#i swear sometimes it's like a skittish horse

[aesadraws]

Time to see if sims 4 actually lets me save my building progress today

[chemicalalice]

Fic: My Favorite Mistake - Kinktober Day 1

Title: My Favorite Mistake Summary: Maybe he was the one mistake you would continue to make. Pairing: Rhett Abbott x female!Reader Warnings: unprotected PinV sex, swearing. Please be mindful of yourself and do not read if this content bothers you. 18+ only! Word count: 3123 AN: For the prompt 'love bites' for Kinktober 2023. No beta. I haven't posted in like, a year, I'm rusty. I hope this is formatted correctly. I think I have a plan for a second part of this.

Even in a small town, things could change fast. A month ago, this would have been normal, expected. But this wasn't a month ago. This was now. And you didn't know what was going on with Rhett and Maria ever since she got back, ever since he ghosted you, but you were pretty sure that whatever it was, he probably shouldn't have you pressed up against the side of your truck as he fucked you in the parking lot of the bar while Maria sat inside.

You and Maria had never been friends, not in any real sense. In high school you had hung out occasionally, but only because you mixed in the same friend group, despite the fact that you were a year younger. And even then you didn't talk much. During that time, it was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes that Rhett was nursing a massive crush on Maria. You, in turn, kept your own crush on Rhett more hidden. Maria ignored Rhett, and Rhett, for the most part, ignored you.

After her, graduation Maria didn't waste any time leaving Wabang for greener pastures, not giving the place where she grew up a single glance back, and certainly not sparing a single thought for Rhett. As for those she left behind, Rhett threw himself into the rodeo, and you focused on finishing school.

You didn't see Rhett much after that. Occasionally you would cross paths, at a party with a small wave of acknowledgement, or at the feed store with a brief hello as you went about your business. But you didn't talk.

And that was how things went for years. Right up until an unseasonably warm night in September as you stood beside a bonfire in your friend's yard. When Rhett stepped up next to you, you tossed the customary 'hey' in his direction before looking back down at the drama unfolding between your two best friends over a guy in the group chat.

It took you a minute to realize he was still standing there, and when you looked back up, he was staring at you. You watched as one side of his mouth twitched upwards in a small grin at the look of mild bewilderment on your face.

You didn't sleep with him that night; didn't give him the satisfaction of another easy catch. But you did talk, moving easily from one topic to the next until then fire burned down to embers and the rest of your friends started home. You let him have your number. And when he called the next day, you said yes to dinner.

That next night, that was when you slept with him. It has been three years since high school when Rhett first kissed you. And you had thought then and there that it was everything you had ever hoped it would be.

You never asked why he had approached you that night. You were too afraid of his answer. Like a skittish horse, you were afraid that questions and demands would spook him.

It was easy for things to fall into a rhythm with with him. Like clockwork, your phone would light up with his name every Friday night, the knock on your door coming soon after. He would spend the night at your place; it was always at your place. Saturday morning was started with an encore performance, although it was usually slower and more intimate, before he threw back some coffee and disappeared out your door until Friday rolled around again.

Gradually, he started reaching out more; one night a week became two, sometimes even three; texting became more frequent and not just when he was looking to hook up.

You kept your mouth shut. Never asked was was happening, what it meant when he started falling asleep at your place without anything remotely intimate occurring. You told that little bit of your heart that held onto its teenage love for the man to not get excited. Rhett was still Rhett, after all. He had a well known reputation as a love ‘‘em and leave ‘‘em type of cowboy. The fact that he somehow was in your bed every weekend that he wasn’t out in the circuit? Well, you just put that down to him being lazy and you being easy.

That’s all you would allow yourself think.

Sometimes it was easy.

When you happened to be out at the same bar and he barely spared you a glance, it was easy. When you saw that smooth as shit grin he would give the scantily clad girls who would cluster around the back fences after a successful ride, it was easy.

But the other times, like the slow Sunday mornings that were becoming more and more frequent, where he would step up behind you and wrap you in his arms and bury his face in your neck until the coffee was done brewing; or the way his eyes would instinctively seek yours in the stands after a good ride before breaking out into a massive grin, those times> Those times is was a lot more difficult to bury your quickly growing feelings.

You kept silent. He kept showing up. And Maria? She decided to come home.

You were pretty fucking smart. So when Rhett suddenly stopped showing up at your place, when you calls went answered and your texts were left on 'read', it didn't take much more of a glimpse of Maria at the grocery store to figure it out.

Maria was back. And Rhett was done wasting time with you now that the true object of his affections was available again.

It was ok. You had known things weren't going to last forever with Rhett. Him moving on was an inevitable conclusion. Something you had reminded yourself countless times over.

Still.

The first time you saw the two of them cozied up together at the bar.... it hurt. It hurt far more than you expected. Because no matter how your head tried to warn your heart, no matter how much you tried to deny it, you still went and fell ass over tea kettle for the guy.

And now you got to watch him smile for someone else; watch him leave with another girl.

The hurt felt the strongest for the first couple of weeks. Then the anger came. You had deserved better. It didn't matter that maybe all you had, all you ever would have had, with him was sex, you deserved better than being ghosted by a guy who was at your place more times than not for the past nine months.

You liked the anger a lot better than the hurt, so you held it close, nurtured the small sense of satisfaction as you watched Maria slowly revert back to her haughty high school self. She had licked whatever big city wounds she got and saw herself as the little city queen again.

As your mamma used to say, there was no point in crying over spilt milk. So you left them to it and moved on. Thankfully, there was no shortage of eligible men who were willing to help with that. If you hadn’t been a party girl before, you certainly were leaning into it now. And it was easy to ignore the disapproving frown that seemed to always grace Rhett’s lips when you happened to cross paths.

You told yourself it wasn't revenge when you started spending time with Luke Tillerson, of all people. It couldn't be revenge, not really, because you Rhett was too busy with Maria to even care who you were or were not sleeping with. You ceased to it exit in his mind.

Or so you thought.

Tonight, as you said your goodbyes and laughed off Luke's entreaties for you to stay, it was obvious for you to think it was him when you heard the crunch of gravel under boots behind you as you crossed the parking lot to your truck.

You grinned, not able to suppress the satisfaction you felt in him following you. Your eyes narrowed teasingly as you turned to face him. "Luke I said I am way to tired to-" Your words were cut off as Rhett's lips crashed down against yours, his momentum carrying you back to slam against your truck and out of the weak circle of illumination cast by the single light pole in the parking lot.

His hands fell to your ass, squeezing and kneading roughly, and pulling your skirt up enough that the cold metal of the truck behind you touched the back of your thighs and had you gasping and pulling away,

Shock at Rhett's presence had paralyzed you, but you soon found your strength as you managed to get your arms up between the both of you and shove.

Rhett stumbled back, but didn’t looked surprised.

“Luke, huh? Didn’t think he was your type.” Rhett's voice was bitter, and he crowded back into your space almost instantly, hands falling to your hips and squeezing, pulling you to him. You wanted to shove him away again, and your hands came up again to rest on his chest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. You couldn’t place the emotion held within them. Some strange mix of anger, hurt, and determination.

That look transfixed you, held you frozen in place, and you felt like one of the deer you had seen when he took you out shining that one time.

That look, that told you what was about to happen, that begged you not to stop it. Somewhere, in the back of your head, a voice that sounded a lot like yours was screaming. It was a slow motion car crash. You knew what was going to happen, how it was going to end. And yet, you still told yourself you could control it.

It wasn't ok. It wouldn't be ok. You shouldn't be doing this. You knew that. All those thoughts and a million more raced across your mind in a mere second. And yet?

And yet....

When he leaned down, you didn’t stop him, and as his lips once again touched yours you found your fingers curling in to the fabric of his shirt, clutching for support as you once again fell back against your truck under the force of him. Maybe he was the one mistake you would continue to make.

The kiss was rough, sloppy, and you could taste the beer he had been drinking earlier. He always drank something cheap. You hadn’t drank that much yourself that night, but it didn’t stop your from trying vainly to blame it on the booze as you allowed him to turn you around, listened to the jingle of his belt buckle as it was undone and the rasp of his zipper as it was pulled down; allowed him to press tightly against you and thrust himself up inside of you in one push.

He stilled, momentarily, as he bottomed out. A low groan escaped from him at the same time as you stifled a gasp at the sudden fullness of it. His hands were on your hips again, squeezing, pulling, holding you exactly where he wanted as he bent over you began to move.

It felt good, the feeing of him inside of you after what almost felt like an eternity. You spent the majority of your life not knowing his touch, and you hated that after just a little more than a month without it could feel so good. Like nothing else would ever compare.

You think you hated him at that moment. Hated how he had managed to make you fall in love with him. Hated how easy it was for him to drop you like you were nothing the second Maria showed up. Hated how easily he thought he still had a right to your body. Hated how you let him have it anyway.

He was breathing harshly, practically panting in your ear as he fucked you. He wasn’t being gentle, but you didn’t expect anything different. Being fucked against the side of a truck in a public parking lot wasn't meant for anything else.

You knew he was going to come soon. And you hated that too; how well you knew the little hitch he would get in his breathing as he worked himself closer to his orgasm. You dropped your forehead to rest on the arm you had braced against the truck, and wedged the other down in between your body and the vehicle, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to rub roughly at your clit. You'd be damned if you were going to let him jump you like this without getting to cum too.

It didn’t take long for him to realize what you were doing, and with a little growl his hand slipped from your hip to knock your hand away, his fingers instantly replacing yours. The way his arm wrapped around your body pulled you even closer to him, and somehow, allowed him to sink even deeper into you.

It was impossible to hold in your groan at how good his touch was, always better than your own, and the noise seemed to spur him on. “‘Wanna feel you cum,” he growled, breaking the silence that had existed between you up until then. “‘Wanna fill you up.”

“If you cum before me, I will rip your balls off, Rhett Abbott,” you hissed back, knowing the threat was pointless. You were probably only moments away from you own orgasm now. You knew he would last that long, at the very least. Knew it would probably be your own peak that set him off.

“You always feel so good, sweetheart. Always so fucking good for me,” he was murmuring, lips on your throat, where he knew you were most sensitive, the place where he would always focus his attention when he wanted something, and when you felt teeth gently graze over your the skin there, that was all you needed. You pressed your mouth to your hand, holding back your cry of pleasure as you shook apart in his arms.

He followed seconds after, just as you knew he would. But what you didn’t expect was him biting down on your neck, teeth and mouth and tongue working at the sensitive skin there. He bit almost to the point of pain, and as you felt him spill into you, you knew with surety it was going to leave a mark.

Just when it got to be too much, when you thought you would cry out for him to stop, he let go, head dropping to your shoulder as he sagged against you. His hand slipped up and away from your cunt, but pressed flat against your stomach, holding you to him, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go or let any space come between your bodies.

You allowed, it for a moment; as your breath slowly returned to normal. But as the haze of mind numbing pleasure slowly began to recede, as the realization of what you just allowed to happen settled on your mind, the anger began to creep back in.

You bucked back against him, the movement causing him to slip out of you but not lose his grip where he held you. The wet warmth of him dripping out of felt like regret, and suddenly shame washed through you. The spot on your neck that ached, your scarlet letter.

“What the fuck Rhett!” You hissed, and this time he let you turn to face him in the cage of his arms. You shoved against his chest, but he was prepared this time and barely budged.

He stared down at you, looking lost, almost confused. “I missed you. A lot,” he offered weakly.

You laugh in disbelief. “You missed me? You disappear, stop answers my calls and texts and you say you missed me? It didn’t seem like you missed me when Maria was all over you and had her tongue down your throat in there tonight!”

You shoved against again, and this time he allows you to push him away.

“It’s not…. I can’t…..” His words are stuttering, eyes wide, and it only makes you angrier.

“Rhett, you followed me out here, fucked me, came inside me, and left a mark that tomorrow everyone is going to fucking see. Hopefully no one say you follow me out here! I think I deserve a bit more than you ‘missed me’.”

“You deserve better than Tillerman,” is what he finally manages.

Of fucking course. You saw it coming. But you are still surprised at how much it hurts, and how cheap it makes you feel as his cum grows cold and tacky on your thighs.

“Ah. So this,” you pressed your fingers to the red reddening mark on your neck, wincing as a sharp sting of pain zips through you, “is just you pissing to mark your territory. You don’t want me, not when Maria is suddenly interested, but you don’t want anyone else to either. You got your girl, Rhett. Got the only girl you have wanted since high school. Good for you. I mean, you completely ghosted me like a cheap one night stand, but good for you. Luke’s the only fucking person who doesn’t look at me with pity in this town, thanks to you but I guess a little dignity in moving on from an obvious mistake is too much to ask for. What I think is that I deserve better than you.” You kept your voice steady, but you couldn’t stop your eyes from welling up as you spoke.

Pure devastation is writ large across his face as your words wash over him. And you hate how it hurts you even more.

“It isn’t what I expected," he forces out. "With her. And I saw you, tonight, and I just….I just…” He reaches up and rips the beat up ball cap from his head, smacking it against his leg in frustration as his words fail him again.

You shake your head in pained disbelief. “Fuck you, Rhett. Fuck you. Go back to Maria. You two deserve each other. Just….leave me alone.”

You turned then, pulling open the door to your truck and climbing inside. You slammed the door shut behind you, cutting off his next words; not wanting to hear anything else from the man.

But as you drove away, tires spinning violently in the loose gravel of the lot, you couldn’t help looking back. In the rearview you saw Rhett raise his hands to his head, fingers curling in his hair as he kick at the ground in frustration, watching as your taillights fade from sight.

[redwinterroses]

Could you do something with 3rd Life Joel?

Harley I saw your reply on my 2AM post last night and YES the weird Joel thing IS from your ask. XD I had no idea what to do with this originally because Joel has a lot of good moments but I really wasn't in the mood to do much angsty with him (Joel kind of... exudes anti-angst. He's just so factual about everything and the sarcasm is Off The Charts. I love it.)

But I was getting ready to sleep and randomly scrolled past a post about the myth of Black Shuck and the Wild Hunt and my brain was suddenly possessed by a wild spirit of fanfiction so.... Here. Have this Very Odd piece.

(It works best if you read it in a messy Irish accent, lol.)

(also this may be a lead-up to my Trickster God Scar and Archangel Grian thing someday. We'll see.)

~*~

The Wild Hunt

.

.

.

Listen here, child, and I’ll tell ya a tale: the tale of the Wolf King, and a Wild Hunt.

What? Ya know the story? Sit down and hush—you ain’t heard it the way I’ll tell it. And I should know: I seen him myself.

Would ya call yer old granny a liar? For shame. Sit down, you. Eat yer cookie. Listen.

(don’t pinch yer brother, ya nugget, or no more cookies for you.)

He were born out of flames and fire and smoke, y’see. Born when he died, t’be fair, but born in fire all the same. ‘Twas the Grave Maiden what set his roof aflame, she an’ her undead hoard, and of course the Trickster was there as well—fat lot o’ good that did the Wolf King. But he chose his bed, and he laid in it, and we all reap his dreams thereafter.

So there he were, all newly grey and smoulderin’ and his eyes a’burnt like coals and fire and his belly growlin’ for revenge. But he weren’t the Wolf King, not yet—he were then only a lowly red, with naught but one life—like you or me.

(how’d he start with more than one? Well he were a god, weren’t he? Or he were meant to be. No, I don’t know who choses them things—prob’ly the Archangel but don’t tell the cleric you heard that from me. He don’t like me puttin’ the Angel over the Trickster or the Red King. Clerics don’t have much imagination, y’see.)

So what did he do with his one life? With his one, bloody, beatin’ red heart? “Well,” he says, he says to himself, “I need me an army, if I’m gonna take down the Grave Maiden.”

(Shush, child, don’t spoil the story. Yer brother don’t know how it ends.)

“I need me an army,” says he. “But no one will ally with me, and if they did: I’d kill them anyway—” y’see, he had taste for blood, woke with it in his teeth, like any good wolf. “—I’d kill them anyway, the whole world is my enemy.”

So instead of allies, he went to the wolves. And he went to the great da wolf and the great mam wolf, and he says to them, he says: “Give me some of yer children, to fight in my wars.”

And of course the wolves said that was crazy, they weren’t gonna send their children off with some grey-faced red-lifer on a quest to fight the gods. But the Wolf King—

(No, he weren’t the Wolf King yet. No, I don’t know what he were called before. He didn’t matter before.)

The Wolf King—who wasn’t the Wolf King yet—bared his bloody teeth at them wolves and growled at them and said in the words of wolves that they could send their children with him, or he could take ‘em on his own.

