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m0chisenpai · 4 months ago

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Mochi what do you think about 90s model reader (think brandi quinones) and loumand (they 100 percent watch fashions shows in modern days)?

Its cannon that they like people who capture attention (*coff coff* lestat). I think they would meet her in a show and would send her flowers and letters to court her and all that jazz

Sorry if this is weird :/

vogue

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which your pefermonce off and on the runway catches their attention

author note: I ate this up so much, I literally scoured Pintrest and fell down a rabbit hole and have to fight every desire in my body to do another multipart series for this

The production people move like flies past your eyes while you sit in your regal beauty. Eyes unblinking, legs crossed perfectly, your hair now braided pulled up into a bun with a few pieces falling and curled.

You hold the hand of Armand, his finger runs over and over. You've come to learn this calms not just your nerves but his as well. Louis remains off to the side, he is weary of cameras these days. Preferring to leave you and Armand to such matters.

But when you pout those lips and flutters those ethereal eyes he relents to sit to the sides.

When the interviewer settles in the chair he has your attention and your back straightens.

"Runway, Vogue and Dior, red carpets, music videos. But your most recent appearance in the critically acclaimed rock star The Vampire Lestat's music video put's you back in the public eye when you should look much more...different." That breaks your picturesque facade with a light giggle that crinkles your dark lined eyes,

"That damned name'

'Calm yourself my love.' You catch Louis' fleeting gaze.

"How does the face of the 80s and 90s reappear in the 2000s rained in blood and completely untouched by age?"

"Hmm I think I have my wonderous loves to thank for that, there are only so many things that can hide the thief of the night that is time. But I seem to be lucky to have escaped its grasp." Armand places a languid kiss to the back of your hand while Louis raises his glass from the side.

"I believe the Gift only encapsulated the beauty she had from the moment we first met." Armand speaks up.

"And this would be during your rookie years as an athlete may say?"

"Yes at the beginning of my runway career in my early 20s, though I would not turn till 30. Around the mid 80s I was found by my lovely companions when I was at my lowest. Watching from the sides. And I did everything to ensure not to fall in love."

"Cheeky." Louis coos in your mind.

"Let's go back then, how were you back then? You say you were at your lowest but your face was desired by so many."

"Beauty, fame, money, sex is all so fleeting. And the fashion industry sucked every bit out of you till you were a husk for them to drag along until the needles and knife was needed to hide any evidence of your decline."

Armand will never admit it out loud but he was particularly fond of the 80s and 90s. He loved the fashions o each era, but he fell in love with runway. It was theatre in an entirely new facet. Louis can recall, though his companions face was stone cold, the glimmer of warmth in his eyes that watched each and every model. Catching every small finite detail.

Louis was more than happy to donate and invest in the ocassional piece for Armand who returned the favor. Until one evening they are encaptured by a beauty amount the sea of tall skinny legs.

This angel that graced the runway one evening of Paris Fasion week. It was dull, Armand confided in Louis as they dressed for the show they and and a few exclusive members were invited to.

One by one Armand began to count them like sheep until she entered. A sheer black tube tob pencil skirt dress with a billowy white blouse beneath. Your eyes are smoky and sharp and your lips a bright chery red. When you walk, you lack the stiffness the other girls move with, no no you glide. The runway is your stage, you dance so beautifully.

Armand sits up as you walk past. He neded you then, he neededyou now.

When you are off you brush past the fussy designers who bark orders in French that is too fast and English far too broken. All you care to know is you have a period of relief to indulge in a smoke and soon after a bump from one of your acquaintances.

You slump in your seat, a cigarette warms you up as you enjoy the momentary silence until you are up again. You grow tired, bored of this. You see it boiling in your eyes, past the makeup, the eye liner and rouge.

From your side one of the assistants carefully moves to your side.

"For you ma'am a gift from some of our most generous investors of the arts."

"M' not sleeping with them" you mumble around the still lit cigarette which dangles from your lips as you open the card tucked into the dozens of fresh roses.

"A rose for a rose." You grumble putting out your cigarette on the card and getting up to squeeze into the sheer scandalous dress though you would hardly call it that with the pièce de résistance being an intricate veil that twists and covers and is encrusted with diamonds around your face and binding in the back.

As you go to line up, standing still for any changes and a quick make up touch you are nudged to get in line. But a thought lingers in your mind.

When you walk you can't help but wonder, which one of you wants to sleep and tell the tale, hm?

"On the contrary my dear." You almost falter when you turn to walk back. That man's voice sends shives down your spine as you carefully make sure not to falter. "We would prefer to have you more than just in the flesh."

His partner to the left flashes you a cocky smile. He's lucky you are being watched otherwise you would have scowled.

"Aw, don't scowl like that chere."

They follow you to London. Your picture is in all the tabloids and paprazzi is stationed outside of your hotel where you quckly find the bar. In an act of defiance, and trying to add your flare, you stopped during midwalk to kiss the collar of your mysterious suitor leaving a perfect red stain.

Since then your manager has been bombarded with numerous calls for editorials, spreads, and interviews.

"Another glass for her please."

Your eyes cut to the beautiful man whose eyes look enchanting through the fog of smoke he carefully clows away from your direction. A black turtle neck tucked into a pair of slacks to battle the chill.

But no words can describe the work of art that are his eyes which stare deep into your yours,

"I don't sleep with fashion fanatics, not anymore at least" you mumble into the dirty martini before a new one is placed in front of you.

The corner of his lips twitch into a mix of a smile and a smirk.

"Nah I'm not into the whole art of fashion. Just a simple collector is all," he watches how your luscious lips leave a red imprint along the rim of the glass.

"Oh? And do I fit your collection?"

He hums, "I'd dare to say you outshine it."

"Let me guess," you rest your cigarette in the ashtray to give him your undivided attention. "Your wife wants to watch doesn't she?" Your eyes look pass his shoulder at the women and some of your fellow workers.

"Your far off. Got no wife, but my companion does enjoy to watch ocasionally." Louis leans forward, his chin on your shoulder and his cold lips touch your ear. "And he's been watching this entire time my dear."

Your head quickly turns and sure enough, a man watches at the end of the bar. A gass half filled, his both arms rest on the counter and his eyes remain unmoving on you both.

"Put her tab on my card will you?" Your mysterious heart throb drops a card that clanks and you catch a glimps of the name.

"Louis de Pointe du Lac" you read it to yourself as he stands to walk languidly to the man. Placing a hand don his shoulder and sitting beside him.

You should be unnerved by their constant appearances, but you enjoy this game of cat and mouse. Sharing words at afterparties, drinks at hotel bars, and one night together in the satin sheets of Milan.

Your room is always filled with flowers when you arrive. Champagne and chocolates await by your bedside. You never fail to find their eyes in the crowd, you dare to say this is what love must feel like.

You keep the notes and letters from Armand. His way with words are what bring the light back in your eyes as you walk and model.

Whatever it is, your agent tells you one day, keep it up. because you begin t see a spike in your career and appearances. Leading you to walk your first large red carpet event.

When you step out of the shining vintage car immediately you are met with flashes, clinging to your sur shrug for comfort imagining their arms as you walk and pause for questions and for photographs.

"Can we be under the assumption you have a special someone?" Your interviewer asks over the roar of paparazzi and photographers at a red carpet event.

"Hmm, I guess you could continue to speculate." You give a cheeky grin to the camera as you walk off with a flurry of questions at your leathered heels.

When you enter the museum hosting the charity event they await you. Your drop your shrug into the arms of one of the attendants while Armand takes hold of your clutch. You walk in between them looking at the beautifully restored and donated pieces. The theme is very rococo and you adore it, the artwork, pottery and ceramics and the beautifully restored gowns on display.

"Oh my goodness look at this one, it reminds me of a Monet" you coo as you stand before the water lily pond. Your hand on your chest as you pause. You wish it were yours. Though it is not the original you want it still.

And that's enough for Armand to place a red sticker near the artists name.

"Oh you didn't have to, Armand." you pout at him as he cups your jaw looking into your eyes.

"You clearly desired it, did you not?" When all you do is nod he hums. His thumb begins to stroke the soft skin of your jaw. "Then you shall have it."

"We would travel the cities I was in. And during the off season I spent here or in the comforts of one of our other homes. I believe Berlin will be our destination this year for the holidays, right my love?"

And how can Armand no to those eyes.

They gleam with mischief, golden flakes sparkle in your bright eyes. "Whatever her hearts desires I have assumed the duty to fulfill each ofthem, we both do."

You shush him, had you still been mortal you swear your cheeks would be flushed.

The interviewer

"But I believe this Gift would have to be my most treasured one."

#iwtv x reader #iwtv #louis de pointe du lac x reader #armand x reader #louis x reader #loumand x reader

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rainybubbles · 4 months ago

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I need a whole story with Ghost and arranged marriage.

(and hybrids, I love the AU of the fandom about hybrids 141)

Something slow burn, angst where the reader is confident, but with social anxiety, maybe a f!reader?

She's a sacrifice, about to be married to another duke. But here comes a duchy long forgotten, tucked away in the shadow of the mountains, ruled by a mysterious Duke no one had seen in years.

A Ghost.

His name was Simon Riley, a widower, burdened with loss and cloaked in rumors. They said his heart was as dead as his wife, that a curse had taken not only her but every bit of warmth that could ever live in him. And so, when the black carriage came for you, no one in your village dared to offer you comfort.

You were the sacrifice—the black sheep sent to marry the Duke, an arranged match born out of fear, not love. Your family had seen you as expendable, a lamb to slaughter to secure their own futures.

You were confident in your spirit but burdened with the knowledge that your body didn’t fit the delicate mold others expected. (no one had courted you)

You never thought yourself beautiful, never thought you could inspire anything but pity or rejection. But it didn’t matter, did it? You weren’t meant for love. You were meant to survive.

When you arrived at the Duke’s castle, the silence that greeted you felt heavy, as if the very stones were holding their breath.

Simon Riley stood before you, a towering figure wrapped in shadows, with eyes that seemed carved from stone—cold, distant, and full of secrets.

He did not look at you the way men often did; there was no curiosity, no warmth, no appraisal. Instead, he seemed to be waiting, as if bracing for some inevitable end.

He didn't marry you for love, but because of his curse. Simon was fated to die within a year, and he needed someone to care for his kingdom and use their connections to maintain peace with other realms.

His people were not human, at least not fully. The hybrids, part-beast, part-man, served him with loyalty forged from some unspoken bond. There was Soap, whose wolf-like nature caused him to prowl the castle grounds in restless energy. Gaz, whose wings glinted like silver in the moonlight, was ever watchful, guarding the castle’s gates. And Price, the fiercest of them all, his dragon wings scorched from endless battles, often returned to you for healing.

You became their caretaker, stitching their wounds, reading old texts on werewolves to understand Soap’s habits, and joking with Gaz’s children when they visited.

Slowly, you found your place in this strange, otherworldly family.

And yet, Simon remained distant, an enigma wrapped in silence and sorrow.

He never sought your company, never looked for you, never asked for more than the duty of your presence.

He was a Duke, cursed and broken, and you were his sacrifice, meant to ensure his survival, not his happiness.

Days turned into months, and the weight of your loneliness pressed into your chest like a slow, relentless ache. You gave and gave—your time, your care, your heart—until you had little left for yourself. And one night, it became too much.

The walls of your room, once a sanctuary, closed in on you, and you cried. The sobs came softly at first, but then they grew louder, filling the quiet darkness with your grief, your exhaustion, your sense of never being enough.

Simon heard you.

He came to you in the dead of night, silent as a shadow, and found you curled up in the corner, tears staining your cheeks. He knelt beside you, his hand trembling as he reached for you, as if he wasn’t sure how to touch something so fragile. When his fingers brushed your skin, it was like a shiver of warmth had broken through the icy armor he wore.

“It means nothing,” he whispered, his voice rough and deep. He was speaking to himself as much as to you. “Comforting you means nothing.”

But his hands told a different story. He cradled you gently, pulling you into his chest, and for the first time, you felt his heart beating against yours. He held you, whispering words you couldn’t fully understand, telling himself that this was just duty, that you were just another sacrifice for his throne. But you both knew the truth.

He had fallen.

Bit by bit, Simon let you in, let you see the man behind the Duke, the man who had lost so much. He had never hoped for love—not after losing his wife, not after the curse had taken everything from him. But there you were, taking care of his people, offering comfort without expecting anything in return. And in the quiet moments, when you would tend to Price’s wings or read to Soap, Simon would watch you, a strange ache building in his chest.

He had fallen, and it was too late.

But Simon’s curse was not the only one. Another hybrid, König, appeared at the castle one day, his presence unsettling. He was larger, more menacing than the others, and his eyes lingered on you in a way that made your skin crawl. There was something in his gaze, something dark and possessive, that told you he was not just another visitor.

And then, you were gone.

On the day Simon was to meet his death—a death foretold by the curse—you were not there. He searched for you, frantic, the coldness of his impending doom creeping up his spine. But you were nowhere to be found.

König had taken you, hoping to break the curse for himself, hoping to claim you as his own. But what König didn’t know, what no one knew, was that you had the power to break the curse—not just for Simon, but for another. You were the key, the sacrifice whose heart could unlock the chains binding these cursed men.

But Simon… Simon had already decided.

He would not let you sacrifice yourself again. He had watched you give and give until there was nothing left for yourself. He had heard your cries in the dead of night, felt the weight of your despair. And now, he was ready to curse himself—for you. He was ready to bind his heart to yours, to live an eternity of torment, meeting you again and again across lifetimes if that’s what it took. He would endure the curse, relive the pain, as long as it meant you would be free.

And as Simon drew his last breath, his heart shattered—not from the curse, but from love. His love for you, the woman who had given so much, the woman he had fallen for too late.

And in the distance, far from the castle, you felt it. The weight of his sacrifice. The bittersweet ache of love lost, of a heart cursed not by magic but by fate.

You wept, not for yourself, but for him—for the man who had loved you in silence, in shadows, and in sacrifice. And as the winds whispered through the mountains, carrying his name on the air, you knew he was gone.

But Simon… Simon would return.

Again and again, across lifetimes. Searching for you. Loving you.

Even if it was too late.

Centuries later, he stood frozen, eyes locked on the new translator stepping onto the base. Your smile was polite, a stranger's greeting, but his heart ached as the weight of lifetimes crashed over him.

"You're back," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Yet, your eyes held no recognition—you didn’t remember him.

Yeah, I need a fic like that. 10 chapters, where I cry because damn, this man deserves happiness and so does the reader...

And bonus if the reader is on the fat, chubby side , because I need to see more of that.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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mythicamagic · 9 months ago

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Two Black Sheep: Scar x Female Rover oneshot

Summary: Rover crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding his probing gaze. “We likely don’t have much time so I’ll get straight to the point: how are they treating you here?”

Scar’s mirth died down, smile turning patronizing. “Much like our little game in the village, I’ll let you work out the truth for yourself. Truth is always better as a wonderful discovery, rather than fodder fed to you by someone else.”

Female Rover x Scar.

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AN: This game isn’t even out yet what am I doing?

This takes place a little later on in the story, so mild spoilers (though I don’t know if they’ll still include this story beat into the released game after seeing it in the most recent Beta test). I fell in love with Scar as an antagonist while watching content creators stream this game so here we are.

Rated T, 2500 words. You can find this on Ao3 too.

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Jinzhou city lay quiet and peaceful at night, a shining, glittering jewel of captive lights in the dark. Despite traversing through much of Huanglong, the sight of the pale fortress remained a stunning one to Rover. It stood tall and protective of its people, but she’d always gotten the sense there was more to it. A strength built into the stone; or a set of metal teeth lying in wait beneath its demure exterior.

This suspicion was confirmed upon stepping into Jinzhou’s underground prison. The first few floors were pleasant and bright, only a few guards posted at the doors. As Rover was led deeper however, taking a lift down, down, down into the dark depths of Jinzhou’s fortress, the atmosphere palpably changed.

It reminded her of entering a Tacet Field, feeling subtle vibrations hum in the air. Strong energies called out in the dark; prisoners waiting in their cells. Not all of them were Resonators, but she felt them nonetheless. They were agitated and restless, some pacing in front of the doors to their cells as she stepped off the elevator and passed by. A few were tied up even when secured behind metal bars, their arms strapped to their torsos.

It was a different side of Jinzhou that Rover had been unfamiliar with until now; a grimy and cruel underbelly. She faced forward when some prisoners began shouting, cat-calling her and rousing the attention of the hallway in a domino effect as she passed by. The guards eventually stopped at the very last door of the hall- this one without the luxury of a window to peer inside the cell. The great iron door hissed and groaned on its hinges as the locks slid open.

Rover caught the moment the lights switched on before she was ushered in.

He’s been in total darkness all this time?

She outwardly gave little reaction at the sight that greeted her. Naturally stone-faced, Rover relied on her blank mask like a crutch in that moment. A wide metal collar sat around the prisoner’s neck- steel spikes lining the inside pointing inward toward his jugular like a circle of teeth. Poles connected the collar to the cell walls, forcing him to stay on his feet in the center of the room. She noted his arms were bound behind his back, no signs of wounds on his body.

Blearily eyes blinked at her, adjusting to the light.

Scar lifted his head slowly. Interest livened his features the second it seemed to click who he was staring at. He jolted, rattling the poles and sucking in a sharp breath, as though imbued with life.

“Well, well...this is a pleasant surprise, dear Rover,” he rasped. Mismatched eyes smiled with laser focused intensity. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Rover ignored him and forced a smile at the guards flanking her sides. “You can leave me alone with him. I’ll be alright.”

The men exchanged worried looks. “It is not that we do not trust you, illustrious guest. It is that the Magistrate gave clear orders that we protect you at all times during your visit. Leaving you alone seems unwise, given the level of notoriety this criminal has earned.”

Jinhsi. She was probably right to be concerned. Scar hadn’t been easy to capture and the level of security surrounding his cell was testament to his abilities. One slip up meant escape. On the other hand, Rover couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something uneasy in her gut.

“I’ll be vigilant. Your priority should be to keep him detained, not my safety,” she turned and laid a hand on the older guard’s arm, looking up at him through her lashes. “If anything happens I’ll call for you, I promise." She squeezed his bicep for good measure.

The guard shifted, clearing his throat. He gave a nod and gestured for his companion to leave, giving her a tight squeeze on the shoulder in parting, finally leaving the room. The metal door slid shut behind them with a hiss.

Left alone in the quiet room together, Scar was quick to quirk a brow. “I didn’t know you were capable of using your appeal like that. The poor man will be thinking about your pretty face for days. Be careful such tactics don’t land you in hot water.”

Rover crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding his probing gaze. “We likely don’t have much time so I’ll get straight to the point: how are they treating you in here?”

More open surprise flitted across his face. It was such a sharp contrast to his usually unflappable, grinning persona. Scar tilted his head and gave an impish grin. “How interesting! You surely didn’t come all the way here just to inquire after my wellbeing. Did Madame Magistrate put you up to this? A new tactic to get me to talk?” He chuckled, rattling the poles with the force of his stifled laughter. “It’s impressive, I’ll give her that. Very compelling. I’d much rather talk to you than anyone else in this forsaken place, even if it becomes an interrogation.”

Solitary confinement certainly hasn’t impacted his ability to talk, Rover noted dryly. His voice sounded slightly hoarse to her ears though. “Just answer the question.”

Shifting her weight, Rover took one step closer, then another. His predatory smile widened at her proximity, flashing teeth at her steady approach.

Thinking things over, Rover glanced at his torso. His tight red and gray bodysuit revealed his proportions a bit too well at times, but it hid everything of his skin.

Well if she wanted answers she could just ask his body directly.

Rover reached out and poked beneath his ribs.

“Gn!” a harsh breath hissed out through clenched teeth, his whole frame shuddering. Scar grinned soon after, shooting her a wary look.

“Wasn’t much of a wonderful discovery, was it?” Rover drawled, reaching behind her hip and taking out a container. She shook it, depositing food rations out onto her open palm. Maintaining eye-contact, she bit into the dried meat, chewing and watching how his attention dropped to her lips. His mouth thinned into a hard, grim line.

The sound of a stomach rumbling filled the room.

“We’re two for two,” she noted, securing the container again and taking out her water bottle. His gaze was immediately wide and imploring, gazing at it longingly.

Rover sighed, offering the rim of the bottle out to him. “I don’t think I need any more evidence. Just drink already.”

Scar lifted his head, that unusual pale white hair of his sliding into mismatched eyes. She’d been able to look into them once before, when he’d initially been apprehended. One flinty gray, the other a dull red. She’d been distracted back then, but without so much as a window inside the room to draw her attention away, Rover could admit there was something beckoning about his appearance. He wasn’t unattractive by any means- though she quickly shook that thought away.

At his uncharacteristic silence, Rover frowned. Putting the pieces together, she lowered the bottle. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what worries you.”

He laughed. “Oh dear sweet Rover. I don’t think you're capable of poisoning anyone. Far too earnest for such underhanded methods,” he shook his head. “No, no. It’s not you I doubt. Madame Magistrate though- and those guards? They’d jump at the chance to slip a member of the Fractsidus a little something. What’s more, they have the perfect little scapegoat right here.”

