you so you could see Kid, you almost wept. You were knee-deep in your herb garden, trying to gather some peppermint and chamomile to brew a tea that might help keep food in your stomach, as you didn’t seem able to hold anything down these days.

You were mistaken, though. You thought he meant you could bring Kid home to you. But it was just so you could say goodbye. His execution was scheduled for the next day. 

Quincy and Killer had to help you through your shock as you tried to regain your breath. Even the sheriff seemed flustered by your fit. Yet how could you help it? When the love of your life was going to be executed?

After your friends forced you to drink some of that tea, you accompanied the sheriff to the gaols, dread making your stomach churn as the nausea returned tenfold. The smell of the gaols alone was enough to make anyone queasy. 

But soon enough the sheriff led you to a small room - not his cell - where Kid was waiting for you, his wrist shackled to the stone wall. As soon as his bright orange eyes fixed on yours, you became a sobbing mess. 

Closing the distance between you with a small sprint, you jumped and dangled from his neck as he took two steps back gaining enough leverage from the chain to hug you back. “Kid! Kid! Gods… oh, gods…” Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you sobbed and cried until your throat was raw and your tears had dried.

“There, there, lass. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He kept repeating those soothing words, his dry lips placing gentle kisses on your skin. You showed no signs of letting him go anytime soon, so he slumped against the wall and slid down, cradling you in his strong lap as your arms held on for dear life around his thick neck. 

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the soft thump of Kid’s head against the wall and you moved to look into his eyes. He looked pained and exhausted as he let out a deep sigh. 

“Forgive me, lass.” His mumble made his chest rumble and, instinctively, you pressed closer to him. “I broke our vows. I cannot give ya forever. But I’ll always love ya.”

Fresh tears ran down your face, gathering at your chin and dripping off. You didn’t even bother with cleaning your face as the tears would only carve new paths, like a river that keeps flowing, shaping the earth as it passes. 

“Will ya? Forgive me?” You should. You wanted to. But his parting would leave a chasm so big within you that you didn’t know if you could. Besides, there was something else he needed to know.

“I’m carrying a child in my womb.” You said softly. You had suspected it for a while, but now that your monthly cycle had fully stopped, you were sure. 

You felt him stiffen against you, the soft caresses of his hand against your back suddenly halting as he turned his head to look into your eyes. You indulged him by lifting your head, a strained smile pressed upon your lips as you realised, far too late now, that this information was bringing regret to his eyes.

If you had known sooner, perhaps you could have prevented this. He might’ve stayed home instead of seeking vengeance. He would still be with you tomorrow, and the day after, and the one after that. Because there would be a child to tend to as well. 

Except there was a slight problem.

With a trembling lip and shifting eyes, you grasped his dirty ragged shirt. “I don’t know… gods, Kid I don’t know if the child is…”

“It’s mine.” He roared. A primal growl escaping his lips as he swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “I know it’s mine. I know it, lass.”

You nodded at him, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks once more. “It’s yours.” Kid dipped his head as he took your lips into his and you couldn’t bear the thought that these moments were the last you would spend with your other half. “Kid, beg for clemency. Please, Kid. Beg for your life. Say you’ll repent for your sins. Admit you were wrong and ask for mercy. For me, for the child, for us! Please, Kid, please!”

He shook his head softly, seemingly out of strength to contradict you, and you continued. “Please! They hated the laird, they’ll forgive you if you plead enough! Even if you stay in jail for the rest of your life, please, love! Please!”

The words kept catching in your throat. Desperate, raw, filled with sorrow and grief. You didn’t know what else to do.

He simply kissed your forehead and sighed. “Lass, a warrior doesn’t beg. A warrior has his pride. I will not beg.” He seemed resigned to his fate now, you knew there was nothing else you could say that would swindle his will. He was a warrior through and through and you knew he would never live in shame. Even if it meant he had to be away from you.

“Please…” You begged one last time.

“Love, ya’ll stay away tomorrow. I don’t want ya at the beheading. I don’t want ya to remember me like that. Ya’ll stay home, feed, take care of our child. Raise him to be a strong, powerful warrior like his father. Stay away.” 

You shook your head as another fresh wave of sobs made your shoulder heave. “Say you’ll beg, Kid, please, for us…”

“Stay home, forgive me. Make me these promises, lass, so I can go in peace.” This unfamiliar softness in his voice only broke you more. You needed to forgive him so he could rest in the afterlife. You knew that. But you also knew that forgiving him meant you had to accept the fact that you would never see him again.

That he was lost forever.

And that was a terrifying thought.

Instead you pressed your lips against his, deepening the kiss, drawing him close, clawing at his body in desperation and grasping every bit of him, trying to imprint his mark upon yourself so you could forever remember the shape of his body against yours.

After an eternity you whispered: “Aye, Kid. I forgive you. I love you forever.”

“And always.” He finished in a mournful tone.

-*-

Quincy stayed with you. Killer wanted to be at your side, to help you through the pain, but you needed Kill to be there for Kid. You were still hoping he would beg for mercy. Deep down you knew he never would, but there was a very slight tingle of hope in the pit of your stomach and you almost didn’t dare give it any attention.

Your nausea was overwhelming and you were bedridden, barely eating and with no will to even open your eyes. 

Noon was the time of the execution. Ten minutes to go.

“He’ll beg. He has to beg.” You whispered to the wind, Quincy was holding your hand, feeding you tea from time to time, her face heavy with the loss. 

Five minutes…

“Quincy… he can’t leave me! He can’t!” The sobs and hiccups pulled more bile from your stomach, your limbs trembling relentlessly as your head throbbed and ached. 

Noon.

The bells didn’t ring and you hoped. Your breath hitched in your throat. They only rang the bells when the execution was over. The bells were silent.

The bells were silent.

Shallow breaths left your parted lips, your tears frozen in your eyelids as your hand crushed Quincy’s, who stood by you without making a sound. 

Then the relentless toll of the bells started. Each toll carved away a piece of your heart. Each chime brought a wave of agony up your chest. Each clang resounded deep in your soul, bringing flashes of the brief time you spent with Kid: his smiles, his frowns, his growls, his eyes… the light in his bright orange eyes which you would see no more.

The pain was unbearable.

With each heave you made, gasping for air that seemed to never reach your lungs, your heart broke another piece. With each wail that left your lips, a part of your soul left with it. Your heart had parted from this world.

And now you were left empty.

Forever.

-*-

“Push! Push, lass! A little harder, come on!” House instructed, her hands deep in your thighs, helping the baby be born.

You were spent. The last eight hours had been laborious, painful and filled with memories. You were physically drained and emotionally exhausted. 

“I can’t!” You whined, a fresh bout of tears leaving your eyes as you cursed and tried to push.

“Ya can! Ya know why?” House looked up from your thighs, a wicked smile spread upon her lips as she lifted her bloodied hands and clapped, droplets of blood flying around her. “I see a redhead!”

And with a hearty laugh you gave a final push, your strength renewed, your love rekindled.

“It’s a boy!” House exclaimed as the sweet sound of cries filled your ears.

-*-

The stone marker was very simple. Heat had carved a red flame upon the stone with Kid’s name on it. Every month you visited it, leaving a wreath of wildflowers on top of it. White heather and clovers, primroses and daisies, meadowsweet, and ropes of ivy to symbolise fidelity and eternity. 

An exact copy of the headdress you wore on the day of your wedding. You didn’t take any other man, though you didn’t make that promise to Kid, you couldn’t find enough strength in you to give yourself to another person. 

And Kid would be waiting for you in the afterlife. You were sure of it.

Your child was already one year old. A fiery redheaded boy, the spitting image of his fierce father. Every night you stared at him for the longest of times, seeing so much of Kid on your son, wishing your husband were by your side to share the joy.

He would have loved to carry the little one on his shoulders, to make him giggle, to spin him in the air… he would’ve been proud to train him in the ways of the warrior, to follow Kid’s footsteps.

He would’ve been proud.

“Your father was very brave. He gave his life to defend our honour. He’s watching us!” The tears were still a constant, but rarer now. The ache in your heart somewhat subsided, but was still there. Throbbing from time to time. A painful remembrance of what could have been.

With a sigh you placed the wreath on top of the stone and uttered the same words you uttered every time: “It’s you and me, Kid.”

Forever and always.

The End

[lenaeclipse777]

chemtrails over the country club ☆ sebastian sallow x f!reader

summary: you and sebastian have always understood each other better than anyone else.

a/n: based on chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey!

warnings: none i think, just a lot of fluff + you and seb have lots of unresolved trauma, mc is a flirt

i’m on the run, with you my sweet love, there’s nothing wrong contemplating god, under the chemtrails over the country club

running through the highlands to fight goblins with sebastian shouldn’t have you feeling this exhilarated. fighting ranrok’s loyalists fills you both with a sense of purpose. yours being the final end goal of saving the wizarding world from another war, and sebastian’s being to get his revenge for anne.

no, fighting loyalists or poachers with anyone else didn’t excite you as much as it did with sebastian, because there was so much more to it for both of you. sebastian had introduced you to the world of duelling, and had practiced with you in the undercroft, poring over books and different wand movements.

“you coming y/n?” sebastian was standing a few feet ahead of you, and pulled you out of your thoughts as he questioned you.

his brown hair was tousled from the wind and the running, and his freckled cheeks were slightly pink. he looked like an angel, and you never wanted to look away.

“right behind you seb, you know your legs are longer than mine.” you smiled at him and jogged to catch up with him.

“race you to the next encampment love!”

you laughed as he started running ahead of you, shaking your head at his childish antics. yes, running with sebastian was definitely better than with anyone else.

meet you for coffee, at the elementary school, we laugh about nothing as the summer gets cool

the summer after you defeated ranrok, sebastian had disappeared to his (now empty) cottage in feldcroft. only you and ominis knew he was there, and that he had been doing yard work around the village all summer to make some money. ominis was still wary of being his friend, but you couldn’t just stay away. his sad face hadn’t left your mind since you had left hogwarts on the last day of term, and it was getting impossible to not run to him.

you had exchanged a few letters throughout july, just checking up on each other, making sure the other was staying out of trouble and getting enough to eat. you were staying in a room at the three broomsticks, courtesy of sirona ryan, and working a few days a week.

as august approached, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from him, so one day you told sirona that you were taking a week off to go stay with him. she was more than okay with it, and insisted you bring along some butterbeer to share.

sending him a short letter via owl, you packed your bag and took the nearest floo flame to feldcroft.

when you arrived in feldcroft, it didn’t take you long to spot him, as he was outside of his house chopping fire wood. your breath hitched as you looked at him, slightly sweaty, and definitely more muscular. his freckles were painted across his skin even more prominent with a summer tan.