Now, wolves is wise—remember that, nugget—wolves is wise, and wolves is knowing. And they looked at this red in front of them and they were knowing that he weren’t lying. And they looked at this red and they were wise and said “Fine, alright, you can take any of ourn that’ll go with ye.”

“Fair enough,” says he. And wolf pups ain’t so wise and so knowing as their parents—remember that, nugget, parents know more’n you give ‘em grief for—so he left with his army: a passel o’ young, foolish wolves.

(Well. Some might say they was foolish. Some might say they was grand and brave and the best wolves to be born on this earth. Some might say that they can be both. Don’t ya go askin’ the cleric though.)

So there he be, this Wolf King and his pack. His army: his teeth and his claws. And now, on moonless nights, ye can hear ‘em: forever huntin’ for the Grave Maiden and her Fallen One and her hordes—she’s his sworn enemy, ya know. But that don’t stop him fightin’ with the other gods too.

He loves to chase the Red King over the mountains—sometimes ya can hear them in the night, howlin’ back and forth at each other, the wolves runnin’ the King and his Hand over the peaks and into the desert dunes. And sometimes the Red King comes after him and the pack too, o’course, but that’s a story for another night and older ears. It’s a bit too sad for cookies by the fire.

(No, love—yer mum’d kill me if I sang the Fall of the Wolf King with yer brother here. He’s too young for that tale.)

He’ll never defeat the Grave Maiden, and he’ll never catch the Red King, and he’ll never burn down all the Flower Kingdom no matter how many times he tries: that’s the nature o’ the gods, y’see, and it’s what makes us happier creatures. ‘Cause they can never finish their stories—they’re trapped in a forever dance of give and take, alliance and war, love and hate. But it’s all real, an’ it’s all true.

And believe me or not but cross my one bleedin’ heart and hope to die (that’s another thing not to repeat in front o’ the cleric, ya hear me, child?): I seen him.

I seen the Wolf King. Just once, but that were enough.

I seen him under the moonlight, racin’ across the moors with his bayin’ army at his back an’ at his front an’ all around him: a sea of white fur, frothin’ about like foam on the surf. All their eyes were burnin’ in the moonlight—I swear it on the Dragon herself. Burnin’ red, they was, like the very flames the Grave Maiden lit. They looked right at me, and I knew—I knew I were his next kill.

(The Wolf King ain’t nice, child. Of course he ain’t nice. He’s mad is what he is. And madmen don’t make for good people to meet when you’re crossing the moors alone of a night, on yer way home from a dance in Crastleton.)

(What do ya mean ya don’t want a sad story? The sad part’s over, child—clearly I didn’t get gobbled up by the Wolf King’s pack, or else who’d be here tellin’ ya this story now, I ask ya? Sit back down with yer sister and listen.)

So I seen him over the crest of the hill, with the moon a silver ha’penny in the sky above and the stars all a-glimmer and a-shinin’ like the lights of the Widow’s crown. And they came down the hill and they swept over me—all them wolves, all glory and soft and fang and hot breath on me face and I closed me eyes—I did!—and just waited for them to gobble me up.

But ya know what happened instead? ‘Course you don’t, that’s why I’m tellin’ ya. Instead o’ teeth and claws and my one life bleedin’ out on the moor… I hears a voice.

No, he didn’t say nothin’, it weren’t words. The Wolf King don’t use human words no more.

But he were laughin’.

Imagine that! Imagine me, not so much older than you, love, alone out on the moor and ringed about by the Wolf King’s army all a’swirlin’ and boundin’ around me: and the Wolf King laughs.

I couldn't help meself, though I'll never know why: but I laughed too.

And then he grabbed me by me arm and we ran.

Oh, my children. If I live to be a thousand I’ll never forget that night.

(Don’t you repeat this to the cleric. Or yer mother. They both think I’m dotty as a bat as it is.)

The Wolf King and his pack run faster than birds can fly—faster than horses, faster than hounds. Faster than I could run, even then: but it didn’t matter. They carried me along, light as a feather and more nimble than a hare. Over the mountain, down the vale, through the ruins of the Flower Kingdom—yes, I’ve seen the Flower Kingdom, but only by moonlight and we didn’t stop, but I heard later that there was fires again so he must have gotten his bite at the Widow and the Soldier when I weren’t lookin’.

And all the while, the whole pack was howlin’. Howlin’ like the front gale of a nor’easter comin’ up the coast: the wolves was howlin’, and the King was howlin’, and Void take me if I weren’t howlin’ too, just like this—

(Oh hush, child, that weren’t even so loud. End’s all, if you ain’t a skittish little creature—get back here and eat another cookie.)

We ran all night, runnin’ and howlin’ and leavin’ fire and fang in our wake. But it couldn’t last forever, as the Wolf King only wanted me runnin’ with him as long as it was sportin’, and even with the wolves carryin’ me along I did get tired. More tired than I’ve ever been before or since, I don’t mind tellin’ ya.

So come mornin’, come dawnin’ of the next day’s sun, I find myself back on the road to Crastleton. My dress were in tatters and my feet were a bleedin’ mess of cuts and blisters that never did hurt, my hair tangled with wind knots and wolf hair, and my throat hoarse from howlin’.

And just before he left, him swirlin’ about with a millin’ mess of wolves around his feet, the Wolf King looked at me—looked at me, I tell ya—and gave me a grin that were full of as many teeth as there are leaves in a tree. He tossed me this, and then he were gone—sweeping up and away off the moor like nothing more than a ghost in a dream.

(Here, look at it. What do you think it is? I’ve always said it’s a claw, but what kinda creature has silver claws, I ask you? Give that back to me now, child—it hasn’t left me side in six times so long as you’ve been alive, and it’ll be buried with me if I can get someone other than the cleric to do the job.)

So of course the Wolf King is real! And so the Trickster and the Archangel and the Grave Maiden and the Widow and the Soldier and the Red King and the Hand and all the rest of them. If ye’re very, very good, and very, very lucky, mayhap you’ll even see them one day.

Because of course, they might be gods, child. But in one way, they’re just like you and me: they’ve got but one life—red and bloodied and barin’ their teeth.

And the Wolf King runs forever, chasing after the Grave Maiden and her Fallen One and even the Traitor when the mood strikes him. He’ll never catch her, but she’ll never outrun him either. The Wolf King hunts forever.

Now—you finish up that cookie and run outside. I hear your mama callin’ for you. And remember: we don’t tell Mama anything Granny says about the cleric, alrighty?

Alrighty.

Goodnight, children—sleep tight; don’t let the phantoms bite.

And just maybe—if you’re real, real quiet—you might hear the howling.

Howl back.

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

OISIN - 4* CASTER - PROFILE

Under the read more!

Summon: “My name is Oisin. I am a poet – and now, I am your Caster-class Servant. Though our time together won’t last forever, I’m glad to meet you, Master."

Initial Information:

A beautiful poet, blessed with eternal youth and wisdom. Though he is a great knight, he is most famous for his silver tongue, which has preserved the legends of many heroes in what is now called the "Fenian" or "Ossianic" Cycle of Irish mythology.

Passive Skills

Territory Creation A

Item Construction C

Divinity C

Active Skills

Heroic Legacy A – Increase defense for three turns and clear own debuffs, increase attack and star generation for all allies for three turns.

Blessings of Youth A – Apply invincibility for 3 turns, apply Arts, Quick, and Buster up for 3 turns. Costs 9 critical stars.

Storyteller B – Drain all enemy NP charge, increase own NP charge, increase party NP gain for 3 turns.

NOBLE PHANTSAM: Dord Fianna – the War Cry to Defend Humanity (QUICK)

Area of effect Noble Phantasm that deals damage to all enemies, special bonus damage to any Threat to Humanity trait enemies. Applies defense down, critical strength down, and slight chance to inflict Terror status to all enemies. Applies attack up, critical strength up, and NP damage up to all allies for 3 turns.

Lines - Room

Idle: “Master, are you doing anything right now? If you’re bored, I can show you the song I’m working on now. No? You’d rather go outside? Well, that’s alright, too. I’ll tag along.”

Master-Servant Relationship: “I’m used to working, living, and fighting alongside others, so this situation is fine for me. Honestly, it brings back pleasant memories.”

Opinion of Master: “I could write a thousand songs about your adventures. I really do consider it to be a privilege to fight at your side!”

Scheherazade: “I think she and I could have a lot in common. And so beautiful too… hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m happily married, you know!”

Author Servants: “There are a lot of very talented people here. I consider myself a formidable opponent, but I think I’ll work a little harder, regardless of that. [laugh]”

Saints: “It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that I can’t really understand them. I have my reasons, but that may be the one story I’m not interested in telling.”

Irish Servants: “There are so many famous heroes here from ages past. Of course, I already know the tales by heart but I wonder if there would be any differences in the first-hand accounts…”

Diarmuid: “Diarmuid! It’s been too long since I’ve seen your face! Master, this is the only person in the world who is smarter than my father. He always used to beat us at chess, and that’s just the start of it. I’m sure you already know. What? Oh, don’t be modest! And here – look! I brought you some letters from your relatives. They say you hardly ever visit anymore and – hey, where are you going?!”

Fionn: “Ahh… It’s good to see him in his prime like this. He seems to be very at ease here. Seeing that he’s able to smile and relax like this… honestly, he looks just as Mother always described him. Ah, wait a moment. Please don’t ever tell him I said that.”

Lines – Battle

DECK: QQ/AA/B

Start 1: “Just because I am an artist doesn’t mean that I can’t do battle when I need to.”

Start 2: “That look on your face… I have to wonder if you’re not taking me seriously. Well, it can’t be helped. Best of luck to you!”

Skill 1: “This is the blessing I was given.”

Skill 2: “Hmm… still a bit out of tune.”

Skill 3: “With the strength of my own limbs.”

Skill 4: “With actions that will match my speech.”

Attack: [IDK SOME NOISE]

Extra Attack 1: “With purity in our hearts!”

Extra Attack 2: “You won’t underestimate me a second time!”

Noble Phantasm Activation: “If the time has come to defend humanity – then I will serve with all the power I have.”

Noble Phantasm 1: “For the things we have forgotten, and for all that we have to gain – there is something that I, too, must protect. I swear that I shall defeat all evil in the world. With the purity of our hearts – Dord Fianna!”

Noble Phantasm 2: “This is a story of those who stood should to shoulder to defend humanity's destiny, from all that would covet and destroy it. No matter when, or where, we will always rise to meet this challenge. This is our sacred duty – Dord Fianna."

Noble Phantasm 3: “This hunting horn is not for making music – if you’re skittish, you might want to cover your ears. Listen – to our sacred battle cry!”

Injured 1: “Rude!”

Injured 2: “At least make sure to avoid my face!”

Incapacitated 1: “It seems that… once again… I can’t stay beside you until the end… I’m… sorry…”

Incapacitated 2: “It’s always like this, huh… Strange… this time, it doesn’t hurt…”

Victory 1: “I told you from the start. Before I am an artist, I am also a knight!”

Victory 2: “You know, I think I could make a song about this victory. Someone give me a tune! Hey… wait a minute… why are you all walking away?”

Bond 1: “You know, Master, I spent a long time out of human society. So, I need you to tell me to my face if I ever say something strange. Seriously. I’m not joking. I really don’t know what people talk about these days. I’m counting on your guidance.”

Profile 1: Oisin, the son of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhail. Because his father had already eaten the Fish of All Knowledge, he was gifted from birth with wisdom and a quick wit. His name literally means "little deer" or "fawn."

Bond 2: “What was it like, growing up with such a famous father? Well, that’s a difficult question. Father has always been good to me. I’ve always felt that the Fianna were my family. Even the most loving and tight knit families sometimes fight… and even so… hm. I wonder… …Um, sorry. [slightly nervous laugh] What was I saying again?”

Profile 2: The story of Oisin's birth is a tragedy. His mother, Sadhbh, was Fionn's second wife. Though they were madly in love, his mother had another suitor, who was a cruel and wicked mage. One day, when Fionn was out hunting, the mage lured the pregnant Sadhbh out of their home by impersonating her husband, and transformed her into a deer before loosing her in the forest.

When Fionn returned to their home and found it empty, he immediately marshaled his knights and began to search for them, leaving no stone under-turned.

Eventually, the toddler Oisin was recovered - but his mother was never seen again.

Bond 3: “Yes, yes. My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. Every man says that about his wife, but in my case, it’s actually true! She’s a wonderful, wonderful woman, and her family always treated me so kindly. I simply lost track of time, that’s all. Yes, I always meant to go back and visit, but the opportunity always… Eh? I trailed off again? I’m not sure why I keep getting lost in thought. Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

Profile 3: Fionn was never the same after Sadhbh's disappearance. Plunged into a deep mourning, it was said that his entire personality shifted, until he was nearly a shadow of his former, magnanimous self. It was Oisin who volunteered to seek a new bride for his father, perhaps desperate to see his father smile again. It was these events that eventually lead to the Pursuit, another tale that is narrated in the Fenian Cycle.

Bond 4: “Was it hard? Yes, I suppose it was. All the places that I had loved, and all the people I had loved were gone. Even my own father. Even my first son. And then, I was even stupid enough to fall off my horse. Hah. Sorry, Master, I’ll go now. No, no. It’s alright. It’s just that I would never want you to see me like that. That’s all.”

Profile 4: Like the other Knights of Fianna, Oisin lived a long life full of adventures too numerous to recount in full. He married a fairy woman and went to live in Tir na Nog, the land of eternal youth. Eventually, he decided to return to the mortal world to visit his family. His wife gifted him a magical horse, and told him that he would not be able to dismount, or the blessings of eternal youth that he had been granted would disappear.

When Oisin emerged from the Land of Youth, he discovered that 300 years had passed, and the Fianna had all but completely disappeared.

Bond 5: “I will make sure that they remember you. I’ll fight beside you until the end – and then, I’ll make sure that the world remembers you. Really, it’s the least that I can do. But let’s not talk about depressing things. For some reason, I’ve been wanting to write a love song lately. What do you think? ‘Too early…’ It’s never too early for beautiful music! [laughing] Really, you ought to enjoy life a little more, Master.”

Profile 5: DORD FIANNA - The War Cry to Defend Humanity. A war cry to strike fear in the hearts of humanity's enemies, a power that can wake sleeping kings.

This Noble Phantasm would not normally belong to Oisin. It is said, in Ireland, that their great hero Fionn is not dead, but slumbers beneath a mountain, surrounded by his loyal knights, and that the one who blows upon his hunting horn will rise him from his sleep. When he rises, he will resume his duties, to protect humanity.

But the stories of the Fianna exist in the modern age because, after emerging from Tir na Nog, Oisin wrote them all down. Using his talents for word and song, he told the tales of valor and heroism and adventure, the stories of his friends and family to anyone who would listen. After an accident caused him to fall from the horse that should have carried him back to his beloved wife, Oisin lay dying, feeling each of those 300 years seep back into him, even as he desperately tried to finish the story he was telling.

So in this form, the Dord Fianna is not a war cry, but more like a song.

Bonus Profile, Post Interlude: In one version of the story of Oisin, he encounters a certain saint while traveling around Ireland. The saint listens to the knight's tales, but even so, because Oisin is still a pagan and an immortal himself, he and the saint don't get along very well and part on bad terms. Even though Oisin claims that it wasn't like that, and even so, he never holds grudges, he still can't help but make a face whenever the saint's name comes up in conversation.

[twstarchives]

Sebek Zigvolt・Voice Lines

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “Get to class now! You’re wasting time.”

Groovy “Someday I ought to teach you how you’re supposed to behave towards your superiors.”

Home Setting “I take close care of my appearance.”

Home Transitions “I was miraculously able to enroll at the same school as the Young Master. I’d like to watch his growing success from as close-up as possible.”

“I’m hungry... The bread from the school store isn’t filling at all. I want more meat.”

“I joined the horse-riding club because I thought it’d be wise to pick up practical activities. All knights should be able to ride a horse.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “To make sure that you’re not a threat to the Young Master, I’ve decided to observe you all day today. Don’t run out of sight.”

Home Taps “Styling my hair every morning is a chore, but I never want the Young Master to see me looking sloppy.”

“Silver is the only person I know in the Valley of Thorns from the same generation as me. ‘My friend’...? As if I’d call him a friend!” 

“The Young Master is also taking classes here. It’s 1000 years too early for us to be skipping them!!”

“I have a loud voice? What are you saying? Your voice is just too quiet!!”

“Are you trying to play tag? I’ve long since outgrown childish games like that.”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “As if I’d lose any contest! The training all of you have done is nothing compared to mine!”

Groovy “Want me to tell you my training routine? Only if you can keep up.”