Inferring his meaning, Rover’s blood ran cold, becoming uncomfortably aware of her position. “...They wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t they?” he purred, leaning as close as he dared, heedless of the spikes threatening to puncture his skin. “I’ve told you so many times now not to misplace your trust. Especially not in those you barely know: and with amnesia making you so ripe for manipulation its a recipe for hurt,” he practically sighed the words. His tone was casual, but he was smiling, very, very widely. “If you really did come here of your own accord, they’ll mark this day on your record. A smear. They’ll have eyes on you, watching your every move- anticipating the day you turn traito-!”

Rover shoved the water bottle against his lips. She tilted it up, pushing her fingers into the gaps between the collar spikes to try to alleviate their pressure against his neck. “Just drink. You talk too much.”

Scar made a noise, spilling some liquid- water running down his chin, before he gave in and ultimately drank. He gasped as soon as it seemed to register how thirsty he really was, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed with heightening desperation.

Once finished, Rover lifted the bottle away, noting the faint sneer of his mouth.

Cutting her gaze to the ceiling, she lifted the bottle to her lips and titled it back, catching the rest of the remaining water on her tongue. “There. If they want to poison you, they’ll take me out too in the process.”

He blinked rapidly, the derision quickly falling from his expression. He glanced at her hand still woven between the spikes and collar, registering her touch for the first time.

“You’re such a strange existence,” he murmured softly, turning the full force of his attention onto her. Rover felt her gut lurch the second heat touched his cheeks, reddening them. “If you’re not careful, you’ll win more than just my attention. I’m already serious about obtaining you for the group. If I started to want you for myself…hmn…” a rumbling noise of contentment escaped the depths of his chest. “Just picture it; two black sheep. Ostracized from their herds for different reasons, but finding solace in each other’s jaws. A beautiful picture.”

Rover took out her food ration, bumping it against his mouth to try to prompt him to eat again and hopefully stop talking. “I do one nice thing and you’re talking as though we’re meant for each other,” she sighed, glancing at the door. “I don’t know how long we have left. Eat.”

Opening his mouth, Scar accepted her offering, chewing while staring at her with that keen light in his eyes.

Seeking to snuff it out, Rover straightened, bearing down upon him with what she hoped was an intimidating glare. “Let’s not get carried away here, Scar. You’ve murdered people in cold blood. You’re still planning on hurting my friends if you ever get out of here. Nothing’s changed between us, are we clear?” she said firmly.

“Crystal,” he swallowed, bypassing her glare to look up at the ceiling with a dreamy gaze he sometimes gained, voice becoming light hearted. “I’ve no plans to hurt your friends specifically though. All that matters is you and me in the grand scheme of things. I really couldn’t care less about those outside of our circle enough to actively target them. It all just sort of…happens in the moment when they come between our little talks.”

Releasing his steel collar now that he’d eaten, Rover made to back away- only for him to lunge- the poles shrieking, collar straining against his neck.

Their noses brushed, breath intermingling. Rover froze up, all her instincts she’d naturally fallen into when fighting Tacet Discords blurred away into nothingness. Her heartbeat slammed into her ribcage. She couldn’t move suddenly.

The instability she’d glimpsed so many times in his gaze was back with full force. A kind of euphoric high brightened his irises. “You haven’t asked me anything about Fractsidus! I find that so strange and fun. If you were here on Madame Magistrates orders, you’d be going back empty handed. So…” Scar’s lips ghosted her cheek without pressing down, resting snugly against the shell of her ear. “Why did you really come here?”

Goosebumps raised on her skin. Rover yanked her head back, summoning her best poker face to look at him dispassionately. “I’ll let you work out the truth for yourself,” she said. “Truth is always better as a wonderful discovery, rather than fodder fed to you by someone else.”

She then grasped him under the ribs, threatening to squeeze whatever injuries lay hidden beneath his clothes. Scar inhaled sharply against her cheek- before falling into a sinfully low groan.

His exhale was shaky, relishing the pain. “You truly are magnificent at whetting my appetite, Rover. A sublime prey.”

When their pupils next met, Rover’s widened, finding those gray and red eyes equal parts deranged and manic.

Scar laughed when she broke away, his shoulders shaking with mirth. She stiffly moved back toward the safety of the door, banging on it twice with her fist.

His uproarious laughter followed her all the way out, ringing in her ears long after the steel door had shut behind her. She stood amongst the concerned guards, shying away from their casual touches.

“Are you alright, miss?”

“Did the interrogation go well?”

Rover looked at the younger guard sharply. “I didn’t go in there to interrogate him,” she gritted out, curling her gloved hands into fists. She stepped closer. “There’s no light switched on in there when he's alone. He’s malnourished and dehydrated. What’s more, the guards are delivering corporal punishment behind closed doors. This was an informal inspection, sir. One which you failed.”

His face turned red comically fast. “M-my lady! What would you have us do?! He’s an S rank criminal! We’re too concerned he may escape if we ease up his living conditions.”

“Besides that, he’s a murderer-” the older guard cut in. His eyes narrowed, roving around her face critically. “If you have any sympathy for that man, save it for his innocent victims.”

She rounded on him with a hard sneer. “I don’t condone his actions. However, there’s too much we don’t know- and letting him die means allowing his knowledge and information to die with him. I won’t let that happen if I can help it,” she muttered, turning on her heel and storming down the hallway the way she’d come. Changes would be coming swiftly to Scar’s living situation if she had anything to say about it. Without her memories, information was more important to Rover than anything, and perhaps losing Scar didn't matter to the Jinzhou officials- but it mattered to her.

She could feel their judgemental gazes boring into her back. Maybe it had already started. No, it had started the second she’d requested a visitation without being ordered to see him. Rover half expected Scar’s warning to come true- for the various Jinzhou officials and citizens to start suspecting her of fraternizing with the Fractsidus.

That was fine with her. Though he unnerved her, something about Scar kept forcing Rover to pay attention to him. That no matter how strange and misleading his words were- there was a grain of truth to them somewhere.

Or, perhaps, he’d been a complete and utter liar from the very start, designed to make her doubt herself and everyone around her.

Either way, Rover saw the value in finding out the truth for herself.

#Scar Wuthering Waves #wuthering waves #Scar x Rover

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teapartyprincess4two · 1 year ago

Note

Full Set is too damn good you write it sooo well. like I actually NEED more matt stories from you 🙏

Small Town Dreaming- M. Sturniolo

pairing: neighbor!reader x bestfriend!Matt

classification: fluff, best friends to lovers (kinda)

warnings: use of y/n, slow build up, small town au

summary: There’s not much to do in this small town but fall in love.

—

Your small town has been boring for as long as you can remember. The town was so small you could probably run down every street in less than an hour. There was one movie theater that played reruns of movies no one cared about, a bowling alley with 4 bowling balls in total, a park with a wooden termite infested playground, and a library with books so old they had mold. Everyone either had a flock of chickens or a herd of sheep, spending their free time tending to the livestock.

One of your favorite pastimes was to sneak up onto the old water tower and just people watch, occasionally pulling out your sketchbook to draw the familiar faces that passed by. No one ever left this town, it always seemed to suck people right back in and keep them here forever. So many people have tried leaving, packing their bags and driving down the main dirt road to freedom. For some reason or another they always turned back though, throwing their dreams out the window on the way.

“One day I’m moving to LA with my brothers,” Matt sighs dreamily, the both of you laying on the trunk of his car as you watch the stars. Without dreams this small, boring town would crush everyone’s spirits. “That’s a good idea,” you say, squinting your eyes as you pretend to squish the stars between your fingers. They looked like fireflies dancing in the sky.

You had a lot of dreams too, most of them involving running away and never turning back, but none of your dreams were written in stone yet. For some reason you felt like you’d end up like many others, too involved in your daily life to ever do something big. You’ve seen it happen to a lot people, your mom included. She was full of dreams and aspirations, but as soon as she got married and started having children it just felt easier to stay.

“What about you?” Matt asks, turning his head to look at you. “What about me?” You say in a teasing tone, hopping off the hood of the car. You were never the type to sit still, plus you didn’t have a definite answer to Matt’s question yet. “What are your dreams?” he asks again, formulating the question in a way that was much easier to answer. It was simple, you wanted to leave, but you were too scared to say it out loud. You felt like if you vocalized it, it wouldn’t come true. Maybe you’d follow Matt and his brothers, you didn’t know yet, but you didn’t want to stay here for the rest of your life.

You take a while to respond so he interjects again jokingly, “or are you staying here forever?” The idea of staying here forever was actually terrifying, but you’re only a junior in high school so it’s easy to push the thought to the back of your mind. “I am NOT staying here forever,” you reply, shivering at the idea of this town becoming your finally destination. “I won’t end up like my mom,” you whispered, shaking your head as you looked at the ground. Matt stays silent as he hops off the hood of the car, walking over to you and hugging you. “It’s okay. You can just come with me and my brothers,” he whispers against your hair as he rubs comforting circles into your back.

The sentiment was nice and it made you smile. “That could be fun,” you murmured, dreaming about a life that seemed so far away.

—

You’re 21 years old now and that conversation feels like a lifetime ago. You’re currently in the kitchen helping your mom prepare lunch for your dad and brothers. “Make sure you don’t cut the tomatoes too thick,” she instructs as she expertly cuts onions beside you. Over the years she managed to refine her kitchen skills, the onions having no affect on her whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are wiping away the involuntary tears with the back of your hand.

“I know how to cut tomatoes,” you reply, squinting so you can see through the tears. Her eyes are trained on you as she piles the onions into the pan. They sizzle loudly, steam rising from the hot pan. Sometimes you wonder why you even bothered helping her if she was going to be so bossy. “Then why are they so thick?” She retorts, grabbing one of the tomato slices from your cutting board and wiggling it around in her fingers. You laugh as you watch the tomato dance back in forth, “fine you do it then.”

She doesn’t second guess it, instead she grabs the knife from you and swiftly cuts the rest of the tomatoes. She’s done before you can even look away. You walk over to the sink to wash your hands before replying, “no one is gonna die from a thick tomato slice.” She sends you a glare as she grabs the cutting board and slides the tomatoes into the pan. “No, but you need to know how to do this stuff for when you get married. No one is gonna wanna marry a girl who can’t cook,” she responds with a tsk, mixing the vegetables in the pan so they become sautéed.

You don’t say anything, you just watch as she tastes a now translucent onion, checking the flavor. “Needs some garlic,” she mumbles, moving towards the cupboard to grab the seasoning. Talking about marriage and relationships with your mom was always awkward because she always found a way to push your buttons. “Speaking of marriage,” she says again, turning the stove off. Now she’s completely facing you, cleaning her hands on a kitchen towel as she continues, “what ever happened to that Matt boy you always used to hang out with?”

You groaned, she brought Matt up at least once a month. “I haven’t talked to Matt since high school, mom,” you reply, rolling your eyes at her inability to remember details you repeatedly told her. She nods her head almost like it’s the first time she’s hearing this as she whispers, “that’s a shame.” The last thing you want to talk about is an old friend who actually managed to leave this town behind, so you decide to wash the dishes in the sink to avoid any further conversation. Hopefully the sound of the running water would drown out your mom’s voice.

You let the hot water run over your hands as you reminisce over all your memories with Matt. There was homecoming, football games, prom night, nights at the bowling alley, sneaking into the theater for popcorn, and of course stargazing. A small smile adorns your face at the memories, you cherished those moments despite them feeling like forever ago.

“He would’ve been a good husband,” your mom says casually, dumping any remaining dirty dishes in the sink before walking out of the kitchen and into the living room.

She was right, he would’ve made a perfect husband.

—

“I’ll be back!” You call out to your mom as you tug your shoes on and grab your coat from the couch. November was always chilly, especially in a town like yours where there were no large buildings to block the wind. That wouldn’t stop you from sneaking up onto the old tower, instead it actually excited you. The rush of being so high up was the most exhilarating thing this town had to offer.

“Where are you going?” She calls back, peering her head into the living room from the kitchen. “I’m just gonna go hang out with a friend,” you comment, not wanting to admit your true destination. She always scolded you when you told her you were going to the water tower, claiming it was dangerous and reckless. “You better not be climbing that old tower,” she gave you a stern look before returning to her cooking.

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. If you weren’t allowed to do one dangerous and reckless thing, you’d go absolutely insane in this town. “Bye,” you finally say, dismissing yourself in a sing song tone as you walk out the front door.

The walk is short, the only hard part of your journey being the climb up the ladder. It creaks with every step, the rusty metal leaving your hands orange. Finally you arrive at the top, plopping your bag on the metal floor. You carefully take a seat, making yourself comfortable enough to begin people watching. Your legs swing back and forth as you look toward the ground, you were really high up.

People pass by, most of them by foot and you rest against the metal railing as you watch them. All these people were stuck doing mundane things like carrying their groceries home or walking to a friend’s house. So many familiar faces spark your creativity causing you to pull your sketchbook from your bag to begin drawing.

You see your brothers in the distance playing soccer on an old dirt road and you decide they’ll make the perfect warm-up sketch. So, you work diligently to replicate the figures in the distance, trying to capture their motions. The sketch is coming out good, but your pencil suddenly snaps, interrupting the flow you’d created. “Stupid cheap pencil,” you mumble to yourself, resting it in the crack of the sketch book that lays on your lap. You dig through your bag in search of a sharpener, finding it tucked between an old gum wrapper and a candy bar.

Just as you’re about to turn back to your sketchbook, the wind aggressively blows it off your lap. “No, no, no,” you yelp, trying to catch the book before it can slip away. One arm grabs a hold of the railing as the other reaches for the book that’s too far gone. You groan in annoyance, shoving the sharpener back into your bag and getting up slowly so you can make your way down and get your book.

“Ow! What the fuck?” someone exclaims from below, your book hitting them right on the head. ‘Great,’ you think, quickly slinging your bag over your shoulder and climbing down the stairs. Of course your book managed to hit one of the 200 people who populated this town. “I’m so sorry. I was drawing and then the stupid wind-“ you begin to apologize, climbing down the ladder as quickly as possible. You’re interrupted though, “Y/n?!” Everyone in your town knew everyone, who the hell was actually confused to see you?

“Yeah?” you reply, hopping off the ladder and turning towards the voice. Immediately your eyes go wide at the person in front of you. After 3 years of not seeing him, Matt stood right in front of you holding your sketchbook. He looked so much older than the last time you’d seen him. Small stubble scattered across his jaw, his arms adorned with tattoos, and he held a much more modernized look. “Matt?!” you ask in shock, rushing towards him excitedly. Seeing him after so long felt like a breath of fresh air.

“Oh my God! You look so different!” He exclaims, he’s equally as excited to see you. When you both were in high school you were inseparable. Sometimes you’d let your mind wander and dream about a life where the two of you were married, but that was then and this is now. “That’s what 3 years will do,” you chuckled, taking your sketchbook from him and putting it in your back. “Has it really been that long?” he asks, his eyes examining everything about you.

Since the last time he saw you, you’ve grown a little taller and your hair is much longer. You’ve got a woman-like essence about you that you didn’t have before, he’s sure that every guy in town is fighting for a chance with you. Last time he checked, you were the only girl worth looking at, let alone fighting for.

“Yes, dude! Where have you been?” you punch his arm playfully, earning a slight push from Matt. It felt like he never left, you two picked up exactly where you left off. “Chris, Nick, and I have been in L.A,” he responds, the two of you beginning to subconsciously walk away from the water tower. A gust of wind blows past you two causing you to pull your coat tightly around you.

“Aw, Chris and Nick! I haven’t seen them in so long,” you reply longingly, reminiscing briefly on all your memories with the other two. “Yeah we’re here visiting our parents for Thanksgiving. We should all hang out one day,” he says, the word ‘visiting’ leaving a bad taste in your mouth. It was a gentle reminder that they actually escaped this place and only came back as a favor to their parents while you were stuck here indefinitely.

“Yeah that could be fun,” you say halfheartedly. “Are you visiting too?” he asks, genuine curiosity leading him to push further into your personal life. You gulp, becoming scared to admit the truth to Matt. “Ugh no, not really,” you respond vaguely. “Oh, are you leaving soon?” he asks again, unable to stop himself from prying. He can’t help it, he hasn’t seen you in a long time and he’s curious. The two of you are now outside your house, the walk coming as second nature from all your walks home from school. “I never left,” you admit, an awkward cough following the sad statement.

Matt doesn’t know what to say, he finds it hard to believe that a girl like you never found her way out of this place. The only reason beautiful girls like you got stuck in this town was because of marriage, but Matt shook the thought from his head.

“It’s getting cold,” you say as you look back towards your house, breaking the silence that settled between you two. As excited as you were to see Matt, you needed to escape this awkward situation immediately. The wind was howling dramatically, shaking the surrounding trees and picking up the dirt from the roads. “Oh. Um, yeah. I’ll let you go. We’ll catch up another time, yeah?” he says sheepishly, feeling bad for embarrassing you. You hum in response, waving slightly at him before turning on your heel and hurriedly making your way inside.

“Was that Matt?” your mom asks enthusiastically as soon as you walk inside, leaning against the couch so she can get a better look out the window. Had she been watching the whole time? “Invite him inside!” she exclaims, not even giving you time to answer her previous question. “No, mom! He’s busy!” you lie, coming up with an excuse on the spot and watching from the window as Matt walks home.

“That boy is NOT busy. Marylou told me her boys were visiting,” she replies, rolling her eyes at your lame excuse of a lie. If she knew the triplets were in town, why did she ask if that was Matt? She clearly wanted to catch you flustered and annoyed. “Well he doesn’t want to come in,” you retort, shrugging your coat off and kicking your shoes off.

“You are never getting married, are you?” she asks sarcastically, giving you a blank look before disappearing into the kitchen.

—

Matt was home in a good 15 minutes, walking in to his house to find his brothers on the couch awaiting his arrival. “Did you bring it?” Chris asked, leaning against the backrest of the couch to look at Matt. Matt shrugs off his coat and kicks his shoes off, wondering what the hell Chris is on about. “Did I bring what?” Matt asks in confusion, walking over to the couch and sitting beside Chris.

Chris was now squished in between his two brothers, all three of them watching a random movie to pass the time. They had to resort to the old VCR their mom had because their phones didn’t get any service out in the country. Neither of them wanted to go through the hassle or rewinding the movies, so they were currently halfway through one without any context. It was hard to readjust to a slow paced lifestyle after being in L.A for so long and they couldn’t find anything to do. So, they sent Matt out in search of fireworks, but of course he got distracted along the way and came back empty handed.

“The fireworks, dumbass,” Nick chimes in, facepalming at Matt’s failure to complete the easiest task ever. “Oh, yeah, no. I couldn’t find any,” he lied, still thinking about his encounter with you. When your sketchbook fell on him, he flipped through a few pages and recognized so many of the people in the drawings. Some of the earlier pages were even filled with drawings of him and his brothers.

“Bullshit! We saw them yesterday at the corner store!” Chris shouts, getting up from the couch to go find the fireworks himself. “If I find even ONE firework, I’m beating your ass,” Chris says, pointing a menacing finger at Matt before slipping his shoes on and walking out the door, coat in hand. “Did you go to the right store?” Nick asks, watching mindlessly as the characters on screen converse. He has no idea what the plot of this movie even is.

“Well I tried, but I sort of got distracted,” Matt admits, shifting uncomfortable in the couch. He grabbed a pillow from beside him, hugging it closely to him. “How could you possibly get distracted? The store is 5 minutes from here!” Nick exclaims, looking suspiciously at his brother. Nick knew Matt was hiding something.

“I ran into an old friend,” Matt shrugged, sinking further into the couch and holding the pillow even closer to him. He knew that if he admitted to running into you, he’d never hear the end of it. He’d be bombarded with questions about you, how you’re doing, why he didn’t invite you over. Nick is looking at Matt expectantly, wanting him to spill the details on which ‘old friend’ he ran into, but Matt’s gaze is focused on the tv in front of him.

“Matt!” Nick says dramatically, pushing his brother by the shoulder to grab his attention. “Which friend?!” He finally asks once he’s successfully grabbed Matt’s attention. Matt debates whether or not he should just admit he ran into you, but before he can say anything he’s interrupted by Chris arriving from the store.

Throughout this entire conversation, Chris had managed to successfully find the fireworks and even ran into you on his way back home. You were reluctantly running an errand for your mom, but of course got distracted by Chris. He asked about you, inquiring about your personal life just like Matt had, and then insisted you come over. He said something along the lines of, “Nick and Matt would love to see you! Matt especially.” Chris was completely unaware of your encounter with Matt earlier that day, so in his mind this would be your first time seeing each other after years. So, as to not seem rude, you abandoned your errand and followed Chris to his house. He was carrying so many fireworks that he dropped a few along the way, but luckily you were there to pick them up.

“Guess who I brought?” Chris says dramatically in a sing-song tone, dropping all the fireworks at the front entrance. Nick and Matt look towards the front door, Matt’s mouth going agape slightly at the sight of you and Nick immediately jumping up from the couch. “Y/n?!” Nick exclaims, running over to you excitedly and embracing you in a hug. This was very uncommon for Nick, seeing as he wasn’t usually a hugger, but he hadn’t seen you in so long that he made an exception. “Hi Nick,” you greet awkwardly as he smothers you in his arms, hands still full of fireworks.

