#life currently stuck in black mud

[thirrith]

missed my family. thought seeing them for the first time in 3 years would help. it’s worse, actually. we’ve had a good few days (but not enough time, always not enough time, I would have made more time for them if I could but I couldn’t which my brain now tells me was my fault) and now I miss them even more

[tickettride]

Like real people do

Alfie Solomons x Fem!OC

[warnings: war in itself, mentions of blood, wounds and deaths, a lot of angst, suicidal thoughts, English isn't my first language

AN: I know Child 44 isn't set during WW1 and I should be banned from using such a gif. But it's close to the representation of young/soldier Alfie I have in mind, so let's say it is, right? It’s also your sign to watch (again) my fav edit in the world]

masterlist | previous part

— two

July 1917, somewhere in France

The sky was an eerie amber, like hell itself had descended upon earth. Shells exploded so close to the tent you had caught yourself freezing in horror a couple of times, even when the other nurses yelled at each other to keep going and never stop. 

It had been your choice to come here, two years ago. Some generous act to show your parents you were a good person. The thing is, you’d prepared yourself to be working in a hospital ward in the city, not so close to the battlefield where you risked your own life every day trying to save others. 

Coward. Wimp. You’d heard them all. Only now, you were stuck here. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like helping the men. You really did. It filled your heart with satisfaction every time one of them thanked you for saving their lives, shedding tears as though you were an angel. Reality was just harsh. You’d managed to stay over water for the first months, but witnessing such horrors was getting harder every day. How could you help the men when you could barely stay alive yourself? 

Furiously blinking the tears away, you looked at the lifeless body in front of you and shouted at Ellen to get you someone, anyone, to take the young man away. Like assembly-line work–from what your dad had described back at home–the corpse was taken away, and you were met with another man bleeding to death, begging you to help him. 

So you did. Everything blacked out as you focused on the crying Tommy, thinking only of your Andrew somewhere on the line. The man looked just like him—soft eyes, freckles over his nose, and dark hair. A faraway gaze and a voice that broke your heart and your soul, until you were unable to move or say something, and your legs seemed wholly unable to hold you up in your current state. 

In the distance, the Chief Nurse shouted at Ellen to replace you. God knew how long you had been standing there, staring at the blood gliding off the scalpel and through the gaps in your fingers. It could have been Andrew’s. Your sweet Andrew, whom you’d promised to get to know better after the war ended. What if he’d already died, somewhere in the mud? Had he called for you?

“Out!” another voice yelled.

Now fully hyperventilating, you dropped the scalpel with the other bloodied tools, knocking over some supplies that fell on the floor.

Some unknown force pulled you out of the tent. 

The breeze was gentle, but it helped you stay grounded. You pressed your palms to your eyelids and counted up to ten, sweat gliding down your forehead. The display of weakness was ridiculous, especially as some walked by without really seeing you. Everyone had their own issues to deal with, you knew it, but couldn't kindness be reciprocated for once?

So you drew in a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly, just like Ellen had told you to do the first time. It'd never hit so hard, and it took forever to find some sort of peace again. Though you knew the only peace you’d meet was in the afterlife, wherever it was. 

In the shocked calm of your brain, you considered it. How easy it would be to just… stop. 

“Miss?”

Your head snapped up in fear, though it was only one of the Tommies. Freshly shaven, his eyes full of horror. And still, you wondered how he could stand so straight. 

“Miss? You’re alright?”

Deciding to be honest, you shook your head and felt your body swaying a bit, landing on the ground. You stayed there, sitting on the mud, wondering if the cries reaching your ears were only a part of your imagination. 

You hugged your legs and rested your forehead on your knees, not caring that you were soiling your uniform with mud. It was stained with blood anyway.

“The panic, eh? It grips your heart like a snake. Won’t let it go.”

Numb and unable to utter a word, you tilted your chin to look at the man who was sitting down next to you, clenching and unclenching your fists. He looked older than you, perhaps in his thirties. You’d noticed him in the ward a few days ago, but he hadn’t been as vocal as the others back then. A leg injury Ellen had taken care of, you reckoned. 

“They said it’ll be over in a few months,” the man went on, strangely soothing. “But they’ve been sayin’ the same shit for years now, haven’t they? So the people like you and me don’t give up.”