Home Setting “Let me take you on.”

Home Transitions “To improve yourself, you need to eat well, work well, sleep well, and play hard! ...That’s what Master Lilia taught me.”

“I train so that I can be the Young Master’s sword and shield whenever he needs me.”

“I heard we’re having a long-distance race for our next PE class. I’m better at short-distance, though... No. You aren’t a guard without good stamina.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Why is your back hunched over like that? You look sloppy! Stick out your chest and fix that posture!”

Home Taps “Whenever I go to practice for the horse-riding club, the horses always get scared of me. I’m not going to eat them or anything. They’re so skittish.”

“Being left-handed often comes in handy when I’m sparring. But no matter which hand I use, my victories will always be in the name of the Young Master.”

“There’s no point in training without a reason. It’s important to me that I gain power to protect the Young Master.”

“Don’t waste your breath. All that matters while you’re training is willpower, persistence, and a fighting spirit!! That’s it!”

“You want to play soccer together? ...Alright. I certainly have no plans of losing to a human.”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “Your appearance reflects who you are inside. I won’t let a single wrinkle to pass.”

Groovy “You want to study with me? Very well. Show me what you’ve got.”

Home Setting “I don’t have any blind spots in today’s class either.”

Home Transitions “I’ll get the highest score on our next test. And then the Young Master will praise me...!”

“The environment in the greenhouse is just amazing. It’s warm, humid, and so easy to relax in there.”

“I learned everything that was covered in our lesson last period when I was in middle school. Education in the Valley of Thorns was very intensive.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “The most I’ll do is give you a few hints for your assignment. I’d rather not be dragged down during our joint class.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “You look exhausted. I’ll share some tips with you on how to remain focused.”

Home Taps “I’m very good at solving both numerical and chemical equations. But there’s never a need to use cheap tricks like that when the Young Master is around. Heheh.”

“Do you have any Awakening Potions? I want to try making Silver drink an entire bucket full.”

“Master Lilia gave me this drink. He said it’s an excellent beverage that lets you take in your meat, fish, fruits, and vegetables all at once!”

“I’m not good at art, since it’s so subjective. Subjects where the solutions are very clear is more my speed.”

“Stop tugging at my clothes. I can’t appear in front of the Young Master looking indecent!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Could you recommend a book for me? I’ll try reading it tonight.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “The Young Master would never get upset over something as minor as a school assembly.”

Groovy “Hmph. Even you look befitting today.”

Home Setting “I don’t want to see the Young Master look so dejected...”

Home Transitions “As if I’d ever feel nervous at a school event of all things! Festivals in the Valley of Thorns are so much grander than this.”

“Have you seen the Young Master anywhere? I haven’t been able to reach him in a while. ...Don’t tell me he— ...Again?”

“It’s not worth having a ceremony if the Young Master isn’t participating. They should just stop it midway through.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “YOUNG MAAAASTER!! Where did you go...? Oh, perfect timing. Come look for the Young Master with me.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Grim was causing a ruckus again. I swear, I can’t believe how much of a pig he is. ...What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Home Taps “Before coming to this academy, I spent an entire year dedicating myself to my studies. I did it because I had faith I’d be able to get into this school too.”

“No matter how alert you think you are, Master Lilia will always find a way to sneak behind you. Oh, see? Turn around.”

“I feel like I’ve gotten taller again lately. These robes might even end up being too small for me.”

“Do I look okay? Nothing’s out of place? It’s fine if I appear in front of the Young Master like this, right..? ...Oi, are you even listening to me?”

“Stop with that mumbling. If you want to say something then say it loud and clear!!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “The Young Master’s ideas are so grand. Sometimes, I can’t even begin to understand them. That’s why I admire him so much.”

Birthday Celebration Outfit - SSR

This card was only obtainable during Sebek’s birthday event (Mar 15 - Mar 21, 2021).

Login on Birthday “Human, have you come to give me a birthday present? I see... Thank you! I was just giving the Young Master my gratitude earlier as well. I am the luckiest man at this school!”

Unlock Card “No matter if it’s my birthday, I’m not going to abandon my duties as a guard or stop being vigilant!”

“I-I never thought I’d be able to receive a birthday blessing from the Young Master... How lucky am I!!”

Groovy “Despite being a human, you’re celebrating to make me happy... I’ve improved my opinion of you, just a little. J-Just a little!”

Home Setting “Alright! I think I can still perfectly carry out my guard duties in this outfit.”

Home Transitions “This cutlery and tableware is placed in the wrong order. Did you not know I’m left-handed? You didn’t do enough research beforehand!”

“Lilia told me that ‘a sound soul lives in a trained body.’ I must not forgo my training, even on my birthday.”

“My magic manifested at a late age. When I was little, I always wanted to be like my older brother and sister, who could magically light the candles on a cake.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “I’ve gone hungry all day to get ready for this party. I only had three servings for lunch!”

Home Transition (Groovy) “I-I lost again... This may be a party game, but I can’t stand to keep losing to the likes of a human! One more round!”

Home Taps “Azul told me ‘I heard you liked Magical Analysis’ and gave me a rare book on it... but I feel like he wants something big in return.”

“Riddle gave me a special horseback riding lesson. You don’t often get a chance like that. I’ll remember it as a fond birthday memory.”

“Silver, that bastard! He gave me dumbbells as a gift! That can’t mean anything but him thinking my training isn’t enough!”

“Epel gave me a fruit carving of the Young Master. It’s an incredible piece of work... but there’s no way I could bring myself to eat it!”

“I-I hear an explosion!? What’s happening!? ...Oh, you’re popping party poppers? It’s so loud! You know you’re bothering the people around you!!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Here, I went and got you ten plates of food. ...You’re good with just one? Heh! I know you’re a human, but you eat so little.”

Duo Magic Sebek: “Let me thank you for your blessings, Cater!!!” Cater: “HBD, Sebek-kins~!”

Tutorial “Follow me, human! Make sure you commit the grand sight of the Young Master to memory.”

Lv Up “Did you see that!? Look at the progress I made!”

“I’ll be able to take even more action now with this!”

“Mm. Not bad.”

Max Lv Up “Maybe now I’ve turned into a man who can gain just a little of the Young Master’s approval. ...No, I shouldn’t act conceited. I need to get rid of these thoughts and focus on keeping myself devoted. Let’s go!”

Episode Lv Up “I always viewed you as nothing but a meager human, and yet you’ve become someone I rely on so much... You’re just always surprising me.”

Magic Lv Up “This power...! Young Master! Did you see that just now!? Wait... He’s not here. Kgh. That must mean this still isn’t enough...!”

Limit Break “I need to get even bigger, smarter, and stronger to be a proper servant for the Young Master!”

Groovy “I’m feeling happy and energized! This really does feel nice. Make sure you never forget all this success I’ve made!”

Lesson Select “Human! I decided to take a class with you today. Which one do you want? Hurry up and pick.”

“What? You look so nervous. Isn’t the point of classes you’re weak in to be a challenge for you?”

“Master Lilia taught me that your classes are just another part of your training. I’m not going to slack off in any of my subjects.”

Lesson Start “Let’s give today our all!”

Lesson End “Knowledge enriches the body and soul! Let’s work hard next time too!”

Battle Start “I’ll swallow you whole!”

Battle End “This win is for our king!”

Other

Profile Quote “Don’t even think that you can come close to the great Lord Malleus Draconia, lowly human!”

January 2020 Trailer “Are you a new student too? Take utmost care not to be rude to the Young Master.”

Countdown Poster “Meager humans ought to bow down before the Young Master.”

Login Bonus “Hmph! You’re pretty capable for a human. But I don’t go a single day without training myself.”

Player Birthday Wish “What are you doing here? On your birthday, you’re supposed to eat your favorite food, sing, and celebrate. You didn’t even know that…? Very well, then. I’ll teach you how to spend your birthday the right way!”

Magic History

Good ★

“Come at me anytime!”

“I’m... not tired!”

“Humans are so shallow.”

“I learned a lot from this.”

“The Young Master is even more incredible.”

“Cat! Shut up!”

“Serve the king.”

“The Young Master will make history.”

“Silver’s asleep?”

Great ★★

“I want to get closer to the Young Master.”

“Fascinating...”

“Piece of cake!”

Perfect ★★★

“Easy.”

“I have no business with weaklings.”

“Don’t make light of me, human.”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“My answer is this!”

“How old is the Headmaster...?”

“I won’t let you disturb me!”

Flying

Good ★

“It’s a beautiful morning.”

“I’m not letting Silver win.”

“I’m not scared of getting hurt.”

“I can’t turn smoothly.”

“Trust me on my speed!”

“My stomach growled.”

“I respect our coach’s stamina.”

“Take control of your problems...”

“I’m going to master this.”

Great ★★

“Oh...! Young Master!”

“I feel like jumping for joy!”

“I’m never off my guard.”

Perfect ★★★

“No one can catch up to me!”

“All right!”

“You want to challenge me?”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Headmaster, what do you need?”

“Don’t stand where I’m about to go!”

“Everyone’s so slow!”

Alchemy

Good ★

“You’ve looked miserable all morning.”

“I’m keeping an eye on Master Lilia.”

“I’m very adept.”

“Let’s do this!”

“Immortality, huh...?”

“Did I get ahead of Silver?”

“That’s a gross color...”

“I’m hungry...”

“I’m not a dog!”

“Did you read the footnotes?”

“I see.”

“Humans are so greedy.”

“Gold isn’t going to satisfy me.”

“This jewel would suit the Young Master.”

“Be quiet and take your lesson!”

Great ★★

“There’s nothing I can’t eat.”

“Please praise me!”

“You think I could fail at this level?”

“Hmph. Piece of cake.”

“Gape at the power of the Valley of Thorns!”

Perfect ★★★

“Young Master, please accept this.”

“No trouble at all.”

“This is probably how the Young Master would do it.”

“What do you think? Perfect, huh?”

“You still can’t do it?”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Stay cool... and composed.”

“No one could outshine the Young Master.”

“Hm? He’s watching me.”

“I’ll get grades that won’t tarnish our dorm’s name!”

“A perfect brew.”

[lassieposting]

Hey, I saw you did a hc thing for Scaracen/Dexter and I was wondering if you could do one for Ghastly/Skulduggery?? (I love the pairing but there is no content and it makes me sad) Hope you are having a good time :)

I genuinely thought I had done this for ghasdug but apparently not? I can't find it anyway

There is content in my ghasdug tag but tbh in my experience the ghasdug shippers are on discord mostly...hit me up

ANYWAY

So. Ghasdug. Ghastly wants skug from the start.

They're 16 when they meet. Ghastly gets a bit seasick and doesn't really want to go anywhere by ship, but his mama tells him he needs to, there's something important for him on that ship, that one right there, and he trusts her enough to know that she's clearly foreseen something and to just go with it.

By the time they get back to shore, he's already thinking, it's you. I was supposed to meet you.

They head back to Dublin together. Ghastly's mama takes one look at this awkward, skinny, skittish child and decides she's adopting him, and skug moves into their farmhouse and is subsequently freaked the fuck out by his very first experience of A Loving Family. Ghastly's mother like, hugs him and reminds him to wear a coat and clips his ear for swearing and makes sure he eats breakfast. He is semiferal and not used to any of this.

For a few months they settle into a comfortable routine:

- Ghastly's father spends the week making clothes, then does commission deliveries one day and takes hats and boots and suchlike to the market the next.

- Ghastly's mother has a job as a barmaid, where she gets to regularly crack some skulls and socialise, which is great for her because she is both a short-n-stocky powerhouse and a giant extrovert.

- The boys spend most of their time together, and they're supposed to do the bulk of the chores. It's not a large commercial farm - they have a vegetable garden, and some chickens, and an old carthorse, and maybe a couple of goats or a cow for milk and cheese. Ghastly and Skug are supposed to cut firewood and feed the animals and fetch groceries from the market and milk the milkable animal and fix this and repair that. All the things the parents dont have time for

Which. Is great in theory but skug has never had to do a hard day's work in his lazy aristocratic life, and develops a severe and immediate allergy to manual labour, so actually ghastly tends to do most of the chores while skug skives off and naps in the sun or chats up the girls who live on the neighbouring smallholding over the fence

And like, therein lies the problem, because they are both solidly in the grip of that cruel mistress called puberty and like. Skug was a fuckin weird-looking child. He had big ears and a sharp nose and a bunch of missing teeth and his limbs were all too long for him. But he's now rapidly growing into all the features that made him an unfortunate child, and it's already clear that he's going to be one of those people who will, inevitably, grow into handsome young men.

Which is like. Fine. Ghastly doesn't care. He's not jealous or anything. He doesn't feel a twinge when the neighbour girls only speak to him to ask about Skulduggery. Nobody here is bitter.

It's a good thing, he tells himself. Nobody will want to marry him anyway, so he's glad skug is around now so Mother can harass him to meet a nice girl and give her grandchildren. At least someone will probably want to have children with skug.

He has a dream about skug not long before his 17th. They share the attic room, and when he startles awake, skug is smirking at him from the opposite bed and asking "who is she?" and ghastly thinks oh no. He's painfully embarrassed and awkward about it, and skug rolls over and stretches and says, "relax, bespoke, your secret is safe with me" and all ghastly can focus on is that he's actually been putting some muscle on lately and when he stretches like that it does funny things to ghastly's insides.

- they start riding into town in the evenings to meet up with hopeless at the tavern, play cards and flirt with pretty girls. Or rather, skug flirts with pretty girls. He's all legs and freckles and elegant clothes, and they hang off his every word. Ghastly knows they will never look at him like that. He's Skulduggery's ugly friend. Girls only approach him to ask about skug

- and he gets it! Skug is unfairly attractive! And he's witty, and clever, and sometimes when ghastly wakes up first he stays very quiet so he can watch skug sleep, the way the dawn turns his hair to burnished copper, the way his curls fall across his forehead and the patterns his freckles make on his skin. Skug is an affectionate, tactile drunk, and hopeless looks at ghastly with something like pity whenever skug rests his chin on ghastly's shoulder or leans his head on ghastly's knee or wants a piggyback back to where they tied the horse, and ghastly takes what little he can get and says nothing.

- they're coming home drunk in the pouring rain one night, later than usual, riding doubled up on ghastly's carthorse. ghastly is behind, loosely holding on around skug's waist, and the whole way home all he can think about is how close they are and how much he wants to lean in and put his mouth on skug's neck, and by halfway home he's reduced to silently begging his semi not to pop a full on hard-on until they're home, when skug will crash like always and ghastly can take care of himself in private

- when they get home, they're locked out, which is what they get for coming home well after ghastly's parents are asleep, but this isn't a one off and ghastly's mother always leaves blankets for them to sleep in the barn. so they put the horse away and give her a rub-down/groom together and skug's shirt is practically see-through and his hair is plastered to his skull and ghastly can't take his eyes off the visible jut of collarbone where the neck of skug's shirt is undone and skug makes a couple jokes about it when their eyes meet, how ghastly has been brushing the same bit of horse for as long as it's taken skug to do half his side, but then the third time he laughs and teases, "if i didn't know better, bespoke, I'd say you wanted me" and ghastly will forever blame the alcohol but he doesn't even think about it? It comes out before he can stop himself, before he has time to remember what it could do to their friendship

- he says, "what if i did?"

- skug goes quiet for a minute, and it's a tense sort of quiet, not the thick, cloying tension that comes before a storm or an argument but the light, vibrating tension that comes with standing on a cliff's edge or drawing a bowstring, and then he ducks under the horse's head to come around to ghastly's side. He's still a little shorter than ghastly, still has to look up ever so slightly to meet his eyes.

- skug says, "do you?" like it's still half a joke, and there's a chance to back out right there, to laugh and deny it and let this become an amusing footnote at the bottom of their friendship, but ghastly ignores it. "yes."

- skug shrugs, his lip quirking, and says, "so have me."

- ghastly learns a lot that night. he also accidentally blurts "i love you" when he comes, but nobody's perfect and he's...relatively...sure skug was too distracted to have been paying attention, so he'll count that as a massive win

- morning finds them in the hayloft, tangled up in the blankets left out for them, regretting their choice of tavern beverages and, in ghastly's case, sporting a classic case of morning wood. He's kind of hoping he'll get lucky again with sleepy morning sex but skug is disgustingly hungover and just wants to burrow his head into ghastly's chest to block out the light and go back to sleep so like, out of luck.