“Oh my God, girl. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long,” Nick let’s go of you, holding you by your arms so he can get a good look at you. He noticed all the same things as Matt and Chris, you looked like a woman. “Here,” you admit with a shrug, not embarrassed to admit it anymore. You’ve already gone through this round of questioning twice at this point with both Matt and Chris. “Oh,” he mumbles awkwardly, offering you an equally as awkward smile.

Matt was still watching in shock, what a coincidence that he ran into you earlier today and now you’re in his house. Well, in retrospect, the town is so small that you probably would’ve ended up here anyway. “How has life here been?” Nick asks again doing air quotes around ‘here’ before taking the fireworks from you and dumping them where Chris had dumped the rest. “It’s.. been” you laugh, rocking back and forth on your feet awkwardly.

Nick nods, deciding he’s had enough awkwardness for one day. “Wanna pop some fireworks with us?” he asks, hoping you’ll just say yes and break the awkward tension. You look between him and Matt, wondering if this was the right decision. Matt’s smiling at you, he wants you to say yes so bad. “Sure, why not,” you reply with a shrug, deciding this will be the most fun you’ve had in a while.

Chris appears from the kitchen, lighter in hand. He’s pretending to use it as flame thrower, waving it from side to side dramatically. “Get ready to burn!” He says evily, earning a laugh from the rest of you.

—

The fireworks left long sparks of color in the sky, the booming sound resonating throughout the entire town. It’s dark now and the wind has calmed down considerably, making it the perfect time for childish shenanigans. You and Matt were sat on a pair of lawn chairs, watching as Nick and Chris lit up firework after firework. They would light one, place it carefully on the ground, and then scurry away like excited children.

Matt is staring at the sky, mesmerized at the colorful sparks that flew by. The stars were faint, the light and smoke from the fireworks dulling their luminosity. You also watched the colorful explosions, but you held your fingers out in front of you to squish the stars. You created a game out of it, trying to squish the stars before the colorful sparks reached them.

Matt noticed this and chuckled slightly, reminiscing on the old habit you never seemed to let go. Upon hearing his laughter, you turn your attention to him quickly in confusion. “What?” you ask with a small pout. He smiles sincerely at you, examining your beautiful face as the colorful light from above decorated your face. The strobing lights seemed to only further accentuate your features.

In this moment Matt felt 18 again. He felt like he was seeing you for the first time and realizing he had a crush on you. “Nothing, you just always used to do that,” he replies sheepishly, pointing towards your hands briefly. It was a habit you never realized you had, you mostly did it to pass the time. You don’t say anything, but the silence isn’t awkward. You just smile at Matt before returning to your make-shift game, occupying your mind the only way you knew how.

You felt so comfortable right now. It felt like everything was the way it was supposed to be. It felt like old times, just you and your friends enjoying each other’s company. With each star you squish, you remember all your late nights under the stars with Matt. All the meaningful conversations and deep secrets you two exchanged, both of you becoming closer and closer each time. You always thought you’d end up following them and leaving this town, but life had other plans for you. Sometimes you even wondered what would’ve happened if you had confessed your feeling for Matt, would you two be married by now? It feels so wrong to think about, because you know that if you would’ve confessed he would’ve stayed and never fulfilled any of his dreams. He, like you, would’ve been stuck here.

Matt, on the other hand, can’t stop himself from smiling as he takes in more of your features. You looked so different, yet exactly the same. He still doesn’t understand why such a beautiful girl like you would stay in such a boring place like this. Of course he wondered if you were married, it was a common custom in your town for girls to get married young. Plus there was no a shortage of men waiting for the right moment to ask you on a date. Matt remembers it all too well, you’d always reject potential suitors in favor of spending time with him. He never understood why, but he always found himself feeling relieved when you did that. Maybe he internally wished you two would’ve started dating, but he never gained the courage to confess. He shook the thought of you being married out of his head, trying to focus on all the positive things tonight has to offer instead.

“Matt! Y/n! These are the last ones, come light one!” Chris calls out, waving the remaining fireworks in front of him, enticing you two to join in on the fun. The two of you are pulled from your thoughts, looking at Chris with smiles. Matt jumps up from his seat, jogging towards Chris and grabbing ahold of one of the fireworks. You get up a lot slower, taking in the moment in front of you. You really missed this.

“Girl! Hurry!” Nick rushes you, becoming impatient with your leisurely pace. You smile again, picking up the pace and grabbing a firework. “Ready?!” Chris asks excitedly, lighting everyone’s firework. You nod, excitement and adrenaline filling your body. As soon as he lights the fuse, you each place the fireworks carefully on the ground and run away in the opposite direction.

Lighting the fireworks was so much more exhilarating than just watching, your heart pumping rapidly as you try catching your breath. You’re standing next to Matt who wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, both of you looking up to watch the colorful explosion in the sky.

—

You don’t see the triplets again until a few days later, too busy helping your dad with the yard work to go anywhere. “Why can’t one of them help you?” You groan, looking at your brothers playing soccer in the field across the street. You always got stuck doing chores with your mom or dad while they got to have fun. “Can’t trust those guys to remember their own names, let alone help me,” your dad replies with a grunt, picking up two heavy buckets of water. You do the same, following behind him as he walks towards the pig enclosure.

It was so sunny today that you felt like you were melting. You were sweating underneath your overalls and the boots you were wearing were starting to rub against your ankles. “Fill that tank over there,” your dad instructs with a tilt of his chin, pointing in the direction he wanted you to go. You missed the tank as you tried pouring the water, some of it falling on the ground and creating mud. Your boots sank into the mud slightly causing you to groan in annoyance again. The pigs were oinking and squealing, almost like they were taunting you.

“Stupid fucking mud. Stupid dumbass pigs,” you grumbled, picking the other bucket up and dumping its remnants into the tank. “Language,” your dad warns sternly, only causing you to roll your eyes. He’s definitely said worse than fuck. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, adjusting your overalls in the process. “Are we almost done? It’s so hot,” you ask your dad, hoping he’ll have mercy on you and let you go inside. He doesn’t. “We still gotta shovel along the back to build that fence your mom asked for,” he informs you with no intention of letting you go early. You groan again, of course your mom wanted a fence. All you could do was prepare yourself for the long work day ahead.

Your arms feel like jelly, each pile of dirt you shovel sending you further into exhaustion. The sun was not letting up either, beaming brightly on the two of you. Your overalls were covered in dirt and your sweat mixed with the debris creating a gross mess all over your face and arms.

“You guys almost done?” Your mom asks as she walks over to you two. She’s holding a glass of water in each hand, working carefully not to spill any of it. The two of you stop digging and you’re silently thanking God for the small break. “We still have about 6 feet left that way and another 3 left this way,” your dad says, grabbing a glass of water and taking a few sips. Of course your side was missing the 6 feet, you were a much slower digger than your dad. You down the whole drink in one go, finally quenching your thirst after a hard days work.

“Well do you guys think you could wrap it up? We’ve got a visitor,” she says casually, taking the glasses back as she makes her way inside again. She was not going to stand in the hot sun for a second longer than necessary. ‘Visitor?!?’ you think, as you look down at your dirty overalls and muddy boots. If that’s how dirty your clothes were, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how dirty you were. “We’ll finish up tomorrow after breakfast, shouldn’t take us more than an hour,” your dad says, slapping your back as he follows behind your mom.

You jog behind him, trying to catch a glimpse of the visitors through the window. You can’t see anyone yet, so you just decide it’s probably one of your mom’s friends. If they saw you this messy it wouldn’t even matter. Both of you make your way inside, stomping the mud off on the grass before walking in.

“Y/n! Say hello to your friend, don’t be rude,” your mom immediately says once you walk in, referring to people waiting in the living room. Your mom considered everyone your friend, so you still weren’t too worried. “I’m going,” you call back, slowly walking over to the living room just in case it was someone you didn’t really know. If it was someone you didn’t know, you’d be able to excuse yourself with the excuse that you’re dirty or tired.

“Hi,” you greet plainly, peeking your head into the living room and waving at the unexpected company. “Hi,” Matt greets awkwardly, taking in your dirty appearance. You freeze at the sight of him, why didn’t your mom mention HE was the visitor? That was literally one of, if not the, most important detail of this story. “Excuse her, she’s been helping me out in the yard,” your dad chimes in, wiping his hands on an old kitchen towel before reaching a hand out towards Matt. “It’s nice to see you again, son,” your dad says, taking Matt’s hand into a firm handshake.

“It’s nice to see you too, sir,” Matt responds, getting up from the couch to properly greet your dad. He felt like he was your boyfriend, meeting your disapproving father for the first time. Your dad nods and exits the room, not interested in conversation. All he wanted was a cold shower and honestly that’s all you wanted too.

“I can come back another time?” Matt suggests, realizing he came unannounced and seemingly at a bad time “Nonsense! Y/n’s got time to chat, don’t you sweetheart?” Your mom interjects, listening to the whole interaction from the kitchen. She was whipping up a snack for you two in hopes that Matt would stay longer. She really liked Matt.

“Uh yeah, I got time,” you answered, too embarrassed to admit that you wanted him to leave so you could shower. “I can wait. If you wanna go get changed?” he says, sitting back down on the couch. You want to get on your knees and praise this man for being so considerate, but instead you give him a thumbs up and run to shower and change.

—

After freshening up you return to the living room where Matt is now talking with your mom. She made him a grilled cheese and cut up some strawberries for him, she even sprinkled sugar on them to make them extra sweet. They’re deep in conversation so you wait by the door to listen. “So, Matt, when are you planning to ask my daughter out?” your mom asks casually, unaware of the weight of her words. This sentence alone almost made you enter the room dancing just to have an excuse to shut her up.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, gulping nervously. “You heard me,” she replies, plopping a strawberry in her mouth and looking at him expectantly. “Oh- I- I thought y/n was married?” He says, unsure of what he’s even saying. Matt feels so awkward, he just takes another bite of the greasy cheese toast on his plate to give him an excuse not to talk.

When your mom hears this she laughs loudly, clearly amused with Matt’s assumption, “I wish!” Matt’s caught a little off guard by this comment, were you not married? Or at least spoken for? You wanted to slap your hand over your mom’s mouth before she said anything too embarrassing, but you decide to see where this conversation is going. You lean against the wall, getting comfortable for the eavesdropping you were about to do.

“I’ve been trying to get that girl to date, but no luck,” your mom continues, putting a smile on Matt’s face. He was both happy and relieved to hear that you weren’t taken. “She used to have a little crush on you in high school. And I’ve seen the way you look at her,” your mom won’t stop talking, she just keeps spilling your secrets. This is the first time Matt’s hearing of this, had you really liked him this whole time?

You decide you’ve heard enough, en entering the room with an awkward cough. “Thanks mom,” you say sarcastically, offering her a tight lipped smile. You look at Matt, trying to read his expression while also signaling to him that you want to leave. He gets the hint, dismissing himself politely from your mom. As the two of you are walking out you send a glare towards your mom and she returns it with a toothy smile and a wink.

“Sorry about that,” you chuckle awkwardly, shutting the door behind you. “No, I like your mom,” he replies, beginning to walk down the dirt road. “I know, but she can be a lot,” you apologize, becoming worried that she over shared and maybe scared Matt. “I can handle a lot,” he shrugs, the two of you now walking towards the old water tower. You smile at him, grateful that he’s not making it awkward. Your mom just confessed your crush to him like an old school girl and here he was being a gentleman about it.

When you two arrive to the water tower he signals for you to climb up first, holding your back securely until you’re high enough, then he follows behind you. You arrive at the top, sitting down carefully and patting the spot next to you so Matt will join. He gladly sits next to you, looking over the vast land in front of you. Miles and miles of green grass, crop fields, and only a few buildings and houses scattered in between.

The both of you talk about everything you’ve missed out on for the past 3 years, his stories being about his adventures in L.A and yours being about your life here. “I haven’t been up here in a long time,” he whispers in awe, taking in the scene in front of him as the sun begins to set. He had to admit that this was a beautiful town, despite it being so boring. “Well, you haven’t been here for a long time,” you reply, leaning against the metal railing as you join him in admiring the view.

“I was really surprised to see you that day. I thought I’d never see you again,” Matt says. After he and his brothers left they had zero contact with you and it always felt like a part of him was missing. “Yeah, it was nice catching up with you guys,” you reply, feeling like these past few days were the best you’ve had in a while. When they leave, you’ll just go back to your normal mundane life.

He can sense the sadness in your tone, feeling bad for leaving you here. “I’m glad you got out,” you admitted, resting your face on the arm that laid on the railing so you could look at Matt. “This town kills everyone’s dreams, I’m glad it didn’t kill yours,” you continued, offering Matt a small, genuine smile. If he was honest, he’d be happy staying here forever as long as it was with you.

“I don’t know. There’s one dream of mine that didn’t come true when I left,” he trails off, watching the as the sun disappears along the horizon. The sky goes from orange to purple as Matt feels the sudden urge to tell you something he’s been holding onto for a long time. “I doubt that,” you chuckle, looking up slightly to see the stars slowly come into view.

He laughs too, unsure if he should be admitting any of this to you right now. “I used to have a big crush on you too,” he admits quietly and casually, looking up at the stars too. Your neck almost snaps off as you turn to look at him, he notices this and laughs again. “It was back in high school… Getting a date with you, even just a kiss, was one of my biggest dreams,” he admits, remembering all those nights when he almost told you. “When your mom mentioned you used to have a crush on me it made me think of how different our lives would’ve been. If we ever acted on it, you know?” he continues, looking at you now.

You had a small, sad smile on your face because you weren’t sure if there was still a possibility at a future with Matt, but you were willing to try. “I mean, we can make the dream come true. If that’s okay?” you ask, leaning into him slowly.

“That could be fun,” he whispers, quoting what you told him that one night under the stars. He leans in and captures your lips in his, his last dream finally coming true.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Boop another Matt story for the girlies.

Thank you anon for the nice compliment 🩷🩷 I hope you enjoy this Matt story and that it was everything you hoped for haha.

This took me so long to write idk why. Anywaysss I mentioned im writing a Nick story WELL IM PROBS SCRAPPING IT AND STARTING OVER. I find it so easy to write Nick in my other fics but for some reason when he’s the main “character” i struggleeee.

Okay I’m done now, enjoy reading. k byeeee

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

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maverick-werewolf · 3 months ago

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Daily Werewolf Thoughts - Days 10-16

More not super prettily formatting werewolf thought posts that I've been doing daily!

Day 10- You don't really love werewolves if you don't enjoy terrible werewolf movies. Which the vast and overwhelming majority of them are terrible, at least if you ask me. But I just love werewolves so much I am driven to watch them (I also love movies with all my heart and soul), and even if the film is beyond terrible - again, as most of them are, even the ones people say are good - there's going to be a few moments that make it worth it, because werewolves are so badass, and I absolutely love studying how they created the werewolf for any film. Here's a bit of a rant for today...

One such film and series is Underworld. I hate the Underworld movies. Yes, stone me. They're terrible. The only one I enjoyed in its own right at all was Rise of the Lycans, since it had a far more compelling story than Selene's tight black leather (I understand why men enjoy this, in their defense) and absurd motivations that only extend as far as what the director wants for the next action sequence - and it was set in the Middle Ages, which is way better as a werewolf story, imo. Anyway, regardless of how I feel about the movies, I LOVE how they handled the practical effects on the werewolves.

The Underworld werewolves are unmatched. I'm not crazy about the design of the main "lie-kans" - I will never forgive the movie for the "lycans" thing btw - because they were specifically designed to be more "cat-like" or even more like a pitbull. For some reason people like to use things like cats, bears, etc to design something called a "werewolf." So I think those initial ones, like in the first film, frankly look pretty stupid. But the "feral" lycan "breed" or whatever they're called that have the more wolfish heads are a very cool design, and ultimately what I'm talking about here is how they were created and put to film. Sidebar: I'm not one of those people who thinks that the instant a movie uses any CGI, it should be condemned; CGI is a tool like any other filmmaking tool, and it can be used to achieve things we otherwise could never film and that are artistically beautiful and creative; but yes, I do prefer practical effects where they can be used.

The werewolves in Underworld were created using bodysuits, animatronics, and creature actors. They wore leg extensions, got big guys in the first place, and had extensive work for muscle, hair, and especially the faces and facial animations. The entire face is created using servos that respond to controllers held by workers off-camera to animate the werewolf costume in real time, while it's being worn by a person. The entire face, eyes, mouth, lips, etc were fully animated using a complex system of animatronics, and a comm system so the actor can be given instructions from the lead puppeteer so everyone can properly sync their work - and the final effect is such a step beyond anything we've seen from werewolf designs of this size in film before - or since.

There are better videos of the later films that had more advanced technology, like Underworld: Evolution (terrible movie but great werewolf effects), but here's one on youtube that has a lot of what was involved: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jWIF8lSlxg&ab_channel=IsaacKoo

*: "feral" by definition most often specifically refers to domesticated animals that have gone wild again and sounds very odd when used to refer to something like a wolf (but it always happens anyway because people don't care about the English language; ask any video game about their "feral wolves")

**: "breed" specifically refers to controlling the birthing of animals to produce a desired outcome, as in domesticated animals, such as dogs, cats, sheep, etc., and it makes me want to become a hermit living alone atop the Himalayas when I see people use it for werewolves

Day 11- I've often wondered what exactly set me down this path of being completely and hopelessly obsessed with werewolves. I've never really had an answer. I've speculated it was just Halloween itself, seeing the very rare and occasional werewolf around, since that's always been my favorite "kind" of werewolf. I have distinct memories of a little werewolf statue in a Hallmark; I really loved looking at that thing (never got it, though, sadly). I've occasionally wondered if it was watching Scooby Doo at my grandma's house - but in retrospect, the werewolves in Scooby Doo of that era weren't much to write home about, so that probably wasn't it. I do know for a fact I've been obsessed with them for as long as I can remember, certainly by age 6, so whatever it was, it started early. I was reading Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves when I was 8, searching for werewolves in video games forever, and I'll never forget the first werewolf figure I got to decorate my desk.

If you ask one of my favorite professors, who sat on the committee that passed ultimate judgment upon what became my book The Werewolf: Past and Future, she would tell you I was led to love werewolves because of "dream visions" (she is a professor and lifelong student of Old Norse, Old English, and the cultures, many sagas, and histories thereof). I told her about how my earliest memories of werewolves and the start of my obsession with them were actually long series of dreams and nightmares I had - a white werewolf would always crop up in them, sooner or later. Sometimes he was on my side, sometimes not. My dreams and nightmares are... very detached from reality in the first place, but the white werewolf became consistent for a long time. What put the idea of a werewolf into my head in the first place? I'm really not sure.

Some of my favorite experiences with werewolves come from playing as them in classic RPGs, including ones where you aren't technically supposed to be one. I loved playing a werewolf in Neverwinter Nights using character editors, cheat codes, and scripts on the big roleplaying server I played on. Now THAT was fun, but that's a whole separate story.

Anyway, I really don't even know. All I know is, I've loved werewolves for as long as I can remember, and I always will, no matter how silly that might seem.

Day 12- Remember when video games called RPGs had actual roleplaying elements in them? Some of the only games that have ever let you play as a proper werewolf are the Elder Scrolls series, specifically Daggerfall and Morrowind: Bloodmoon, the latter being my absolute favorite werewolf game ever. Why? Because you actually played as a werewolf - and all that came with it - instead of lycanthropy being a cool thing and/or awesome button.

In Bloodmoon, if you are a werewolf (having either become one from surviving a werewolf attack - werewolves spawn with INSANE rarity, trust me I found one naturally and it took me weeks, in the wild of Solstheim or you can become one through the main Bloodmoon questline), you will transform each night. You must devour 1 humanoid (playable race) NPC or suffer from hunger and exhaustion the following day, lowering your stats. The transformation will break any armor you have equipped. If someone witnesses the transformation, word of your true nature will spread, and you will be hunted. You are also attacked on sight - but NPCs will often run away rather than dare attack you. Your stats are insanely boosted, you run like the wind and leap to the point of almost flying, and you can destroy nearly anything in your path. It is one of the single coolest things in all of gaming and nothing like it has ever been recreated (I have biases).

Being a werewolf became part of your character and changed your entire gameplay experience rather than just being an "ability" or "race."

Many of these systems were also in place in Daggerfall, Morrowind's predecessor. But Morrowind was the last game of the ES series to incorporate proper werewolf mechanics. In Oblivion, we got exactly nothing, which left me crushingly disappointed as a child. In Skyrim, you have an awesome button werewolf mode wherein you must continually devour enemies in order to maintain the werewolf form. It's cool and it's fun, and I'm very glad Skyrim had werewolves playable at launch, but it doesn't have anything approaching the same feel as "being" a werewolf in Bloodmoon, where it is a curse. It can be an inconvenience, it can be an advantage, and it's something you have to plan your gameplay around - and something you must hide from everyone around you. That is what playing as a werewolf should be. I'm likely to make another post soon talking about that some more, because it's a favorite subject.

Anyway, therefore, Morrowind's expansion pack Bloodmoon is easily one of my favorite games ever made. It is really the only game where you can really play as a werewolf instead of a reasonably cool and fun but ultimately far less interesting alternative.