“sebastian!” you called out to him, lugging your trunk with you as you crossed the path to his house.

his head shot up when he heard your voice, and the most genuine smile you had seen since the catacombs spread across his face.

he dropped his axe and ran to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in your neck.

“i missed you so much.” his voice was thick, and you pulled away from him to cup his face in your hands.

“i missed you too sebastian, more than you know.” his arms didn’t leave your waist as he smiled down at you. after staring at each other for a few more seconds, he snapped out of his gaze and came to his senses.

“here let me get your trunk for you. i’ll bring it into the house and we can catch up.” he lifted your heavy trunk onto his shoulder with ease, and you had to restrain yourself from drooling at his display of strength.

once you had unpacked your things, you and sebastian sat down with your butterbeer from sirona.

“tell me everything you’ve been doing this past month seb, i’ve been so busy working at the three broomsticks i barely have time to write to anybody!”

so the night went on as you both talked and shared quiet laughs in the orange light of the sallow cottage, happy to be back in each others presence again.

i’m not bored or unhappy, i’m still so strange and wild, you’re in the wind, i’m in the water, nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter, watching the chemtrails over the country club

4 days had passed since you had arrived at the sallow cottage, and with each passing day, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the amount of feelings you had for the boy. you both had thrown around a fair few compliments and flirtatious remarks at each other throughout the week, and you decided that you could do this with him for the rest of your life. making breakfast together in the kitchen, walks around the trails near the village, and rolling around in the flowery meadows, pointing out different clouds and what they looked like.

it was all getting very domestic, and you were going to go crazy if by the end of the week you were still just friends.

today is the day you decided. the shameless flirting was already at an all time high, and you decided that today you were going to kick it up a notch.

sitting at a small table in the front yard of the house, you were watching him pull weeds out of the garden, his white shirt sleeves rolled up showing off his strong forearms.

“hey sebastian?”

he turned to look at you, wiping a few beads of sweat of his forehead. “yes love?”

“nothing, i just think you look very handsome today.” it was bold- you knew that, but you were past the point of caring. you knew no one else could ever make you feel how he made you feel.

he was blushing when you looked at him, a small smile on his face. he brushed his hands on his trousers and came to sit down beside you at the small table.

“you think so? because i think i’m covered in dirt and sweat and desperately need a bath.” he chuckled and his thigh brushed yours under the table.

“need any help with that?” you flirted, as you rested your hand on your cheek and leaned up to look at him through your lashes.

the flush on his face deepens, and he has to look away from your gaze or he just might explode.

“you are a terrible flirt, do you know that?” his voice is low but his eyes are swimming with a softness he saved only for you. “this whole week, i don’t think i’ve ever been more flustered.”

before you can open your mouth to retort, sebastian leans down and captures your lips with his. it’s soft and hesitant, and your shocked at first, but quickly throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back deeply. the kiss is needy and desperate, something that you both know should have happened a long time ago.

when you both pulled away for a breath, sebastian’s hand stayed in your hair at the back of your neck, and his forehead was pressed against yours.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.” he breathed.

“how long?” you asked him breathlessly, as you fought the urge to just kiss him again as much as you could.

“honestly? since you bested me in that duel at the beginning of the year. and pretty much any other time we were alone after that.”

“so you’re telling me we could’ve been doing that this whole time!?” you joked and he laughed heartily.

“we have all the time in the world to make up for it now love, don’t you worry.”

you gave him a loving smile, and leaned up to give him a soft peck on the lips. he smiled at you as your hand came up to rest on his muscular chest.

“why don’t we go run you a bath, and you can show me just how much you’ve wanted to do to me since that duel..”

sebastian didn’t need to be told twice as he grabbed your hand and all but dragged you into the house, shutting the door behind him quickly as possible.

the sound of your laughter filled the house as you both ran to get the bathing supplies.

yes, you both may have some unresolved issues, but as long as you were together, you knew you could get through it.

it’s never too late, baby, so don’t give up… under the chemtrails over the country club

[haute-pockette]

Just thinking about how the Time Lords erased Zoe and Jamie's memories save for the very first adventures in their own time periods. Did they take into account skills learned during that time or just the memories of their actions? Could he still read and write after the Time Lords dropped him off? The youngest Jacobite rebel seemingly disappeared in the aftermath of the battle. Maybe he managed to escape to France like the Laird and his daughter, maybe he's among the too mangled casualties to identify, perhaps he got captured after all and sold into slavery. No one knows other than some little German doctor and a pair of English got involved before he disappeared. A day or two later he's suddenly out in the middle of the highlands again, dazed and unsure what happened. Last he remembers is the battle and he has scars and a few lines of age he can't account for. But he looks at the letter someone is scrawling to send to the Laird about his reappearance, and corrects them on details/spelling. He could never read before. Pipers in clans were held with high regard but they never took much priority in learning to read. They ask him if he's been taking lessons and he can only shrug in confusion himself. When he can get his hands on books he finds himself reading for fun, but the voice in his head when he does isn't his own. It's a soft young woman's voice that he doesn't recognize but sounds familiar. He calls her Victoria.

[peachesofteal]

okayyyy so now i need an entire DD fantasy au…

peach, every piece of your writing is like freshly baked bread, and i am a starving peasant. you are my god.

dead disco is eating my brain.

- 🧟‍♀️

🧟‍♀️ Anon is referencing this. Same. I wish I had more time to write, I could totally take this and run with it. 🖤 🖤 I will feed you as much bread as I can.

“What- what’re you going to do with me?” You try to brace your voice with strength, bravery, anything to try to hide the truth, disguise the fear that has your hands shaking in your dress.

“We’re takin ye home, Princess.” You gape at the Highlander, the one who Introduced himself as Johnny. He tightens the girth on a sweet, sorrel pony, who nickers at you softly.

“But I am home.” You gesture to the castle that lurks behind you, and Ghost scoffs.

“You belong to us, darling. And that-“ he points at the gate. “Wasn’t much a home for you, now was it?” The image of your father being hacked to pieces by the violent stroke of his sword rips across your mind, and you shudder.

“Alright. Shall we?” Johnny motions to the pony, and you blanch.

“I don’t ride.” Your stomach knots, twisting up more than you thought possible, after everything. “I don’t- I’ve always taken a carriage.” They exchange a look, some sort of silent communication passing between the two, a deep connection that somehow manages to make you feel like an intruder, even those these are the two who ransacked your land and killed your father.

“Ye’ll ride with me then.” Johnny tells you gently, bending with a palm forward.

“I-“ The protest is in vain, and you know it. There’s no one here, to come to your rescue, no one to save you. Your own home is drenched in blood.

“Up ye get.” His hand hovers in the air by your knee, encouraging you to use it as a step, you think. But no, surely not? He couldn’t… support you. With one hand. You stand on indecision, looking from him, to the horse, to the ground. “Darling.” He murmurs softly, gentle under his breath.

It’s time.” Ghost calls, hoisting himself up onto a massive, shiny black horse that stands double your height, if not more.

“Princess.” Johnny urges. “Dinnae make me force ye onto the horse.” He’s serious, and you gulp against the cold wind that whips through your bones.

Only a few hours in, and you’re in agony. Your body is soft, not conditioned for long rides or hunts, muscles soft and skin nearly silk. Every step the horse makes feels like it may knock you off balance, bones in your back screaming at you with each jostle. Johnny tries to hold you steady, keeping you close to him, pressed to his chest, but it does little to help your discomfort. He steadies you with a hand on your hip, slowly sliding around to press against your lower belly, shifting you back into the shelter of his body, his warmth.

“Ye alright?” He murmurs into your ear, tucking your cloak tighter around your shoulders. “Ye’re shivering.”

“It’s cold.” You whisper, not even sure if he can hear you. He rubs your upper arm, squeezing it to try to work blood flow back into your skin.

“Ay.” He yells to Ghost, who’s in front, and they both pull up short. The black horse moves frighteningly quick alongside you, and Ghost studies your stricken expression intently behind the mask.

“Let’s get her into town. We can stop at the Inn for the night.” He tells Johnny, who pulls you tighter into his body.

“It’s about another hour, Darling. Think ye can make it?”

“It’s not safe, camping in these woods.” Ghost supplies as an explanation gently, and you nod.

“O-okay.”

“Good girl.”

At the end of the hour, you’re on the verge of tears. It’s frigid, you’re stiff in the saddle, legs and back and everything uncooperative, thigh muscles completely raw from trying to hold your seat.

“Easy now.” Johnny coos when he slips down, trying to encourage you to swing your leg over and follow his lead. When you try, a whimper slips free between your lips, and his brows crease in concern.

“I can’t.”

“Oh, darling.” He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you down into his chest, and you stifle a pained moan, face pressing into the warmth of his cloak. “Let’s get ye inside, out of the cold.” He holds you with ease, tucking you tighter amidst the little whimpers that are still slipping from your chattering teeth.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 7.8k words]

Letting himself embrace this horrid part of his heritage terrified him. It was like being back in the cellar again, that Muggle writhing beneath him in pain, his parents and brother lauding his name. Gaunt. No matter what he did to unbind himself from the bloodline, always it came back to shackle him. Always, it answered when he didn't call.

In which, even after he broke your friendship, Ominis can't get you out of his head.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, Scriptorium quest, Muggle culture, Your Scent in the Amortentia, Going Feral when You're Hurt, Comforting You When You're Sad.

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad] [PREV][NEXT]

2: When Everything Changed

You didn't speak to him for a long time.

Justifiably, Ominis knows. It's one thing to insult, degrade, demean someone, but something else entirely to diminish their very existence, to reduce them to flesh and bones and happenstance. You were Muggle-born, he was pure-blood. Your friendship together was as tenuous as life itself.