- when skug has slept off the booze a bit more, Ghastly awkwardly broaches the question of "just how drunk were you" and they establish that they both remember fucking, neither of them regrets it, and the attraction is apparently mutual? Which is a mindfuck for self-conscious teenage ghastly, because, like, why tho

- they both get to do the walk of shame into the house when ghastly's parents wake up. Ghastly's shirt hides the nail marks skug left on his back nicely; sadly, the same cannot be said for the giant hickey he left on skug's throat, and he is eternally grateful to his parents for not bringing it up (he'll allow his mother her raised eyebrows. She did it quietly)

- they just sort of? happen, after that. There's no conversation about what they are to one another, so there are several crossed wires and feelings get hurt, but they always move past it. They both have phases of going off with someone else - but they keep ending up back together regardless of how much they argue.

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 3.5k

Warnings: swearing, smoking

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2

I stopped breathing. My voice was strangled. "You're Will?"

Liam nodded. He had a massive smile on his face. "I hope you understand. I can hardly use my real name or photos on a dating app."

I made some sort of noise in agreement, but my thoughts were reeling. There's no Will. Will is Liam. Liam fucking Cross. Will lied to me. No, Liam lied to me. He told me he was a personal trainer. Whose photos were the ones he had online? Did he steal them? Who the fuck is this guy?

I was breathing again, but now my breath was ragged.

"Hey, it's ok, come and sit." Liam put his arm around my shoulders and guided me back to the table.

"Don't touch me." I spat out venomously.

He backed off immediately. Not looking at him, I walked the rest of the way myself. Sitting down, I crossed my arms and said, "why would you do that? Why would you lie like that?"

"Lie?" Liam sounded shocked. "I used a fake name and photo, and I apologise for that. I can't..." he paused for so long that I almost looked at him. "I can't exactly date in the usual way."

"How often do you do this?"

"I met another girl about a year ago in London. We went out a few times, but it didn't work out."

"Who were the photos of? Do they know you do this?"

"He is a friend from school. He knows."

I leaned my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand. I needed a fucking cigarette. I reached into my bag and pulled out my emergency stash. I hadn't smoked in 3 weeks. Damn him.

I lit up and took a long drag. It didn't taste the best, but then the nicotine made it worthwhile. I finally looked at Liam.

"I thought you quit," he said.

"I have," I said tartly.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

I debated whether or not I should be as angry as I felt. On the one hand, the explanation made sense. I mean, if he had told me when we first started talking that he was really Liam Cross, I would have thought he had a few kangaroos lose in the top paddock. On the other hand, I felt like a fool. Is it that easy to fool me? I didn't even notice that he never sent me any pictures of himself. I didn't send him any either, but social media wasn't a big part of my life. I could easily go months without taking pictures of myself.

I went back and forth, arguing both sides until I stubbed my cigarette into the plastic ashtray and couldn't draw it out anymore.

"I get why you did what you did. But it's a bit of a shock."

Liam looked relieved. A curl had fallen onto his forehead, making him look like a lost puppy. Well, maybe a lost wolf cub. A wild and untamed wolf cub.

"I have some questions, though," I continued. Liam smiled and waved his hand in a go-ahead gesture. "So, other than your name and job, what else isn't true?"

"I was as honest as I could be. I am a guy who would rather stay home and read or watch movies or play video games than go out. I am looking for a serious relationship. I want a woman to come home to, but one who understands how busy my life is. I want a family, someone to take care of. All those things are true." He spoke with confidence like he had been thinking about what he wanted for a long time, but it sounded like a laundry list to me.

Liam moved his chair closer and went to take my hand. I pulled away.

"I'm sorry I upset you. It was not my intention to deceive you. I know what I want, and I know what kind of woman I want. In the circles I work in, there aren't many women like that. I wanted someone unconnected to the Hollywood world, someone who doesn't want to be famous. I didn't know how else to find someone like that."

I looked at Liam. I was held transfixed by his gaze. His blue eyes were so clear and sincere. I tore my eyes away.

When he spoke again, Liam's voice was small. "I am really sorry. I... Fuck." Running his fingers through his hair, he said, "I don't know what to say. Lana. I'm still the same person."

"But you're not." I shook my head. "It's not just that you lied online; I get that. But why did you lie here? You could have said, 'Hi, Lana. I know you thought you were meeting Will, but Will is actually me. I did that because I'm famous.' Instead, you played along with the charade and made me feel like a bloody dickhead."

Liam was quiet. He dropped his head. "Is that it then? Is this over before it has a chance to get started?"

I shrugged. My leg was bouncing. I tried to stop it, but it started again. I crossed my legs.

"Do you want me to go?" Liam asked.

"Do you want to go?"

"No." Liam leaned towards me, his hands close to my knee. "But I will if you want me to." He let the back of his index finger brush against my bare skin. It was the lightest of touches, but it thrilled me.

Feeling tongue-tied, I shook my head.

We sat like that for a while. Liam's finger continued to rub against my knee like he was trying to calm a skittish horse. The anger in me stilled under his touch. I didn't want it to. I wanted to stay angry. He was so gentle I couldn't help it.

Eventually, I gave a small smile. "Say something," I said, unable to stand the silence any longer.

Liam's face creased as a warm smile spread across his lips. "I'm happy you're here to meet you finally." He put his hand out, palm up on my knee. I put my hand in his, and it was immediately swallowed by his much larger hand. He sighed, seemingly relieved and said, "to touch you."

"Say something else." I implored. My fingers caressed his palm. I traced the lines I could feel and the rough callouses that formed below his fingers.

Liam became serious. No, not serious, something else. He looked at my hair and reached with his other hand to brush it behind my ear. "Your hair is redder than I thought it would be."

"Is that bad?" I asked unsurely. Being a redhead was hit and miss. Some guys seemed to love it, and others ran a million miles. We had a reputation, after all.

He shook his head, "it's beautiful." His eyes kept searching my face, and I turned my head to look away, feeling heat rise to my cheeks under his gaze. He put his hand under my chin and gently guided my face back.

"Don't look away. I want to look at you." My cheeks were on fire now, and I felt warmth spread all through my body.

Liam's hand moved down to my neck. His index finger caressed my ear lobe as he cupped my neck and all coherent thoughts fell away. Gently he put his thumb under my chin and lifted it stretching my neck. My whole body was aflame now. My lips parted as I gasped.

"I want to kiss you." Liam's voice was hoarse and wanton, yet firm. He wasn't asking to kiss me. He just told me what he wanted. I broke out in goose flesh and shivered. Yes, this is what I needed. I needed a man who knows what he wants. I didn't trust myself to speak clearly, so I licked my lips and closed my eyes.

Liam groaned. His hand left mine and held the back of my head, his fingers sliding through my hair. I felt his warm breath on my lips, smelling faintly of beer, earthy, almost like freshly cut grass. I could feel myself quivering in anticipation.

Then his lips met mine, so softly, I thought I had imagined it. Then he kissed me again, his lips firm but still so soft. He pulled me closer, and I reached out and grasped his shoulders.

His lips parted, opening mine as they did. Liam's tongue gently licked at my bottom lip. My tongue met his, and I moaned. I wanted more. I kissed him back with more ferocity than was probably necessary. I couldn't help it. Spurred on by my kiss, his hand turned into a fist in my hair. His lips moved against mine harder and faster.

My thoughts were gone. I could process nothing but the duel sensations of pleasure from his mouth and the ache from my stretched throat and pulled hair. It drove me wild, and instinct took over. I wrapped my arms around Liam, trying to get closer to him. My chest met his, and I felt his hard body against my soft breasts. I wanted to feel his whole body against mine, his hardness against my softness.

Then he slowed, his kisses become softer and longer, his tongue withdrew into his mouth, and I felt the loss if it. The loss of his heat against my body made me feel cold. Liam let my hair go and slowly sat back.

I opened my eyes, blinking several times as I adjusted to the light. I looked at Liam, his eyes were bright, and I watched as he suppressed a grin. Then I watched, fascinated as he moved in his chair and tried to hide the hand that moved between his legs as he adjusted himself. I had to look away. I laughed because otherwise, I think I would have died.

"What's so funny?" Liam asked though he sounded amused.

"Not funny, I just can't help it." His eyebrow popped up. "I just enjoyed that."

"Back to being direct, are you?"

I shrugged.

The twitchy lip was back. "Maybe not." I wanted to crawl under the table. "Do you still want to go to dinner?"

I nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Apparently, it's not far from here, on the harbour. It's a seafood place. I remember you telling me you like seafood."

I nodded vigorously. "That sounds perfect."

As we walked to the restaurant, Liam held my hand. We didn't say much, but it wasn't awkward. Sometimes I would look at him and catch him doing the same. I would look away first, giggling as I did. Liam would chuckle and squeeze my hand.

I was disgusted with myself for acting like a schoolgirl. I was a grown woman with a marriage under my belt. Yet, even as I wondered why I was acting like a 16-year-old, I knew the answer. Liam was gorgeous, successful and wanted me.

I looked at him, and again he caught me. This time I forced myself not to look away. I returned his gaze and studied his face.

Turning his body to face me, Liam's eyes drifted down my body, lingering on my breasts. He slowly smiled. I felt naked, like he knew what I looked like without clothes.

Liam took a step towards me, forcing me to take a step back. Again he came closer, and again I retreated until I felt my back against the wall behind me. Liam's arms came up, and he put his hands on the wall beside my head. As I searched his face, I saw a naked hunger. I swallowed hard.

I wanted to look away, to say we should keep walking, but I also wanted to stay there trapped by Liam's arms. Up close, his arms were so big, and they looked like they could break me without much effort. He pressed his whole body against me, and one of his legs slipped between mine. My bones became jelly, like I would slide down the wall if his firm body weren't holding me together.

I put my hands on his wrists and felt my way up to his shoulders. Every muscle in his arms was tight, and I could feel each in turn as I moved my hands. I shuddered as my hands reached his triceps, and he flexed for me. My hips buck against his leg in an involuntary move, and I felt the sweet friction between my own. Liam made a noise from deep in his throat and took a step back so quickly I almost fell.

"We should get going, or we will lose our reservation," Liam said coldly and started walking. I was confused and struck immobile for a moment, then had to take a few jogging steps to catch up to him. This time he didn't take my hand. I didn't look at him for the rest of the way.

"I believe this is the place," Liam announced. It was beautiful, right on the harbour with the Harbour Bridge's views to one side and the Opera House on the other. The water was dark and reflected the bridge's lights, twinkling like it was another sky.

I finally looked at Liam. He was smiling again. He put his arm out and made a slight bow, indicating I should go first. I was still confused about earlier. He was so hot and then so cold, I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't want to make a scene, so I went in, but I also didn't want him to think he could get away with it.

The maître de greeted Liam by name and ushered us both upstairs and to a private balcony overlooking the harbour. We sat and were given a quick rundown of the evening's menu. It was a degustation, so the menu was set, and there would be eight dishes. The sommelier followed quickly behind, giving drink recommendations. Liam asked for paired wines, and I agreed. Eventually, we were left alone.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Liam said. "You make me forget where I am." He smiled. His mischievous look made him seem almost boyish.

"Why does it matter where you are?" I asked harshly.

"I don't want photos out there of me kissing you in an alleyway."

"I see." I did see. My heart sank. I knew it was too good to be true.

"What's wrong?" Liam was frowning.

"Nothing. I mean, it would be terrible if anyone knew you were kissing me," I said. I was probably a little too sarcastic.

"You know what I mean, Lana."

"Yes, I do." I stood. "This was a mistake. I should have left after your first lie."

Liam grabbed my wrist and stood up. "I don't think you do understand. A photo of you showing up with me means they will start hunting you down, find out who you are, search your social media, look into everything. They will probably publish your name, age, occupation. Dig up every bit of dirt they can. Are you ready for that?" I had to admit I was not. "All of this happening while we are still getting to know each other. It's a nightmare you don't want."

"You're right," I said softly. "I don't think I'll ever want that."

He let go of me and sighed. We both stood there for a few moments. Eventually, he spoke, "I don't want to put you in a situation where you're uncomfortable. You were right, and I shouldn't have lied about who I was. I want to honest with you about what being in a relationship with me means. Part of that is being very private about the relationship until you're ready to go public. It also means not telling friends or family who you don't trust to keep quiet."

"You know that this isn't normal right?" Liam nodded. "Ok, just so we are clear, dating you would be like dating a married man? No one can know."

"A married man?" Liam looked startled. "No, not like that. This isn't about me or to protect myself but to protect yourself. I'm not ashamed to be seen with you. You need to decide when you want the public to know about us. I already have almost no privacy, but I won't make that decision for someone else."

"Lots of celebrities date someone not famous, and no one talks about them."

"Yes, they do. At first anyway, the longer they're together, the less they get talked about if they are smart with publicity. Don't you read magazines, follow Twitter gossip, Instagram or anything?"

"Not really. I mean, if there is a tv show or something I like, I'll follow updates on filming and interviews with the actors, but that's usually it."

"Things can get vicious online with gossip."

"Are you trying to scare me off?" I said, a bit pissed. "Because it's working."

"No. I want you to know what can happen."

I started to sit back down. Liam pushed my chair in as I sat.

"If we were to date, would I have to do anything? Like, can't I just be in the background?" I scrunched my nose up, "I don't have to be all on Instagram selling diets or anything, do I?"

Liam chortled. "No, nothing like that."

"Good." I think people would laugh at my big thighs if I tried to do that anyway.

"And that is why I like you." Liam took my hand and lifted it to his lips, his whiskers tickling as he pressed a kiss to my palm. I shivered.

Our first course arrived then with some wine. It was a beautifully sliced tuna sashimi with orange and ginger. It melted in my mouth and exploded with fantastic citrus flavour. I'm sure I moaned aloud. I just hoped it wasn't a When Harry Met Sally level of noise. The white wine with it was also delicious, slightly dry, but easy to drink.

"My god!"

"Good, huh?" Liam asked.

"Sho gud," I said after I had already put more in my mouth. Liam laughed, and I quickly finished chewing and took another drink. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise. I'm enjoying watching you enjoy it."

"Buckle up then champion because if the next seven courses are anything like that, you're going have the time of your life." I don't think I could have said anything more cringe-inducing. Hiding my face with my hands, my cheeks felt hot. But Liam laughed and took my hands away. His face was warm, so I laughed as well.

The next seven courses were amazing, scampi tails, lobster and beef, beautiful salads with roe and sorbet for dessert. It was astonishing, something I had rarely experienced before. None of the ingredients were new to me, but I've never had food prepared with such exquisite care and attention to detail. Little edible flowers and streaks of sauces were laid out on the plates, making the food a feast for the eyes.

The wine was impressive. We had five glasses all up, each one a flavour to compliment the food. I know I was a little inebriated by the end.

Liam wasn't sober either. The wait staff seemed to take it in stride, carefully clearing away our plates while avoiding Liam's flailing arms as he told me stories. Liam liked to talk with his hands when he was drunk, evidently.

As the night went on and the alcohol flowed, we both became much more relaxed and open. Our conversations flowed as they had on the phone over the last couple of months. He told me stories about his family and growing up in London. He mainly talked about his two brothers. I told him more about my older brother, David and the horrible things he did to me as we grew up. We compared notes to see whose siblings were the worst.

When the bill arrived, Liam paid. He insisted, saying he asked me out so he should pay.

"Don't you mean begged me to out with you?" I asked, teasing.

Liam pretended to be offended but conceded immediately, "I suppose asking nearly every day for a month is begging. I'm glad I did." He put his arm on the back of my chair and leaned in close, our noses nearly touching. "Did you enjoy dinner?"

I felt heady being so close to him. Either it was him or the wine. I closed my eyes as his nose nudged mine. I heard someone coming up the stairs, and I pulled away.

The waiter returned Liam's card and offered to call us a taxi.

While we waited in the restaurant's foyer, I thanked Liam for a great night and kissed him on the cheek. His rough face pricked my lips, making them tingle.

I ran my finger along his jaw, feeling his short, sharp beard and his smooth skin on impulse. I smiled as I went.

"What are you doing?" Liam asked, his voice playful.

I shrugged, "I don't know. I've just had the urge to do that since I first saw you."

"Do you like it? The hair, I mean." I nodded. "Then I'll keep it as long as I can." Liam took me in his arms. "You feel nice," he said, voice a little slurred. I blushed. I felt like I had spent most of the night blushing. Liam kept picking strands of hair off my face and putting them behind my ear. I looked up into his eyes as he played with my hair.

"Come back to my place, Sweetheart?" Liam asked. I laughed and raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed with me. "I don't want tonight to end yet. I've waited so long to meet you."

Andy's face appeared like an apparition. For a moment, Liam was Andy, and I was standing in his arms again. He had been taller than Liam but not as muscular, hair not as dark, skin not as pale. But then Liam said my name, and Andy vanished. I had definitely had too much to drink, or was it the old guilt resurfacing?