I also recently wrote a big ol' article about the best video games that let you play as a werewolf: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-facts/werewolf-articles/werewolf-article-play-as-a-werewolf-video-games/

Day 13- A werewolf's transformation sequence is one of the single most important things in any werewolf story. It might even be -the- most important. After all, the crux of werewolves is that even a man who is pure at heart (etc) can become a monster - and back again - and the sequence undergoing such a traumatic change is quite a thing to tackle.

I've seen it approached many ways. Painfully (obviously), painlessly, slow, fast, as something undesirable and as something desirable, as something controllable and uncontrollable - I swear this isn't innuendo. Anyway, personally, my favorite will always very easily be the most classic concept of the werewolf transformation: painful, traumatic, and very, very bad. I am not here for cuddly or happy werewolves. I'm also a fan of the werewolf not remembering what happened, but I'll ramble about that one later.

This also actually has basis in legend, as well. Even in antiquity, witnessing a werewolf transformation would potentially bring one to madness. This is mentioned in several stories, including but not necessarily limited to Niceros's story, in which witnessing the werewolf transformation freaks him out beyond reason. When he realizes the soldier he'd traveled with was a werewolf, he swears never to go near him again: "I couldn’t have eaten a crumb of bread with him, no, not if you had killed me!"

In Ovid's Metamorphoses, oft hailed as one of the "first werewolf legends" (that we have recorded, anyway), we also get our first proper werewolf transformation ever in the form of the legend of Lycaon...

"[Lycaon] howled his heart out, trying in vain to speak.

With rabid mouth he turned his lust for slaughter

Against the flocks, delighting still in blood.

His clothes changed to coarse hair, his arms to legs—

He was a wolf, yet kept some human trace,

the same grey hair, the same fierce face, the same

Wild eyes, the same image of savagery."

I've always found it interesting to note that his clothes became coarse hair, rather than him tearing his clothes off. Just a little difference there between this and many other legends.

Lots more on the ancient Greek tale of King Lycaon here: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-fact-66-the-legend-of-king-lycaon-of-arcadia/

There are a few legends, of course, that don't make it quite this dramatic. But popular culture carried over the painful transformation sequence for those with the werewolf curse, by and large, and it's incredibly effective. Everyone remembers seeing the first transformation in An American Werewolf in London (as much as I think the movie itself frankly just sucks), and likewise no one was exactly taken by a guy jumping really high and painlessly CGI'ing into a wolf in like .3 seconds.

I obviously have a lot of opinions on werewolf transformations, just like every other werewolf thing. The best and most memorable werewolf transformations are painful, dramatic, and traumatizing - because, after all, being a werewolf is neither a fun thing nor a good time... not for anyone involved.

Day 14- There's something I deeply hate in media, and it's when someone says "a werewolf scratch can turn you!" What on earth?

I have a lot of thoughts about all of this, obviously, and I'll get more into the whole werewolf bite thing later, but let's entertain if you will this notion that becoming a werewolf is like rabies. This is an extremely Early Modern concept, following the rise of scientific thought and the dismissal of all things mystical, religious, magical, mysterious, and allegorical, but even then, a werewolf spreading lycanthropy (in itself an Early Modern concept, as it was viewed as a disease, not a curse) via bite has no basis in folklore already. Does that make it bad? Nonsense, a werewolf bite is a classic storytelling element - that, once again, almost certainly comes from The Wolf Man (1941). It's so classic that for some reason zombies later completely lifted it and now everyone acts like it's a zombie thing, which is completely unfair.

But a werewolf scratch? Really? Even if we're equating it with rabies, that still doesn't work. And how stupid is it for someone to be like "oh no! the werewolf SCRATCHED you!" When I hear "scratch," I think "my cat got a little too excited about the tummy button," not "I've been mauled by a giant twisted man-beast and now I will inherit its curse." How does a werewolf even "scratch" someone without taking an entire limb off or raking red rivers through your torso? Are we sure it was a werewolf, or is it a chihuahua*?

I really wish this "werewolf scratch" thing would stop. It's just bad all over. Bring back werewolf bites exclusively.

*: what pains me is that some people would find this hilarious and make this their exclusive takeaway, because werewolves have just become jokes

Day 15- I love a wide variety of werewolf designs. If the werewolf is presented well, the design doesn't always matter that massively, as long as it doesn't look incredibly dumb and/or doesn't even resemble a man or a wolf. Unfortunately, it's amazing how often this happens.

Many monster design classes do actually say, when designing a werewolf, absolutely don't use a wolf as a reference. Artists are told by everyone under the sun, including filmmakers: use dogs, cats, bears, mandrills, hyenas - I've even seen mules, foxes, bats, badgers... and above all, they are told explicitly: whatever you do, don't use a wolf as inspiration. That'd be like, expected or cliche or bad or corny or something, because it's a WOLF monster. And we can't do anything "expected."

Werewolves are two things: human and wolf. If you're drawing the majority of your inspiration from a bear or a cat or a fox or hyena or whatever else, why even call it a werewolf? Why not make a different creature entirely, like the Beast of Gevaudan?

(more on that remark here: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-facts/the-beast-of-gevaudan/ )

I can understand the desire of some to have some particularly "memorable" or "unique" design (although I have never been taken by any of these attempts, nor do I remember them fondly), but ultimately, it baffles me that someone would choose to draw more directly from animals that aren't wolves for a werewolf design. Then again, you can also go too far in the opposite direction and just end up with fluffy wolf-people, and those can look far too cuddly (at least to... modern audiences; no one thought the werewolves in Dog Soldiers were cute even just a few years ago).

It's a careful balance to walk. When I was very young and innocent, I hated that many designs removed the tail from a werewolf (which they have in legend and I think it looks cooler), but I completely understand now. I also understand wanting to change the head shape, ear shape, etc, but all of this can be achieved without making the werewolf look like some other animal or like nothing in particular. There's a reason the Underworld werewolf design that became ubiquitous for so many werewolves afterward - Skyrim, for example, and World of Warcraft: Cataclysm, just to name two - was the one with the wolfish muzzle and head shape, not the "cat pitbull" design from the first film.

Call me old-fashioned (I am), but I want a werewolf to look like what it's called. Note: I'm also not knocking the quadrupedal but still part-man looking designs, although those are far from my favorite, but it should still have wolf features. At least a few.

Day 16- Another werewolf folklore lesson! How about "curing" lycanthropy? What was that like in folklore - lifting the werewolf curse?

As per usual for my discussions, I have to mention that being a werewolf was not considered a "disease" until relatively recently; it was a magical curse, not an illness that could be "contracted" or "cured," and individuals were not "infected." Likewise, there weren't exactly a lot of examples of a werewolf curse - as per traditional "transforming between man and beast on a regular basis" definition of "werewolf" - being lifted in folklore.

There are some examples of more unusual variations of the curse being lifted, however, namely with those who end up stuck in a more seemingly permanent wolf form. Removing a magic item that cursed you to become a werewolf is fairly common, such as the magic skins donned by Sigmund and Sinfjotli in the Volsunga Saga; when they wore them, they were wolves, and only returned to human form when they managed to get the skins back off again. Another example is Melion (titular character of a British lai), who was trapped in the form of a wolf when he put on a cursed ring.

And in at least one story, that of Guillame de Palerne, the werewolf returns to his human shape when the one who cursed him is killed. This is a special case in that the werewolf never actually returned to a human form and was in fact stuck as a wolf, so it's not quite your typical werewolf example, but it is still from a French story whose title was translated as William and the Werewolf - and it's a good story.

However, in the vast majority of cases, especially with the werewolves that are more in line with what we think of as proper werewolves (transforming back and forth, instead of stuck in a wolf form), either the werewolf stayed a werewolf and it wasn't really that big of a deal (such as in several ancient Greek tales and some medieval tales, for example)...

Or else the werewolf was killed. Popular culture sometimes insists the only cure for lycanthropy is death, and that also often held true in many legends. It's also quite fun and dramatic, of course, although I do get tired of the werewolf predictably getting wasted.

There is, of course, a Werewolf Fact for this: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-facts/how-to-cure-lycanthropy/

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slyandthefamilybook · 9 months ago

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Once there was a boy who was a shepherd. He kept watch over a small flock of sheep in a pasture at the edge of town. He loved his sheep. He had been born to a shepherd from a family of shepherds, and had so grown up amongst his flock. He knew all of the sheep by name and would great them one-by-one each morning. "Hello Dolly," he would say. "Hello Steven and hello Betty."

Now these sheep were undoubtedly useful: the townspeople would eat their meat and weave their wool and gnaw on their bones as they worked the fields. But these sheep were also alive. They had a glittering intelligence in their black eyes, and they would commune every so often to discuss the harvest, and the shepherd boy, and the townspeople. The sheep loved the shepherd boy and they loved the town and the townspeople, and the people loved them back. They were good sheep.

Now one day the shepherd boy overheard one of the townspeople talking about his flock. The man said he thought the sheep were ugly, and that they smelled bad. This upset the shepherd boy, because he loved his sheep, and he thought the people loved his sheep as well. The shepherd boy, being no more than 12 years old at the time, wanted to remind the people of how much his sheep mattered to them. So one night as the moon hid behind the clouds the shepherd boy stood on a stone in his pasture and cried out: "Help! Help! A wolf!"

Out came a crowd of people, blinking the sleep from their eyes and carrying torches and pitchforks and shovels and ladels. They stood in the pasture and looked about, but they could see no wolf. The townspeople became angry and shook their fists at the shepherd boy. "This is a serious matter!" they cried. The shepherd boy had to admit that his ploy was juvenile, but he was still a child, and so the people forgave him. And they continued to love the shepherd boy and his sheep, and the shepherd boy and his sheep loved them back, for the townspeople had proved that night how much they cared.

Five years later, when the shepherd boy was now a teen, he stood amongst his flock in the pasture and he said "good night, Dolly. Good night, Steven and good night, Betty." But as the clouds passed over the moon the shepherd teen saw a shape in the distance, and out of fear for his flock he cried out: "Help! Help! A wolf!"

Again came the great crashing crowd with their knives and their swords and axes and bows. They stood in the pasture and looked about, but they could see no wolf. The townspeople once again became angry, and they shook their fists at the shepherd teen. "This is a serious matter!" they cried. "We love you and we love your sheep, but you must learn to not be so frightened!" With great grumbling the townspeople returned to their homes, and the shepherd teen sensed that something had changed.

Five more years passed, and the shepherd teen was now a shepherd. He still passed through his flock every morning and said, "Good morning, Dolly. Good morning, Steven and good morning, Betty." And the sheep loved the shepherd and he loved them. But in his age he had grown cautious. The shepherd had learned from the townspeople that perhaps the wolves were not so great a threat as he had thought. And so at night when he would see their red eyes prowling at the edges of his pasture, he would stay silent and wait.

One night, as the clouds began to cover the moon, a wolf appeared. The wolf approached Dolly the sheep and snarled, its lips wet. "Away!" cried the shepherd. "Away with you!" But the wolf showed its fangs and said, "I want your sheep." "Why?" cried the boy. "Why must you take my sheep? You have your food in the forest!" But the wolf laughed. "I want your sheep because I am a wolf and they are sheep. That is how it is done." And the wolf parted its terrible jaws and snatched up Dolly the sheep and dragged her into the deep woods. And the shepherd remained silent.

The next night two wolves appeared, their eyes red and their tongues hungry. The wolves approached Steven the sheep who was with his family. "Away with you!" cried the shepherd. "Why do you hate my sheep so?" The wolves cackled and said with the same voice, "we hate your sheep because it is the thing for sheep to be hated. All wolves hate sheep, and they cannot all be wrong. Even the birds and rabbits of the forest will come around." And the wolves each took a leg from Steven the sheep and hauled him into the dark woods. And still the shepherd held his tongue.

The next night as the moon was new the shepherd saw a sea of red eyes at the edge of the forest. The wolves marched toward his sheep, their heads held high. And the shepherd saw that indeed the birds and rabbits of the forest were among them, their eyes bleeding and their teeth sharp. They approached Betty the sheep who cried out in terror. The shepherd stood on a rock in his pasture and called out with a loud voice: "Help! Help! The wolves have come, and all the birds and rabbits of the forest!"

But this time no one came. You see, although the boy had cried wolf before, his fear was now justified. But the townspeople had grown tired of him. Every time the flock was threatened they felt compelled to act, and that compulsion drained them. And they no longer liked the shepherd. He had spent too much time with his sheep, and they had begun to see that same glittering black intelligence in his eyes. Sheep are frightened of everything and cannot be expected to know when they are truly in danger.

What had the shepherd done for them? He kept his sheep mostly to himself these days. Perhaps the shepherd was the one really in control, and he had used his cries of wolf to bend the townspeople to his will. Anyone whose flock was threatened that often must be doing something wrong.

And what was this about the birds and rabbits of the forest? They were peaceful! They could never be convinced to join with those who preyed upon them. Flocks of sheep are old and backwards and they are a drain on the town, the people thought. If the birds and rabbits hate the sheep they must have good reason to do so.

Again the shepherd called out, but the townspeople rolled over in their beds and stuffed their ears with sheep's wool. The shepherd's cries of wolf had made them feel guilty, and so they had found reasons for why they did not have to listen. And besides, the townspeople thought as they pulled their wolf skins over their heads and their eyes glowed red, the sheep really were delicious...

#atlas entry #I wrote and re-wrote this post 5 times bc i couldn't figure out how to say what I was thinking. so I decided to do what I do best and write #the story of the boy who cried wolf has always bothered me because like. yeah he shouldn't have cried wolf but also if the townspeople #actually cared about the flock they would come no matter what. instead they convince themselves that they don't have to care #anyways this post is about #antisemitism #and in particular #leftist antisemitism #jew #jewish #judaism #jumblr

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adnauseum11 · 11 months ago

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Defence Logistics (John Price x Reader)

2.6 k words

CW: swearing, canon-typical violence, minor character death

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog

I don't know why, but I've struggled with this chapter more than any others lately. The format I chose, the tenses, all of it was a puzzle I've been wrestling with. I don't know if it's my insomnia making a come back or what, but I have been agonizing on this one. Almost scrapped it altogether but have decided to be brave and let 'er rip. I found writing John without the warmth he has for his love a bit jarring, having the ability to turn off that part of yourself and focus on wrecking damage on others was hard to capture. If it's subpar I can only apologize lol - the next chapter is already coming easier.

Feedback welcome, if folks have any tips or suggestions - this is all for fun and improvement! (that's what I keep telling myself anyways lol)

Masterlist

John’s transfixed, watching rusty blood swirl around the shower drain, his mind still back in the field. He’s showering off before he drives home from the black site, situated deep in the English country side. He’s bruised in several places, with a fresh cut across his lower forearm where the Commander’s knife had connected during a wild swing. The dull throb pulls his brain back to the present moment, making him realize he’s slowly dripping blood all over his own feet. He lifts the cut above his heart and tries to refocus his thoughts. Kate’s dealing with the paperwork, folding their use of equipment into existing work orders. Gaz and Simon are also showering, medical and debrief waiting for them all on the other side of the steam. John’s mind keeps running over the events of the last few days, looking for anything he’s missed.

Thankfully, he and Ghost had arrived in Lithuania a whole day ahead of Gaz’s taskforce. They had driven across Vilnius in an SUV that had been held together with good intentions and baler twine, as far as John could make out. It had rattled something awful, to the point they had ditched it on a side road and hiked the last few rough miles, working their way across farmer’s fields dodging cattle and sheep in the early morning light. The Industrial section was set outside of city limits, in between old farms, where the smells and sounds would be less likely to disrupt the rhythms of life. The physical exercise helped re-center John’s mind on the task at hand. The way things had been left between himself and his love had unsettled him, giving his mind a stone to turn over instead of focusing on his immediate surroundings. He’d said more than he’d wanted to in explaining his departure, opening a can of worms he hadn’t intended and couldn’t put right before he left. If Ghost noticed John’s initial lack of focus, he said nothing.

The intercept point was more or less on top of the taskforce’s rendezvous point, in the back end of a massive sheep field with a small hut built out of field stones. By the time they arrived to do their recon, he had pulled himself together mentally and was feeling more present. John’s body remembered the training that had been drilled in to it, the rust of retirement flaking away as time stretched on. Soon it was nearly like he had never left. He and Ghost discussed how to proceed in various probable scenarios as they checked the surrounding area.

How many people were involved in the revenge plot would depend on how the commander split his forces, to John’s mind. If he kept Gaz under his direct command there was likely no one else involved and Gaz was unlikely to survive the mission. If he sent Gaz with one of the other men, it was more likely they all were involved and it was more probable they would detain Gaz for information. Ghost agreed with John’s assessment, and they scouted the area before making a small camp a quarter of a mile from the rendezvous point to wait.

The downbeat of helicopter blades alerted them to the taskforce arriving a few hours after dark. John had signaled to Ghost, stubbing his cigar out and flipping the night vision goggles on. Then he and Ghost set out, snaking through the underbrush, using trees as cover as they moved in on the clearing and the stone hut. Once they got within a few hundred yards of the edge of the clearing they fanned out, Ghost swinging wide behind the unloading area.

They watched silently as five men disembarked using ropes, the wash of the helicopter blades obscuring any noise for several long minutes. Finally, it lifted, slowly claiming altitude again in the darkness, a handful of blinking lights the only outward signal of its location. The men had immediately moved on the stone hut as they landed one by one, quickly sweeping and entering it. John and Ghost had stayed in position, watching the hut for signs of life. Eventually the men exited, filtering into two separate groups. One group of two and another group with the remaining three. John located the Commander, pointing out the line of travel and giving a shove to one of his men. He squinted through his goggles, quickly identifying Gaz as the other man in the Commander’s trio.

As the groups split off into the darkness, the former Captain let the warmth of his anger wash over him again, keeping his movements purposeful and his mind on task. Staying a healthy distance behind, he stalked the trio as they hiked along the edge of the pasture, using trees and the waist high rock fence as cover. John tracked them easily with his night vision, quietly moving deeper in the woods. Ghost had shadowed the other group who were working their way further into the woods, opposite to where John and Ghost had camped and back towards the plant. When the Commander paused a few miles later near the badly rutted dirt road, their intent became clear to John.

The Commander’s group was set to create a diversion at the front gate of the chemical plant while the secondary team got in and collected the intel they were after. John waited until they were moving again to softly relay his plan to Ghost who responded with a subdued “rog that” in his ear. John moved incrementally closer on silent feet, waiting to see how they would go about creating their diversion. He watched as the Commander motioned Gaz to push forward, yanking a grenade from Gaz’s tac vest and pressing it into his hand. John had to force himself to wait, the instinct to get to Gaz pressing in on him tightly.

The front gate was framed with two concrete pillars, into which were sunk the posts for retractable chain link fencing. Beyond that, a bar gate, manned by middling security guards wearing flak vests and holstered pistols. John had guessed they were there to keep the local gangs out more than they were prepared to deal with para-military operations. He was proven correct shortly after when Gaz lobbed the grenade in his hand at the chain link fence. It landed close enough to blow the gate off its track, making what was left of the twisted metal hang at an awkward angle. The explosion rocked the gate house, making the men inside shout and duck for cover. Gaz lobbed another grenade, this one blasting the gate off completely, the smoking metal smashing into the ground with a loud screech.

The men inside the gate house finally got themselves organized and started cautiously coming out, using the door as cover as they opened return fire into the darkness. John watched as the Commander gave Gaz’s shoulder a shove, jerking his head towards the gate house. John understood in a flash the Commander was trying to position Gaz where a stray bullet wouldn’t be blinked at if it connected. John was instantly moving, his feet creeping him closer to their position when Gaz did the unexpected. Instead of scurrying forward as they all assumed, he threw himself backwards, kicking his legs up to get leverage as he swung his body around to lock legs with the other soldier, standing beside the Commander. He went down in a heap, Gaz wrestling for top position for all he was worth.

John sprinted the last few yards, yanking the unsuspecting and now screaming Commander by the back of the tac vest before he could interfere. Chaos reigned as shots continued to pepper out from the gate house and the men shouted each other down. John hadn’t been fast enough getting his hands clear, the Commander yanking a Bowie knife free from his vest and swinging wildly over his head, trying to fend off the attack from behind. John grunted when the tip of the knife skittered across his arm but he didn’t stop in his action, drawing his rifle butt up and bringing it down on the Commander’s cheek as he stumbled backwards. The blow knocked him unconscious, his body falling the rest of the way into a heap.

Gaz was still scrambling on the ground with the bigger soldier, trading blows before John stepped in, levelling his pistol at the man’s head and pulling the trigger without hesitation. Gaz was instantly covered in a spray of brain matter and blood, and his hands came up instinctively, warding off another shot from the same direction. John had spoken up then.

“On your feet soldier.”

John had offered him a hand and it took Gaz’s brain a split second to recognize the ex-Captain.

“Cap - Laswell said you uncovered this shitshow. Wasn’t sure you were going to leave your new girl for this though.”

Gaz had extended his hand, letting John haul him upright. John had hummed non-committedly, not wanting to get into the specifics of his presence in the field. He reached into his vest and pulled out zip-ties, handing them to Gaz.

“Smart man to not let him get you in a bad position. Get him restrained for now.”

He muttered before tapping his coms.

“Ghost, how copy?”

There was a brief pause and then Ghost’s deep voice was in John’s ear.

“They’re almost at the target. The explosions and gunfire pulled all attention from the rest of the building. Moving fast.”