His gaze boring into yours was an invitation to be honest, as though telling you that you were safe with him. 

So you were honest.

"I won’t last.”

“Ya will, love,” he elbowed you gently, slightly leaning closer to you. “Ya will. I’ll come and find ya, and we’ll have a short conversation every time, yeah? As much as we can.”

For the first time in over a year, you smiled. Not a full grin like you’d offered people at home, but it was still something. And if there was something you had never forgotten, it was that exact moment of hope, as small and stupid as it sounded. Nurses often fell for the sweet and relieving words of the men, but you’d never considered it could feel so nice. Cheerful lads were rare, after all. 

"Right."

Even though you weren’t sure you’d see him the next week, you gave a small nod in agreement. It was bad to think he could cure your loneliness, but what else could you do? Andrew was… somewhere else. Probably dead, or writing an apology for not sending letters.

A small pause ensued. The man glanced over his shoulder, pulling at the tight collar of his khaki uniform. He looked terribly hot and uncomfortable, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Ya need to think about something that reminds you of home, eh?” 

It took you a second to realise he was still addressing you. 

“Well, I…” you trailed off, ashamed of how weak you sounded. “I wanted to think about my sweetheart, you know, but I don’t even know where he is. I haven’t got any letter in two weeks. I’m worried.”

“He must be thinkin’ of you somewhere,” he replied without a doubt. “The postmen aren’t used to workin’ so much, you see. Workin’ all day long–that’s a first for them.”

Chuckling softly, you hugged your legs a bit tighter. “I’m glad they’re here, though.”

“Me too, me too. Don't get me wrong.”

You shot him a smile, staring at his expression as he watched you back. He looked both gentle and… impressive, came to think of it. Still, you appreciated his desire to make you feel better.

“Sadie!”

Right on cue, one of the postmen sauntered over to you, holding up an envelope that looked like it had crossed the trenches and been stomped on in the mud before getting here.

“Letter for you, darling,” Rob gave you the usual crooked grin, saluting quickly the man next to you.

You took it from him, squinting as you tried to decipher who the sender was. Your mother. Like every time she wrote to you, a sense of unease filled you. Although your brother's disability had prevented him from coming to the front, you always imagined the worst.

“Thanks, Rob.”

You tore the envelope without waiting, exhaling in relief as you read that everything was fine at home, the worry that had been gnawing at you finally lifting. The letter was folded and slipped into your pocket.

The man's thick accent jolted you out of your thoughts, his eyes still trained on you.

“Good news, yeah?”

“They’re not bad,” you replied, glancing at Rob who was now handing another nurse a small package.

You wished you'd got one.

Beside you, the soldier was silent, probably feeling you needed some time. But the thought of going back inside was scarier than usual, and you were desperate to make the moment last.

“You said I’d need to think of something that reminds me of home. What helps you?” 

“Bread.”

That one-word response had you chortling. “Bread? Are you a cook by any chance?”

“Nah, something wiser,” the man tried for a smile too, though it looked strained. “I’m planning on opening my bakery, see?”

How many men had told you about their plans, only to die the day after?

“Why, that sounds lovely.”

“I’ve bought the place, right, and…” he trailed off in thought, running a hand through his short hair. “I’ve been waitin' ever since.”

“I hope you make it,” you told him sincerely, frowning at the muddy men running into the tent. 

It seemed that another horde of wounded soldiers had arrived. It made your pulse race.

“Alfie Solomons.”

Spotting his hand stretched in your direction, you met his gaze again and shook it. His fingers tracked tiny sparks across your skin until they pulled away, maybe a bit too fast. 

“Sadie Murray.”

The image of him glancing up at you as he lighted a cigarette was engraved in your mind. The beginning of a smile on his lips, and the way he ground the white stick under his shoe when you walked inside the tent. It was hard to ignore how your heart thumped under the weight of his eyes tracking you, though it should have been your Andrew comforting you there.

Through the explosions and the daily horrid cries of pain, the first meeting with Alfie Solomons was the one thing that kept you going for the next months.

tags: @hoodeddreams13 @justrainandcoffee ⊹₊⟡ (tell me if you’d like to be added as well!)

[headfulloflettuce]

Puppet Darling - Part 7

Credit: Inspired by @wallflowers-in-the-wind’s post here.