I shook my head as if it would erase the thoughts. I put a smile on my face and pretended to think it over, "Mr Cross, you're very bold."

"Indeed, Miss Walker." Liam grinned, playing along. Mrs Walker, I thought but didn't say.

"Very well, Mr Cross, I shall accompany you back to your home."

"Very good, Miss Walker." Liam lifted my chin and placed a light kiss on my lips.

Part 3

[rdrthingies]

Charles and Tayen’s first robbery

this is their first robbery with the gang, featuring Arthur

hope you enjoy!

Tayen and Charles had been with the gang for close to a week now, “members” but haven’t yet been welcomed as one, as they haven’t been taken on a job so someone can see how they work.

While Charles was happy to wait, doing chores around camp as needed, slowly getting acquainted with everyone, Tayen was quite the opposite. Almost every day she would go to Hosea or Dutch, “Found a lead yet?” And every day they would smile and laugh and shake their head, saying her time to shine would come soon.

That time finally came when Arthur came back to camp after first meeting them, telling Dutch about a stage coach of a wealthy oil man making his way West. 

“Good,” Dutch nods with a smile. “Take the two new ones with you: Charles and Tayen.” Arthur gives Dutch a two finger salute and walks off to gather the other two.

He finds them at the campfire, tending to their weapons, idly passing the time. He approaches the two and calls out, “Mr. and Miss Smith! We got a job for you.”

“WOOHOO!” Tayen leaps up with a cheer, quickly putting away her knife and getting her other things ready. “What is it? Where is it? Oh! Do I get to sneak into a house-”

“Easy woman, Jesus.” Arthur holds his hands out like he’s trying to calm a spooked horse, but there’s laughter bubbling in his chest. “Just a stage coach headin’ West. Some rich oil guy.” But Tayen did not seem put off by that, nearly vibrating with excitement as she eagerly awaited her brother who got ready much more leisurely and carefully.

“So we’ll take ‘em at night?” Charles asks as he walks up, holstering his sawed off.

Arthur begins walking to the horses, the other two following. “Yeah, from what I heard he wanna ride through the night, so we’ll take ‘em on the road.”

Arthur strokes Boadicea’s nose, waiting for the two to tack up and get up. Their horses matched their personalities: Taima calm, munching on a carrot Charles had given her. Whereas Inola was nearly prancing in place, head bobbing up and down, Tayen having to work to get the bit in.

He waited for the two to mount up before he mounted Boadicea, “Alrigh’, we’ll stake out on the cliff overlookin’’ New Austin. Wait for ‘em to ride down, then follow.” He turns Boadicea, bringing her into a trot, they had hours to get there after all.

Only Tayen and Inola races past him, cheering and calling out. “Keep up old men!” Arthur could hear Charles’ sigh from his spot, but Arthur only gives him an amused smile.

“She always like this?” Arthur questions, Charles looking to the man for a moment, a small smile forming.

“Normally not this... excited. Think she’s just antsy to show off what she can do.”

“Well, ‘m sure you two’ll be fine.” And Arthur meant it: they were clearly competent at nearly everything they do, working very well together despite their clear differences. But that’s how family is, Arthur thinks, briefly reminiscing on him and John’s jobs, back when they were close Brothers.

Arthur and Charles ride in relative silence, not awkward silence, but silence of two companions simply taking a ride.

They reach the cliff just as the sun begins to set, catching Inola off to the side grazing, but his rider nowhere to be seen. Arthur looks around, not freaking out... yet, but certainly a little on edge.

“Tayen? Where are ya?” He calls out, noticing Charles leisurely riding up to the cliff without a care.

“Up here!” Her face suddenly appears beneath the foliage of the tree, upside down with her braids dangling. “Nearly fell asleep waitin’ on you old ladies!”

“Simply not wanting to push our horses,” Charles answers back as he dismounts. “Now come be helpful.” Tayen groans and Arthur swears he can hear Tayen give a little mocked copy of Charles’ order before flipping off down the tree.

Being “helpful” included taking care of the horses and handing Arthur some salted meats and water, which Arthur took generously, giving his thanks.

The three waited as the sun set and the stars began coming out, a waning crescent moon slowly making its way in the sky. They didn’t talk much, but Arthur still seemed to learn more about the two.

Charles was always doing something productive, whether that was fletching arrows or cleaning his gun or even sharpening his knife and axe. Hands always busy.

Tayen seemed to always do things as well, but in a different way. She’d touch up the paints on her face, putting the paint on confidently without a mirror. She’d sometimes flap her hands or pull her braids, but seemed to stop herself after a while, sitting on them. She’d even call out different animal calls, saying what the animal was and maybe even a fact about them. Arthur caught her a couple times softly hooting like an owl, a very convincing owl, he thought one had perched up at the tree before realizing it was her.

By the time they heard the coach, Arthur had finished sketching the two around the fire, Charles hunched over an arrow and Tayen smiling with a hand on her braid.

“Alrigh’, bet that’s them.” He called out, and just like that it was like they were brought back to life. Tayen leaping up and jumping up onto Inola, and even Charles hurried a little to Taima. The three rode to the cliff edge, watching the stage coach make its way down the cliff edge. A single lantern illuminates the front of the coach where they see the driver and a shotgun driver.

Arthur takes out his binoculars, conveying the rest of the information. “Shotgun driver with two riders in the back. Think the Rich Man’s got a wife wit’ ‘em as well.” He puts away the binoculars, sniffing, thinking.

“Alright,” He looks to the other two. “Charles, yer gonna ride ahead an’ stop the coach. Do your best not to shoot anyone but the shotgun does look experienced, so might need a bullet in the arm.” He nods, face stone. “Tayen, you an’ I are gonna take out the guns, like I said I wanna try to avoid killin anyone, but we might have to take out the guard.”

“Not a problem for me!” She grins crookedly.

Arthur laughs, pulling up his bandanna. “Didn’t think it would be.” He looks as the two pulls their own bandanna up: Charles a simple black like his own, but longer, covering his entire neck. While Tayen had a black bandanna that was also painted: a grinning animal with sharp teeth, wolf maybe.

“Alright, let’s go.” He turns his horse, trotting off with Tayen as Charles is the one this time to ride ahead.

The two follow behind him, not the silence like from earlier that day, but one of seriousness, of two people preparing for a job. They stay behind Charles but not too far behind, watching him easily catch up to the coach from a distance, keeping away from the coach to catch them off guard.

The driver was just beginning a turn when Charles cuts in, pulling Taima right to the front of the wagon with his sawed off aimed, the driver pulling on the reins hard, the horses snorting as they skid to a stop.

“Drop it.” Charles orders the shotgun driver, and even from the distance, Arthur could hear the pure intimidation in his voice, and the lack of a shot ringing out proves that he is good at that sort of thing.

Now it was their turn, the two riders readying themselves to take Charles out, but they aim their own guns and Arthur grunts out this time. “Don’t even think ‘bout it, partner.” The two guards look over their shoulder, catching the two guns to them, and they sigh heavily as they raise their hands in surrender.

“Drop the guns, all of ‘em.” Tayen orders and Arthur doesn’t miss the blink in surprise from them as they realize one of their assailants is a woman. But they do comply, dropping their repeaters and taking off their gun belt slowly.

By this time Charles was by the side of the coach, the gun the shotgun had was tossed to the side.

“Watch these two,” Arthur orders Tayen, pointing to the two guards as he dismounts and meets up with Charles. He goes to the door and knocks harshly, “C’mon. Money, valuables, all out ‘ere. Sooner you do it the sooner you can be on yer way.” There was hushed talking on the other side, and Arthur was worried they were up to something.

But then the door opened and a stack of money, a coin purse, and several jewelry hit the dirt at his feet.

“Thank ya kindly,” Arthur charms as he picks it up, trusting Charles to watch his back. He counted the money: a good three hundred dollars plus the jewelry. Not a bad take. He pocketed their take and was ready to head back when suddenly Tayen called out.

“Hold up,” Tayen dismounts, ignoring the guards as she approaches the coach, eyeing it. “This is a personally owned coach.”

Arthur shrugged, “So?”

“So personal coaches tend to have secret stashes. In case something like this were to happen.” Tayen informs, her smile growing. “I bet they’ve got somethin’ hidin’ in there. Arthur scratches his chin, it was a good observation, but he wasn’t sure if it was true.

“That true?” Charles now calls out. “You got more hiding away?” 

There was silence on the other side, so Arthur banged his hand on the door again. “Hey! Answer the damn question!”

“Yes!” A shrill cry of a woman came from inside. “T-there’s a hidden compartment beneath the dashboard.” Charles went to the front of the wagon, watching the driver and shotgun carefully as he felt around, finding a latch and breaking it open with the hilt of his sawed off.

Arthur is watching Charles work, making sure he didn’t run into any trouble, and Tayen was bouncing on her toes, excited that her hunch worked out.

But that meant none were watching the two guards behind them: where one was slowly dismounting, reaching for his handgun.

But Inola saw, and Inola was already skittish. He stomped his hooves, giving a high-pitched cry. Tayen turned to see what was wrong, only to see the man cocking his gun.

“SHIT!” She shouted and instinct took over before Arthur could even draw his gun. But even his instincts were too slow for the woman: with her left hand she took her tomahawk at her side and threw it sideways, a dull thunk sounding as it split into the man's forehead. Arthur shot the other guard who was now trying to reach his gun now, a bullet to his chest and he quickly dropped dead.

“Damn fools,” Arthur sighed and holstered his gun, turning to Charles. “Got it?”

Charles nodded, tossing the extra take to him: five hundred dollars.

Arthur shoves the money into his satchel and marches up to the driver, eyes hard as he ordered. “Now you two are gonna close yer eyes and count to sixty. When you do you, you can open ‘em an’ be on yer way. Got it?” The two men nodded, gulping, very much not wanting to be shot.

The three mounted their horses and quickly rode off, kicking up dust as they raced through the silvery moonlight.

Arthur finally slowed them down once they were back up the cliff and well into West Elizabeth, putting down his bandanna. “Think we’re good.”

The two slowed and followed suit, and Tayen was quick to speak. “Sorry for not watching those guards... didn’t think they’d try shit.” Arthur turned, seeing genuine guilt in her eyes, it caused Arthur to smile.

“Naw yer good, Tayen.” He chuckled. “No one got hurt an’ you’ve got some good reflexes on ya. Just stay focus next time.”

“Will do!” She straightens, guilt suddenly gone in favor of a broad smile.

“You both did good,” Arthur compliments, looking to Charles and nodding to him. “You work well together an’ are good with orders. More than I can say for most in the gang,” he can’t help but add at the end. “Once I fence the jewelry I’ll split the cut. ‘Member, half goes to camp, the rest is split between us. ‘Cause this is your Welcome Robbery as Dutch likes to put it: you get more of the cut.”

The two nodded in agreement and they rode back in relative silence: Tayen popping up every now and then to share a story or to simply make her owl noises.

Yeah, Arthur thought. These two will be a good fit. 

[lamujerarana]

for the prompt: Geralt/Jaskier, 9

Geralt was behaving very strangely.

He was speaking, somehow, less than usual—which Jaskier truly hadn’t thought possible—and he was…skittish.

Yes. That was the word.

Geralt had, admittedly, spoken quite a lot this morning when they set off to investigate the rash of missing children in the area. It had mostly consisted of profuse swearing, filled with some words even Jaskier, surprisingly, hadn’t heard before, although he could gather the general gist of it, which was that Geralt did not want Jaskier to accompany him on this mission.

Geralt had been known to complain endlessly about being accompanied by Jaskier on dangerous missions in the past, but Jaskier had always been sure that it was mostly for show and that Geralt was secretly pleased to have company during his lonely travels.

This morning, however, he’d felt for the first time since their initial meeting that Geralt genuinely did not want Jaskier to go with him.

Jaskier was hurt. Hurt and offended.

Especially since Geralt had seemed in fine spirits the day before—he’d even asked Jaskier if he wanted to go drinking at the pub with him, which was a first. Normally, Jaskier had to badger Geralt into doing anything that even vaguely resembled the average person’s idea of what constituted fun and entertainment and didn’t involve beating monsters to a bloody pulp for money.

But then, this morning Geralt was fidgety, couldn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes, and seemed generally uncomfortable in Jaskier’s presence.

The only logical assumption Jaskier could make was that something had happened between them last night.

Unfortunately, Jaskier also remembered nothing about last night after, oh, about drink number three.

He’d woken up alone in his bedroom, stumbled downstairs, caught Geralt trying to sneak off without him, and insisted on going with him.

They’d argued, but it had ended with Jaskier declaring, in no uncertain terms, “If you don’t want me to go with you, Witcher, you’ll just have to—tie me up or something.”

He hadn’t stomped his foot, but he’d felt like it. He did so enjoy high emotion and melodrama, although generally not before he’d guzzled down whatever breakfast he could afford.

Geralt had—it seemed so unbelievable now—lowered his eyes, grunted once, and then, bizarrely, fled from the pub.

There wasn’t really any other way to describe it—of that Jaskier was certain.

Jaskier fixed a puzzled frown on Geralt’s broad shoulders as they rode through the countryside toward the site of the most recent abduction and tried to make sense of it all.

The Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf of Rivia, a daring, strong, fearless Witcher who struck fear into the hearts of all who laid eyes upon him, who had slain monsters capable of making lesser men piss themselves in terror, had fled from a beautiful, soft-spoken, gentle, stylishly-dressed bard.

Jaskier simply did not understand why. Geralt had never been frightened of him before. Certainly Jaskier’s mien was anything but menacing.

Jaskier decided to confront Geralt about his suspicions directly. He could not depend on Geralt to do anything other than avoid the issue to an irrational degree.

Words were the medium in which Jaskier excelled, in which he chose to create his transcendent works of art; Geralt’s chosen medium was violence. And brooding. And this was not the sort of issue that could be settled through violence or brooding.

So that meant that this was up to Jaskier to set right.

What could he have done? Stolen Geralt’s purse from him? Spent what little he had on food, women, and wine? Geralt should thank him for that, if that’s what he’d done.

Perhaps he’d said something tactless about Yennefer, the enchantress with whom Geralt had been tortuously in love for years, but of whom Jaskier disapproved intensely—he did not think that her decision to cheat on Geralt with her ex or leave Geralt so abruptly said much about her general character.

If Jaskier had ever been so lucky as to be able to call the Witcher’s bruised heart his own, he certainly wouldn’t have squandered it as carelessly as Jennifer had. He would have cherished it and treated it with the care and love it so richly deserved, and he would have given Geralt every ounce of love and adoration he bore in his own soul.

They could have had one of those epic, soaring romances that lived forever in the hearts and minds of the people: the White Wolf of Rivia and his own true love, Jaskier the Bard. Geralt would perform various acts of astonishing bravery, skill, and nobility, and Jaskier would dutifully chronicle them for posterity through various songs and poems. Working together, they would ensure that no one would ever forget either of them, bard or Witcher. A perfect pair.

Of course, there would also be a number of deliriously happy love ballads that would be equally popular.

But, alas, while Jaskier was all too willing to fall in love with Geralt, the Witcher had never betrayed the slightest hint of interest. And he had known Jaskier for years now.

It had been difficult, but Jaskier had eventually, as the years passed, accepted that their epic romance was simply not to be—except in those adoring, wistful love ballads that he had written in secret and never played to anyone, ever, out of fear that they would somehow find their way back to Geralt and Jaskier would end up losing some treasured parts of his anatomy.

It was a shame, really, since they were some of his best work. Perhaps he’d publish them someday, when he was very old and Geralt was much less likely to track Jaskier down and commit various acts of violence upon his person.

Today, however, he was more interested in ensuring that he could retain Geralt’s general goodwill and friendship.

Jaskier squared his jaw determinedly and urged his horse forward until he was riding side by side with Geralt and Roach.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said firmly, “we need to talk about why you’re acting like this.”

“Like what?” Geralt replied gruffly. He still wasn’t looking at Jaskier, and Jaskier found that he hated it. “I always act like this.”

Jaskier shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no, you don’t. I’ve known you for a long time, Witcher, and I know all of your moods, and this is a new one.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been in this mood many times throughout my life.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“You don’t know everything about me, bard.”

“You know, someday I am going to get very offended at the way you spit out the word ‘bard’ as though it were an insult.”

“That’s because I am insulting you,” Geralt growled, teeth bared like the white wolves after which he was named.

Jaskier wanted to tell Geralt to go perform several unseemly acts, but he decided against it. He hadn’t started this conversation in order to get more furious at Geralt. “Well, this is just getting us nowhere! Why don’t we try—”

“I agree. Talking with you is always pointless.”