“Regroup with us at the vehicle once they’re successful. Anything goes off the rails, I want to know ASAP. Out here.”

“Rog that, Captain.”

John let go of the comm and lifted his rifle again, firing a few bullets into the air. This riled up the security guards again, setting off another round of wild shots into the now eerily quiet night.

“Strip him. No insignia.”

John gestured to the remains of the solider, blood and thick brain matter pooling on the ground. Gaz started ripping the patches off the dead man’s vest, stuffing them into a spare pocket of his own. John reached over, using the muzzle of his rifle to push what was left of the man’s head to the side, reaching in to the neck and yanking the dog tags off, handing them to Gaz as well.

“Help me get this one further into the woods.”

John kicked the foot of the Commander, and Gaz stood, taking an elbow on one side. They carried him backwards, his dragging feet going silent as they entered deeper into the woods. Gaz counted out a hundred steps and then they propped him up against a tree. John rummaged around, pulling his field first aid kit out and locating the smelling salts.

“We’re going to wake him up. I want to know how many people he’s involved in this revenge scheme.”

“Think he’ll tell us the truth?”

“Won’t know unless we ask, soldier.”

John broke the salts and waved them under the unconscious man’s nose. Gaz refastened his gloves, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the man wake.

“Oi, OI.”

John’s tone was abrupt, not giving the waking man time to adjust to his surroundings.

“Wha- “

“You wanted the 141, Commander, you’ve got ‘em.”

When it took the man a beat too long to respond, John reached out and slapped his cheek with his open palm, jerking his head back against the trunk of the tree.

“Wake up Sunshine. What do you want with the 141?”

The Commander’s words are slurred, likely concussed from the blow to his head.

“Killed my brother – “

“You want revenge.”

John’s tone was flat, emotionless. The words unamused and to the point.

“Justice.” The Commander coughed, his head lolling to the side as he squinted up at them. “But we make our own, don’t we Captain?”

“If we’re lucky. Any more of your men involved? You already got one man killed.”

“No.”

The word was spat out, the hatred tangible in his tone.

“Norris feeding you information?”

“Get fucked.”

John looked over at Gaz who nodded silently to John’s unasked question. John had raised his pistol and pointed it at the man’s foot.

“Norris feeding you information?”

“I said get fu – “

John unloaded the bullet into the man’s foot, the bones and flesh splintering inside his boot. A bloodcurdling scream rang out, bouncing off the trees, making it seem like it was all around them. John lifted the pistol to aim at the man’s knee, his face impassive as the scream died down, replaced with frantic wounded whimpering.

“Norris feeding you information?”

“Holy fuck, oh shit, wait, wait, wait please – “

John leaned in, speaking lowly for the man’s ears only, not sure how much Gaz had been told.

“You send a sexual predator to my woman’s place and expect this to go well for you?”

John didn’t wait for an answer and shot the man’s knee out, the spray of blood missing Gaz this time but catching the side of John’s chest. The howl the Commander let out was unearthly, birds startling from their nighttime roosts. Some deeply tucked away part of John that demanded the collection of a pound of flesh was perversely satisfied with the sound. John stepped away again, training his pistol on the heavily bleeding man’s uninjured foot. Gaz stood, emotionless as the ex-Captain moved around the prone man, the dark forest obscuring their movements from the road.

“Last chance before I even you up. Norris feeding you information?”

“He’s the one who told me about my brother being at Las Almas!! He’s the one.”

John had shot a look at Gaz before turning back to the now heavily wounded man propped up against the tree. He gestured to the zip ties behind the man’s back with the muzzle of his pistol.

“Cut him loose.”

“You’re going to pay for this – I’ll make sure everyone knows-”

John took aim and unloaded a final bullet into the man’s skull, shards of bone and brain mixing with the wood splinters and smoke in the air. Gaz startled but collected himself, stepping over to cut the ties off the body, pocketing them. The dead man’s arms fell forward once the tension of the plastic tie was released. John helped him strip any identifying insignia silently.

“You need to radio that you were ambushed, both men down. Do you have a secondary exfil?”

“Yeah, if we can get to Belarus, the location is a few clicks over the border.”

“We’ll take the vehicle as far as we can. Ghost is going to rendezvous with us, let’s move out.”

John had waited to loop Ghost in before reaching out to Kate with their new exfil plans - taking turns sleeping in the vehicle for the rest of night while pushing on to the border. This gave Kate time to organize their ride and run interference with the story of the ambush. Which is how John spent Christmas Eve, crammed into a dilapidated SUV in the rural area of Lithuania’s border with Belarus, amongst his mates eating cold MRE’s again, all of them tired but alive.

Simon’s deep rumble knocks him out of his mental reverie, calling him back to his current position under the steaming water of his shower. So far, outside of the problem of Norris, the only thing John has been able to surmise he’s missed in the last few days is Christmas dinner with his love.

“Laswell said she’s sending the medic in after ye’ if ye’ don’t git yer ass in gear, Cap.”

John shuts the water off with a sigh and presses his lips together.

“That’ll do, Ghost. I'll be there shortly.”

Next Chapter

Ao3

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gothgril69 · 1 year ago

Text

Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: smut MDNI

Chapter Length: 7.7k

ao3 link

Historia and Ymir stop dead in their tracks, turning to you with wide eyes. Historia looks concerned, while Ymir stares at you as if she’s already been betrayed – you understand what it looks like.

“We are not allies,” you blurt, facing them to explain yourself. “I can assure you they are our enemies, the same as you.”

“You better explain yourself,” Ymir sneers at you, stomping forward through the open doors of their castle. You watch her short dark hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, sway slightly along with her hips accentuated by the trousers she wears.

“You must understand our hesitancy,” Historia tells you softly when Ymir disappears around a corner. “Things are changing.”

Her blonde hair is braided, two sides pulled to the back, to allow you to see her features clearly. She’s beautiful, truly, and you can see how Ymir could fall for someone like her – they balance each other well. Although, you know Historia would not hesitate to do what’s best for her own country.

“I want to work together,” you tell her honestly. “If you’re willing, but I understand if you’re not and we’ll simply move on.”

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells you with a gentle hand placed on your arm.

She leads you inside the modest castle, Levi taking place behind you along with Erwin, Hange, and Miche. Navarre does not flaunt their wealth like Mirlenas does; dark stone brick walls lining even the interior of the castle, simple torch sconces lighting the way with minimal windows providing extra light. The floors are stone as well, but it still feels clean and wide open.

Historia leads you down a hallway. “We can discuss things in our meeting hall,” she gestures to an open doorway, a guard standing by with a blank face and cropped blonde hair. “Thank you, Nanaba.” The guard nods.

The meeting hall has wood floors, but they’re nothing like the patterned parquet flooring at home. A grand, round table is centered in the room, twelve chairs surrounding the mahogany surface, and you take a seat facing the doorway, but not quite directly across. Levi takes a seat next to you and you’re grateful, followed by Erwin and Hange sitting next to him. Miche stands guard by the door as Historia addresses you.

“Give me a moment with Ymir.” She gives you a sad smile. “She’ll come around.” You nod, and she takes her leave with Nanaba closing the door behind her.

You know very little of Navarre’s customs, your father only ever talking down about them and their “debauched” ways of living. They were more progressive than Mirlenas by far, sexuality and gender being something that was looked at far more loosely than Mirlenas. You admire them for living so freely, apart from the standards your society typically upholds. You wonder if Auguste would have felt more at home here, if Erwin feels as though he could have lived a life with him. You frown.

“If she even thinks about laying a hand on you,” Levi grumbles angrily next to you, a scowl evident on his face.

You sigh softly, appreciating his protection, but also anticipating a conversation later. You place a hand on his that rests on his thigh, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his fingers, and the tension in his shoulders seems to dissipate slightly. You understand, he’s worried about everything – so are you.

The doors open shortly after, a seemingly less irate Ymir striding through the doorway with Historia by her side – although her features are still in their natural state of annoyance. She takes a seat directly across from you while Historia takes hers across from Levi. “From the beginning,” she snaps, gesturing with her hand loosely before crossing her arms over her chest.

You tell her everything; how Zeke ambushed your brothers – you don’t miss the tension returning to Levi – the letter he sent you, every detail about the journey intended for Zaramund to negotiate until a storm caused your ship to crash on their shores. Historia lets out small gasps through the whole thing, and you notice how her eyes tear up when you mention your brothers’ deaths. Ymir’s eyebrows are slightly less furrowed by the time you finish explaining your side of things, her anger turning into reluctant understanding.

“I am so sorry about your brothers,” Historia mutters, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. “I am glad you landed on our shores before you arrived at Zaramund.”

“Thank you. I am as well,” you tell her gratefully.

Ymir speaks before you can continue. “You must know the state of Kaslogon before you start your journey again.” She sighs, and for the first time she looks tired, a hand placed on her forehead as she supports herself on the table. “You’re going to hate this.”

“We have a plan,” Erwin speaks up.

“Yeah?” Ymir lifts her head. “You can probably forego following that.” She hesitates, looking over at Historia for approval – Historia nods. “Grisha and Carla Jaeger are dead.”

Your lips part in shock, the hand resting gently on Levi’s now squeezing tightly as you try not to panic.

You’re too late. Zeke has enacted his plan and already killed his parents.

“What about Eren Jaeger?” Hange asks, their face curious as you process.

“Survived, but his location is unknown,” Historia says softly. “Apparently it was an assassination– killed by poison.”

“It was Zeke,” you tell them. You emphasize his point in his letter that made it known he would do anything to have you and stolen land.

“I’m going to kill that man,” Levi says on your right, still holding your hand but using the other one to press a fist into the table.

“Well,” Ymir hums. “Seems we actually have something in common. He’s a tyrant, and once he’s secured you he’s going to come for Navarre with full force.”

“He won’t be securing anything,” Levi growls. Erwin raises a hand to him, gesturing for him to relax. You can tell it makes him more angry, but he obeys regardless and sits with his lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched.

“Our plan involved your help once we found ourselves in your territory,” Erwin starts. “I believe it’s in both of our best interests to work together in this war to stop Zeke.”

Historia looks over at Ymir, sighing softly before she looks back at Erwin. “We agree,” she says. “I wish no harm against Mirlenas despite our differences, and I do not wish for Aeron to suffer such a fate from the hands of Zeke Jaeger.”

“We’re willing to provide you supplies,” Ymir continues on for Historia. “Whatever you need to end this war before it goes further into our territory. I hope whatever you have planned will end with peaceful negotiations, but Zeke is a mad man.”

You look over at Erwin – he’s smiling. “Zeke himself can be handled, but I fear it will end with bloodshed.”

—

Your guest bedroom is smaller than the ones you have in Mirlenas, with just enough room for a full size bed and a vanity. Levi stands guard outside your door, and you didn’t miss the look of longing he gave you when the door was closed and Miche gestured to show him his own room. You’ve been spoiled recently, able to share a bed with him throughout your travels and to constantly be with him.

You’re pacing the room, fidgeting with the plain cotton skirts Mrs. MacLerie had given you. Should you bother him in the hallway, request that he stay the night with you? You fear being too attached, too reliant on him, when you should be able to handle sleeping alone for one night before your journey resumes. Your sleep is just so uninterrupted with him, nightmare-less – dreamless. His arms wrapped around you is what makes you feel safe alongside his promises of always protecting you. You’re his now, and he yours.

You sigh, and swing open the door with a roll of your eyes at your behavior. Levi immediately straightens up off the wall, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows and concern. You don’t have to say a word for him to understand, and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful you want him inside. He steps through the doorway as you step aside, and your nerves are back again when he doesn’t say anything.

“We should talk,” you say, your voice sounding small. You cringe at your words, knowing if they were said to you that you would immediately panic. “Everything’s fine,” you blurt out when you see his mouth open – it snaps shut.

He ponders for a moment. “Okay.”

You frown, and begin pacing the room again. He sits down on the edge of your bed, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We are equals,” you state. You cast a side glance over at him, seeing him staring at you with a blank face – you look down again. “If we’re going to do this… If we’re going to negotiate with Zeke, I’m going to need you by my side regardless of the decision I make. I’m an inexperienced Queen, I know, but you’ll make me look like a fool if you question my authority.”

You keep pacing, nerves getting the best of you as you continue to fidget with the fabric of your skirts. You desperately want to break the habit, and you force your hands by your sides as they end up in fists instead.

Levi stares at you as you pace back and forth, fists now clenched by your sides instead of incessantly pulling at the threads in your skirts. He hates hearing that man’s name, the same man that killed your brothers and Furlan, the same man that killed his own parents. Levi feels this urge to protect you fiercely as soon as the name is mentioned – he’d do anything for you.

But he heard what you said, and he fears that he’s overstepped your boundaries when he didn’t mean to. He doesn’t know how to balance it, the unquenchable desire to be your protector, to love you, and the side of him that is still your loyal Chevalier. You’re right, and he knows that.

You’re startled by Levi grasping your hands, unfurling your fingers so you’re no longer pressing your nails into your palms, your head jerking up to meet his eyes. “You’re right,” he says softly. You stare into his eyes, those beautiful pools of grey that look at you so softly now. “You are my lover, but you are also my Queen. I trust you, and I will push down my instincts to protect you when you are fully capable.” His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb brushing the soft skin under your eye. “I fear there is going to be a moment where I can’t be there for you when you need me.” He lets go of your face, taking a step back as he frowns at the ground.

You stare at him for a moment, the overwhelming pressure in your heart making you speechless. You can see the frustration and sadness in his features as he stares down at the ground, jaw clenched. Memories of Auguste, Theo, and Furlan’s deaths no doubt passing behind his eyes, the hopeless feeling of despair overwhelming him.

You step forward and reach out, a gentle finger under Levi’s chin tilting his head back up. “I am here now,” you tell him softly. “We are here now, and until we join the stars as well then we will both do what we can.” You press your lips against his in a soft kiss, gentle enough to feel the way he exhales in relief. “I cannot live without enjoying your presence fully now, Levi. We have bickered for far too long, and as long as we live I will take your protection as long as you will allow me to protect you,” you whisper against his lips.

His eyes are closed as you look at him with half-lidded eyes, his lips slightly parted as he awaits more of your lips against his. His hands find your waist, and he gently tugs the laces of your corset free. “I’ll do anything you tell me to,” he whispers, eyes still closed as he removes your garment. They open just slightly. “I’m yours.”

You kiss him, firmly molding your lips against his as they move languidly together. Your hands find the cravat tied around his neck, fingers nimbly untying the fabric to cast it aside as Levi’s hands bunch up the fabric of your skirts to lift over your head. You only part for a moment to help him rid the fabric from your body, his fingers untying the flimsy skirt support around your waist as your own begin unbuttoning his blouse. Your lips come in contact again. He shivers under your touch, casting aside the skirt support and assisting you by lifting his blouse over his head by the collar once you’ve unbuttoned it enough.

You don’t immediately connect again, taking your time to relish in the view of Levi in just a pair of trousers before you. You’ve never seen him shirtless before, only a peek at his abdomen when he would wipe his brow free of sweat during a rigorous training session, but you had never paid much attention to the man. Now you openly ogle at him, staring shamelessly at the curves of his muscles, the way they flex slightly under your watchful eye, the way coarse dark hair trails down from his naval and disappears under his trousers. His hair is slightly tousled from his shirt being swept over his head, dark bangs barely hiding the lustful gaze he looks at you with. He’s always been remarkably handsome, piercing grey eyes, sharp, but soft, features, and you’re so grateful you’re the one that gets to see him so closely.

Levi does the same to you, openly staring at the way your nipples pebble under the thin cotton chemise provided to you. He’s never seen you like this before, not even when his hands grazed your sides in the countryside of Navarre, your back being turned to him and body being hidden under the sheets. Your hair is still down, it’s natural texture brushing over your collarbones and the nape of your neck – it’s grown longer since the start of your journey. Your curves are slightly silhouetted by your chemise, the short sleeves cupping your arms so your shoulders are free. The way your décolletage is revealed to him makes his heart palpitate, your skin sloping down to your breasts that are only hidden by thin, white cotton. You are such a beautiful woman – Levi curses himself for waiting so long to admit it.

You bravely step forward again, fingers beginning to undo the buttons of Levi’s trousers. He brushes your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing?” he mumbles, grabbing your hands to stop your process.

“I owe you,” you smile at him and lean in to kiss him again, freeing your hands from his to continue.

“You owe me nothing,” he whispers against your lips, his hands coming up to cup both sides of your face.

“Please�� let me please you,” you breathe, begging for just a small taste of him, anything. You walk him back to the bed when he doesn’t openly oppose, guiding him to take a seat when the back of his knees press against the edge of the mattress. Your fingers finally finish unbuttoning his trousers as you kneel on the ground, gently pulling them, along with his undergarments, down as he lifts his hips to assist you and kicks them off to the side with his shoes.

You openly gape when his cock springs free, already hard and inflamed at the tip as it leaks a small amount of clear fluid. You look up at him, eyes doe eyed and innocent, and Levi bites back a groan at the sight. “You don’t have to,” he tells you honestly, because he can tell you might be overwhelmed by the pressure of performing well for your first time.

“I want to,” you insist.

Your lips are barely parted as Levi brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, pushing past and watching as you immediately close your lips around it to suck on it. You pull your mouth off with a pop, your cheeks flushing at the sound as you keep looking up at him. He looks patient, blank features staring down at you with only the kind look in his eyes telling you that it’s okay if you back out now, that he’ll still hold you tonight while you sleep.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you take him in your mouth, lips wrapped around the head of his cock with hollowed cheeks. The gasp Levi let’s out is unexpected, and you savor the sound of his unabashed moan that escapes him when you take him further. His skin is slightly salty as you wrap your tongue around him, coaxing another soft moan from him as he gathers your hair to hold it back for you in one hand, establishing a grip against your scalp. You’ve never done this before, but you try your best based on instinct.

“Fuck,” Levi moans, his chest heaving up and down as you bob your head. “How–” Levi let’s out a small whine when you push down further, determined to take him fully as you close your eyes and feel the dark hairs on his skin brush against your nose. “Christ, Aeron– shit– you’re gonna make me cum.” You gag slightly and pull back, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as you use your hand to slide up and down the rest you can’t quite fit.

You open your eyes to look up at him, tears forming on your waterline and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. God, you’re a sight to behold, and Levi pulls back on your hair to lift you off of him when he feels his climax approaching fast, your hand still pumping him to completion. He can’t remember the last time he finished this quickly even by his own hand.

His cum spurts in white hot ropes against his abdomen, coating his skin as you watch his eyebrows furrow with pleasure, eyes closed and mouth agape in silent ecstasy. His breathing is labored when he comes down from his high, cheeks flushed as he opens his eyes to look down at you staring up at him in awe. He’s beautiful, strikingly so, and being the source of his pleasure has your own stomach twisting in knots as your clit throbs.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, assisting you as you stand up, wobbly from being on your knees on the hard wooden flooring. You sit down next to him, grabbing at the skirts on the ground to wipe him clean. “I guess Mrs. MacLerie doesn’t need those back,” he mumbles, taking the fabric from your hands to wipe his abdomen.

You laugh lightly, feeling as though you’re walking in the clouds now. “No, I don’t think so,” you mutter, leaning into his side to kiss him softly. It’s slow, gentle, as he relaxes under your touch and you move to straddle him, hands cupping his face as you swing your leg over his. You can’t get enough of him, desperate to feel all of him against you, desperate to feel his cock throb inside you and coat your walls instead of his abdomen.

“Aeron,” he breathes against your lips, hands grabbing your hips as your chemise rides up and exposes your ass and cunt. You lower yourself down, gasping at the feeling of your wet pussy coming into contact with Levi’s soft cock. “What are you doing?” he gasps as you start rocking your hips back and forth, feeling his cock rub through your folds and into your clit, hardening as you continue.

“Feeling you,” you moan. “Oh.”

“I can’t claim you here,” he groans, but his hands do nothing but move to your ass as you continue to grind yourself against him.

“Stop being such a gentleman,” you mutter, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, wishing he would just fuck you right here and now as your arms drape over his shoulders.

“I am to a fault,” he mumbles, leaning forward to press kisses onto your neck. “I want to savor you, take my time with you.”

“Please, Levi,” you whimper. Every time you feel the tip of his cock rub your clit you feel breathless, stimulated, but not quite enough to make you feel euphoric.

His hand makes it’s way to your throat, establishing a gentle grip on the sides to just barely cut off the blood flow to your head and making you feel all the more inebriated off of him. “Then you can do it, my sweet girl,” he hums against your collarbones, lips trailing down to your chest above your breasts. “Make yourself cum all over my cock.” His voice is barely a whisper, and the lewd sound of your wet folds gliding over him make you blush.

Your head is tilted back, relishing in the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together as you let out a gasp. “Help me,” you whimper, needing just a little more stimulation than grinding against him provides. He doesn’t hesitate, the hand guiding you forward and back by your ass instantly coming in between your bodies to apply circles to your clit.

“That’s it,” he mumbles, pulling you back to him by your throat and kissing you as you whine against his lips. You pant through your open mouth kisses, eyes scrunched shut in concentration as he gets you off. You’re so close, desperation lacing it’s way into the sound of your breaths and moans as you reach the cusp of your climax. “Cum for me, amour– Fuck you’re drenching me filthy girl,” Levi groans, your breath mingling together as you both get lost in the feeling of each other. Nothing matters but him.