Warning: angst, Feyre is entering her depression arc.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

Nesta was having the time of her life, or at least, it seemed that way to Feyre. From training in the woods, to enjoying the library in Eris’s cabin she seemed to thrive. 

Elain had once again found purpose in gardening. Apparently she had brought some Spring Court seedlings and had begun growing them in Autumn, trying to cross pollinate the different types of plants.

During one of his visits Eris had discovered her experiments, and had kindly requested that she ‘doesn’t create something that will eat them alive’.

Feyre thought the idea of a man eating plant to be silly but Elain took Eris’s comment as a challenge, and was now determined to create the very thing he said not to do. She may be orchestrating a forest coup. Against whom? Feyre wasn’t certain, yet.

Meanwhile, Feyre was bored. Happy? Satisfied? Perhaps content was a better word to describe her current state.

She didn’t feel happy, but she wasn’t sad either. 

Nyx babbled as she fed him another spoon of applesauce.

“What are we going to do today?” she smiled at the baby.

Nyx pointed to the plushie.

“You want to play?”

He waved his arms, pointing to the window as well.

“Outside?”

Nyx nodded.

Feyre shrugged, feeding him the rest of his applesauce and taking him out of the baby chair Eris had graciously provided, along with toys, clothes and other necessities. She carried Nyx outside, bringing the one toy she took from Spring Court, a couple Autumn ones and a blanket so that he wasn’t crawling around in the mud. 

Autumn was so vibrant. Feyre still hadn’t gotten used to all the red and orange despite the weeks spent doing the exact same thing over and over again.

Feeding Nyx.

Playing with Nyx.

Bathing Nyx.

Getting Nyx to sleep.

Sleep for only four hours of stupid Rhys.

Repeat.

As if on cue the mating bond came to life with an obligatory tug. Feyre wasn’t certain if he was actually being gentler or if she had gotten used to his constant presence.

A part of her wanted to be angry. To want more. To want stimuli besides the sounds of the trees rustling and the occasional crow.

I should be grateful for what I have. I am free.

She looked at the black haired boy as she sat him down on the blanket, letting him wriggle around, smacking at the stuffed animal, making it fall over.

Feyre crossed her legs, toying with the grass next to her. She hated to admit it but she felt lonely. Elain, Nesta and her had taken on an avoidance routine the past couple weeks, meeting up only during the mornings which tended to end in arguments.

Feyre tried to stay positive.

It’s for the best. They can finally move on and have good lives, even if it’s without me.

Feyre shook her head.

It would be fine. We avoided each other back then and we still co-existed. Although, coexistence doesn’t mean to enjoy each other’s company…

She almost felt guilty for wanting to go back to a time where they were stuck in that rundown house and were on the brink of starvation each winter.

At least we had shared some degree of trust then. Somewhat. On second thought, we didn't act particularly more friendly than either. 

Feyre scrunched her face, recalling the insults Nesta had thrown at her, and the ones she had thrown right back. It had always gotten ugly.

How did Elain survive us?

The bushes near the edge of the clearing that the cabin was located on suddenly shook, and Nesta peeked through the greenery, Eris’s smokehounds following loyally after her.

“Oh, Nesta, you’re back early.” Feyre quickly stood up, approaching her sister, still keeping an eye on Nyx. She didn’t feel comfortable with how her voice pitched an octave higher from excitement.

“I forgot to grab water before going on the run.” Nesta grabbed a bottle, chugging the liquid inside it, the loose athletic clothing of Autumn Court gently swaying in the breeze as she drank. One of the hounds that had accompanied her sat down at her feet, catching his breath.

“Do you want to join me and Nyx?”

“I need to get back to training. I want to make it to the actual cliffside this time.”

“Just for a bit.”Feyre hoped she didn’t sound too desperate.

“I told you, I am busy.”

“Fifteen minutes is enough.” she felt like she was begging her to chop wood again. Feyre knew it wasn’t exactly the same, but still.

“Seriously? You think I want to spend time with that freak’s kid?” Nesta snapped.

He’s my kid too.

Feyre persisted, “What about me?”

“What about you?” Nesta raised an eyebrow.

“I want to spend time with you.”

Do you not want to spend even a second with me?