“It is not! You know, there are people out there who admire me and are actually interested in what I have to say and—” Jaskier caught himself, sagged in his saddle, put a hand over his face, and took several deep, calming breaths. Geralt could be so unbelievably taxing sometimes. “Geralt, I just want to know what’s bothering you and how to fix it. You don’t need to snap my head off. Or make insulting and very hurtful remarks.”

“Insulting and very true, you mean.”

Jaskier was tempted to ride off in a huff, but he knew that would just be giving Geralt exactly what he wanted, so of course, it was the last thing Jaskier was going to do.

“Why are you being like this? What did I do to piss you off?”

Geralt silently contemplated the sky for a few moments. “You don’t remember last night, do you?” he said at last.

Jaskier was left rather speechless, but eventually, he managed to say, “I remember parts of it.” Geralt gave him a skeptical look. “Very early parts of it.”

“Hmm. Well, if you don’t know, you can find out from someone else. I’ll not tell you.”

And with that, Geralt gave a particularly vehement twitch of his reins and he and Roach rode off well ahead of Jaskier and his poor, thin horse.

Jaskier was left staring after him, more lost now than he had been when the conversation began.

What the devil had he done?

***

Jaskier was soon distracted from his troubles by the arrival of a bizarrely clad, monstrous Pied Piper, who, it seemed, lured little children away from their homes with lovely, hypnotic music, imprisoned them, and, eventually, had them for supper.

Jaskier was particularly offended at the idea that the Piper had used the venerable art of music for such ignoble ends. How dare he? Didn’t he know that music was sacred and beautiful and…

Suffice it to say, he ranted the entire way back to the pub and inn at which he and Geralt were staying.

The moment they arrived, Geralt fled (again) upstairs to his room, leaving Jaskier to entertain himself for the rest of the day.

Jaskier spotted the burly old innkeeper sweeping up the mostly empty pub (it was still much too early for drinking).

The innkeeper had been here last night, he remembered. Perhaps he had witnessed whatever sin Jaskier had committed.

Jaskier headed directly toward him. “Good afternoon, my good sir!” he said cheerily. “I was wondering if I might, perhaps, have a word with you?”

The innkeeper, who was rotund, balding, and had a horrible mustache that resembled the pelt of a dead rodent more than anything else, straightened up, looked Jaskier over disapprovingly, and said, “If it’s about your bill, young sir, I expect you to pay in full or you’ll ‘ave nowt but trouble followin’ you.”

Jaskier waved that notion away. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

The innkeeper’s displeasure morphed into confusion. “Well, what, then?”

Jaskier mustered up all of the dignity he could, rose to his full height, and declared, “I would like to know what I did last night.”

There was a glint of mirth in the innkeeper’s eye of which Jaskier did not approve. “Don’t you know, sir?”

Jaskier cleared his throat. “As it happens, no, I do not.”

The innkeeper, damn him, had the colossal gall to smirk.

Jaskier scowled. “I imbibed rather too much of your ale, and my memory of last night is…poor. So I would like to know if I did anything untoward. Or, perhaps, embarrassing.”

“Oh, aye, that you did.”

Jaskier almost didn’t want to know at this point, but it did seem that his friendship with Geralt was perhaps at stake, so he had no choice but to ask, “Specifically?”

“Well, now,” the innkeeper said amiably, scratching his nose, “where to begin?”

“With anything concerning my friend, the Witcher. Was there any…” He waved a hand around as he searched for the right word. “…embarrassment related to him?”

“Hmm.” The innkeeper frowned. “You mean apart from the two hours you spent serenading him?”

Jaskier’s stomach dropped. “Serenading? What…what did I sing? Nothing too embarrassing, I hope?”

“No, no, the songs were very good. Had me poor wife bawling, they did, and all of my serving girls. All about how much you love that lad an’ how bewitchin’ he is, an’ ‘how sad you were that he din’t love you back.” His eyes twinkled. “The Bewitchin’ Witcher. That’s what you called ‘im.”

No. Oh, no. It wasn’t possible. Those were the secret songs Jaskier had been writing for Geralt these many long years. He couldn’t speak of his love to Geralt—or anyone else, for that matter—and ultimately he had poured all of the feelings that were roiling about inside of him out into these songs, but he certainly had never intended to sing them to Geralt. While he was present and in mortal danger.

Jaskier fought to keep his expression calm. “And…how did Geralt take this?”

“Thought it was funny, at first, then ‘is face got darker as the singin’ went on, and he was very put out, I must say, when you threw up all over ‘is clothes and passed out on ‘is lap. All covered in your own sick, you were. You both were. He carried you upstairs, cursin’ all the while, and that’s the last I saw of you.”

Jaskier had awoken alone in his bed and mostly clothed, so he assumed Geralt had simply deposited him on his bed and left.

He hoped that was all that had happened. That he hadn’t woken up and made an awkward situation even more so.

“Ah,” Jaskier said awkwardly. “Well. Thank you. I believe that’s all I needed to know.”

Jaskier turned to make his escape, but was brought to a halt when he heard the innkeeper say, “Oh, and you did kiss ‘im, you know.”

“On the mouth?” Jaskier asked without turning around.

“Aye. And for a long while at that. That’s right before you emptied your stomach all over the Witcher’s clothes, now that I think on it.”

Jaskier shut his eyes. Of course it had been. Of course.

Then it was Jaskier’s turn to flee up the stairs, his heart pounding loudly in his chest all the while.

He had told Geralt the truth of how he felt about him.

How could he have been so—so stupid, and careless, and—a dunce, that’s what he was, a dunce.

He swore to himself that he would never drink another drop of alcohol, ever again, and promptly realized that he craved a drink more than anything in the world.

Curse his luck.

He didn’t think he would ever be able to look Geralt in the eye again ever. This was the rather ignominious end of a friendship that had endured through so many long years that it grieved Jaskier to think of them.

A drunken serenade and an embarrassing kiss, that was all it took to unravel a friendship it had taken them years to build.

Jaskier paced back and forth in his room for hours, agonizing over what he should do, how he could fix this.

He supposed he could go to Geralt, apologize, and do his best to downplay the feelings to which he had so stupidly confessed.

Or he could pack his bags and run away and hope that time would lead Geralt to forgive and forget, so that the next time they ran into each other, things would be less awkward.

Significantly less awkward, he hoped.

Jaskier was conflicted about which course of action to take until he recalled how sharp and pointy Geralt’s sword was and how easily he had beheaded that impudent Pied Piper.

Jaskier’s hand went to his own throat. He rather enjoyed having his head attached to his body and wasn’t eager to risk the loss of either.

Well. That settled that. Jaskier would pack up and be on his way tonight.

He’d find some obscure town to hide in—no, wait, Geralt tended to favor those. A royal court! Now those Geralt loathed and rarely frequented.

Yes, a lavish royal court sounded ideal. Somewhere peaceful, where there were few monsters who would require the arrival of a Witcher.

Jaskier knew just the place and set about preparing to leave immediately.

Given that he had such few possessions, it didn’t take him long at all to set off down the stairs, lute slung across his back.

The inn was far busier now than it had been earlier that afternoon, but still Jaskier had little difficulty picking out the portly form of the innkeeper.

He made his way through the crowd, attracted the innkeeper’s attention, and asked him very politely to tell Geralt that he had been called away unexpectedly and would be gone for a long time.

Possibly a very long time.

The innkeeper nodded his head. “You and your lad had a fight, then?”

“Not at all. I was called away. Urgent business,” Jaskier sniffed. Who did this innkeeper think he was to be prying into Jaskier’s private affairs—or, more accurately, the lack of them?

“Odd that I din’t see no messenger headin’ up to your room.”

“I suspect, my good man, you must have been busy and missed his arrival.”

“Oh, aye, I suppose that must be it.”

The manner in which the innkeeper was looking at Jaskier was entirely too knowing and downright disrespectful.

“Well,” Jaskier said with a curt nod. He placed a few coins in the innkeeper’s hand. “For your troubles. Do see to it that Geralt gets my message.”

The innkeeper nodded.

Jaskier all but bolted for the door, headed for the stables.

The stables were curiously empty, given the number of customers in the pub. Jaskier supposed that few of them were planning to stay the night, or they mostly lived near enough to walk home. Or stumble, as the case may be.

Jaskier strode directly toward the stall that held his own little mare and was busy strapping on her saddle and his luggage when he heard Geralt’s unmistakable growl say, “Going somewhere?”

Jaskier cursed softly under his breath, gathered himself together, and then rounded on Geralt. “I thought you weren’t talking to me,” he said shortly.

Geralt was leaning in the doorway of stable in a simple shirt and trousers. His long white hair was distractingly loose and lovely as it ringed his dimly-lit face, and his perfect, muscled arms were crossed casually across that wonderfully broad chest of his.

“Perhaps I changed my mind,” Geralt replied, oblivious to his own loveliness.

“Oh, so you’re not angry at me now?”

Geralt took a step toward Jaskier, who couldn’t help but think that this was some kind of trap that was going to end with him thrown into a pile of manure. “I take it you know what happened last night?”

Jaskier saw no point in denying it. “The innkeeper told me.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?” he prompted.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what Geralt was expecting him to say. “And…I’m sorry I ruined your clothes?”

That seemed to amuse Geralt for reasons Jaskier could not fathom. “And?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sighed wearily. “And…I suppose I am sorry if I embarrassed you in any way.”

“Worse has been done to me.” Geralt took another step toward Jaskier. “Those songs…what were those songs?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said as casually as he could, “they were…nothing. Just. Some new songs I’ve been toying with, but nothing, really.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a pity.”

Jaskier was speechless for a beat, but gathered himself together quickly enough to say, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I was angry about the very public serenade, I did not enjoy being vomited all over—some of it fell in my mouth, Jaskier, and in my hair. I had difficulty getting the taste of it out of my mouth, and it was foul.“

Jaskier winced. Oh, god. He had thought this couldn’t get any worse, but apparently he was being optimistic. “Yes, um, sorry about that. If it helps, I have sworn off liquor forever. Permanently. It’ll never happen again.”

Geralt shook his head and smiled fondly. “You, give up the bottle? I find that difficult to believe.”

“I have!” Jaskier placed a hand over his heart and held up a hand. “I swear it.”

“We’ll see,” Geralt replied, with far more skepticism than Jaskier felt was entirely necessary.

Jaskier belatedly realized that Geralt was standing very close to him now.

Jaskier braced himself internally. This was when he was going to get thrown into the filthy manure, he just knew it.

Geralt took a deep breath, almost as though he were steeling himself, and said, “I objected to all of that, bard, but…I did not object to the sentiment behind the songs. Or the kissing. Or any of the filthy things you whispered you wanted to do to me, right before the vomiting began.”

Jaskier was a master of words, but his facility with language seemed to have departed entirely, precisely at the moment when he needed it most. “So. You’re saying…what?”

“Many things.”

“Geralt.”

Geralt’s hands were…they were on Jaskier’s hips and…his face—no, his lips were drawing closer to Jaskier’s own and…then Geralt kissed Jaskier with more gentleness than Jaskier had thought him capable of.

When Geralt drew back, Jaskier’s mouth was hanging embarrassingly wide open, and his brain couldn’t seem to string together a coherent thought.

“Ah,” Geralt teased. “So that’s what it takes to get you to stop talking. If you’d told me that earlier, we could have saved a lot of time.”

Jaskier’s jaw snapped shut as he scowled. “You like it when I talk.”

Geralt smiled that overly fond, sweet smile again, and Jaskier’s heart convulsed.

Geralt lowered his lips to Jaskier’s once more, and this time, he lingered. This time, the kiss was passionate and eager.

Jaskier was breathless, his face flushed pink, by the time Geralt was done.

“Maybe,” Geralt allowed. “But I like kissing you more.”

“You do?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier still couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Perhaps he had hit his head somehow and this was all a dream. A wonderful, wonderful dream that he hoped would never end.

“Our romance,” he announced, “must be truly epic, so that bards will sing of us for centuries. I’ll write the songs myself, of course.”

“Yes, I heard last night that you’d already gotten a head start on that.”

“Yes, those songs were very good, weren’t they?”

Geralt drew closer to Jaskier, and for a moment Jaskier was convinced that Geralt was going to kiss him again. His eyes were closed and he waited breathlessly to be kissed once more…and then he felt Geralt’s breath brush against his ear.

“If you ever call me the Bewitching Witcher again, Jaskier, you will regret it.”

Jaskier pulled back far enough for Geralt to see his smile. “But you are bewitching, Geralt.”

Geralt scowled in a manner that surely would have stricken terror into the heart of anyone he had not kissed breathless a minute or so ago.

“Jaskier,” he growled.

Jaskier plucked his lute and his small bag of clothing and assorted poetry books from his mare’s saddle.

He strode out of the stable, strumming his lute and cheerfully singing “The Bewitching Witcher.”

“Jaskier. I will break your lute if you don’t stop this.”

Jaskier grinned cheekily at Geralt over his shoulder and said, “Make me.”

Geralt did—although he did so pleasantly, with his mouth and his hands.

Hmm. Perhaps Jaskier had been wrong. Perhaps violence wasn’t the art in which Geralt excelled. Perhaps it was love, and sex, and kissing.

Yes, Jaskier mused as he sighed, entirely content, into Geralt’s passionate kiss. Perhaps it was kissing.

He would have many long years to find out.

[queen-scribbles]

OK let's see... #5, 15, 23, 27, 37, 62, 79 for Adi; 9, 41, 55, 67 for Emiri; 10, 36, 46, 47, 50, 75 for Tavi; and 40 and 70 for all of them!

Ooooh, all excellent questions, thank you so much!

Adi

5 Do they have a secret handshake with anyone?

Not a handshake, but I feel like she and Lottie can have “conversations” through significant looks/raised eyebrows/nods etc when they need to.

15.  What was the last thing they cried about?

I’m sure there was  at least one stress-breakdown over the course of Pillars 1, no matter the canon.... OH. That fight with Crookspur slavers I keep redacted bc I really do plan to fic it someday. That went BAD. Very bad. She was crying for a while for a whole bunch of wildly contradictory reasons after that.

23.  How do they usually wear their hair?

Single, semi-loose braid that’s usually pulled over her shoulder so she can play with the end of it while she reading.

27.  What is their favourite holiday?

Spring Dawn and all associated celebrations

37.  What is their favorite gif?

40. If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

I mean, you have drawn her, and did a pretty perfect job of it. :)  Important features for Adi would be her braid(loose escaping wisps to hang in her face optional), grey eyes, 99% chance she’s smiling, she wears a loooot of pale pink/light blue/spring-y green, DRESSES, and there’s probably inkstains on her hands and/or face.

62.  Who, in their opinion, makes the best food?

Her brother Ben. He’s even better than Mama, which is saying something bc her mother is a fantastic cook. But Ben’s literally made a living from it, so he’s better.

70.  What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

Her curiosity and excitement about life in general. 

79.  What object do they care for the most?

Either her grimoire or her necklace. Both have very high sentimental value, being gifts from her family. Her parents gave her the grimoire(granted,all the time spent transcribing spells in it would be a shame to waste as well), and her brother Texatl gave her the necklace.

Emiri

9. Do they have any artistic talent?

Depends, would macrame count as art or crafting? She’s not “artistically talented” in the sense of being able to draw beyond stick figures, but she can do amazing things with knots in thread.

40.  If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

The halo, for Pillars 1 era. Her markings and glowing eyes(note: I’m not picky on how perfect the pattern of the markings is compared to her game model, or if you use Pillars 1 vs Deadfire). Her very sweet smile. unless you’re drawing her mid-battle with slavers, then you would need to draw her absolutely terrifying. Not a physical feature, but she’s pretty much always wearing 1-5 of those bracelets she makes.Most important is the adra greed one; since that’s her “friendship bracelet” that matches the blue one she made Aloth.

41.  What is their favourite breed of dog?

Hound dogs. Nooo, Lottie didn’t bias her at all (addendum: I looked up hound/lab cross puppies when I was writing Skittish, and OH MY GOSH are they adorable. So lab/hound mutts might actually top the list after that point in her story...).

55.  What is something they always wanted to do but too scared?

Tell Kana how she feels. Climb all the way up the rigging of a ship. She hates boats in general, but she’s always wondered what it feels likes up there.

67.  What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile?

Darkest Rauatai cookies. Sleeping in a bed. Snuggling with Lottie or one of her other pets. Having friends.

70.  What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

How she’s stayed so kind and sweet and merciful when life has done its absolute DAMNEDEST to beat all of that out of her. She caught on to that and went “nope, I think not, I’m gonna be EVEN KINDER.” She’s rebelliously, recklessly kind and compassionate and I love it.