You cum hard all over him, eyes rolling back as he lets go of your throat to help you through it by grabbing your hip, his thumb still making circles over your clit. You practically black out, vision blanking as you feel nothing but bliss pulse through you. Levi guides you through it until you’re panting, head falling forward into the crook of his neck while his arms wrap around you to support you. His hands glide under your chemise, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back as it rides up your waist.

God, he can feel you clenching, drooling all over his cock that’s hardened again and he resists the urge to fuck you into the mattress. He can feel the mess of your cream dribbling onto his thighs, creating a sticky concoction of sweat and your cum to clean up in a moment, but he bares it for you despite his urge to immediately get clean. You’re ruining him, absolutely taking all of his willpower away when it comes to serving you – the woman he never thought he’d bend over backwards for, but he can’t imagine it any other way now.

You feel drained, and you’re not sure how long it’s been when Levi finally pushes your shoulders gently and a hand comes up to hold the side of your face. “You alright?” he asks softly. You nod, only a mumble coming out in response. A deep rumble of a laugh comes from him, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “So pretty when you’re fucked out like this,” he hums, his thumb gently swiping against your bottom lip. You give him a delirious smile in response.

“You stay?” you ask him softly, voice sweetened in hopes of him holding you as you fall asleep.

“Of course,” he murmurs, swiping leftover tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t care what the others might think?” you ask, head tilted as you lean into his touch.

“As if they don’t already know,” he mumbles. “Come ‘ere.”

He easily lifts you with him as he stands up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he supports you with his hands on your ass. He carries you to the side of the bed, using one hand to pull back the covers as he supports you effortlessly, and lays you down under the sheets. “Stay here,” he whispers to you, and bends down to kiss your forehead.

Levi picks up his clothes that are scattered on the ground, buttoning up his trousers and throwing on his blouse – he doesn’t bother tucking it in or fixing his hair. He looks over at you and can’t help but smile softly at the way you’ve seemed to instantly fall asleep, the travels of the day finally catching up with you. He makes his way to the door, putting on his boots and shutting it as softly as he can behind him as he exits your temporary bedroom in search of warm water and cloth to clean you, and himself, up before he joins you in bed.

He wanders the halls, the dark stone contrasting the white painted wood he’s accustomed to in Mirlenas. He makes it down one hall on his way to the kitchen Miche had shown him earlier when he runs into Ymir herself, stopping as soon as he rounds the corner and she comes into view.

“Ah, guard dog,” she hums, smirking – the nickname makes the hair on his neck rise. “I see you had some fun tonight. Bedding an unmarried woman– a Queen at that? That’s quite brave for a Mirlenas knight.”

Levi isn’t sure if he’s gotten more bold because of where he stands with you now, but he has to bite back his curses at the woman before him. “It’s Levi.”

She laughs. “Alright fine, Levi,” she scoffs. “How’d you end up lucky enough to bed a woman like Aeron?”

He doesn’t bother correcting her, telling her that he hasn’t technically bedded you. “I was her brother’s Chevalier,” he tells her honestly, crossing his arms as he looks at her. “Hers in the last three years of his life.”

“Ah,” she says, gesturing for him to follow her – he hesitantly moves. “And you were there for their deaths? Witnessed them?”

Levi stills, footsteps pausing on the cold stone floor. She turns around to face him, a split second of shock displaying on her features before she controls them again. He can feel the amount of fury showing on his face as he spits out through clenched teeth, “Do not–”

“Right,” she says and turns back around. “Sensitive subject.” Her footsteps continue forward and Levi reluctantly follows. She leads him through the corridors, long hallways that don’t turn too much to the point where he’ll get lost, and soon she’s opening a door and holding it behind her for him. The small room has linens on the shelves, and Ymir takes a few cloths down and throws them at him – he catches them easily with a scowl on his face. “You know, Aeron seems like a special woman, much better than her father,” Ymir continues while she walks out, clearly expecting him to follow. “She’s fiesty, and Miche tells me you got upset with her for revealing who she was at the gates.”

“I wasn’t–”

“She has courage,” Ymir interrupts, looking back at him over her shoulder. “And honestly, she’s the only one capable of taking down Zeke in the end whether she makes it or not.”

Levi scoffs. “As if she wouldn’t make it.”

She whirls on him. “Well then you better be there. Every step of the goddamn way,” she sneers. “Historia might have faith in Mirlenas, but the only person that’s shown me they can handle it is Aeron. Even Commander Smith himself seems like he’s acting on a hunch and me and Historia can’t afford a fucking gut feeling. If Zeke makes it here we’re done for.”

Levi’s fists clench around the white cotton cloths Ymir had given him and steps forward to meet her challenge. “You act like you know everything, but you have no idea what I’d do for her.”

“Would you die for her?” Ymir questions viciously.

“I would do anything for her. I would die the worst death if it meant she would be freed from whatever threatens her,” he vehemently tells her. “You know nothing. You know absolutely nothing about us, or the bond we share–”

“You’re mated?” Ymir takes a step back, bewildered.

“No–”

“How can you be bonded if you’re not mated?”

“We will–”

“Pray it’s not too late when you decide to,” she huffs and spins around, pushing a swinging door open to the kitchen as Levi follows her.

“She’s mine, and I hers,” Levi says, quieter this time. “Zeke won’t lay a hand on her even if it means my own death to protect her, and Kaslogon will have no rein over any more land. We’re fighting him ourselves and you should be grateful for the protection your country is being provided.”

Ymir grips the counter, her back facing Levi as he stands by the entryway. “We are,” Ymir mutters. “You’ve been gone too long.” She grabs a kettle of water and pours it into a small craft, shoving the already warm water into Levi’s grip. “Go.”

Levi wordlessly takes it from her and steps out, leaving Ymir to sit quietly in the kitchen.

She’s scared, Levi thinks as he makes his way back to you, and he can’t blame her. The only thing he fears is losing you, and he can sense that Ymir is only scared of losing Historia to a war they can’t win. He’s already tired and selfishly wants to live in the moments where it’s just you and him, when he’s holding you so close your heartbeats practically melt into one.

He exhales softly, looking down at the ground before he slowly enters the room to take care of you.

—

“Are you prepared for this?” Erwin’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

You’ve gotten yourself together, disregarding Historia’s attempts at sending in a handmaiden and opting to get yourself ready. You’ve braided your hair and styled it in an updo, something that will last the journey to Zaramund. Ymir had delivered fresh clothing for you and you’ve changed into the woolen skirts and cotton blouse, a thin chemise that was made out of quality cotton underneath, and a woolen cloak for your shoulders. You didn’t miss the look her and Levi shared as she stepped into your room and spotted him – you didn’t ask about it, only glad they’ve come to some understanding it seems.

Your temporary horse whinnies under you, a dark mare that made you miss Saxson deeply, made you wonder if he was happily grazing next to Arwen on the coast of Mirlenas. Historia and Ymir provided supplies for you in a small wagon led by two smaller horses, and the rest of your soldiers were provided their own. You expressed your gratitude to both Historia and Ymir, earning a kind smile accompanied by a hug from Historia and a reluctant nod from the latter telling you to “not mess this one up.”

You’re almost positive you caught the upturn of her lip when you smiled back at her.

Erwin sat proudly on his own stallion by your side, regarding you with such care he rivaled Levi now in the way he wordlessly vowed to protect you. “Yes,” you simply answer him. There’s no need to elaborate on how your stomach twists into knots whenever you think about stepping foot inside the castle home to the Jaeger family. How could you ever be truly ready?

The easiest way to reach Zaramund would be to cross the bay between Navarre and Kaslogon territory, but it would leave you vulnerable to Zeke’s soldiers on the coastline – you’re not quite fond of water yet anyway. Instead you would be crossing through the valley of the mountain range that separated the two countries, a small path between towering mountains that would be covered in snow this time of year. From there it would be an easy trek into the capital city, but your nerves still threatened to overcome you.

And it started off simple enough, with two days passing by easily as you trekked across Navarre’s hillsides, rolling green making it easy to navigate and allowing horses to graze. Plenty of streams intertwined throughout the land, providing drinking water for your traveling squad. It was peaceful, nice even, while you appreciated the landscapes around you as your horses made their way through, or while you knelt down next to streams to fill the leather canteen provided to you.

It wasn’t until you reached the start of the valley that your group came to a full stop. The map given to Erwin was clearly deceiving, showing more rolling green hills in between tall mountains, streams flowing down from the mountainside. Granted, it was winter, but the sight before you was not at all how you imagined or were told about.

The earth was brown, no longer covered in grass and resembling a desert instead with visible drought lines along the side of the mountains and clear signs of dried up streams. You couldn’t blame the Queens, they warned you they haven’t had anyone travel these areas since the war began, and with a harsh winter already making it’s presence known far worse in Navarre than Southern Mirlenas, a drought before the snow melted was inevitable.

The air was dry and chilled you to the bone as it swept in between the mountains, blowing the stray hairs that have managed to escape your tied up hair back. One hundred kilometers of this would have to be crossed to reach the other side where you had no idea about the terrain of Kaslogon. You’ve heard your father talk about how sparse it normally is, and you can only hope that in a twist of luck that the land spares you from it’s usual standing.

“We’ll stock up on water half a kilometer back and then make our way through,” Erwin announces to your soldiers. You give him a nod, tugging on the reins of your horse to turn her around and earning a disgruntled huff in return.

—

Any gods that may exist have never been on your side.

The sight was startlingly contrasted; white peaked mountains sloping down to dusty cliff sides. You were surrounded by snow you couldn’t reach, and dirt that had no life to it. You’re almost there – roughly seventy five kilometers have been trekked, and you’re just starting to grow weary as the sun sets. Shadows grow longer, the sky darkening and revealing the stars above your heads with some getting shadowed by the mountain tops.

“We should rest,” Levi speaks up, addressing Erwin. You’ve slumped down a bit on top of your horse, posture weak and limbs growing tired of riding all day. You’ll be on the outskirts of Zaramund tomorrow evening, but Erwin wants to camp just out of reach of the capital city so you can all gather the needed strength.

I fear it will end with bloodshed.

You hope that’s not the case.

All of the horses come to a stop, with Petra and Eld directing the horses towing the wagon to stop and allow access to supplies. You weren’t as prepared as you were in Mirlenas, settling for rucksacks instead of tents and hoping it wouldn’t rain on you despite the needed water. You hopped off your horse, beating Levi’s attempted assistance, and began helping set up camp. You didn’t know much, but you could at least help Petra gather supplies for cooking tonight's meal over the fire being prepared.

“We can take care of things,” Levi tells you, reaching into the back of the wagon for a crate – Petra glances over at you with slightly raised brows, taking that as her signal to leave your side to give you privacy.

“What kind of leader would I be if I let everyone do this for me?” you ask him, turning your body to face him with a hand on your hip.

He looks at you for a moment and then glances around to see everyone else busy with a task as the two of you are partially hidden behind the wagon. “Right,” he mutters and kisses your forehead. “I’m only letting you know that you can take a break if you need it.”

He walks away with a crate in his hands, a knowing look on his face. You frown in his direction before gathering more supplies for Petra.

“Thank you, Aeron,” Petra smiles at you when you hand her a pot and cooking utensils. It’s just the two of you as you both kneel down by the fire, settling in to hang the pot and get dinner situated for the rest of the group. You look up and spot Levi, discussing with Erwin and Hange, although you’re not sure what and can’t tell by the animated look on Hange’s face and the bored expression on Levi’s – Erwin is simply listening.

You hear it before you see it.

A gunshot rings out, the sound of a rifle piercing through the laughter and calm sounds of your soldiers setting up camp. Petra tackles you to the ground hastily, using her body to shield yours as she urges you to crawl with her under the wagon of supplies to take cover. Your eyes are wide, heart rate soaring with the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you hold onto her and she does the same to you.

Then you see it – them. Eld and Gunther are lying down in the dirt, blood pooling around their bodies as everyone frantically takes cover and grabs their weapons. You gag, choking back your tears and the fear that’s consuming you as you look onto the chaos unfolding. You miss the eye contact Petra makes with Levi before she’s pulling you out from under the wagon despite your protests, kicking up dirt as both of you scuffle towards him.

“Go!” Petra pushes you towards him, causing you to stumble forward and barely catch yourself before Levi is pulling you up with one strong arm. Your legs straddle the front of the saddle, your back pressed so tightly to his chest you can feel his frantic heartbeat.

He positions you in front of him on his stallion, using both hands on the reins with arms that cage you in as you frantically look around and the horse sprints forward. Mikasa is hidden behind part of the wagon, using it as cover as she aims a rifle up into the mountains, a determined look set on her features. Armin is next to her, crouched down and holding a musket as he watches her back.

Your eyes find Oluo next, lying on the ground with Petra leaning over him as she frantically shakes him. You gasp, and turn your head down when you see his knee cap blown out and blood leaking from his thigh like a geyser.

“Eyes forward Aeron,” Levi’s deep, comforting voice intercepts your dark thoughts. “I’ve got you.”

You feel obligated to listen to the smooth intonation of his voice, his words trying to pull you back from spiraling as your mind wanders to thoughts of your brothers and the way they probably suffered in death. You keep your eyes focused on the horn of the saddle, your hands holding it so tight your knuckles become lighter in colour. You have to trust Levi to get you two out of this, trust that Erwin, Hange, and your soldiers will make it out alive – you know you’re their priority and you hate it.

—

Levi rides throughout the night, your body nestled against his chest and in between his arms as his borrowed stallion carries him forward. You’re sleeping now after hours of traveling and worn off adrenaline. Your body is turned just enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder while one arm holds your waist tightly to make sure you’re okay, his arm remaining flexed to keep you secure.

He’s angry, scared, and desperate to feel safe again. He caught glimpses of the Kaslogon emblems on the men that attacked them, and he wonders why the hell you’re even going to negotiate instead of declaring an all out war with them. But he knows how you are, how desperate for peace you are without bloodshed.

He holds you tighter. You’re okay. You’re alive.

He didn’t check to see if anyone was okay, didn’t bother stopping the sprint of his horse just to see if any of his comrades were following him out of the mess. The decided campsite for the next evening is his destination, a marked spot on the map that’s in Erwin’s possession and Levi can only hope he makes it to the right spot.

He rides for a few more hours until he sees the lake that looks to be the same size as the one on the map, the sun making it’s way over the horizon and casting a soft glow onto your cheeks. He’s glad you got some sleep, and he’s glad you’ll have a whole day and night to rest and get your bearings before Erwin inevitably forces you to move into the capital city of Zaramund.

Levi pulls on the reins with one hand to have the horse gently come to a stop, a small huff coming from the animal that deserves to rest as long as it can before he drags it into hell again. You stir, a small mumble that Levi manages to smile at as he looks down at your pretty face resting against him. He lifts his hand from the reins, using a thumb to caress your cheek and wake you up further from your sleep.

“We’re here, mon cœur,” Levi mutters to you. You open your eyes and stare up at him, the swirling of your irises that are warmed by the sun taking his breath away. “You’re okay,” he whispers, to reassure you that he’s got you, that he’s taken care of you and protected you from harm, in your sleepy state.

You remain quiet and tilt your head up, the soft press of your lips making him melt into you as your lips move gently against his own. He sighs when you break apart, soft breaths mingling with his as he leans his forehead against yours.

You’re okay. You’re alive.

—

It’s well into the next evening by the time you hear the distinct sound of hooves running against the soft grassy earth around the lake. Levi keeps you and the horse hidden well, letting you rest after he’s woken up from a nap and feeding you with a rabbit he managed to catch with a simple trap. Your eyes are frantic as he pulls you against a tree with him, holding you close as he peers around the bark and out into the open plains of rolling hills.

You can feel the tension leaving his body as he let’s out a sigh of relief, his hold loosening on you ever so slightly and signaling to you that it’s not the enemy. You allow him to help you up, his hand firmly grasping yours to guide you out from cover.

Your eyes tear up immediately when you see Erwin riding strong on top of his white stallion, Hange next to him on their own horse. You feel the tears fall when you see their head wrapped in bandages, one eye covered with a small blotch of blood soaked into the fabric.

The rest of your soldiers follow suit, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat when Petra rides at the back of the group on top of your dark mare, her face covered in grief. You let Levi’s hand go and run to meet your soldiers, your friends. Erwin is the first to get off his horse, practically leaping off and handing the reins over to Armin next to him, and then he’s waiting for you with open arms as you hurl yourself into him.

He crouches down to hug you, large arms wrapping around your frame and engulfing you tightly as you cry into his dirtied no-longer-white blouse. He let’s go of you to check if you’re hurt, calloused hands swiping your hair off your face and holding your cheeks to get a good look at you. His touch reminds you of Auguste, and your hands come up to hold the back of his as you give him a small, sad smile.

Hange walks up next to you, and you don’t miss the look of shock when you abandon Erwin’s touch to give them a hug. “I’m okay,” they mutter softly, and you make a mental note to ask them about their eye later.

The rest of your soldiers say their hellos, sorrow permeating the air with so much thickness you could choke on it as the tears never leave your eyes. They find their spots on the grass, sitting down with exhaustion leaking out of their bones after tying their horses up to rest and graze on the long grass.

Your eyes find Petra again once Erwin and Hange leave your side to talk to Levi, and your already broken heart aches when you see her sitting atop your mare, her dejected spirit idle. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and walk up to her quietly, carefully, as if she was a hunted wounded animal seconds away from startling.

“Petra, mon amour,” you mutter. She startles, big golden brown eyes looking down at you from her spot on top of your horse. Her hands are covered in blood, the front of her uniform stained red from holding her loved ones close as they die. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You hold her in your arms as she breaks.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #aot levi #levi attack on titan #fanfic #levi smut #levi ackerman x female reader #fic update #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader smut #royalty au #historical au #finally updated #reccommend reading on ao3 thank you <3

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countrymusiclover · 7 months ago

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22 - More Than One Plan

Part 23

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Some smut in this part

A couple of soldiers had returned us to our now shared chambers along with some poured warm water for the bath. Strolling around the room I eyed the tray of food that had been set out before they left us alone without a word. Now that we were alone I bent down on one knee reaching inside one boot of my boots I was wearing, taking out a folded piece of paper that the guards thankfully didn’t find when they took my dagger from me. “What do you know about Sothoryos?” Unrolling the paper the map sprawled out on the stone table near the window.

Jaime pushed himself up from sitting on the bed coming behind me peeking over my shoulder seeing what I was looking at. “From what I remember it has been teased that it lies southeast of Westeros and is across the Summer Sea.”

“So we’ll need men who know how to sail. I wonder if we could raid the Greyjoy’s fleet.” I muttered to myself in thought.

“Why are you looking at the maps for an area that no one knows anything about?”

Turning around to face him he takes a step backwards watching my messy gown sway with my movements. “My sister has her army so we should have our own.”

“We have the Lannister army.”

Shaking my head in disagreement. “That won’t be enough. One dragon isn’t even enough against her three.”

“Vaella, what are you talking about?” My husband asked.

Lowering my gaze I kept my eyes on my muddy boots not having the strength to look him in the eye when I uttered such treasonous words out into the room. “An escape plan.”

“Vaella-“ He trailed off seeing angry tears forming in my eyes and my hands clutching into fists at my sides, reminding him almost of Cersei so he did his best to push those past memories back deep down inside his mind.

“She has many opportunities to kill you or me. To kill our children and I refuse to let it come down to that.”

Jaime ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily once he realized what I was getting at. “Don’t get me wrong I don’t entirely trust her but this isn’t the time or place to be talking about it.”

“So you don’t agree with me. That we should have a backup plan in mind.” I hung my mouth open in shock.

He stepped closer to me, meeting my purple gaze. “I do agree with you that she's dangerous. But what you’re suggesting could cost us both our lives.”

“You told me once something your father used to say. What does a lion do?”

Jaime dropped his gaze to the ground. “The Lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep.”

“You are a Lion. I am a Dragon. We are two great houses combined together in love. And our family is the only thing that matters. You, Luciya, Rhaegar, Amethyst and our new babe are the only ones I’d commit such an act of treason for!” I raised my voice before Jaime suddenly clasped a hand over my mouth making me gasp at his action.

His green eyes trained on mine filled with love. “Why am I just finding out about this now?”

“Probably because I didn’t find out about it myself until a few weeks after you had left.” I apologized with a weak smile.

Jaime cupped my face in his hands kissing me for the first time since we had been reunited right in front of my younger sister. “I love you, Vaella.”

“I love you too - we shouldn’t let the water go cold.” Running my fingers up his tunic shirt undoing the buttons and tossing it onto the stone floor. Jaime spun me around pressing my back against his front burying his nose in my neck.

I couldn’t help but giggle in anticipation feeling his left hand untying the laces of my red gown. The first time he had attempted this I had to aid him doing such a task. Once I felt the fabric pile onto the floor I stepped over the fabric where I bent down removing his trousers and we got inside the warm water just enjoying the comfortable silence that had filled the room just holding onto one another.

He tugged my flesh against his chest making me drop the rag onto the tile floor. Resting my hands on his bare chest our eyes met when he rested his forehead against mine. "I know I must have looked like an idiot during the trial. But I wouldn’t let her kill my love..and anyone who tries shall have to go through me.” He smashed his lips onto mine pushing me against the tub wall.