You didn't deserve risk, so he steeled his heart, his mind. He moved through the struggles of fourth year silently, like a wraith, participating only when needed. A clock was ticking for summer – he couldn't spend the entire holiday at Feldcroft, though he longed for it, though Sebastian offered. When the dread of it came, thick and drowning, it was the thought of you, what he was doing ultimately to protect you, that eased the pain. He didn't realise how deeply you had planted your vines inside him, so that everything he did now, anything he felt, or touched, or tasted, reminded him of you. You were ingrained, and no matter how hard he tried to uproot you, you would not wither.

Perhaps this was his reality now. Perhaps he would never speak to you again.

Naturally, fifth year changed everything.

The new school year rang with tension. A goblin tyrant, Ranrok, sought vengeance against wizardkind, with his influence strongest around the Scottish Highlands, scattered around the hamlets around Hogwarts. His plans were unclear, just another thing Ominis worried about, massaging his temple on the walk up to school for the first evening.

Sebastian wasn't in a talkative mood. He'd come to verbal blows with his uncle that afternoon, when Ominis was packing and keeping Anne company. Their voices were so raised they could be heard in the entire village.

"Stop getting her hopes up! For goodness sake, she's cursed. At least let her enjoy however long she has left in peace, without your meddling!"

"Meddling?" Sebastian scoffed. "She's my sister! I'll find a cure for her—"

"If St Mungo's Healers can't do it, no fifteen year-old boy will either."

"You might've given up, but I haven't."

"I've stopped trying to fill her head with false hope and nonsense!"

Anne's lethargic sigh had pulled Ominis away. "I'm so tired."

"You should rest."

"No." She fell back against the pillow. "I mean, of their arguing."

Truthfully, Ominis was tired of it too. He heard enough hatred at home, the few lonely weeks he had to spend there before absconding to Feldcroft. For the most part, his parents ignored him, though there were days they dragged him to dinners or parties with the other pure-blood families. He made sure to give the Malfoys as wide a berth as possible, even though Peregrine didn't bother him again.

"Can you promise me something, Ominis?" Anne had asked.

He'd pursed his lips. "That depends on what it is."

"You'll keep an eye on Sebastian this year." A wry laugh. "A metaphorical eye, that is."

He always intended to. The darkness was offering Sebastian solace, and he feared his best friend was diving down a path from which there was no return. How far would he be willing to go for Anne?

"I'll do my best."

"And... and talk to Gibby."

He hadn't heard your name all summer. It sent a frisson through him, equally terrifying and pleasant, and made to leave before an inevitable interrogation—

"Please," she said, stopping him. "Sometimes family isn't blood. Sometimes family is heart. And she is as much a part of yours as the rest of us are."

Yet, when he left with Sebastian an hour later, he adamantly reminded himself why he made that pact in the first place. He could not— would not talk to you, and rub raw a healing wound. Things were simply too dangerous to risk it, if not from Peregrine Malfoy, then from one of the other pure-blood families, the Lestranges, the Blacks, or the Fawleys.

When he and Sebastian arrived at the school, sun hushing the horizon, Ominis paid no mind to the knowledge that you were there, somewhere at the Hufflepuff table, enjoying the start of term without him. He took his seat next to his best friend and expected the same opening speech, Sorting Ceremony and feast.

Only there was one thing different.

Missy was what everyone called her. The nickname was sparked by rumour, as thick as honey – unlike yours, spurred by your actions, your quirks, Missy's had come before her, on the train up to Hogwarts, where all the fifth years spoke of a new student starting this year under the mentorship of Professor Fig.

Staring school so late, with the support of a prominent Hogwarts professor? That was unusual, she was unusual. A mystery.

Only when she appeared at the Sorting Ceremony, late, it was apparent she was anything but.

"There she is," Nerida crowed in the hum of chatter. "The new girl!"

"Her hair is amazing," said Violet, awed.

Ominis heard the new girl – like you, she had a distinctive set of sounds he could use to distinguish her from others. But unlike you, however, there was no naivety, no jolliness or upbeat wonder. There was only purpose, strong with each stride and levelled breath. Even as the interloper, and a late one at that, she acted like she already belonged.

His heart ached suddenly – the memory of the Undercroft tore at him, and he fought to keep it down, push away the strange sensation that came with thinking of you.

When the new girl was sorted into Slytherin, she sat next to Sebastian. "Hello." Her voice was distinctive too, well-spoken, eloquent, from wealth.

"The mystery student," Imelda said, clearly more impressed than she let on. "The whole year's been talking about you."

"Have they?" She didn't seem bothered by this at all. "Is that what I am? A mystery?"

"A real lady of mystery," said Sebastian, equally intrigued.

"Oh," said the mystery student, chuckling – Ominis caught threads of a sinister undertone. "I'm no lady. Miss is just fine."

"Well, then, Miss Mystery," Sebastian teased, "welcome to Hogwarts."

Ominis was too polite to ask what her real name was. It was too late now, anyway. The nickname stuck like mud, too fitting for a girl with an air of something otherworldly and powerful to be displaced. Your laughter bubbled in his head – maybe she would come to love the nickname as you did.

But there was no point thinking about you anymore. No point imagining what the future beheld for you.

Later that month, Ominis asked after what Missy looked like, if only to build a better picture of how different you were to one another, but Sebastian had only laughed.

"I'd tell you, but she changes her hair and eyes every day. Always in Snelling's Emporium. And her robes – she's never wearing them! Every class we go to she just puts on capes and hats and all sorts. It's a mismatch."

A very strange girl indeed, but not in the same way you were, in the same way you still are.

As the air began to chill, Ominis felt the change in his friend like frigid air on bare skin. He was warming to the new girl, more rapidly than Ominis expected – she invited him to Hogsmeade, joined his secret duelling club, stole him for night-time escapades and thirsted for knowledge only he could give. It seemed harmless enough at first, but the new girl had a particular sway, popular but not needy with the attention, mysterious but still generous with her time, and genial with her friends. Especially with Sebastian.

Worst of all, you were becoming her friend too. She was like the replacement for what you'd lost.

"Amortentia." Professor Sharp's voice carried through the Potions classroom one day, as October crept up the front lawns. "I'm sure you're all familiar with this, but for our new student's sake, could someone please refresh us on its properties?"

Unsurprisingly, Garreth spoke up. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world. It smells different to everyone according to what most attracts them."

"Very good. This is a potion we will be learning to brew in seventh year. As Mr Weasley has said, this is the most powerful love potion in the world." The last part he emphasised seriously. "It is not to be trifled with. Today, we will be brewing weaker love potions, but I am allowing you all to see for yourself the properties of Amortentia, so that you may recognise it outside the classroom. Dare I say, so you can protect yourself should anyone try to use it on you."

Sharp allowed them to gander at the potion as they brewed their own. The fifth-year girls were most excited, and as Ominis prepared his ingredients, the Hufflepuffs plus Missy headed up to the main station to have their turn.

Of course, you were amongst that group.

"Well, Missy?" you asked, as eager and animated as he remembered you to be. "What does it smell like?"

Missy took a whiff, then laughed.

"Secrets."

"Secrets don't have a scent," said Lenora haughtily.

"They do to me." She stood back, let you go ahead. "Go on then, Gibby, your turn. What does it smell like to you?"

Ominis struggled not to listen.

"Sweets." Of course it did. "Magic. You know, just the general scent of it. And..." Your voice turned tart. "Oil."

The giggling ceased. "Oil?" asked Adelaide.

"Oil," you confirmed, in a way that brooked no space for discussion.

What an absurd thing to find attractive. Did oil even have a scent? He pondered on this for a while, trying to untangle its meaning until their potions were neatly bubbling and Sebastian nudged him out of his thoughts.

"Want to go up next?"

They went after Everett declared his favourite scent to be broom handles ("Probably because that's the closest thing he'll ever get to a girl's touch," Sebastian muttered). Already the aroma was drawing him closer, a pleasant tickling like a silk robe on freshly bathed skin.

Sebastian inhaled deeply.

"Hmm."

"Well?"

"Old parchment," he said, "and hair dye."

Hair dye? "I've been told you were starting to grey."

"Funny. No idea why it smells like that."

But Ominis did. Just an inkling, anyway.

"Your turn." His friend stepped back. "You more than most anyone to know what it smells like."

Perhaps nothing, he thought in vain. It was a folly to think himself above such emotions. In fact, though his family may have tried to beat it out of him, it took strength to admit he had such a weakness at all. Since his sense of smell was more acute than most, it would've been strange, perhaps concerning, if there was no scent to the Amortentia at all.

So Ominis leant forwards and inhaled. The aroma was so heady he could get drunk on the smell alone.

"Honeysuckle," he murmured, probably because they grew around Feldcroft, and the memories were something he cherished. "Polished wood, like in a wandshop. And something... sweet." It was a sudden overwhelming note, and his voice grew hoarse. "It's very sweet. Something like—"

He iced over.

Strawberry laces.

"Something like...?" Sebastian said. "Your face has gone red."

"What?" Ominis drew back, willed the scent to disappear. "I— I don't recognise it."

Sebastian didn't say a word at first. Then came the insufferable chuckling beneath his breath.

"Ah, wait. Sweet, was it?"

"I said I don't recognise it." And when Sebastian went to speak again, Ominis quickly snapped, "Not another word."

But he knew, when his friend lapsed into contented, smug silence, this was by far the last time they'd have this conversation.

Without meaning to be, without even being there, you were a cruelty, vivid and sweet, and no matter what he did, he was powerless beneath your spell.

But with tensions rising in the world, he could not afford to think about you. He couldn't afford to think about what your scent in the Amortentia meant for his confused, muddled feelings.

By chance, he got the opportunity to think elsewhere the next day, when a letter arrived – from Gringotts, of all places. The braille glided beneath his fingertips, and he realised it was a will, his Aunt Noctua's will. It was getting to the point where she'd been missing longer than she had not, and his parents had finally bowled through solicitors and admin to snatch the last of the pittance from her vault. With no next of kin, she had given most of it to Ominis, though the money wasn't actually his until he turned seventeen.