Tavi

10.  What is their favourite room to be in, in the house they live in?

In Caed Nua, the training grounds or the barracks, swapping stories with the hired muscle. On the Defiant, up on deck with the wind in her hair.

36.  Have they ever rode a horse before?

If you wanna call it riding. She’s not very good, and has only done it a couple times

40.  If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

Short messy brown hair, most of the time barely chin-length, but sometimes when it’s been a while since she had time to cut it properly,it almost brushes her shoulders. Lots of scars. Tattoo of Hylea’s symbol on her wrist, only the arching branches are sabres.

46.  Have they ever won a contest before? If so, what for? What did they win?

There’s a couple melee-style tournaments she’s won, bc the prize was money and she was verging on dead broke.

47.  If the world were to end in 24 hours, where would they be and who would they be with?

Wouldn’t much care where she was, but she’d definitely want to spend the time with her favorite people(Aloth, Khellin, Edér, Kana, Charity, Sagani, Xoti etc)

50.  If they got called out by someone, what would they do?

Flip ‘em off, for starters. Maybe cuss in Vailian for good measure.  Depending on who it is and how they go about calling her out, there might be some introspection and, if necessary, concession of changes and/or apologies to be made. Maybe. 

70.  What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

Her bluntness, swearing, and firm belief that sleeves are bullshit. There’s no half measures with her, when she’s in, she’s fully-committed, whether that be achieving a goal or pursuing a relationship or whatever.

75.  Have they ever partied too hard and their friends had to take them home?

Yeaaahhhh, only, unfortunately(?) it wasn’t ”friends” it was just poor Aloth trying to wrangle his drunk af girlfriend into bed.

More OC Asks

[rhaella]

The Weight of Living

(read on ao3)

At every opportunity she finds, Arya likes to ride beyond the walls of Winterfell.

It’s not that she doesn’t love her home. Every day she is grateful to be there, to see Sansa with her two daughters, one of whom resembles Arya so strongly she gets mistaken as her own. To have Bran and Rickon back after so many years of thinking them dead.

And Jon, who still musses her hair at every opportunity like they are children and tells her he’s making up for all the time they lost.

But Winterfell has ghosts as well.

Sometimes she looks down at the training yard and can swear she sees Robb, swinging his practice sword and laughing. Robb was always laughing. Or she’ll walk by Mother and Father’s chambers, which have remained untouched since the Starks reclaimed their home, and hear her mother sweet singing and find herself pressing her ear against the door. Or she’ll see Jon from across a room and for a split second mistake his face for her father’s. Jon bears even more resemblance to him now than he did in his youth, especially as he grows ever-nearer to the age Father was when he died.

There are also ghosts in those who survived.

Sometimes she’ll catch Sansa wearing Mother’s dress as she brushes through her squirming daughter’s curls, trying to recreate a time long gone. She’ll see a haunted, empty look in Bran’s eyes, as though he’s lost in time. Rickon has never grown out of his skittishness and mistrust, and everyone has learned to walk loudly if coming up behind him to avoid startling him. And sometimes Arya will join Jon as he sits sleepless all through the night, staring at a spot on the wall and tracing the scars on his abdomen through his clothes.

All the Starks will wake up screaming most nights, panicked and sweating from some terrible memory playing on their eyelids. More often than not, they’ll all migrate to Jon’s bedchamber at some point in the night and end up piled in his oversized bed, curled into each other while Jon keeps his vigil. Sansa’s ever-patient husband has grown used to waking up alone by now.

The riding helps Arya clear her mind. The ghosts cannot touch her while she races through the woods, her hair whipping in the wind.

She’ll pick a direction and ride until she comes across some village where no one knows her name and she’ll walk through it, greeting its residents and asking to help them if she can. Sometimes it will just be buying fabrics from the women who spin them, or offering food and coin to hungry children. Other times she’ll help women cook, or weave, or repair their houses. Once, she ended up spending an entire day picking turnips in a elderly farmer’s field and had come home aching and sunburnt. He had offered her pay for her labor, but she’d only asked for a basket of turnips and had pressed several gold dragons in his palm, leaving him gaping behind her.

Today, on her way into a new town, she sees a few little girls playing a pretend game in the grass. She smiles, remembering when she and Jon had played as knights, with Sansa as the damsel and Robb her dragon. But she pays the girls little mind as she ties her horse to a tree, until she hears her own name being spoken.

She moves a bit closer to them to hear better, quietly and with her head turned so as not to scare them.

“I want to be Ser Brienne this time. I was Arya Stark last time,” the smallest girl with tangled brown hair whines.

“Well I’m the oldest and biggest,” says a girl with long, copper hair. “Ser Brienne was a fearsome warrior, and big as a giant. A little wisp like you could never slay the dead as she did.”

Arya dares a glance at the group.

The little one’s face is red as she glares at the older girl. “It isn’t my fault you were born first!” she cries. “I’ll tell Mother how you’re being bossy again!”

The third girl, a blonde, is stifling giggles. “You two can argue over who gets to be Arya and Brienne, but I will always be Queen Dany,” she says.

Arya finds herself approaching them. They look up at her with curious eyes, but don’t look afraid. They don’t even give a second glance to her clothes or the sword at her belt. These girls are young enough not to have known a world where women can’t wear breeches or carry a weapon.

“Hello,” Arya says, squatting to be at their level. “What are your names?”

The older girl takes it upon herself to answer for the three of them. “My name is Jeyne. This is Alys,” she says pointing at the blonde beside her. “And this little pest,” she says, gesturing to the little one, “is my sister Nym.”

“Named for the great wolf, leader of Arya Stark’s wolf pack!” she exclaims. Arya suddenly wishes she had brought Nymeria with her, if only to leave the little ones in awe. But she never brings Nymeria on her rides. She loves the feeling of being unknown, and traveling around with a giant wolf at her side would surely give away her identity.

“And she never lets us forget it,” Jeyne grumbles.

Arya only smiles. Sisterhood can be a trial, as she well knows. “I heard you talking about a game you’re playing. War for the Dawn, is it?”

“Yes,” the Jeyne says. “We always play as the women warriors. Mother always tells my sister and me stories about them and sings us their songs. Someday we will be great knights, too.”

“But I hope we never have to fight the dead!” Alys interjects. “I’m brave, but the Others sound so fearsome! I’d rather save a maiden from bad men who are living.”

“I would fight the dead!” little Nym insists, indignant. “I’m quick as a fox and would slash them apart faster than they can move their dead old hands to reach me.” She makes a slashing motion in the air.

Arya smiles. “I think the three of you would make fine defenders of the realm, and whatever else you want to become. Girls can do anything these days.”

If only she’d had someone to tell her this as a child, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt like such a misfit. She resolves to return to this village soon and bring the girls proper training swords to use in their games. Gods know there are enough in the armory, and too few children in Winterfell to use them.

“You know,” she says quietly, as if giving away a secret. The girls lean closer in tandem. “I knew Ser Brienne and Queen Daenerys. I fought alongside them in the war.”

The girls gasp, their eyes wide as saucers. “You fought the dead?” Alys asks.

“Yes,” Arya says, flashing a grin. “They were as fearsome as you say. If they were freshly dead, when you’d slay them you’d find yourself covered in sticky black blood.” Jeyne gasps. Nym leans closer, her eyes aglow.

“But the Others were most fearsome of them all. Cold and terrible with eyes the color of ice. And just when you were near to finishing the wights,” Arya says, and waits, watching the girls biting their lips and squirming, “they’d swoop in and raise new dead from our fallen armies.” This time, even the littlest looks afraid.

She does not tell them how sometimes the dead would come back with the faces of those you loved, and you’d have to shove your blade through their ribs anyway. No time for tears, because soon enough another would be upon you. Gendry, she thinks, and wants to weep.

“W—what if they come back?” Alys asks, her voice trembling.

“They never will. We made sure of that.” She remembers the dawn, in all its beauty and terror, as it illuminated the mountains of bodies. She remembers collapsing, half in exhaustion and half in grief.

“What were Queen Daenerys and Ser Brienne like in the war?” the eldest asks, obviously wanting a change in subject.

“Queen Daenerys was beautiful. I remember seeing her fly far above on her great dragon. A dragon black as the night and bigger than your whole village. Her dragon would shoot fire down at all the dead, burning thousands at once, and she looked fierce as a dragon herself holding on to its back.” Arya pauses, wondering how much to tell them. “I got to pet her dragon once.”

“You’re a liar!” Nym cries. “A dragon would burn you to death if you dared touch it!”

Arya smiles. “Not me. The queen allowed it, and thankfully so did the dragon. Its scales were rough, like a lizard’s, but hot. I still have burns on my fingers from the heat,” she says, showing them the faded scars on her fingertips.

She considers Ser Brienne. Brienne, the first knighted woman in the realm, is dearer to her than most, and still makes frequent visits to Winterfell to see her and Sansa. There is so much that she could say about her that she almost cannot choose.

“Ser Brienne was the fiercest warrior I’ve ever known. Big, and so tall she towered over most grown men, and when she swung her Valyrian steel sword she’d slash four wights open at once.”

“Oathkeeper,” one child says, incredulous.

“A beautiful weapon,” Arya says. “Now it belongs to the Starks, as it was forged from their father’s. But Ser Brienne wielded it well. She was stronger than most men. She knocked Ser Jaime Lannister on his golden rump on more than one occasion. She was an honorable woman, too, and kind. The truest knight I’ve ever known, just like from the songs of old. But back then, women who tried to be warriors were mocked instead of loved.” Nym wrinkles her nose.

“You must have been a fierce warrior yourself,” Jeyne says, “to have survived. Were you ever scared?”

“We were all scared, always. Even Queen Daenerys and Ser Brienne. It is one thing to battle men, but entirely another to battle the dead. Only the stupid are brave and fearless. The strong are brave, despite their fear.”

Arya’s horse whinnies behind her and shakes her out of her memories. She looks up at the sky. It must be mid-afternoon now, and she should head back before it gets dark.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your game,” she says to the girls, whose mouths still hang open.

“Wait!” says the smallest child, Nym, lunging forward. “Before you go, did you ever meet Arya Stark?”

Arya grins now, tapping her fingers on Needle’s hilt.

“I am Arya Stark,” she says as she twirls on her heel and struts toward her horse, leaving the children gasping behind her.

She’ll go back to her ghosts. They’ll haunt her until the day she dies. But if all her suffering has given hope and choices to little girls like the one she once was, perhaps it is a burden she can bear.

[atomic--peach]

Southern Saying

 Because it’s not just Australia that has weird saying.

Cadiwampus: slightly crooked or messed up

“Does this picture frame look cadiwampus?”

Cadycorner: not quite next to, kind of diagonal to something.

“They live cadycorner to me”

Way out yonder: Someplace far off, usually at least 20-45 minutes outside of town

“Wow, you live way out yonder”

Dagnabit: A more polite version of God Dammit. (Also see Dagumit)

“Dagnabit! I burnt the cookies”

Goober: an unpleasant or annoying person or another word for a penis. sometimes used playfully for a child

“What a goober!”

Fixin’ to: Going to or getting ready to do something or go somewhere.

“I’m fixin’ to fry up some eggs, do you want some?”

Ugly as homemade sin: used to describe something particularly ugly, like your great aunt’s couch or your sister’s wedding dress

“That paint in her parlor is ugly as homemade sin”

Jerk a knot in your tail: Scold someone, something your mama threatens to do to you if you don’t stop acting a fool

“I’m fixin’ to jerk a knot in your tail if you don’t straighten up”

As all get out: Completely or ridiculously

“He’s rich as all get out”

Can you carry me to___?: Can you take me to this location?

“Can you carry me to the hair salon?”

Gussied up: Dressed up, looking your best.

“What are you all gussied up for?”

Just fell off the turnip truck: Stupid or gullible.

“Does he think I just fell off the turnip truck or something?”

A month of sundays: A long time; how long it’s been since you called your aunt.

“I haven’t seen you in a month of sundays”

Mosey: To go or get along.

“I’ll just mosey on over to the bar while i wait for you.”

What on God’s Green Earth?: What in the world?

“What on God’s Green Earth are you talking about?”

Fifty-leven: The under of times your mama told you something

“I done told you fifty-leven times you needed to get your oil changed”

You can’t ride two horses with one ass: You can’t do two things at once.

“I know you wanted to run track and play football, but you can’t ride two horses with only one ass”

Up one side and down the other: Completely like something, very similar.

“She’s her mama up one side and down the other”

All-yins: Similar to Ya’ll or all ya’ll.

“Get out of my house and go play somewhere, all-yins!”

Like you own cotton in Augusta: being lazy or unproductive.

“Don’t just sit around like you own cotton in Augusta, get a job!”

The Sun don’t shine on the same dog’s tail all the time: You won’t always have good luck.

“You’re smiling now, but remember; the sun don’t shine on the same dog’s tail all the time”

Shake the dew off your lily: Hurry up, a polite version of “shake the piss off your dick”

“Shake the dew off your lily and get out here to see your grandma!”

Nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs: Very anxious or skittish.

“Waiting for my test score, I’m nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs”

Sweating like a whore in church: Sweating a lot, either from the heat or from nerves.

“It’s so hot, I swear I’m sweating like a whore in church!”

Don’t act ugly: Don’t be unpleasant.

“I don’t care if she’s sleeping with a married man, don’t act ugly”

Bless her cotton socks: A version of Bless her heart, usually used in pity/ amusment.

“Her brothers took her on a snipe hunt, bless her cotton socks”

That dog won’t hunt: That thing won’t do what you want it to, and you can’t make it.”

“I tried to get my TV working, but that dog won’t hunt”

Eat the south end of a north bound goat: Something gross or disgusting but you’re too hungry too care.

“My son used to be so picky, but now he’d eat the south end of a north bound goat.”

Seven ways to Sunday: Completely, all around.

“I know I’m supposed to go to the PTA meeting, but that yoga class wore me out seven ways to Sunday.”

Slap you to sleep, then slap you for sleepin’: Unreasonable, extremely annoyed or angry.

“You can’t please my manager, she’ll slap you to sleep and then slap you for sleepin’“

Kick your butt to Christmas and dare you to walk back: Beat you up and dare you to mess up again.

“If you throw that football in my house again I’ll kick your butt to Christmas and dare you to walk back!”

Useless as a screen door in a submarine: Something worse then useless.

“Johnny want to go hunting with his daddy, but as loud as he is he’d be as useless as a screen door in a submarine”

Anybody’s dog that’ll hunt her: A promiscuous person, or a person with low standards

“She can says she’s picky, but she’s anybody’s dog that’ll hunt her”

Faster than a knife fight in a phone booth: Moving fast or quickly.

“He’s on a diet, but when the pie was served he was on it faster than a knife fight in a phone booth” (Also see “a one legged man at a butt kicking contest”)

Shit’n’get: Got fast, do something with haste.

“You took twenty minutes to do your hair, so we’ve gotta shit’n’git if we’re going to get there on time”

Messed in your Easter bonnet: Done something embarrassing in public”

“I told you not to talk to his new wife at the church barbecue, but now you done messed in your Easter bonnet”

Couldn’t pay respect: Being broke, out of money.

“I know I just got paid, but now I’m so broke I couldn’t pay respects”

Depress the devil: something an extremely negative person could do.

“I hope Karen won’t be there, bless her heart but she’s so negative she could depress the Devil”

Hunt Geese with a rake: something really tall people are said to do.

“That girl on Kate’s basketball team is so tall, she could hunt geese with a rake”

____ The fool out of___: To do something really effectively.

“Shit! I just cut the fool out of my finger!”

The Hell you say!: A saying of disbelief.

“Jessica found her boyfriend doing what?! The Hell you say!”

More than a hat rack/ More than a coat rack: Use your head or your brain, or put some elbow grease into something.

“It’s a push door bot a pull, try using your head for more than a hat rack”

“It’s not that heavy, use your body for more than a coat rack!”

You know not: You don’t know the half of it, usually used during gossip sessions.

“I heard Mary is sending her daughter to charm school” “Oh you know not”

Snockerpussed: Drunk

“Slow down! The last thing you need is to get snockerpussed”

Rub some whiskey on it from the inside: Drink and you’ll feel better

“You’ve got a back ache? Try rubbing some whiskey on it from the inside.”

Beats all I ever did see: Seeing something strange or ridiculous.

“Did you see what happened to Mary Jo’s roof? Beats all I ever did see”

Shootfire!: An expression of frustration

“Shootfire! My car’s got a flat tire!”

Hitch in your giddy up: Walking strange for one reason or another.