Nesta looked at her with a stoic expression breaking eye contact as she sighed, “I think we’ve spent enough time together at all your family junctions. Some distance would do us some good.”

“They were our family junctions.”

It was one of the few ways he allowed me to visit you.

“No Feyre, they were YOUR family’s events. Not mine. Last time I checked you threatened me with my rent to show up.”

“I genuinely wanted you there.” Feyre whispered.

“Yeah well I sure felt fucking welcomed.” Nesta said sarcastically, “No better way to welcome a sibling than to threaten her with money hm?”

“I am sorry, that was his idea, I didn’t agree-”

“How convenient that everything was his idea!” Nesta threw her hands up, exasperated, “One minute you’re on my ass and then the next you’re apologizing for every little thing, pick a lane Feyre!”

“I am not apologizing for little things!” Feyre’s scowled, “You were spirling-”

“Oh, great, now I am the one with the issu-”

“But you shouldn’t have been locked up in the House of Wind. You should have just received payment for all the work you did while in Night Court and been permitted complete independence.”

Although I didn’t really want to do that.

Feyre knew that would have been the right thing to have done, but she hadn’t wanted to let go. If she could keep taking care of Nesta, and with Rhysand’s money she could have, there is no reason why she shouldn’t. 

She had always taken care of Nesta and  Elain. Sure they were adults. Sure they didn’t need her, but they still needed her right? Right?

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

“I truly am sorry.” Feyre mumbled, “I am sorry for the House of Wind. I am sorry for how Rhysand has treated you, for how he has threatened you. I promise, if I could have, and I tried, I would have torn him to shreds for saying he would kill you. I am sorry for letting Cassian near you when you weren’t ready. I am sorry for letting him take you on that stupid hike.” Feyre’s breath hitched as she met Nesta’s eyes.

“You…you don’t believe me.” Feyre searched for any hint of trust in Nesta’s face.

“I do believe he had you somewhat under his control.” Nesta conceded, “Too many things line up, and your behavior is too different now for it to not have been the case. However, I don’t believe that you’re just some victim in all this. I don’t believe for a minute that you didn’t seek pleasure in watching me and Elain suffer.”

“Nesta, I would ne-”

“Shut up, I am not finished.” Nesta cut her off, “I don’t believe that all of a sudden you feel remorse for all these things because the Feyre that I knew was a stubborn, pain in the ass. The Feyre I knew was strong.”

You’re saying that just to be hurtful.

“You were nagging, and annoying but you were strong. Resilient like a damn cockroach. I don’t believe you would let Rhysand take over your mind so easily, which means you gave him permission. You wanted whatever he offered you.”

“I didn’t nag, I wanted us to survive. I tasked you with things that needed to get done.” Feyre didn’t address what Nesta truly said, her words having struck a core fear of hers.

What if it had been me all along?

“Things that needed to get done? What about house chores, what about any of the things you didn’t do Feyre?”

Feyre paused, “I am sorry, you’re right. I was dismissive of the work you and Elain put in-”

“Stop saying that you’re sorry.” Nesta snarled, “You’re lying to us when you say you’re sorry and that you had completely no control over the situation. And worse of all you’re lying to yourself.”

Feyre didn’t have an answer.

“What? You have the powers of all the High Lords no? Seems like you should be strong enough to overpower at least one of them.”

“Nesta, Rhysand is powerful, you don’t under-”

“He’s only as powerful as you think he is.” Nest said flatly, turning around and heading back to the tree line.

“Nesta, that’s not how it works.” Feyre tried to take a step after her but Nesta’s glare stopped her.

“Stop saying that you’re sorry, it’s too fucking late.”

Feyre stood there silently, watching Nesta as she disappeared into the treeline, the hounds following after.

She was right, it was too late.

Feyre looked down at her hands.

Did I really not try hard enough?

Nyx’s coos and calls slowly brought her to the presence, as she turned back to the picnic blanket, taking a seat beside her child who shoved the stuffed animal towards her. Feyre didn’t have the energy to pick it up however, gently shoving it back towards him.

Nyx frowned, wanting an active playmate.

I was right from the start; the best thing I can do is give them space.

The mating bond hummed, as if supporting whatever Nesta had just said. Feyre knew it was her imagination. There was no way he could know the details of her conversations, catching at most the general emotions she felt. 

She put her head in her hands.