Truthfully, the worst part was he could barely remember Noctua's voice anymore. He wondered constantly where she had gone, why she'd left him with her horrible brother and family. Once when he was eight, when a hopeful innocence still sang through him, Noctua had come to watch over him as his parents and siblings attended a society event in London. A pure-blood ball, he was told. Adults talking about adult things, how dull. As the youngest, Ominis hadn't been permitted to go, but he didn't mind so much when he got to spend time with his whacky aunt.

He was practicing his braille as Noctua tidied about the room.

"They'll be back after sundown," she was saying, "so make sure you're finished before then."

"Isn't it midday?"

"It's one."

"So I have lots of time."

"Yes," she said mirthfully, "but I want to take you to the village later today."

The village? "That's the Muggle place, and Father says I shouldn't go near them. They're all stupid anyway. Like pigs."

"Is that what he said?"

"Yes."

A creak as she sat on the bench next to him. Her hand ran down his back.

"You should know, Ominis, that not everything your father says is true. Muggles aren't anymore stupid than wizards are. They're hardly different from us at all."

The comment, harmless in retrospect, felt like an affront to everything Ominis knew. "But they don't have magic. That makes them stupid."

"It doesn't make them stupid. You don't have your sight. Does that make you stupid?"

"No," he said at once, indignant.

"So you understand. What we have and do not have doesn't matter. It is how we choose to live that does. In the end, we all return to the earth in the same way, flesh and skeleton."

That didn't make sense to him. "But how do they do anything if they don't have magic?"

"Well, you're learning your braille now, aren't you? They find ways to do things that work for them." She stood. "Tell you what, why don't we go to the village now? You can finish your work later."

Ominis agreed. He wanted to know, after all, if what Noctua said was true. She dressed him down for it, cotton and breeches and a woollen coat that drowned his arms, and they headed out before the clock struck two, Ominis clutching her hand as the wind bandied playfully with his hair. It didn't take them long to walk, though he detected so many new scents, new sounds. Wheat fields susurrating within musky spruce fences, crackling bonfires and burnings that pumped smoke into the sky. They reached a low stone wall that bordered the village river, cold against Ominis' hands, before Noctua hushed him.

"Do you remember the rules around Muggles?"

"No talking about the M-word," he said diligently, "or that we are the W-word."

So Noctua took him on a stroll through the market. He was surprised at the atmosphere, busy but not bustling. Horses clattered against cobblestone, ivy rustled against houses with rooves made of thatch. Knives slammed down on meat and fish, and there was bartering, so much bartering, for the best cuts and lowest prices.

"Come off it, Dave. Two shillings for that? You must be joking."

"Ain't no joke. Gotta' keep the lights on somehow, don't I?"

They chuckled, even though Ominis didn't understand why, until he remembered Muggles simply couldn't call upon light whenever they wanted. They had to rely on candles and hearths and gas lanterns. They had to rely on their own labour to make ends meet and provide for their children.

A thread of something fresh caught Ominis' nose then, and he turned towards the scent. Warm bread, just baked.

"Want some?" asked Noctua.

His family teachings came to him. Make no disturbance of your betters. "No thank you."

"Are you sure?"

It did smell nice, but he worried about whether Muggle bread was poison for wizards. Still, Noctua took him into the bakery, and thought terror laced through his fascination, he took the bread Noctua paid in their strange Muggle money and eagerly bit into the crust. It was warm and buttery and filled his belly to full – and best of all, it tasted like regular bread. No poison.

"Ah, born like that, was he?" said the baker.

Noctua seemed so at ease with them. "Yes, he's practicing braille at the moment."

"Oh, now, that's wonderful. Keep at it, lad. You'll do great."

"Thanks," Ominis managed. He'd never spoken to a Muggle before. He didn't know Muggles learnt braille too.

Noctua took him back outside as he finished the last of his bread. "Well? What do you think?"

The general mood was buoyant and hopeful. Not everyone was affluent, yes, but there was something wonderful in the way they worked tirelessly to get what they wanted. If the air smelt the same, the food tasted the same, the people merry and sad and angry the same...

"It's a bit like Hogsmeade," he admitted at last, because that was all he had to compare it to.

"So you see, then," said Noctua, a twinkle in her voice. "Not so different after all."

Only when they got back to the house, Ominis not entirely convinced but probing for more, he felt a shift in the air like claws on his shoulders. His parents had arrived home early, as had Marvolo and his noisy sneer.

"At the village, I see," his father barked. Then, "Ominis, to your room. Now."

Ominis knelt to the ground and pressed an ear to the crack under his door so he could hear the argument in the foyer below.

"You will do well to remember that he is my son, and I will not have you traipsing him around in Muggle slums!"

"Do you want him to be so completely unaware of the surrounding world? He'll have to live outside these walls one day."

Marvolo scoffed. "The boy is blind, Noctua."

"In sight, not in head," she retorted. "Though he will be if you all keep treating him this way."

It was nice to hear her support him, and from then on he enjoyed her company a lot more. She had so much wisdom to share, about the Muggle world, about his family, about the dark secrets that followed the Gaunts like shadow. When she went missing, he despaired in his bedroom alone, knowing all too well no one but him would care. It was only until that will arrived, balling up any last hope that she was alive, that he decided to shut the door on her disappearance once and for all – by chasing the information she'd last shared with him.

Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium.

It hadn't been an immediate decision. Once he told Sebastian of the Scriptorium, and his aunt's futile quest to find it, Sebastian hounded him for weeks, desperate to seek it himself. Ominis shut down his questions, even though, secretly, he wanted answers himself.

Missy managed to convince him – if only because she reinforced how important it was for Sebastian to find a cure for Anne, something that was possible with the secrets of the Scriptorium. And, well, to sate his own curiosity Ominis wouldn't be moved, but for Anne, whom he loved as much as Sebastian did, he agreed to make an effort. He would put aside his distaste for the Dark Arts for closure.

"Don't mistake my agreeing to go as thinking this is a good idea. I'm only going to ensure you don't get into some sort of trouble."

Missy's voice turned upwards with agreement. "You've made the right decision."

On the other hand, his was rueful. "I hope we don't regret this."

They waited until nightfall. It should've been no trouble to get there for the three of them, since the Scriptorium's entrance was next to their common room – but come the clock chimes at midnight Missy was nowhere to be found. Sebastian paced in wait as Ominis pressed a heel to the wall where the secret door lay, trying to sense any vibrations beneath. Boot steps heading towards them snagged his attention.

But there were two pairs. The first, Missy's forceful strides. The second—

You.

Instantly he recognised it. The bounce of your curls. The clatter of your glasses. The shoes, merrily clacking against stone. The scent of you, so sweet and innocuous, and yet like pure ecstasy.

You startled at the same time he did, standing upright.

"Gibby—"

"Ominis—" Hearing you speak his name after so long, in a tone that wasn't revulsion, was like music. But the shock was gone when you turned to Missy, aggravated. "I-I didn't know he was coming."

"Yes," said Missy coolly, "this information comes from his family."

"And therefore it is my quest," he reiterated. "You cannot invite whomever you want."

"I thought the more people, the better." So composed and unperturbed. "Why? Will this be a problem?"

"Yes. She cannot go."

"And why not?" you challenged indignantly.

So damn naïve. "It's dangerous."

"When has that ever stopped me?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"You can put your wounded ego away, Ominis. There's no way I'm not going exploring with you all."

He swore steam erupted from his nose, but it took Sebastian, of all people, to step in and play middle man. "We'll all go— and no, Ominis, unless you're planning to hex her, I don't think you can stop her."

"Don't tempt me." He grinded his teeth. "If you get hurt—"

"You wouldn't care," you said coldly.

And you were right. He shouldn't have cared. He'd severed your bond almost a year ago now. But there was something in him helplessly clutched in your grasp. Something that wouldn't let him let you go.

"If we're ready," said Missy, elongating her words in a poor attempt to smooth the tension, "then you can tell us the first step into the Scriptorium, Ominis."

Lighting the braziers was the easy part. Other students had done it, lit the things to light their way through the dungeons and accidentally unveiled the door. But no one had got further. A dead end, it was declared.

Instantly, he knew why.

Whispers seeped through the chamber walls. As the others explored, and Missy repaired a broken relief, Ominis wished he could clap his hands over his ears. There was something terribly wrong with this place. Something dark.

"Wait— a journal entry! Under the broken pieces!" Sebastian snatched a crusty parchment from the ground. "Ominis— it's signed from your aunt."

"What?" He couldn't believe it. Then had she... succeeded? "What does it say?"

Sebastian read. "Wow... she tried to convince your father she'd found the Scriptorium. She came down to get proof."

Noctua was here. And, perhaps worse, his father knew. His father knew and never said a word.

Tears came unwilling to his eyes, and he fought to bat them back, but it was like the susurrations heard his pain, strengthening their efforts to unsettle him.

"What's wrong, Ominis?"

Your voice was a balm, even though Ominis hated himself for it. His throat ran dry.

"I— I can hear hissing."

"Hissing?" asked Missy.

"I'm a Parselmouth," he explained, and for some reason, admitting it in front of you filled him with more shame. "I can hear and speak to snakes."

"Wow, that's incredible."

The awe in Missy's voice disconcerted him. "All descendants of Salazar Slytherin have the ability."

"So what's it saying?"

Ominis swallowed and focused on the sound. It pulled such a deep fear from him, to use this ability he hadn't in so long. The worst of it was, it was like he'd last spoken it yesterday. Like he'd never stopped at all. He'd sworn a year ago to lock away all the darkness of his family bloodline and throw away the key, and yet here he was, standing in his predecessor's lair, the translation effortless.

For Aunt Noctua, he tried to convince himself. But it was much harder to pretend the ends justified the means.

"Speak to me," he murmured.

"The relief depicts a person facing a snake," said Sebastian. "And this door... well, it's covered in snake motifs."

Ominis felt it, if only to fuel the hope that his friend was wrong. Of course he wasn't.

His heartbeat was a wild stag in his chest. "But I— I can't. I haven't spoken it in years."

"I think you know it's not the sort of language you forget."

No. It wasn't.

Letting himself embrace this horrid part of his heritage terrified him. It was like being back in the cellar again, that Muggle writhing beneath him in pain, his parents and brother lauding his name. Gaunt. No matter what he did to unbind himself from the bloodline, always it came back to shackle him. Always, it answered when he didn't call.