“I spent all day in the garden yesterday, and now I’ve got a hitch in my giddyup.

Tore up from the floor up: an absolute mess.

“Did you see her after the block party last night? The girl was tore up from the floor up.”

Too busy to cuss the cat: too busy to be bothered by something small.

“Bake sale? Girl, with football season and graduation coming up, I’m too busy to cuss the cat!”

Like a chicken with it’s head cut off: Running around frantically or hysterically.

“She found out there’s a project due tomorrow and now she’s running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off”

You can’t swallow a quarter and crap a dollar: You can’t take poor quality and make it better.

“I know you said you can change him, but you can’t swallow a quarter and crap a dollar Darlin’”

That’s their tale, I sit on mine: Just because they’re gossiping, doesn’t mean I will.

“Is that what she said? Well, that’s her tale, I sit on mine thank you very much”

Too big for your britches: Acting more important that you are.

“Since you got that promotion, you’ve been acting too big for your britches”

Scare the beard off Jesus: Something particularly startling or disturbing.

“Did you see what color her daughter died her hair? Why it would scare the beard off Jesus!”

Act like you got some raisin’: Act like you had good parents. Don’t act wild.

“What are you doing with your shoes on my couch?! Act like you got some raisin!”

Useless as tits on a bull: Not only is it useless, it doesn’t make an sense.

“I love these new jeans, but these tiny little pockets are as useless as tits on a bull”

Been done gone: have been gone for a while now.

“John? He moved out of town a year ago, he been done gone.”

Within a gnat’s ass: way too close. usually used in dangerous situations.

“I came withing a gnat’s ass of cussin’ her out.”

Does a cat have climbing gear?: A obvious question with an obvious answer (Also see “Is a frog’s ass watertight” and “Does a one legged duck swim in a circle”_

“Do I want to go to the football game? Does a cat have climbing gear?”

A Job that don’t pay: a waste of time.

“Girl don’t even think about it, that man’s just another job that don’t pay”

Could kill knee high cotton: Something that smells really bad.

“She’s a pretty girl, but her breath could kill knee high cotton!”

Only got one oar in the water: Not all there, a little crazy.

“She’s only got one oar in the water, bless her heart”

Plumb: Extremely, completely and totally.

“You don’t need to be out there acting plumb crazy”

Like a cat’s been sucking on it: stringy, thin, unhealthy or ugly looking.

“Ew, my hair looks like a cat’s been sucking on it”

Tuck your tongue behind your teeth, you’re crazy’s showin’: Stop talking, you’e starting to sound insane.

“Tuck your tongue behind your teeth, your crazy’s showin’. I think you’ve had enough to drink”

My stars in heaven: Oh my God

“Oh my stars in heaven, have you seem these china patterns?”

Like a bag of cat’s fighting: what you look like in unflattering clothes.

“Darlin’ I love you, but your butt looks like a bag of cat fighting to get out in those jeans”

Backsass: Back talk, something that will get you whooped.

“Don’t you back sass me, I’ll whoop your ass”

Even Jesus can’t save you: you’re in big trouble, not even the the Lord can save you. 

“Your mama found out what you did last night, not even Jesus can save you now”

[jjbaconsumedmysoul]

If it's alright, could I request/suggest a Gyro with crush who has an affinity for stuffed animals? Though maybe tries to hide it cause it seems childish, but when they see Gyro's teddy they think it's so cute they can't help but get all sappy? Please and thank you if you are up to it!

Gyro x Reader “Sleep”

Maybe he liked you back. Maybe. He’d smile at you whenever you woke up late in the morning, he’d laugh at your every joke, and you could swear you saw him blush and felt his heart speed up whenever you hugged him. Then again, he would sometimes whip ahead of you on his steed, sticking out his tongue at you as he rode past.

But you cherished the time you had spent with him and Johnny. He was so adorable as he blew hopelessly on the kindling, trying in vain to light the embers aflame and start the campfire. You would take the flint from his hands, strike a new spark, and soon the fire would be ablaze. Each time you proved helped him out, he would utter a meek curse as his cheeks burned and he set up his cot.

Tonight was colder than usual, and you rolled out your blanket next to Gyro’s, hoping he wouldn’t mind. As the others prepared for bed, you rifled through your pack of items. You had washed up in a nearby stream, you were wearing comfortable, clean clothing, and you just needed one last item: Lovey. Okay, obviously the name was a bit stupid and uncreative, but she had been your first. She was your Christmas gift when you were two years old, a small and fluffy pink teddy bear. You had named her yourself, and, for a two year old, it wasn’t a bad name. You had stuffed animal “friends” at home, and each night you would remember that comforting feeling of you sinking into your warm bed, your menagerie of animal companions watching over you. It was a far cry from the cold, hard ground, beneath you now. The only reason you could get to sleep each night was that small comfort from home.

You grasped Lovey to your chest as you made your way back to the cot. Johnny had set up his roll across the fire from you two, and your face flushed, hoping Gyro would be okay with sharing his warmth. You crawled under the blankets, closing your eyes to the moonlight that shone above you. Maybe you would sleep a bit better tonight, knowing he was by your side.

You heard a choked grunt from behind you, and a scoff.

“Stop being so clingy, (y/n), give me some space!” You rolled around, sighing in your frustration and discomfort.

“Gyro, it’s really cold tonight. Please, it’ll be better for both of us if we sleep together,” you bit your bottom lip, not expecting those exact words to come out of your mouth, but you brushed it off as you nestled back into the blankets. You heard the rustling of fabric next to you, a draft across your face, the sound of the cot dragging against the ground. You could try sleeping by yourself. Without warmth. Without comfort.

Your sensations had grown bleary with the oncoming of sleep, yet sleep still hadn’t come. You dragged yourself off the dirt, hugging your plush bear to your chest. You rolled up your cot, preparing to carry it back to wherever Gyro had settled.

“Come on, (y/n)!” You rubbed your eyes. Gyro was standing, stiff and rigid in front of his bedroll. He seemed to have frantically whipped something behind his back as you approached, but you paid no mind. He groaned as you lay your cot next to his. But you were tired and cranky.

“Gyro, not tonight. I just wanna sleep.” For a while he continued to move his cot around, and you continued to follow him, feeling a bit hurt. However, Johnny soon awoke at all the noise you were making, yelling at you both to shut up and go to bed.

It was actually the best sleep you had in awhile.

But you could still tell something was wrong. Gyro was tense, curled up in a ball on his side, facing away from you. You could feel his heat beside you, and tried to snuggle into it. But he shied away at your touch.

He didn’t smile at you that morning. He blushed and looked away. You readied your pack in silence, puzzled as to why he was being so distant, so secretive. He lagged behind you in the race, right up until the finish line, where, he surged ahead to place second behind Johnny (he was bound to be a bit bitter afterwards). You placed fifth, and met them at the inn after you had fed your horse.

Sitting down beside him at the table, you ordered a drink. Gyro, thankfully, didn’t shy away from your touch this time. You laughed and joked with them for a while, spitting out your drink at Gyro’s hilarious impression of Diego. He smirked smugly at your reaction, and you punched him playfully on the shoulder.

It was the second or third time you had roomed with them at an inn, but the manager approached you, during the meal, with some news that startled Gyro.

“What do you mean there aren’t any more double beds?!” You tried to calm his outrage with reassuring words.

“It’s okay, he’s giving us a refund. I can sleep on the floor.” Though you shuddered at the thought. Gyro scoffed.

“(Y/n), you can barely sleep in your bedroll without tossing and turning. You are sleeping in a bed and we are getting another room!” Gyro spat angrily. You flushed in his consideration, but you knew it was hopeless. So many people were here for the race and none of the hotel rooms could be spared. The manager apologised thoroughly on behalf of the inconvenience, as you tried to calm Gyro by stroking him on his shoulder.

“Two of us can take the bed, and one of us will take the floor, okay?” You confirmed with him and Johnny, cheerily. Gyro gritted his teeth together, before grabbing the room key and his pack, and storming upstairs. You were slightly concerned about his behavior over the past few days, but chose to ignore it for now and continue your conversation with Johnny.

About a half hour later, you were ready to rest for the night as well. You offered to carry Johnny up, but he shook his head.

“I’ll stay around for a while. I’ll get someone else to take me up when I’m done,” You bid him goodnight, and headed up the stairs. You knocked on the door, as your group had only been given one room key. You heard a frustrated moan:

“Go away!” You knocked even harder. The voice grunted in frustration and you heard it nearing the door. “What do you–” The door swung open. Gyro stood there stiffly, bleary-eyed, trailing a blanket behind him. His hat was off, and in his arms rested something…

“Oh my god! That’s the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen!” His face immediately turned beet red, and he hugged the creature to his chest. He became even more mortified when you began to giggle, and quickly turned around, trying to slam the door on you, but you stuck out your forced your way inside before he was able.

“Get out,” You heard Gyro’s soft pout as he ran to lay face down on the bed He seemed extremely defensive, now, and you felt a bit upset with yourself for laughing.

“Gyro,” you cooed disappointedly, “What’s wrong?” He lay there, silent for a long while. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t having a temper tantrum… Maybe he was just uncomfortable being vulnerable.

You had a thought. You had dropped your pouch on the ground by the door, and scurried to rifle through it. As you turned back to him, you caught his eye, just for a moment, peering around to see what you were doing. But as soon as he saw your face, he buried himself once again in the covers. You tiptoed over to sit next to him on the bed again.

“Gyro,” Your voice was soft and gentle. He didn’t respond. You placed your bear next to his pillow “Meet Lovey.” There was a long silence. Then, his head turned, and you saw his confused expression (though his face was still quite red).

He slowly shifted to sitting next to you on the bed, grabbing your bear in his free hand. He looked at it, as if he were suspicious of something. Then, he returned his gaze to you. He seemed almost frightened, but you wanted to reassure him with your kind words.

“I’ve had her since I was two. She’s fallen apart a couple of times, several stitches ripped here and there, but I always fix her right back up. I sleep with her every night because,” You shuddered. Now you were the one becoming a bit uncomfortable in your vulnerability. “She reminds me of home.” Gyro kept hold of the bears: Lovey in one hand and his own teddy in the other. To your surprise, your hand trembled as you brought it to his shoulder. “It’s okay, Gyro.” He looked down to hide his flush. You were used to him being so extroverted, so playful and so bold. You just wanted him to feel comfortable again, to be himself again. “Please, Gyro, don’t feel bad.” His head slowly raised.

“So,” he began shakily, “You don’t think I’m weak… Just because I have a teddy bear?” you laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement, and he turned away again again to shield his face from you’re.

“No Gyro,” you consoled him, “Of course not. I love you and–�� You paused. That wasn’t supposed to come out of your mouth. This time, your cheeks were the ones to grow heated, and you cursed under your breath. However, he didn’t move. His eyes were wide open, staring at your raggedy bear. He extended his arm out to you, offering Lovey back, and accepted her readily, though still flustered.

It seemed he was flustered as well. Suddenly, he set down his bear on the bed, grabbing the sides of your face with his clammy hands. He fiercely pressed his lips to yours, giving you not so much as an opportunity to breath. You were shocked and awkwardly rigid as he paused there for a moment, still leaning into your lips firmly to lengthen the kiss. He finally broke away, quickly and with finality.

You stared into his eyes for a long while. And he stared back, still embarrassed, nervous, scared… but also expectant. He finally took the initiative to speak.

“Even if I sleep with a teddy bear at night?” you smiled sweetly, though you were still very skittish. Your free hand lifted to his cheek.

“Especially if you sleep with a teddy bear at night.” he paused, gazing at you in wonder and… relief. Then, abruptly, he began to laugh. He doubled over, tears almost coming to his eyes. It was a nervous laugh, however, and he eventually caught his breath once again. You smiled giddily at his outburst.

Suddenly, he brought you into another kiss. He was as aggressive and as bold as ever as he wrapped his hands around your waist. You pressed your palms to his chest in surprise as he hungrily sucked at your face. You almost wanted to giggle at his audacity, but all you could do was melt as his fingers trailed up your back, pressing his torso to yours. He moaned into the kiss as your head tilted to the side, allowing him access to every inch of your mouth, every corner of your body. In a flash you were on the bed, his smug grin looming over you.

You fell asleep that night curled up in his arms, snuggling both of your teddy bears. You had never slept better.

[tessatechaitea]

Michael Cray #1

This would be my reaction to seeing Green Arrow too.

That's not San Francisco! As if you could see that many stars from The City.

That's Oliver Queen waking up after having a nightmare about that time he crashed on a wacky island. Having been raised in the lap of luxury without ever having to fend for himself, he of course becomes an expert bowman and survivalist through sheer force of will. It's important to see that Oliver Queen may have been born rich but he was still the type of man who could make something of himself without his parents' wealth and privilege. Also he remembered how Bruce Wayne left behind everything to become the greatest detective the world has ever seen so Oliver was all, "I need that kind of secret origin too! But a little bit different so that people don't just think I'm Batman with a bow and old fashioned facial hair!" Michael Cray moves to Oakland where he meets the world's least skittish mouse. He touches it and it blows up. I guess that's Cray's superpower? I might have been mistaken as to why he was called Deathblow. Was that blow job joke subtle enough to pass for a G Rating? I wonder if the three people Michael Cray hires for his team will sometimes tell people, "Oh yeah, I'm out in Oakland working the Deathblow job." Then those people will never talk to them again.

Michael Cray's dad plagiarizes my Green Arrow origin story. Is that how plagiarism works? Probably!

Michael Cray's dad explains that Oliver Queen is a rich asshole. He apparently "helps funnel narcotics and guns into the 'wrong' neighborhoods. Crime goes up. Then he privately funds political efforts to hammer down on them with the police." That's almost exactly what Bruce Wayne does! He drives criminals into certain sections of Gotham. Real estate prices fall due to increased crime. Bruce Wayne buys up all the cheap properties and then Batman drives the crime out of the area. Later, Bruce Wayne jerks himself off on the way to the bank! In a scene setting up the reader to despise Oliver Queen so we don't feel icky backing a government assassination attempt, Queen treats a woman who seems to love him like she's a prostitute. Now we all hate his guts! Kill him, Michael Cray! Kill him! Oh wait a second. I already hated his guts! If that wasn't enough reason to hate him, he also makes his sister clean his sex sheets. And if that wasn't enough, he then quotes John Donne! But he doesn't just quote him! He quotes a section of Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions in an odd way. The quote's the bit about the bell tolling for everybody (but mostly for him!) and then ends with an ellipsis to simply finish the quote with "no man is an island." He basically yada yada yada'd a huge section of Donne's pain! Fucking monster! It's also possible Queen just went from a Donne quote to a Bon Jovi quote. "They say that no man is an island. But good things come to those who wait. But the things I hear are there just to remind me. Every dog will have his day! The spirits! They intoxicate me! I watch them infiltrate my soul! They try to say it's too late for me! Tell my guns I'm coming home! I swear! I'm gonna live forever!" Ha ha! You are not, Oliver Queen! That was a stupid thing to quote because you're going to die! Dammit. I just realized that Michael Cray might find out that Oliver Queen is actually Green Arrow and he's really helping people so he'll have to let him live. Although why show him to be such a disgusting piece of shit if that's how the story will work out? I imagine that's how the story would work in the actual DC Universe. But in the Wildstorm universe, we're allowed to think the worst of Oliver Queen and watch him die messily.

I hope she can change his mind with some sweet, sweet government lies!

Ms. Trelane tells Cray that Oliver Queen hunts people. Why not? They're the most dangerous game! But mostly he hunts veterans so that makes him super bad. If he only hunted, say, criminals and pedophiles, people might be able to get behind him. But he hunts the nation's heroes! What a sick bastard! Ms. Trelane doesn't really care that he kills homeless people. I mean veterans! She and Skywatch (or whatever company she works for. Remember how I don't remember?!) just want his technology and market share. But she's up front with Cray about how she's manipulating him to do Skywatch's dirty work. So at least she's honest? Oliver Queen quotes some more Donne while hunting veterans. It's a good metaphor that Queen chooses to use quotes from Devotions upon Emergent Occasions because the book is a meditation on pain and being sick. I think that means Oliver Queen knows he's a sick bastard causing people pain! Michael Cray #1 Rating: Three stars our of four! That might only be a C Average but it also sounds like I really liked it. That way I can defend the score no matter who attacks me on it. If someone is all, "You thought this was that good?!", I can be all, "3 out of 4 stars is 75%! That's average in the ratings system of United States schoolchildren!" But if people are all, "75%?! You hardly liked this at all?", I can say, "But three stars! Out of four! That's practically all the stars!" Nobody's going to challenge me on my comic book rating of this book!