“I thought I’d lost you when your body went into the water.” I rasped out, moving my hands over every part of him I physically could.

We stumbled out of the bathtub where he only broke the kiss once laying my back on the bed. "What do you want, dragon princess?"

"You, my golden knight.” I squealed because the second the word left my mouth he flipped our position pushing me down on my back. He had his hands on either side of me smirking, lightly kissing me deeply.

I began to move against him and leaned up pressing my lips down upon his. He embraced me back instantly when my fingers dug into his back, both of us slick with sweat as he moved against one another, our pants and moans filling the room.

He leaned up on his knees and began to thrust his little wife at a deeper pace hitting a certain spot inside of her. "J-Jaime! " I moaned out before he connected our lips again.

The bed was moving against our actions where he kept hitting the specific spot that we both moaned afterwards to. He broke the kiss where I held his face in my hands tracing his cheek with him thrusting into me slowly. "Vae!" He moaned when I pulled his head downward burying my face in his neck nuzzling my nose and kissing into his skin.

We didn’t bother untangling our limbs from one another just laying in the bed furs. Jaime’s fingers danced across my bare shoulder where I rolled over to face him, allowing me the ability to twirl his blonde curls in between my fingers. “What are you thinking now, princess?”

“I want to go back to simpler times. Where it was just us and the kids back at the Rock. Where we didn’t have to worry about having become traitors and running for our lives for another time. I - I thought I was done with hiding.”

Jaime rolled me onto my back hovering above me putting his weight on his real hand and the fake golden one. “You never have to feel like a prisoner ever again.”

“Except I still am a prisoner. This is not our home, the Rock is.” I admitted weakly.

He wrapped his arms around my waist rolling himself onto his back leaving me to be sitting above him. “The Rock is simply that a ridiculous rock. What did I tell you the last time you felt like this?”

“Home is with the people you love.” I grinned down at him, kissing him gently and for that moment we let our minds go back to what I suppose you can call our honeymoon faze.

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katerinaaqu · 5 months ago

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The Will to Die The Need to Survive

WARNING: THEMES OF SA AND SUICIDE

He had forgotten how it felt being happy. It was as if gladness and happiness were drained from his world; covered with a thick, black curtain of suffering. That was what Odysseus was thinking as he was slowly stirring awake. He had somehow fallen half-asleep, leaning against the rock at the beach. It was his small hideout, where he would sit and cry, looking towards the waves of the sea. He was once more exhausted by the tears that never seemed to drain from his eyes. He looked over to the horizon to see the dusk had arrived. He sighed as he moved his pained neck feeling it cracking. His eyes watered anew as he came back to contact with reality.

“I am awake…again…” he thought, “I thought…this time I wouldn’t…”

It was what he hoped now. His previous will seemed totally lost under the burn marks to the edge of his eyelids caused from his very own tears. His onyx eyes that used to burn with the fire of survival; like a wild beast in a cage that would growl and move about its prison, constantly trying to find an opening; a change to its situation, now those eyes of his were dead like scratched and faded glass, which aimlessly decorated an old, abandoned piece of jewelry buried under the ground to needlessly decorate the neck of a casted body. His cheeks had sunken to their bones; his eyes in their sockets. He looked more dead than alive now…

“Six years…” he thought, feeling his throat burn and his shoulders shake, “Six…long years…”

He was closing six, almost seven years in the seclusion of that island… He buried his face to his embrace and sobbed anew.

“Why gods! Why…! Why…! Just…release me already! I paid all years of Troy with years of my life! No more…please…!”

The wrinkles around his eyes could only get deeper by the day; his hair whiter by the week. His youth was long gone…his fortitude run out. Now Odysseus of Ithaca was a walking dead among the living. He had contemplating death…many times. His age over 50 now…

“Gods! Men of my age die…! Why! Why! Just let me die…let me be done with this! I don’t care anymore how…just finish it already!”

As usual his silent prayer fell in silent ears. Never before his arduous trip had he felt more abandoned, more alone, than what he was feeling now… He was like a rock that was constantly whipped by the ocean; every passing day losing a piece and yet the rock was still there; beaten, destroyed, being eaten away…but still there. He watched the last traces of the sun setting beyond the horizon. He sighed and slowly struggled back to his feet, feeling pain all over his body. The move was mechanical at this point. He no longer thought about it. He no longer wondered what he would find or what would find him; he no longer thought of shame or sadness. These were just part of him now; a permanent burn scar that would sting him constantly, so much so that it seemed like the only reality. He half-staggered back to the grotto which now was lit up from the lamps inside. The familiar scent of food made his stomach growl and his mind feel once again the needs of his human nature that were forcing his legs every day to go back to the cage. Like a trained sheep, trained to follow the shepherd’s whistle back to the barn where it would be slaughtered. He slowly climbed the stone stairs of the grotto, getting into the familiar environment. He faced the tall woman with the dark skin and the beautiful hair who always smelt of the best ethereal oils and perfumes, decorated with gold and pearls, was embroidering intricate patterns upon a regal shirt while her handmaids, her immortal nymphs, were preparing the wine and dinner. She looked up feeling his steps to the entrance and her face lit up with a smile. She left her work at the side and got up to greet him.

“Welcome back, my love!” she greeted him

Her dreadful yet soft hands touched his cheeks and then her lips followed upon one of them; burning him almost completely. His arms were hanging limb. He no longer tried to resist her affectionate greeting; the greeting of a wife to her husband who was coming back from the field.

“It has become rather chilly!” Calypso whispered again, taking his hands and gently pulling him towards the heath, “Come, my love, come near the fire to get warm… By gods, your hands are frozen…”

They sat to the bench together. She took his wounded hands (wounded by time, wind and aimless mourning) in hers and raised them to her lips, blowing softly warm air on them. His look was dead; defeated. She raised the shirt she was making before, lifting it close to him; measuring him.

“It is coming out quite nicely” she said, “You need new, warmer clothes, my love. Winter is upon us”

Odysseus didn’t even take his eyes off the fire.

“Yes…” he only whispered mechanically

Calypso snapped her fingers and a maid came to take the half-finished cloth from her hands. Her dreadful arms wrapped around him, soothing him and then her lips landed upon his head. Her hands caressed his hair lovingly; soothing the curls that cascaded down his shoulders.

“We must do something about your hair, my love, they are rather tangled today. Too much salt from the sea…”

“Yes…” Odysseus whispered again

“Maybe get your beard a nice trim. What do you think?”

“Yes…”

Calypso stopped her loving touches for one second and sighed. His mood was getting harder and harder to comprehend, she realized. The past weeks he would come back more and more exhausted. Despite the fact she tried to relieve him off many things, he seemed to be withering away. He didn’t seem sick or ill. Just sad.

“My maids told me that you refused to eat again today when they brought you food at the beach…” she said again trying to make him talk and start a conversation, “Why, my darling? If you refuse to eat all day except for now, you will get sick. I do not want my dear husband to fall ill…”

Odysseus sighed. He squinted his eyes fighting his tears back.

“So today I ordered for your favorite to be made. It will be ready soon so you can eat it warm”

“Yes…”

Calypso sighed again. It was one of those days that he wasn’t in a talkative mood. His nostalgia for his home didn’t seem to wither away despite the fact that her island could offer the same and much more to him.

“Honestly, Odysseus, please don’t be like that!” she exclaimed, “Please… Stop withering away like that… I understand that you miss your home, who wouldn’t, but at this point you know that it will only hurt you more.”

Just let me go….Odysseus was thinking. I don’t even care if I survive the trip anymore! Just let me go! Let me go! Let me go… However his mouth said nothing. His eyes burnt with tears again and this time they almost fell again. It was as if the years he spent had even broken his previous stone state during the night. He was way beyond that now…

“My love really you need to understand that after all those years no one would even remember you! All probably think you were dead long time ago… Your son never knew you and your wife probably has already forgotten about you! The lifetime of a mortal is so small. You were a lifetime away my love no matter what you would say and-…”

Odysseus stopped her the only way he could think of at that moment without offending her or angering further; with his lips upon hers. As fast as he could he cupped her cheeks and landed his lips upon hers. He kissed her like he hadn’t kissed her before; as deeply as he could, putting in action everything she forcefully taught him night after night of torture.

“Anything…! I’ll do anything as long as you shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Stop badmouthing my home…my wife and son… Please no more…! Stop it! Or rather, be silent altogether! I don’t want to hear your voice anymore! No! Not anymore…!”

And he was right; Calypso was too surprised to go any further with her accusations. She immediately kissed him back, massaging his lips with hers. Her hand buried itself to his hair and the other held against his that was still on her cheek. He pulled back and his eyes locked with her honey ones for the first time that night.

“Please…” he whispered firmly, “Stop talking…”

Calypso looked at him curiously but then smiled softly; sadly one could say. She slowly curled up on his knees, like a girl in love. She often did that.

“You’re right…” she whispered, “Let’s not talk about it anymore…”

Her hand slid in his shirt and felt his bushy chest. Odysseus hardly flinched.

“Yes….” She repeated, “Let’s stop talking…”

“Do what you want to do…” Odysseus whispered defeated

Yes, he thought, do what you want… He slowly opened his shirt further, here, I’ll help you as well…just stop talking! Stop talking! Stop talking! Calypso smiled and lifted his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere in the room. Her hands trailed his body and her lips claimed his. He kissed her back mechanically; like he was trained to do. He didn’t even care if her nymphs would watch or not. He no longer felt anything that a human was supposed to feel; shame and dignity. His fist grasped upon her dress at the back, seeking some sort of support as she felt her hands trailing him.

“Yes…this torture is better… This is better…than hearing you talking…than hearing you drilling these into my brain… This madness is better than that! This closure… This ‘comfort’ that you offer… Anything is better than what you say!”

He only sighed feeling her hands trailing his body and the now familiar sensations that were rushing in him. He no longer was surprised. In fact this seemed almost like a routine now, like he had forgotten how it felt without it. Calypso trailed his neck with loving kisses and then softly and affectionately gave his earlobe a small bite.

“Let’s go, my love…” she whispered to his ear, “Let’s go to our bed…”

Odysseus wrapped his arms around her; one around her shoulders and one behind her knees; like he was trained to do.

“Yes…” he whispered again

He slowly carried her away.

He raised himself from the bed when the moon was already at the middle of the sky. One or two fresh bruises were already forming to his forearms and one scratch mark was decorating his shoulder blade. Calypso was particularly passionate that night. She probably hadn’t realized yet that she had lost control of her strength again. She would probably notice the day after and apologize anew… His body felt heavy as if made of lead but his heard couldn’t even compare! He sobbed silently.

“Gods…what have I done…! What am I even doing…!” he thought

He had initiated it. Usually he would just walk in, allowing her to do whatever she wanted and he would just respond weakly. This time he had started it…so that he would make her stop! So that she wouldn’t speak again on how his wife was probably remarried and probably with a new child…his worst fear that seemed all the more a reality; that his son never knew him and he would be a grown man now at almost 20 years… He had chosen selling himself so that his ears wouldn’t hear anymore! He realized that her abuse didn’t even bother him anymore; it was a natural thing at that point. Almost seven years could do that to a tormented soul. He realized he would prefer her forceful seduction; her lovemaking and intercourse over the gloom thoughts that kept swirling in his head; over the worm of Nostos that had pretty much eaten him hollow till that point! He realized that he almost hoped for the night to come…so that the thoughts he was torturing himself with every day would stop as he would sink to the reactions of his flesh and black out. The dreadful price of pain and loneliness it was too high to pay! He was being used every day and he realized he preferred being used over his brain being violated by doubts she wanted to plant and sadness that wouldn’t leave him in peace!

“Gods…just let me go already! Can’t I die having some dignity of a human being? Must I lose every bit of my sanity…? Must I really lose every bit of dignity I have? Must I really get lost…? Why can’t I just die already?”

He slowly staggered away from the bed and climbed up to the top. He felt the cold night air on his naked skin as he got out to that dreadful pavilion; it was where everything had started! It was here when Calypso got him drunk and forced his heart to the surface! It was here where she forced his secret pain out of him and ever since used it to torment and eat him away! He slowly walked to the edge and looked down. The tide was high and the dark sea; looking black under the night sky, was hitting against the grotto several dozens of meters below; forming wild foam. The sound of the sea that called him away from home seemed to be calling him now. He stood there and looked down longer than what he should. How easy it would be! Gravity would claim him; the fall would be quick and death quicker!

“Make it so he never sees his homeland again!”

Polyphemus’s strong voice was echoing in his brain. Almost seven years he spent in that prison and nothing had changed. There seemed no salvation for him. The worst had happened. In his sadness he had hoped, in a monstrous inhumane way, that now that his companions had perished that he would at least go back home, after pains and sorrows…to face whatever pain and sorrow he had to face (and at this point he feared the pain he would find would be his wife with someone else, his son never knowing him…be it out of need or out of coercion it didn’t matter). However the first three years he hoped…the other three he began to fear… Now he seemed certain. His companions died for nothing. The first part of the curse was fulfilled. He would never see his home again. He would wither away in sorrow and torture on the island or lose his mind completely. For a second he remembered Ajax…his madness and his total insanity. Now he saw the same future for himself and he shivered in dread.

“One step…that’s what I need…one more step and it will be over…”

And yet the fall terrified him. His body was resisting what his soul was crying for. His soul and broken heart craved for death yet his body needed survival! His heart was flattering in fear, imagining himself falling. Courage! He was telling to himself, women of Troy killed themselves to regain their dignity! You can do it! Don’t be a coward! And yet he couldn’t. Survivor till the end it seemed…contemplating yet never fulfilling…

“Odysseus!” a voice distracted him, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t expect it. He jumped out of his skin and then he slipped close to the edge. His heart leaped out of his mouth in surprise and shock. His arms moved frantically to stop himself! So that gravity wouldn’t claim him! And then he grabbed the first thing he could to save himself; it was steady, strong and warm…

Her arm.

Calypso pulled him strongly back to safety with her usual inhuman strength and Odysseus found himself grabbing onto her like he grabbed upon the keel and the mast when he was drowning; breath hissing to his throat and heart literally hammering against his ribs!

“You were gonna fall, silly!” Calypso also rasped out

Her arms embraced him and her silken robes she had hastily thrown about her body were flowing around them; hand caressing the back of his head like a mother that just saved her child from falling off the cliff. Odysseus held onto her almost as if he were that child. He looked behind. He had nearly fallen off! And his body had doubled over in fear! His knees were still shaking; cold sweat adorned his forehead. Cursed instinct! Cursed need to live! How pitiful living beings were! He hadn’t been so close to death for years before and this was such a sudden experience! How strange! He had faced so many cases where he faced death and yet now he was totally breaking down! He cried. He couldn’t form that stone mask around him anymore; it was long broken. He buried his face in her stomach and cried, kneeling on the ground; his skin hammered by the night wind.

“Gods! Why! Why! Why! Let me go already!”

“Let me go…” he mumbled in his tears, “Please let me go…let me go…let me go…”

He didn’t know what he was saying. Was he asking to be released from her embrace, even if he was the one holding her now? Was he begging her to let him go about his way? Was he begging her to let him die? He no longer knew. His soul and heart were screaming; why did you save me! Why didn’t you let me fall! And yet his body was saying; thank all gods she caught me! Thank gods I didn’t fall… The emotions were too much for him to bear…

“P-Please…” he heard himself whispering through his sobs; voice muffled by the cloth around her body, “…p-please k-…ki…ki…”

She didn’t let him finish. Her lips landed upon his forehead, kissing him tenderly; soothingly even.

“I will always try to kiss your pain away, my darling…” she whispered

“No…” Odysseus whispered, “That’s not what I…”

He couldn’t even speak. Calypso slowly let him lay on the ground and catch his breath. She leaned over him like a predator; like a cat watching her favorite pet mouse struggle. She covered him with her tall body as if she aimed to warm him up with her clothes and flesh. Despite the fact that indeed Odysseus had stopped shivering from the night autumn wind, he felt even colder than before in his soul. Calypso kissed his head, his forehead and his lips; small pecks that burnt him like ice. He was saved by her again! It was as if every move she made was bounding him even more!

“Silly, thoughtless man!” she scolded him so softly, “I understand the night is beautiful but you must not wander about in the dark! You could have fallen! I can’t let that happen, my love!”

Her hand caressed his cheek; her thumb touched his lips.

“I can’t lose you like this! You are everything to me, my love! Don’t do this to me again! Please…don’t be so reckless…”

As her lips sealed his again; as if she was trying to calm him down with her forced affection. He thought on saying something; push her off him screaming...maybe released all accumulated anger inside him all the years he bottled up. Perhaps he would enrage her enough to make her push him off the edge herself…maybe… But his body again cried for survival. He remained silent. He was helped to sit up once more as she opened her robe to embrace him with it, rubbing his arm to transfer some warmth in his body.

“Let’s go back inside, darling” Calypso cooed at him, “You’re freezing”

Taking raspy breaths to finally calm his heart, Odysseus did what he was told; like a trained hound that at command of his master would let go of the bird it caught despite the delicious blood filling its taste buds, Odysseus followed Calypso inside the grotto.

The next day it was a downpour. The skies were gray and rain was falling like a curtain. Flashes of thunder often would appear within the clouds. Odysseus was running. He ran to the beach already soaked to the bone. He stood there under the pouring rain. Here his tears didn’t matter anymore…just like that fateful day almost a decade prior when he had lost all his companions…

“GODS!” he yelled to the heavens, “PLEASE! JUST TAKE MY LIFE ALREADY!”

His voice was being once more carried away by the winds.

“ATHENA! HERMES! ZEUS! Someone! SOMEONE! Please!”

He collapsed on his knees sobbing.

“Someone…I beg of you end me already! Take my life! Please…!”

He held his head with both hands; forehead almost touching the sand.

“Poseidon…” he sobbed, “Enough already…please…! Please spare me…! Take my life…!”

He chocked in his own words.

“…for I couldn’t do it myself…! Please…!”

Water was streaming down his face…hair plastered against his forehead… It was just like that day indeed… The cold rain was whipping his face like a million needles and the waves of the sea were rumbling. He remembered the last cries of his companions before being swept away by the sea. I have to survive for them, he had thought then, to honor their memory…

“I can’t…” he mumbled, “I can’t anymore…how…how can a person take so much?”