Everything in this place was overwhelming. His father's deliberate silence, the darkness that fettered him when he thought he was free... He didn't realise he was shaking until a hand came to steady him. You. Because of course you knew about his aunt, and how fond of her he was. You knew how much this meant to him, even if you didn't know the horrible things he'd done to get here.

He hesitated pulling his arm away – a foolish mistake. Your touch lingered like your soap.

"Take your time," you said softly.

He tried to gather some lost mettle. For my aunt, he told himself, again and again, until the whispers didn't seem so scary. It was difficult to centre himself when three people were waiting on him, but knowing that behind this door were the answers for his aunt's disappearance, and potentially the answers for Anne's illness, lit the spark of courage he needed. All that was left was to speak.

So he took a deep breath. Forced it out again.

And he spoke.

The tongue was guttering and unnatural. Rusty. Yet the door recognised its own flesh, and as the snakes undulated along the door's surface, and it opened with a cold draught of wind, Ominis knew he'd never escape his family legacy. No matter how much he wished it.

The others cast Lumos and set about exploring the space. Even so many years here and there was still some wonder in discovering the new, the unwritten. Salazar Slytherin did not make it easy to enter his Scriptorium, as the enclosed stone hallways, suffused with the cold, were riddled with puzzles, most of them involving the use of sight. Missy managed to solve the first, a memory test that required her to twist dials to match symbols on the gates.

She clicked the first one. Something sharped sliced the air besides him, and Ominis flinched.

"What the—"

"The gate came down," Sebastian said, terrified but also in awe – a worrying amount. "Between the archway."

"So there's no way back."

You huffed a breath. "So there's only forwards."

Regardless of your optimism, that was not a comforting thought, and the group stayed closer together, firing Lighting charms into the darkness. Dust swirled beneath Ominis' nose, and yet the place had a damp, mildewed feel, unpleasant and uncomfortable, but as the others continued to solve Slytherin's riddles, a rising worry eschewed his fear. This was too easy. His ancestor, he hated to admit, was one of the greatest wizards of all time, and too clever to find entertainment in shallow puzzles. There had to be something worse.

"I don't like this," he murmured into the humming din at one point, as Sebastian and Missy searched for the next symbols.

He didn't mean to talk to you, but he had.

"We'll be okay," you said, even though you moved a little closer to him, closer than he'd expected. "Salazar Slytherin is your direct ancestor?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

A pause.

"He hated Muggle-borns, too."

On anyone else's tongue, the words were a jab. On you, they were only full of pity.

I don't hate Muggle-borns. I don't hate you.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it, and the silence that followed devoured him.

"I think this is the last one," said Missy, when they entered yet another identical stone corridor, the echo of her voice a small comfort in the confined space.

Sebastian had already turned this into a game. "Race you?"

She let out a single chuckle. "You couldn't keep up."

"Try me."

You laughed along to their competitive scrabbling. When the air rippled, and stone quaked, revealing a corridor that seemed to lead nowhere, you patted your cheeks twice and marched forwards on Sebastian's heels.

But Slytherin enjoyed games too.

The gate almost sliced Ominis' nose when it descended in front of him, cutting him off from you and Sebastian. A mere breath separated you, and yet the gap felt infinite.

Behind him, Missy spluttered. "Damn it!"

That meant— he was trapped.

Powerless.

He grabbed the gate, unyielding beneath his fingers. "Sebastian, what's going on?"

"I—" Sebastian startled. "Oh no."

He heard your intake of breath then.

"What's going on?" Ominis demanded.

"Bones," you said quietly. "And a note. I-It's from your aunt..."

She died here. You read it aloud, confirming Ominis' worst fears. Grief tore through him, swelling behind his eyes.

"This is the last puzzle," Sebastian said, voice firm. "There's a door, but it's sealed. It says Crucio on the floor..."

"No!" Ominis rattled the gate. "No, you can't. This is madness, Sebastian! Please—"

"Please what?" Sebastian said, frustrated. "The Scriptorium wants a price for entry. This is what we must pay."

But you didn't know any Dark Magic.

Sebastian did.

The realisation chilled Ominis down to his heart.

"Don't you dare!" he screeched. "Don't you dare use that curse on her!"

You stammered. "Ominis—"

"We're stuck!" Sebastian barked. "Your aunt died because she came alone. She didn't have anyone to use Dark Magic on. So unless you want to die like her, we don't have a choice."

"We always have a choice!"

Even though he didn't know what that was, even though it was Slytherin's nature to demand obedience or death. None of that mattered. What did was that you were the last person who deserved such pain, when you'd already been through so much. When he'd already caused it.

He tried with all his might to break the gate, bend it, cast the Exploding charm, whatever it would take to get him in the chamber.

"It won't work," Missy said, softer than he thought capable.

"I have to try—"

"It's okay," you mumbled, cutting him off. "I-I can take it."

The tremble betrayed your fear. Sebastian offered a compromise, that he could teach you and you'd use it on him, but even if you wanted to learn the curse yourself, which you didn't, there was no way you'd ever find the intention to use it willingly, and to use it willingly on Sebastian, no less, who'd done you no wrong since you'd known him.

Ominis banged his hands against the gate. "Damn it, Gibby—"

"I said I can do it," you snapped. "I'll be fine."

"I told you it was dangerous!"

"I knew the risks."

"Did you?" he challenged. "You came down to explore!"

"I'm not naïve, Ominis!" You came closer. "Of course the Scriptorium of Salazar Slytherin wouldn't be easy to get into. Of course I knew there was a price!"

But for you, and only you, to pay it? Was it by fate, that you walked in second, or was this what Slytherin wanted all along? For Muggle-born blood to pave the way for the rest of wizardkind?

His hands shook as he clutched the gate, so tightly his veins bulged. Once, you were the most naïve person he knew, but that day in the Undercroft had changed you as much as it had changed him.

You spun away, back to Sebastian. A deep breath.

"Okay. I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

Presumably you nodded, because you didn't say the words.

And Ominis was helpless to listen as Sebastian raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

Your pain seemed to last for hours. For a second, a wink in time, you were silent, only that fizzing noise, that horrid, burning stench of the curse any indication anything was happening at all. But then you cried out, you wept,  you mewled, howled – then it was pure agony, screams that arced through Ominis in ways he would never forget.

Something shifted. It was a softer noise than your screams, like mud, or honey almost, sinking into the ground. As the blockage melted, Sebastian ceased the spell, but your pain did not end, and when the gate shot back up, Ominis stumbled over himself to get to you.

"Gibby," he fell to your side, cradled you, ran hands over your shoulders and face, breathless. "You— I— are you—"

Your ragged breaths calmed. Your quivering eased. Tears ran down his own, probably splattering onto you, but you said nothing, only remained still in his grasp as he held you, comforted you.

Something warm drew up his temple then, and it took a second to recognise it. Your hand. Your thumb, combing back an errant lock of hair, skimming the mole on his temple.

"So you do care," you croaked.

He didn't know how to respond.

"I-I'm sorry," he said instead, failure washing through him. "I... I should've—"

"Don't," you whispered. "Not here. Not yet."

So he didn't. Instead, he wordlessly helped you to stand. Sebastian and Missy asked after you, and their awkwardness brought a new flush to Ominis' cheeks, but when you gave a shaky thumbs-up and an audible smile that warmed even this terrible place, the four of you headed into Slytherin's Scriptorium impeded no longer.

Sebastian and Missy got to work searching each nook and cranny of the cavernous chamber of stone walls, busy with the scattered remnants of Slytherin's work: parchment, scrolls, ancient tomes on shelves that seemed to hum with magic too ancient to describe. Ominis held onto you for the entire time, emotionally spent. You clutched his arm in return, and he felt the tremble of your grip, the vestiges of the curse. He should've helped to search the place, really, but he didn't trust that Slytherin, the most famous pure-blood supremacist in the history of Hogwarts, wouldn't have any last surprises for you.

Missy eventually found Slytherin's spellbook, and the exit, which chucked the four of you back out into the dungeons. You huddled behind the columns until you were sure there were no teachers or prefects, and only then did Ominis allow himself a moment to press his head to the stone, process everything he'd heard, felt.

His aunt was dead, bones lying cold in that corridor.

Sebastian had used Dark Magic like it was second nature.

You had been hurt. And you were owed an explanation.

But so close to the common room entrance was risking too much. If not Peregrine Malfoy, then another pure-blood, a painting, a ghost, a teacher bribed. Someone else, trading with secrets that could ultimately slither its way back to his family.

"Ominis," Sebastian sounded genuinely contrite, "about your aunt—"

"Oh please, Sebastian," he snapped, the anger sudden but healthy. He swung on his friend, teeth bared. "We were lucky we escaped at all."

"But I'm grateful that we did, because maybe now Anne—"

"And if you'd have died in there? How could you have saved Anne then?"

You startled. "Wait, let's—"

"Swear to me." He didn't bend under the weight of your gaze. "Swear to me, right now, that we will never engage with Dark Magic ever again. That— that we will never cause that pain again."

Sebastian was speechless. "But—"

"Swear it, Sebastian!"

"All right, all right." He took a breath. "Understood. And I... I really am sorry about your aunt."

Admittedly that closure was nice, to know Noctua was gone. He didn't voice anything, his feelings too raw and churning, and Sebastian headed towards the common room, Missy in tow.

"We'll go. You two... have a lot to talk about."

When the common room door slid shut, and it was only the two of you, alone, a new sort of worry seeded in his stomach. You said nothing for a while, the last moments that had passed between you as palpable as stone.

"I— I'm sorry," he forced out, this apology much harder than the last. "The Cruciatus Curse—"

"I'm okay," you repeated. A shuffle of your boot. "Are... are you going to talk to me again now? Are you going to tell me why you turned on me?"

But he found the words impossible and unmoving. He needed time, space, to heal from today, before he was ready to open another old wound.

"I-I can't. Not yet."

You paused. It was long and hard to bear, like a rake drawing down his chest.

"All right," you said quietly. "When you're ready, find me. You know where."

He did know where. Back in the early months of first year, when you were green and hungry, there were times when you weren't tagging in Ominis and Sebastian's shadows, times when they didn't know where you were at all. Once he decided, on whim, to search. The castle was huge and he wasn't optimistic, but he checked your favourite places: the Hufflepuff common room, the library, the front lawns and the sitting area outside Charms. When you weren't there and no one had seen you, he concluded he was just missing you, and hurried towards the Great Hall before his absence at dinner was noticed.

That's when he heard you, far above.

The hallways of the Viaduct Entrance were quiet – everyone was at the feast – and even still, your voice was barely a whisper. He halted, pausing to make sure, and there again was your sound, high-pitched and squealy and very you. Brow furrowing, he followed the noise up the stairs until he found himself squirrelled between the wooden joists holding the ceiling.

Whilst Ominis and Sebastian had claimed the Undercroft as their own, this was your space. He didn't know when you'd discovered it, or how, but here you were, curled beneath the beams.

Crying.

It surprised him. You, crying? When you were always so upbeat? When everything seemed to make you laugh? He approached you like you were a unicorn, easily spooked by noise. Still, you noticed him anyway.

"Oh! Ominis! I— I didn't see you there."

"That makes two of us."

But you didn't laugh, which meant something was very wrong.

He swallowed his pride. He'd never dealt with someone crying before, least of all a crying girl. "What's the matter?"

"You're going to think I'm silly."

"I already think that."

Another heaving breath. Another jab that didn't land. "Then— I don't know. You might laugh."

"Why would I—?" He stopped himself. That wasn't what you needed to hear. Instead, he sat next to you. "I won't laugh. Promise."

"Okay." You shuffled a little closer. "I-I miss home."

Ah. You were homesick. Frankly the concept was foreign to him – he'd never once missed his family. Even then he rejoiced every second he got to spend away from home. Still, it seemed to be eating you up.

"I-I'm not ungrateful," you said quickly. "I'm really happy to be here. And I really like magic. It totally makes sense – one time I exploded my brother's washing basket and we never knew how—"

"Exploded—?" He sighed. Just you things. "Never mind."

"But I miss them. My mama and papa run the confectionary. My brothers are supposed to take over when they're older, but Connor met Matilda Asher at church and everyone reckons they'll marry soon and he'll go into lumbering, and Ellian doesn't like sweets a lot, and he's much better at business and numbers anyway, and who knows how little Tam will grow up— oh no, I'm going to miss him growing up!"

Now you were weeping and hiccoughing. "Slow down. You're getting tears on my robes."

"Sorry. Is that... am I a wally?"

He didn't have the heart to ask what a wally was.

"Everyone gets homesick sometimes."

"You don't."

So you noticed. "I grew up in the magical world. You didn't. If I was suddenly dropped into the Muggle world, I'd be sad too. It's overwhelming to suddenly be in a different place with different people, let alone find out you're actually a witch, but you'll get used to it."

"What if I don't?"

"You will." It wasn't a guess. It was fact. "And your friends will help. Sebastian and Anne, and Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur too."

"And you?"

"Yes," he said, managing a smile for your sake, "and me."

You took a deep breath, a sign that meant you would be okay.

"Do... do you have a tissue?"

"No."

"A... face-cleaning spell? Dryus Tearus?"

"You can't put -us at the end of words and expect it to be a spell. Just stop crying." It came out as a demand, even though Ominis didn't mean it to. He lifted the hem of his robes and wiped away the tears. "You'll get to go home at Christmas, which is only two months away."

By which point, he knew, you wouldn't feel so homesick anyway.

You squirmed when he drew the robe across your nose again. It was snotty, which made him grunt in disgust, which then made you giggle, and then use the sleeve of your own shirt to wipe the rest away.

"Thank you." You sniffled again. "I must look terrible."

"Awful."

A sharp pause – then another laugh, this one more like your usual self. "You are funny, Ominis Gaunt."

Funny was, perhaps, the last word he would ever ascribe to himself. It was, however, the perfect word to assign to his feelings a few days after the Scriptorium debacle, when he was finally ready to share the truth.

He didn't find you under the joists in the Viaduct Entrance's ceiling. Instead, where you were sitting that first time he caught you in first year, and where you sat in the subsequent times since, he found a note. Cleverly it was in braille, and he suspected there was no written words. He drew his thumb across the print.

Below astronomy deck, 8pm.

You had been waiting there, every day like clockwork. Waiting for him.

Ominis climbed the winding stairs. He didn't come up here often – without his sight, he couldn't read the stars, though he did still partake in stargazing theory and discussion. The floorboards croaked. So high up, the wind teased the tips of his ears, and he fussed with warming them until the deck was before him.

He thought he was alone, that he'd missed the chance today.

But you were here, coming up to him steadily. "Are you ready to talk?"

He nodded, voice scarpering deep into his throat. You waited. You weren't going to prompt him or give him any tools to help. You were as hungry for answers as you were before, but you would not make it easy. He would have to work for your trust.

He didn't know how to start.

"I— my family—" How did he tell you about the pain he went through, without diminishing yours? How could he articulate the horrors he'd experienced home, that he'd subsequently thrown back at you? "Some... things happened, when I was at home that summer after third year."

You waited still, not saying a word.

The beginning, then.

"You know my family hates Muggles. Hates Muggle-borns. It's an old pure-blood notion that Muggle-born magic is weaker, that it's stolen. I realised it was wrong when I met you, and regardless of my family's opinions I thought it was okay to be your friend."

"Opinions," you retorted. "You mean prejudice?"

"Yes," he agreed hoarsely, realising his error too late. "Yes, prejudice."

Silence again, as you waited for him to continue. He didn't know you could be so blunt.

"Peregrine Malfoy found out in third year we were friends. He— he told his father. Who told mine." Now his heart raced, his pulse thrashed, a cold clamminess prickled up and down his skin in disgust, shame, fear. "M-My parents, my brother Marvolo, they... they were displeased—"

Your hand found his arm then to steady him then.

"You don't have to continue."

"You deserve to know—"

"It's okay. I... I already know."

"You— what?"

"I've known since the Scriptorium."

"How?" he demanded, then seethed. "Damn Sebastian—"

"Not Sebastian," you mumbled.

Anne.

"It wasn't her place to tell either."

"No," you agreed, "but I wrote her a letter and she told me anyway, since you were being a dummy."

"But you know why, then," he reiterated, clutching your shoulders, hoping, begging to make you see. "You know why—"

"I know I lost my best friend," you said, angry tears snuffing your voice. "I know you suffered. I know your family are the vilest, most evil people on earth. I know that nosy Malfoy should mind his own business. Sebastian said he talked to him. He won't say a word about you now."

What the hell did Sebastian do? "It's too risky."

"I'd rather live in risk with you then not have you at all."

"You don't understand. My family will stop at nothing to protect the sanctity of the bloodline. If they are capable of hurting me, they will hurt you. Maybe— maybe worse. They might've tried something already if you weren't protected here, at Hogwarts."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"You should be. They can do so much worse than... than the slur I called you, Gibby."

"Mudblood. I know."

"Don't say—"

"Why? That word means nothing to me – it only meant something when it was coming from you."

He didn't know how to respond, speechless.

"Your family can continue to live their lives in hatred, but I won't ruin mine for their sake. If I have to keep my friendship with you a secret to keep you safe, fine." Your voice was fierce, incredible, beautiful. "But I am not losing you, Ominis Gaunt. Not again."

You knocked the breath from him then. Those were words he would never forget; you planted yourself deeper into his heart, where your flowers bloomed even in the shadows of his past.

You were his family, too.

It had taken him a long time to realise you always had been.

[PREV][NEXT] [Divider credits]

[iblameashley]

Rekindle: Soulstring Symphony

Military | Male | Gay

2,400~words Content: AU, time skips, soulmates, depression, longing, angst, bullet wound, mention of blood, bit of fluff, gay stuff, happy ending.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | John 'Soap' MacTavish

!!!SFW!!!

Everyone has a special someone out there in the world. Everyone is connected in their own way, and for John 'Soap' MacTavish, that's through song. Every time they sing, they can hear each other... until one day the songs stop and Soap is left alone and heartbroken. Thrusting himself into a military career, he eventually pushes the idea of finding his one-and-only out of his mind; until a mission goes wrong and he hears his soulmate once more. (Based on Tweet below GIF)

THE LONGING

It was difficult sometimes, to wander the world alone. To see all the soulmates around you find their perfect person. Johnny wondered if he would find his soulmate one day too.

The memory of the songs haunted him now, but he remembered the first time he had heard them, been blessed by them. He had been asleep in his bed at his family home when the melody slowly crept into his dreams. The voice was rich and smooth, with a deepness that pieced his heart.

But when he woke, he could only remember the outro of the song.

...As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Then one day, the songs stopped. He had wondered if maybe his soulmate had died suddenly; it had happened to other people, and it was a soul-crushing experience to know you'd spend the rest of your life alone. Disconnected. Halved.

Johnny had searched the library for old folks songs, and then eventually online, plugging the lyrics he remembered into search engines to come up empty. This was an original song, it seemed.

Johnny's journey began at home in Scotland. Guided by the knowledge that more than two thirds of all soulmates were born within a one thousand kilometre radius of each other.

That didn't stop people from moving away by any means, but it narrowed the search down to the Atlantic Ocean and the surrounding countries of the European Union. And he was pretty certain his soulmate wasn't in the ocean.

He travelled the misty highlands, the expansive coasts, and ancient castles seeking any clue that might lead him to his love. Town after town, and small villages were turned upside down in hopes of anything. But finding nothing that lead him closer to his soulmate, he moved on Ireland, then England; finding only a growing despair and loneliness in his heart.

Everywhere he travelled he found nothing but dead ends. There was nothing in Norway, except the picturesque scenery of the fjords. Denmark, while also another beautiful country to visit was just as barren of his soulmate as all the preceding locales. By the time he had reached the Netherlands, all he had was a dimming hope in his heart. In a quite place among the bulbs of the Keukenhof garden, Johnny took a seat under a tree and closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath and recalled the last bit of the song; not that it took much to remember, having been burned deep into his soul for so long.

In his deep voice, low as a whisper, he began to sing. To reach out to his soulmate in hopes of kindling a response.

...As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Choking out the lyrics through the welling tears in his eyes, Johnny waited for a reply, anything to tell him that his soulmate was still out there somewhere. The maddening silence was the only answer he got in return.

“Please answer me, mo chridhe.” He whimpered.