He looked over at the horizon. He remembered how many times he had been tempted to end his life… When the sack of Aeolus was one. He had stopped himself then. It was as if his instincts to survive had stopped him. Circe’s misadventure had also led him there but again the voice inside him had stopped him. Then he lost his companions and the wine-dark sea was calling him. He had resisted then too. And now this…

“Woe is me…” he mumbled in realization, “My soul that wishes release is trapped in a body that needs to survive!”

~~~

Around a year ago I created a fanfiction for my friend @artsofmetamoor involving our OC Diego who stands at the edge of a bridge, hoping to give an end to his life not being able to take the torment of waiting (recently posted a little something here too). I remember how ECSTATIC I was to explore the broken spirit of a war veteran there so kinda I will make an anniversary here with this post! ^_^ First of September today as well! With the recent love for that part of the song of Epic (and FINALLY one part I could relate out of all saga) so I thought it was about time I showed a small Odyssey WIP of mine that was working in my brain for some time now and finally connected the dots the way I wanted! Hopefully it will be enjoyed by both fans

Alight guys more heartache here! Sorry since I am also kinda down here so I can only produce this type of tales now!

In Rhapsody 1 of Odyssey and later is implied that Odysseus was wishing for death while crying on the beach but it was never implied that he made an attempt against his life. Likewise when Odysseus tells his tale, he often speaks on his thoughts of ending his life but he never really seems to finally make a leap towards it. So in my mind he contemplates it but I think his will to survive would be much stronger than that so he wouldn't be actually able to make a serious attempt against his life.

Also Calypso's denial that they are perfectly happy in Rhapsody 5 of Odyssey makes me think that Odysseus wouldn't have made a suicide attempt so blantant so that she wouldn't know so yeah here is what I came up with!

And so from this delicious dilemma this idea came out. What if Odysseus desired nothing more than end his torment but all his being was screaming against it? What if his contemplation was perceived as an accident by Calypso who is also in denial already? So yeah this scene came to my mind!

So technically this is the continuation of the afternote at Part 3 of my story "Survivor's Guilt and Survivor's Duty".

The Pavilion is also mentioned to Part 2 of that story while the storm is memorized in Part 1 as well as Odysseus thinking of letting go.

Odysseus often repeats things many times here. In many classical pieces even operas they use a lot the psychological trate that someone who has regrets or is in psychological stress often repeats things many times. Also the number 3 is used a lot in Homer in general and for Odysseus in particular. For instance Odysseus calls for help 3 times in the Iliad and tries 3 times to embrace his dead mother's spirit etc

I was heavily inspired by songs like Evanessence "Tourniquet" and Spirit the Stallion Soundtrack "Sound the Bugle"

So yeah this is my little interpretation based on the texts of the Odyssey! ^_^

Also keep your eyes open for more projects with my dear friend @artsofmetamoor !!

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oumaheroes · 1 year ago

Note

I miss the UK bros, how are they doing this time of day? Getting into trouble? Fighting? Getting absolutely pissed drunk and singing as they walk home? Fighting? How are my boys?

~Izzy

I'm very glad you asked 😌

This fic also relates way back to that poll I had, wherein I asked people who they wanted to see Wales written with in a small fic. The answer was a brother, so I chose North!

Characters: Wales, Northern Ireland, UK Bros referenced

Warnings for graphic details of butchery

------------------------------

Art Show

‘So, do you think I should ask them?’

‘I think they’ll be offended if you don’t.’

‘Yeah, but should I.’

Wales looked up from the dead sheep he was laying out on the old fashioned stone table and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, ‘Do what you want, love. It’s your art show.’

‘Yeah but that’s you saying that there’s still a right answer.’ Leant against the rough outside brick of the barn nearby, North spun his mobile between his forefinger and thumb, the screen a dark mirror catching the sun.

With a far brighter flash of light, Wales picked up his boning knife from its spot on the table and wiped the back of it on his overalls. North eyed it, then the dead sheep, and ignored the urge to head back inside.

‘There’s not a right answer,’ Wales said slowly, ‘I’m just telling you that they will be upset if you don’t invite us.’

‘You’re invited.’

‘If you don’t invite all of us.’ Wales gave him a pointed look, conveying to him the need to honour a long-held understanding (long, at least, to North’s lifetime) that there were certain things that must be done As A Family. To exclude one or more of them from one of these unspoken events was a sure-fire way to surface old grudges North didn’t even want to try to understand. Annoyingly, most of these events involved himself.

‘I think it will be nice.’ Wales offered to the silence. ‘You and your friends’ work all hung up in a proper gallery, a chance to walk around your college. We could even go for dinner afterwards. Like...’

Wales stopped himself, maybe hearing the impossible wish in his words that made North feel embarrassed and hungry for it at the same time. Silently, Wales twisted the sheep to the position he wanted it and then, in one practised movement, slit the whole thing from throat to groin. North gagged and turned away.

Wales clucked at him in concern, gaze still focused on the sheep and the knife, ‘Are you alright?’

North didn’t trust himself to speak. He clamped his jaw tightly shut, turning back to focus on the green hills beyond the farm over Wales’ shoulder, and gave him a thumbs up.

‘It’s nice of you to watch but you really don’t have to.’

North had offered to help him, actually. Wales was very kind to omit that.

‘Alisdair will think it’s pointless.’ North continued thickly, watching Wales skin the sheep in a few quick, strong tugs, his shoulders tightening and broadening under his baggy shirt before softening away again.

‘Oh, he can piss off. He just doesn’t know what to do with himself in a place like that.’

‘He thinks me being in college at all is stupid.’

‘He’s a hypocrite. He’s had human friends before. And more human lives than I can count.’

‘He might not even come.’

‘He will.’

That’s what North was actually worried about. He knew all of them would turn up if he asked them to, they had for everything else. School plays when he was much younger, football and rugby games, sessions in parliament- there was always one of them present in all of his early achievements. Older now though, it felt strange. North didn’t know what was worse, Scotland grumbling and picking fault in the entire thing and North’s enjoyment of it, or maybe Patrick finding it all amusing. Like a hobby or passing fancy North had picked up, rather than anything to be taken seriously. It was only an end of year art show, for a module he took only because some of his friends had chosen it, but he’d found that he’d liked it. He’d worked hard on his final piece and wanted that to be recognised.

The idea of them all together, in a place he had chosen and cultivated separately for himself, felt too much like a clashing of two worlds that he was averse to see coming together. With their different accents and odd turns of phrase, they were a hard thing to normalise and explain away even if they did behave themselves.

Wales waved his knife towards the smaller building that bordered the barn, ‘I’ve left the slop bucket behind. Fetch it for me?’

‘I don’t know why you have to do this yourself.’ North called behind him as he jogged over to the door, ‘It’d be easier to take them to the butchers when they need to go.’

‘It’s important to do things yourself sometimes,’ Wales said simply when he returned. He dropped some gory looking shapes into the bucket, and they hit the bottom with a wet smack. The meaty smell of them made North feel sick, ‘You forget things if you don’t practise- easy to take the new alternatives for granted. And it always tastes better when you’re part of the process, more like how I remember.’

Wales looked at him and then back to the sheep, ‘Don’t leave anything to waste, if you can help it. This’ll make a lovely mutton stew; keep me going for days.’

North stared into the bucket warily, not feeling very hungry at all.

‘I‘d enjoy myself if I went.’ Wales said, his hand back somewhere North couldn’t look at for too long, ‘I really want to go, and I know they would do too, if they knew about it. We’ve never had many chances to enjoy small things like this for what they are.’

North toed the grass, feeling uncomfortable, ‘I suppose I could ask Alisdair when we go to the gig next week. See what he says and then tell Arthur and Patrick.’

Wales gave him a wide smile. Something inside the sheep cracked, ‘I think that’s a wonderful way to do it.’

‘You can't take any pictures though.’

Wales’ smile dropped, ‘Why?’

‘All of my friends will be there; no one else will be doing it.’

‘Of course they will.’

‘Not as many as you do.’

Wales rolled his eyes, ‘How about the small camera? My “digi-cam”- I can take that?’

‘No one uses those anymore.’

Wales pulled a face, ‘I’m sure they do. I only got that a few years ago.’

‘It was at least 15.’

Wales shrugged, unbothered, and dropped a few more horrible looking things into the slop bucket, ‘My camera phone then.’ Then, when North made a noise- ‘and I’ll only ask for one posed one.’

‘Fine.’

#aph wales #hws wales #aph northern ireland #hws northern ireland #hws british isles #aph brit bros #aph uk bros #hetalia #aph #hws #heroes writes

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yzeltia · 6 months ago

Text

WOL/Raha Week Day 5 Time Apart

Rating: T for Teen Characters: Lyna, Crystal Exarch, Keith Summers, Krile Baldesion Notes: Takes place during the Stormblood era. Song used is Goodnight My Someone by Meredith Wilson

“Grandpa! Keep up,” Lyna called out, tugging on the Exarch’s hand as she pulled him into the ruins of The Church of the First Light.

“Lyna, my muscles are stiff. You forget I’m an old man,” he said, following her to the front arch of the church as she looked up in wonder toward the towering mountain before them.

Lyna laughed then pointed up to the stone towers peaking just up over the edge of a cliff. “It’s a castle! Just like in the story tales,” the girl pointed out excitedly, “Can we go see it!?”

The Exarch laughed, then shook his head. “I don’t think that would be very safe. It is an old castle and has long been set to ruin just as the church here,” he lied, worried his rambunctious granddaughter's adventurous spirit would kick in and very much did not want to have to attempt a rescue from the lingering spirits of elves that haunted the castle.

“Aww…I was hoping there would be a prince,” Lyna said, long ears going limp down her back as she started to slump.

“I do not think there’s been a prince in there for quite some time,” the Exarch said, patting his daughter’s head with his unaltered hand.

“Ah! But there was,” an older woman’s voice sounded.

Lyna and the Exarch turned, finding an older elven woman wandering toward them slowly with her fcane as she looked up to the castle.

“Hello there,” the Exarch greeted.

The woman bowed to the Exarch then smiled at Lyna. “Greetings, your Grace. Forgive me, but I overheard as I was wandering by on my walk. Do you wish to know the story of the Lost Shepherd and the Prince?”

Lyna looked up to her grandfather, the man giving her a small nod of approval that it was okay to interact with the stranger. “Yes please!”

“Very well then,” the woman said, finding a comfortable spot on the church wall to lean. “Well, as you probably know, this is the Forest of the Lost Shepard, named for the shepherd that went in search of one of his stray flock but was never seen again after. Well, that tale comes from the era of the First King of Laxan Loft, when skies still grew dark.”

“King? I thought this story was about a prince,” Lyna said, tilting her head.

“Well young miss, without a king there would be no prince! Though, as the story is told, the prince did not want to be a prince at all. He found his happiness with his subjects, often in disguise as a commoner so that he might walk among them unnoticed.. The prince made many friends and loved all his subjects dearly; however, there was one he found he loved more than all the others!”

“The shepard?” Lyna asked.

“What a smart little girl you are! Yes! He was stricken with love upon hearing the shepard, a handsome young Mystel, singing one evening to his flock. ‘Goodnight, my someone. Goodnight, my love. Sleep tight, my someone. Sleep tight, my love. Our star is shining, its brightest light. For goodnight, my love, for goodnight.’ Hearing the song all sheep came save for one who had found the enraptured prince and saw fit to chew on his laces. The shepard, concerned, went looking for his sheep and found the disguised prince trying to gently shoo the sheep away back to his flock. The prince, clearly unused to animals, amused the shepherd and after watching him struggle for a time he intervened to save him. Embarrassed, the prince fled.”

“He ran away? Aren’t prince’s supposed to be brave?” Lyna asked.

“Well, that would be very boring if all princes were alike, wouldn’t it,” the Exarch proposed to his granddaughter.

Lyna stared at the ground a moment, seeming to be lost in thought. “I suppose it would be.”

“Right, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t brave. It was that he had never felt that special feeling in his heart before. Despite that, he returned that night and when the shepherd sang, the sheep once more found him far more interesting. Again, he tried to shoo him away until the shepard came to get him himself. This time he stayed long enough to apologize for getting in the way before returning home.

“On the third night, the prince, determined to be of use, wandered out toward the shepard as he sang to his flock, singing after him, ‘Sweet dreams be yours, dear, if dreams there be. Sweet dreams to carry you close to me. I wish they may and I wish they might. Now goodnight, my someone, goodnight’. His fluffy friend this time followed him to join the flock. The shepard offered him his thanks with a gentle kiss. From every night on, they met, sang, then parted from one another’s company with a kiss.”

“Did the prince ever tell the shepherd who he was,” Lyna asked, bouncing a bit as she grew more invested in the story.

“Sadly, he did not get the chance. A war came, and as the prince, he had to lead his father’s army into battle. He did not return, lost heroically on the front lines so that he’d be shoulder to shoulder with his men. The shepard assumed his lost love was a soldier when he did not come the nights after the war broke out. On the night the prince fell, the mischievous sheep did not return when he sang his song, and so the shepard wandered into the forest, singing out for him…and for his unknown love. It is said that those who are lost can still hear him singing, waiting for his prince to join him.”

Lyna crossed her arms, scowling a little. “That’s not a very good prince story. It’s more like a ghost story,” she said before feeling a small tap on her shoulder. Looking at a small drip of water on her sleeve, she looked to find tears running down the Exarch’s cheeks. Frowning, she started to tug on his robes. “Grandpa…Grandpa it’s okay. It’s just a story.”

“S-Sorry,” the Exarch breathed out before wiping his face free of tears, “I’m not sure what came over me.”

“It was not my intention to upset you, your Grace,” the woman said, giving another shaky bow. “Your sweet granddaughter is correct in that it is more a ghost story. The shepherd and prince were very real…I am reminded of another old tale. Something about when the soul resonates with one’s past…but it has slipped my mind. Forgive me, I’ve taken enough of your time.”

“Pray miss, should you find yourself wanting, come to the Crystarium and I shall personally see that you are well cared for,” the Exarch said

“Yes! I would like to hear another story sometime,” Lyna echoed.

The old woman laughed then gave a small nod. “I shall endeavor to take you up on that offer then, and look forward to the next time we meet. Perhaps I will have a proper prince story for you then.”

With that, the old woman departed their company, leaving the two to start their way back into the fort. The Exarch couldn’t shake the pangs in his heart, wondering just where they came from. “Say, Lyna. Why was it important that we find a prince in that castle?”

Lyna hummed a bit. “To break your curse! If a handsome prince came along, he could kiss you and make you better,” she said, looking up at her grandfather earnestly.

The Exarch swallowed, flushing lightly before taking her hand. “Wouldn’t that be nice…”

The Source -

Keith sighed as he reached up onto yet another shelf, pawing around for items as Krile gave a sharp check mark off the list in her hand. “It’s wonderful to have you around. Needless to say until you came along the average height of those in the Annex was about four fulms,” she praised before watching as Keith pulled out a lyre.

“This seems a bit out of place,” Keith said, flipping the instrument about in his hands.

Krile’s eyes widened before dropping her attention to the ground. “It belonged to a dear friend.”

“Oh…,” Keith trailed, “Were they lost to Val too?”

Krile shook her head. “No. They did not pass, but they are also unable to return to us. It is rather difficult to explain. He was a bard, and so hungry to go on an adventure. I find myself missing him terribly. What I wouldn’t give to hear him excitedly tell me about something he’d read or sing a tune.”

Keith frowned, watching Krile remain slumped. Holding the lyre correctly, he strummed a few bars, finding it still in tune despite being forgotten. As he played, a melody came to him and on impulse he sang out, “True love can be whispered from heart to heart, when lovers are parted they say. But I must depend on a wish and a star, as long as my heart doesn't know who you are…Sweet dreams be yours, dear, if dreams there be. Sweet dreams to carry you close to me. I wish they may and I wish they might. Now goodnight, my someone, goodnight…”

Krile looked at Keith, stunned before giving him a small smile as she began to dig in her pocket. “What a lovely song. Thank you,” she said, handing him her handkerchief.

Keith blinked at the gesture before touching his face, finding himself crying. “Ah, whoops. Don’t know what that’s about,” he laughed before taking the handkerchief and dabbing his cheeks with it before handing it back.

Krile pocketed the cloth and shrugged, “Perhaps a moment of empathy for me. If you’d like, you may keep the lyre. At least until there’s an occasion to return it to its proper owner.”

“Ah. Really? Thanks. I’ll keep it safe,” he said before setting it down on a table where he could easily find it.

“Well, that takes care of this room. On to the next then,” Krile said, heading out of the room.

Keith followed, briefly pausing at the door before looking back to the lyre on the desk. He winced, heart giving a little ache. Shaking it off, he hurried on after Krile.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #ff14 #ffxiv oc #ff xiv #ffxiv miqo'te #keith summers #g'raha tia #g'raha/wol #grahawol #wolraha #wolgraha #wolgraha week 2024 #crystal exarch #lyna ffxiv

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atopvisenyashill · 11 months ago

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Hello! I have a question and I hoped that you might help me. I’ve seen a lot of posts in the asoiaf tag where people claimed that GRRM is criticising feudalism. My problem is that I don’t understand why would he? Feudalism isn’t a system that actively exists anymore. It’s not like criticising capitalism or totalitarianism which still exist. And it’s a fantasy series and most fantasy series have a somewhat medieval setting. It doesn’t make sense to me.

oo fun question anon.

well, first off, i would say he’s not just critiquing fuedalism. he’s also critiquing monarchies, which unfortunately still exist, and power structures in general, which definitely still exist. for example, that famous broken man section, sorry for length but the whole thing is good:

“Ser? My lady?” said Podrick. “Is a broken man an outlaw?” “More or less,” Brienne answered. Septon Meribald disagreed. “More less than more. There are many sorts of outlaws, just as there are many sorts of birds. A sandpiper and a sea eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing of good men forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked lord, but most outlaws are more like this ravening Hound than they are the lightning lord. They are evil men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they may be just as dangerous. Almost all are common-born, simple folk who had never been more than a mile from the house where they were born until the day some lord came round to take them off to war. Poorly shod and poorly clad, they march away beneath his banners, ofttimes with no better arms than a sickle or a sharpened hoe, or a maul they made themselves by lashing a stone to a stick with strips of hide. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They’ve heard the songs and stories, so they go off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see, of the wealth and glory they will win. War seems a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know. "Then they get a taste of battle. For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they’ve been gutted by an axe. “They see the lord who led them there cut down, and some other lord shouts that they are his now. They take a wound, and when that’s still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from the marching, their clothes are torn and rotting, and half of them are shitting in their breeches from drinking bad water. “If they want new boots or a warmer cloak or maybe a rusted iron halfhelm, they need to take them from a corpse, and before long they are stealing from the living too, from the smallfolk whose lands they’re fighting in, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it’s just a short step to carrying off their daughters too. And one day they look around and realize all their friends and kin are gone, that they are fighting beside strangers beneath a banner that they hardly recognize. They don’t know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they’re fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world… "And the man break. “He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steals away in the black of night, and he finds someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a haunch of spoiled meat that will let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fear for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them…but he should pity them as well.”

When Meribald was finished a profound silence fell upon their little band. Brienne could hear the wind rustling through a clump of pussywillows, and farther off the faint cry of a loon. She could hear Dog panting softly as he loped along beside the septon and his donkey, tongue lolling from his mouth. The quiet stretched and stretched, until finally she said, “How old were you when they marched you off to war?” “Why, no older than your boy,” Meribald replied. “Too young for such, in truth, but my brothers were all going, and I would not be left behind. Willam said I could be his squire, though Will was no knight, only a potboy armed with a kitchen knife he’d stolen from the inn. He died upon the Stepstones, and never struck a blow. It was fever did for him, and for my brother Robin. Owen died from a mace that split his head apart, and his friend Jon Pox was hanged for rape.” “The War of the Ninepenny Kings?” asked Hyle Hunt. “So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was.”

Bolded parts mine! All of it, but especially the bolded parts can apply just as easily to soldiers in the war of the five kings, the war of the roses, world war 2, vietnam, and every war in between. Think about the way military recruiters show up to high schools with cool gadgets and the promise of free college, and the way Meribald talks about the lords showing up pressing young boys into service. Think about the fact that the British military executed three hundred and six soldiers suffering from PTSD after WWI for "cowardice" and the starving soldiers Meribald talks about abandoning their armies just for an extra mouthful of food. when meribald talks about the soldiers looting from peasants, think about the fact that the innocent people in gaza are starving to death while a handful of miles away, there are restaurants booming and food enough to throw away. War is war, regardless of whether it's being waged a thousand years ago or a thousand years from now.

it's important when discussing asoiaf to remember that george is often holding a mirror up against our own society - he is saying that this, the violent patriarchy of westeros, is our natural endpoint if we continue to treat each other the way we do. it's about taking these typical tropes and roles and archetypes and asking what they are really like, how hard they really are, how awful they really are, and if this is the life we want to befall our own children. it is about asking if we, as in the reader, are capable of breaking the cycle of violence as surely as it is about asking if the characters can break that cycle too. There's a reason, for example, Ramsay's story is so tied up in domestic violence, or why Robert's character focuses much more on the way he has failed his family than anything else. There's a reason there's so many sibling groups (Martells, Daynes, Starks, Lannisters, Tullys, Baratheons) that get wrecked by the Rebellion and that the series tracks the way this wreckage seeps out into the realm. Yes, asoiaf is about feudalism but it is about us as well.

second, while feudalism doesn’t technically exist any more, the relics of feudalism still haunt the world; from hereditary noble titles to literal monarchs with absolute power to extreme barriers to social mobility and even serfs. you'll see a lot of academics, especially since the pandemic started, talking about "neo-feudalism" and the idea that just like the middle ages was shaped by pandemics that ravaged populations and made it easier for upper classes to get richer and stop social mobility, the pandemic has enriched the richest people in the world and made everyone else exceedingly poor. while george obviously wasn't writing about the neo feudalism people are talking about today, this is a concept that's been kicking around since the 1980s so I think it is likely that George had done some research into the relics of feudalism and the criticism of modern governments working like corporations. Because this history may seem a long time ago - the war of the roses ended over a thousand years ago, after all - but feudalism and it's relics are still very much within living memory. Russia still had serfs until the 1860s, Bosnia and Herzegovina up until 1918, and Bhutan until the 1950s! There are also still countries all over the world that still have what is basically legalized slavery, whether it's workers stolen from one country and trafficked to another, a minority group that is used as slave labor, or prison labor. I think George is also knocking at the remnants of it as well. I mean, the UK monarchs aren't even that powerful in the grand scheme of things and yet every time they have one of their lil events, they destroy tent cities and mass displace the unhoused populations of London because like, homeless people are gross instead of actually doing anything to help those people. Diana was a teenager when she married Charles. Yeah, that's a far cry from like, poor Rhaella but that doesn't mean it's not still a fucked up institution that is worth taking aim at!

but thirdly!! feudalism exists in fiction constantly still - as you said, a lot of high fantasy has a medieval-ish bent (even books pulling from non western cultures or authors from non western cultures still tend to pull more from history that falls pre-1500s; this is mostly just my opinion as a librarian and fantasy reader, but it's really only been the last decade or so that fantasy has branched out into non medieval time periods like with stuff like babel, six of crows, some of katherine arden's stuff, etc). the divine right of kings is still alive and thriving in fiction and (again, this is my amatuer opinion here) I do think at least part of this is because a lot of american fantasy writers have never lived under a monarchy, so the bad affects of it are far off and easier to romanticize. as well, you get a lot of "times were simpler" PoVs from non americans who have lived under some sort of monarch as well. and that’s why i believe he’s criticizing it - he’s critiquing the genre itself for its romanticization of feudalism, monarchies, kings and queens, and the idea of the divine right of kings. he's saying "look realistically this shit sucked for everyone" and then rubbing your face in how bleak the feudal system actually was. It's the aragorn's tax policies aspect - there is more to being a leader than a watery tart throwing a sword at you!! it's jaime's entire riverlands arc - house lannister won the war on a technicality, and yet the horror, the desolation, the despair are still fresh in the minds of the common people, in the minds of the people who lost their loved ones.

#asks #anons #grrm #rani attempts meta #getting on my soap box

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