Finding no peace or happiness among the trees and flowers of the garden, Johnny decided it was time to move on once more.

Without a reply to the song to guide him, Johnny felt lost. His heart was beginning to fracture on his way back home. Having used all of his savings, and not wanting go home to his family still alone, he was ready to enlist in the military and see where his life would take him. If he was destined to be alone now, the least he could do was feel like his life meant something. That he was doing something worthwhile. At least, that's how he sold it to himself.

But then something happened.

It was faint, almost like white noise in his head. It wasn't the song, not exactly... more like a longing that resonated deep from his soulmates heart. They were out there, close, but still far and beyond his reach. It was just an echo. A ghost.

“Mo chridhe...” He murmured into the window of the train car. “I'm here... you're not alone.”

And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

It crushed him.

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ENLISTMENT & THE SAS

Prodigy is not a word tossed around so easily in the British military; but that's what Johnny was. Young, smart, motivated and able to out think and out manoeuvre his fellow soldiers.

This path left no room for distractions, let alone the notion of his soulmate still being out there and longing for him in return. Or so he lied to himself.

He was able to think outside the box and on the fly to complete tasks that most men thought were impossible. He couldn't deny that it went to his head. Johnny's mental health bore the weight of his relentless pursuit of perfection, to meet his astronomical and unreachable standards, and thrived on the positive feedback and praise from his superiors.

But added to the stress of his standards was the constant scrutiny from his fellow soldiers. While most of the enlisted men in the service became close comrades, it was something that was kept at an arms length for Johnny. No one wanted to be around the young, up-and-coming showoff – and smart ass – Scot.

Off-duty time was the only time where Johnny's focus wavered. With nothing to occupy his time, mind or hands, he was left to his thoughts; and those usually drifted to his loneliness. To dull the ache in his heart every night, Johnny would find a quiet and secluded spot on the base and would sing to himself and to his soulmate; who he prayed could still hear him.

...When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you And when I'm dreaming, well, I know I'm gonna dream I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you When I go out (when I go out), well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you And when I come home (when I come home), yes, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you...

“Mo chridhe... I wanna be the man who grows old with you.”

Another night of singing, another night of silence in return.

The turning point in Johnny's career was when he aimed at the SAS, the best of the best, the elite. What Johnny wasn't aware of at the time was that the SAS had their sights set on him as well. They recognized the potential in him and valued his abilities to think beyond the military norms.

The process to be selected for the SAS was, in a word, gruelling. Johnny pushed himself to the limits of his physical and mental endurance. Yet in the forge of the SAS training program, he was able hone his skills and discover a deeper understanding of his own resilience.

Though it nearly broke him – in a different way than his loneliness had – Johnny managed to pass the selection process and found his new sense of purpose. The long climb through the ranks of the military quickly shifted, and his career felt like something he could celebrate. Along with the accomplishment of being among the elites, Johnny finally began to find brothers in arms, friends.

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MEETING THE GHOST

The hum of the engines drown nearly all other sounds out, even the rumbling engine of the approaching truck. Ghost was waiting on his SAS forces to arrive, and was not disappointed when one particular Sergeant hopped off the truck and jogged over to him.

“Save ya' a seat, LT.” He playfully quipped, giving Ghost a punch to the shoulder before darting towards the ramp to the plane.

“Fuckin' Hell...” muttered in his gruff voice. He slowly moved forward, following Soap.

Outwardly, Ghost appeared annoyed by the Scotsman, but he couldn't help but be a little amused by the man.

He was also grateful for the mask, and his ability to hide the beginnings of a smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips.

Ghost joined the rest of the men on the plane and strapped himself in for takeoff. He was unaccustomed to working with such a large team, and it made him uneasy. There was a knot in his stomach as his eyes scanned the cargo area, falling on every soldier down the line.

And then there was Soap, sitting directly across from him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“So, LT, ye ever been tae Mexico?” He asked, attempting to break the ice.

Ghost locked his gaze onto Soap and sat there quietly. He considered replying, but somehow he knew that Soap wasn't the man to just inquire about the mission. It was the smile on his face and the glint in his eyes. So Ghost sat there quietly.

“It's an awfully long flight, LT. Gotta pass the time somehow, aye?” Soap continued. “Ye ever been tae Las Almas?”

Ghost conceded and gave a shake of his head. “No.”

Soap nodded in response.

“Guessin' ye never worked with the Mexican Forces, then?”

Ghost let out an inaudible sigh. “Nothing more than intelligence sharing. But I know they are an effective group.”

He didn't understand why he was still indulging this conversation, but there was something about the Sergeant that disarmed him; threw him off balance. Ghost would rather be waterboarded than admit that out loud, though.

“Aye, I've heard they're no strangers tae dealing with the like o' the cartels. Hope Alejandro dinnae think we're here tae step on any toes.”

Ghost shakes his head firmly. “Alejandro has a solid reputation.”

Soap shifted slightly in his seat, stretching a leg out towards Ghost.

“Ye ever wonder what ye'd do if ye found yerself on the other side of an ambush?” Soap asked, knowing it was still work-related but not mission-related.

Ghost actually pondered the question for a moment, oblivious to Soaps intention to get him to open up, he finally replied. “Stay low, prioritize targets, maintain communication and adapt as necessary.”

Soap grinned and gave another nod. “Tactical tae the bone, eh, LT?”

Ghost let out an agreeable grunt.

“Favourite childhood memory. Go.” Soap said, abruptly switching the topic.

Ghosts eyes were rather indifferent to the question, but there was a part of him that wanted to chuckle at the ridiculous question. Suppressing that urge, he cleared his throat before engaging Soap once more.

“This isn't a game, Soap.”

“Aye, It's not, but no harm en' askin' ye?” Soap retorted. He couldn't help himself, he felt a deep urge to lay on some charm with the big man that sat across from him.

He wasn't going to relent. Ghost knew it, and he could see the smirks and chuckles from those in earshot of this conversation.

“Training sessions in the rain.” Ghost deadpanned.

Soaps head jutted back and he raised a brow. “That's yer idea of fun?” he questioned.

Something stirred in Soap with that reply. A warmth. Ghost was definitely a closed off man, and one of few words, but it seems he still had a sense of humour about him. It intrigued Soap to no end. Ghost had no idea what he was getting himself into now that Soap had managed to worm his way under Ghost's armour.

“It's efficient.” Ghost added in his flat tone. In his own way, Ghost was enjoying this playful banter, it was something he hadn't allowed himself in years. Though he was concerned at how easily Soap managed to disarm him, even if he didn't outwardly show it.

“Might have tae get ye to show mae sometime.” Soap declared.

Ghost could only look away, focusing his gaze on a rather unremarkable sign bolted to a bulkhead of the plane. He hated and loved the feeling swelling inside him. A feeling he saw reflected in Soaps eyes.

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IN STITCHES

“The fuck ye trying tae do tae me, kill mae?” Soap whined as Ghosts hands worked to asses the wound on Soaps abdomen.

Ghost let out one of his usual, gruff grunts of amusement.

“Looks like you tried to do that all on your own, Johnny.” He replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips under his mask.

“Ach... ye've not got the hands for this, Simon.” Soap continued to complain, his voice strained with discomfort.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Sergeant. I've had worse patients." Ghost retorted, his hands working with a practiced efficiency. "Maybe if you stopped trying to catch bullets with your abdomen, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Despite the blood over his hands and the rickety table under Soap, the wound really wasn't as severe as it seemed. The bullet had passed through the right side of Soaps abdomen, and no major blood vessels or organs were hit.

Soap winced, a low grumble escaping him. "Fuckin' bullets never were good for mae complexion, Ghost. Maybe if ye stopped picking missions with so much lead flying around, I wouldn't have tae be yer practice dummy."

“Stop whining and moving around.” Ghost fired back as he worked to clean the wound. He scanned his medical supplies, and sighed in relief that there was enough there to patch Soap up and get him back on his feet. “You're lucky the bullet went through you the way it did, otherwise I'd be carrying your dead ass back to exfil.”

“Aw, ye wouldn't leave mae behind? Even if I was a gonner?” Soap teased, though his usual grin was weak and unconvincing.

“Wouldn't do that.” Ghost divulged with an unusual amount of honesty, his eyes momentarily betraying a hint of genuine concern beneath the mask. "Besides, who else would I have to annoy with my impeccable charm?"

It took Soap by surprise and left him momentarily speechless. “Jus' patch mae up and get us tae Exfil.” He grumbled, resting his head on the table. “An' for the record, I'm the charmin' one on this team.” He smirked.

As he stared up at the ceiling, he couldn't help but reflect on how this mission had gone tits up. The room, dimly lit with flickering candlelight and a few flashlights, emphasized the gravity of their situation.

The mission was pretty straight forward; infiltrate a terrorist stronghold on a dense tropical forest on an island in the South China Sea. Ghost and Soap had approached the island via stealth insertion and had to navigate the vegetation and hills until they reached the compound perimeter undetected. The objective: confirm the presence of a high-ranking extremist leader.

The mission had actually started out well, the overcast skies and foggy waters provided more cover than initially predicted, and both men were able to navigate through the shadows to the compound.

The compound itself was old and run down, with barely any power. There were very few camera's, the electric fences didn't function and the guards were spread far and wide. It was almost too easy to breach the defences and slither their way inside.

But a few wrong steps - quite literally - and a slip of the tongue alerted one guard to their presence. One guard turned in ten, then thirty and suddenly they were overrun. Apparently the compound housed more terrorist forces than intel had lead them to believe. With a few quick and desperate shots and a lot of running, Ghost and Soap made their retreat, but not before Soap got shot.

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SONGS AND SOULMATES

With Soap begrudgingly resting on the creaky table, Ghost moved with his usual purpose through the small, dilapidated home. He meticulously secured all doors and windows as best he could, putting up wooden planks and chairs where he could, and using torn and foul-smelling blankets to cover the windows. There had been sounds in the distance, too indistinct to tell if it was wild animals or their pursuers, but he wasn't willing to take any chances.

Outside, Ghost stood guard under the small porch of the entryway. He scanned the darkness of the forest around them before taking a step off the crooked step and into the soft soil beneath his feet. The silence was eerie, even for him; though looking at him you'd never know it.

Ghost began to do perimeter walks, though never straying far from the small abode that Johnny lay in. It was a stroke of luck that either other them had found this abandoned hovel. If Ghost had to guess, this used to be some sort of drug smuggling port. The few buildings and dock were clearly hastily assembled, which also explained their current state of disrepair, though the one home they occupied was the only fully standing structure left.

Ghost couldn't help but also wonder; how was this place was missed during the intel gathering? Though it had been a miracle to exist and be abandoned when they needed it most, maybe it was best to not look too deeply into the matter.

Knowing they needed to get back on the road – so to speak – Ghost finished up his last lap of the area and headed back towards the home. He stepped up onto the old porch and slowly creaked the door open.

Ghost's gloved hand barely released the door handle when it hit him. A melody, soft and somehow distant, crept into his consciousness. A song, not from the dense jungle outside, but resonating within the confines of the small home and within his own head. The disparity between the reality of their situation and the euphoric notes dancing in his mind brought Ghost to a halt.

...When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you And when I'm dreaming, well, I know I'm gonna dream I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you When I go out (when I go out), well, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you And when I come home (when I come home), yes, I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you..

His heart, accustomed to its steady rhythm, even during combat, skipped a beat. The song washed over him like the waves of an incoming tide; soft, soothing and dangerous.

For the first time in a long time, Ghost was frozen, and there was a lump caught in his throat. He hadn't expected this, and certainly not now. He hadn't sung since he had become The Ghost, and his soulmate has stopped singing to him years ago. He had convinced himself they were beyond each others reach now, resigned to a fate of loneliness. But here it was now, in his head, threatening to drown him in emotions he has long since suppressed.

Managing to muster up the courage and strength to step inside and close the door behind him. He took a shallow breath with every step as he crept closer to the kitchen where Soap lay.

He peered through the crack in the door, still a fair distance away, and focused on Soaps lips as they softly mouthed the words to 'I'm gonna be'. His head spun with every passing line as it dawn on him that he had been serving alongside his soulmate for years now, completely unaware.

But it couldn't be true. It was impossible! They would have figured it out, certainly, right? They were soulmates, there should have been other signs!

And there were. There had been plenty, but both of them had been too lost to grief and despair and their careers to notice.

Despite the proof in front of him, Ghost needed to be certain. Maybe he was somehow hallucinating Soaps voice in his head. He had to know. He had to test.

Swallowing hard, Ghost parted his lips under his mask, and began to sing some of the song he had written when he was a teen, when he first became aware he had a soulmate out there in the world. It was low, nearly a whisper, to ensure Soap couldn't hear from from the other room.

...Through the trials and the battles, where our destinies entwine, May this song guide you to me, a soulmate undefined...

A symphony of yearning, sung from the depths within, An anthem for the restless hearts, a journey to begin. In the tapestry of fate, where threads of time align, This melody of hope declares a love that's divine...

As Ghost reached out with his song, Soaps eyes widened with surprise and recognition. It was the song from his youth. “Mo chridhe.” He choked to the ceiling above him.

And Ghost continued.

...Oh, whispers in the shadows, reach across the starlit sea, A serenade for the one who shares this tune with me. Through the trials and the battles, where our destinies entwine, May this song guide you to me, a soulmate undefined.

As the night surrenders to the dawn, and the stars begin to fade, The echoes of our connection linger in the serenade. A promise in each note, a vow in every line, To find you in this lifetime, and forever call you mine...

Ghost paced the small space as his song came to an end, his masked features betraying the turmoil within. The weight of years spent in solitude, conditioned himself to guard his heart against the vulnerabilities of love, collided with the realization that Soap, his annoying Scotsman Sergeant, was closer than ever.

Their shared history, and the undeniable proof of their soulmate bond, felt like both a lifeline and a precipice. Ghost's stoicism, a shield against the harsh realities of their world, buckled in the face of this revelation. The desire to retreat into the well-known comfort of silence was strong, fueled by the fear of exposing the fragile state of his own heart.

As Ghost contemplated the situation, his eyes fell once more to Soap, laying on the table. He had almost convinced himself to keep it a secret, until Soap began to sing again, this time he echoed the song Simon had written all those years ago. His heart swelled with affection for this idiot. His Sergeant. His soulmate.

For all his quirks and banter, Soap... Johnny had become an indelible part of Ghost's life. The possibility of losing him now, with their shared history and the bond rekindled, was a risk Ghost found himself unwilling to take.

The decision solidified in his mind, compelled not just by duty but by a deeper, unspoken respect... love that had weathered the test of time. Ghost couldn't deny that Soap deserved to know, deserved to understand the reason he stopped reaching out and searching.

Steeling himself, Ghost slowly walked across the room and pushed the door open to the kitchen, approaching Soap like a he would a mission objective. And then he stood before Soap who lay there and looked at him with teary eyes, and all of Ghosts resolve melted away. There wasn't going to be any “I'm your soulmate, Johnny.” or “I heard your singing in my head, I never knew it was you!” or any such directness.

Instead, Ghost cleared his throat and give Soaps wound one last glance.

“Time to go.” He commanded, already assisting Soap into a sitting position. “Gotta get to exfil before we're found, Johnny.”

As Soap stepped down to the floor, Ghost helped to steady him. “Easy there, Johnny.” He muttered, his voice low but filled with a touch of warmth.

Soap let out a grunt and a nod, and gave Ghost a few firm pats on the shoulder. “I'm fine, LT.”

As Soap found his footing, Ghost ensured all the candles they used were put out and their equipment packed up and ready to go. He could see the longing and pain creeping back into Soaps expression, and it broke his heart; something he assumed would have been impossible until this moment.

He gripped the nape of Soaps neck firmly and aimed him towards the front door. “We'll take it slow...” he began as they started to walk, “but we should reach exfil before the night surrenders to the dawn... Mo chridhe ”

Soap was caught off guard – to say the least – by the words that fell from Ghosts mouth, and felt his heart flutter. The tone in Ghosts voice carried the admission of their connection, and the immediate danger they were in felt far away.

“C'mon you muppet... gotta get you to safety, we've got a little to talk about, yeah?” Ghost understated. His fingers massaged gently at the back of Soaps neck as they continued to walk out of the house and into the forest. Soap was still grappling with the revelation that there was more to their bond, his footsteps heavy and his breath short as his mind worked to unravel what had just happened.

“Simon...” was all he was able to mutter.

“I know Johnny...” Ghosts vocie went low and was filled with remorse. “I'm sorry, chridhe. I'll make it up to you.”

Soap wanted to cry, to burst into tears and turn and hug Ghost, but Ghost was right; they had to get to safety first, and then they could talk about it. “Yer pronunciation was shite, Mo luaidh.” Soap chuckled; grabbing at his sore abdomen as he shuffled through the foliage. “We'll work on that tae, aye?”

Ghost let out an approving grunt, giving Soap a playful push forward.

[brellafaun]

UNHINGEDPOSTING YIPPEE

today's episode is what build a bears i think the brellies would have/get. they take five as sibling bonding and he pretends to hate it but secretly loves it. allison records all of the heart ceremonies and cherishes the videos forever. i'm truly losing it i miss them so much

LUTHER ♡

luther would 1000% appreciate a golden retriever build a bear. he probably really wanted a dog as a kid but reggie wouldn't let him, so this would be kinda like healing that inner part of him (also rebelling against what reggie said!! win!!!). he would probably name it something like rover or scout and get the pumpkin spice scent and some jammies for it.

DIEGO ♡

shaggy highland cow. lila would tease him while they're looking at bears by saying their hair matches. it would only motivate him to get it out of spite. cannot think of a name while at the store, comes up with one once he's home. either gets one of the button ups with a funky print or an all black outfit with combat boots, with no in between. definitely a birthday cake scent guy.

ALLISON ♡

pawlette girlie all the way. classic, but not outdated. likely matches with a bear claire has. she would commit too hard to the bit and spend way too long trying to find the perfect outfit, maybe something that matches whatever she's wearing when they go. gets either sunglasses or one of the fake lattes as an accessory. either pumpkin spice scented or strawberry.

KLAUS ♡

rainbow bearlien no i am not taking criticism. maybe a frog, but this is the funnier option tbh. he would assemble the cuntiest little outfit possible for his bear, definitely using the faux leather crop top and some boots. additionally, he might get the emotional support bear shirt. takes the heart ceremony and birth certificates extremely seriously and gets his laminated. lavender scent ftw (maybe even gets his bear weighted?? weighted stuffed animals are great for anxiety tbh)

FIVE ♡

timeless teddy bear because. he's timeless. okay listen that was funnier in my head. but i feel like he'd dig this guy because it's more like something he would've actually had as a kid. maybe it'd be like a bear he did have, sewn together by Grace. he would pretend that he doesn't want it, but he absolutely does. gets a little suit and shoes to match his (that, or he gets the emotional support bear shirt). the scents are probably a little too on the sweet side for his liking. (if she had planned it out in advance, allison would've gotten him one of the ones that has embroidery on the foot. it'd probably be something simple and grounding for when he's stressed.) immediately emotionally attached. the employees ask if it's his birthday at least twice.

BEN ♡

jennifur the cat. we all know why. but in all seriousness, i think he'd dig this one because he's got a secret soft spot for cats. it's also pretty separated from the aquatic animals, and doesn't remind him of the horror at all. gets a zip-up hoodie and jeans to match his. potentially gets a voice message in the paw, something from klaus or the whole family. fresh cut flowers scent.

VIKTOR ♡

buffalo check pawlette just kinda fits the vibe? idk man, it clicks in my brain just right. the ears and paw pads are a good texture and he jives with it. joins mr. snuggles in the lofty position of on the bed. emotional support bear shirt, little denim jacket, jeans, and boots. maybe the plaid pajamas if he's feeling a more cozy vibe. lavender scent for sure. doesn't get a box and carries it with him as they leave.

LILA ♡

mothman. she's the family's own little cryptid. it works. finds the goofiest sleeper she can and bunny slippers. gives him a ridiculously intricate name like Sir Cornelius Weston XXVII. gets diego to record a voice message for her and refuses to tell anyone what it says (it's just him saying "I love you"). laughs at five doing the heart ceremony and refuses to do it when it's her turn. cotton candy scent

...........hargreeves family going to build a bear fic when