What am I supposed to do?

Feyre startled as she heard an animalistic snort behind her, the heavy feeling that had taken root lifting slightly as she jumped to her feet. Turning around, she saw Tamlin’s beast form, carrying a heavy bag. Feyre relaxed a bit, watching as he approached, sitting beside the picnic blanket and gently placing the bag down.

Nyx stared up at the animal in wonder, desperately trying to crawl over to see him closer. Tamlin snorted again, as if laughing, lowering his head so Nyx could look at him up close. The baby quickly grabbed at Tamlin’s snout, patting it. Tamlin’s eyes crinkled, booping Nyx’s nose, more like face, with said snout.

Nyx giggled, trying to touch him again.

Tamlin used his snout to roll Nyx over onto his back.

Nyx shrieked, flapping his wings and startling the beast, making him stop

Tamlin looked at Feyre confused.

Nyx laughed.

“He’s having fun, you can continue.” Feyre gave him permission, watching as Tamlin gently pushed Nyx again, making him roll back onto his tummy.

As Nyx wriggled, getting gently rolled about the blanket, Feyre approached the bag Tamlin had brought.

Noticing her interest the High Lord of Spring chuffed, giving her a small nod as permission to proceed.

She opened it to find some of the same stuff he had brought her when he had visited the cottage in Spring Court.

He didn’t have to.

Feyre couldn’t help the small smile on her lips nonetheless. Sure, Eris had given her everything she may have needed to take care of Nyx, but this felt nice.

Tamlin rolled Nyx back over to Feyre, making sure to be careful with his movements, the baby hugging his snout, breaking down into a fit of giggles.

Pulling away from Nyx, the beast shifted into Tamlin, dressed in his usual Spring attire; a tunic and some brown pants.

Nyx let out a disappointed sound but Tamlin ignored his protests, plopping down beside Feyre. He looked happy. Gone was the tiredness and paleness Rhysand had described to her, and present was confidence and contentment.

True contentment.

“The weather is nice today.” Tamlin said.

He’s still bad at conversations though.

“Yes it is.”

“Tulips are in full bloom back in Spring.”

She hummed.

“Oh, and so are the marigolds in Autumn.” Tamlin pointed to some fiery flowers.

“Tamlin…why are you here?”

Didn’t you get rid of us by leaving us with Eris? Why visit?

“Well, you left all the baby stuff so I thought I should probably bring it over.” Tamlin rubbed his neck awkwardly.

Eris is an older brother, he has plenty of baby stuff to give us.

Feyre raised an eyebrow at him.

He sighed, “I wanted to see you.”

“See me?”

“Just check in, you know? Make sure you all are doing okay.”

Wow, that’s surprisingly sweet.

Feyre forced a smile onto her face. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. Perhaps the years of being a living doll had left her with some benefits after all.

“I am okay, thank you for checking in though. Nesta and Elain are settling in great as well.”

“Right.” he said, the concern in his eyes not abating, “What have you been up to?”

She shrugged, “Nothing much, just spending time with Nyx.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, taking care of a baby is kind of a fulltime job Tamlin.”

“That’s understandable…I just…” Tamlin picked his words carefully, “Have you had time for yourself?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she glared.

She knew what it meant. From her dirty hair, to the bags under her eyes, she was aware she looked like a mess.

“You look like you need to rest.”

“I am fine.”

“You don’t look it.” he said softly.

“Well I am!” she forced a cheerful tone, but it came out too sweet.

“If your sisters are unable to sit with Nyx, I can.” he gently offered.

Feyre growled, as the mating bond hummed with fury, supporting her rage.

“I do not mean offense.” Tamlin raised his hands in surrender, “I recognize the suggestion is unorthodox…you wouldn’t want to leave a child with a random male at the moment.”

You’re not a random male though.

She massaged her growing headache, trying to shove the mating bond away, “No, I am not offended, but it’s fine. My sisters can watch Nyx if necessary.”

Tamlin nodded, not pushing further, “Okay, that’s good to hear.”

Nyx was annoyed that the fluffy creature who had been playing with him disappeared and wriggled his way over to Tamlin, his wings angled awkwardly, smacking his leg demandingly.

“He really is an adorable baby.” Tamlin smiled gently, shifting just his hand, surprising Nyx, who quickly grabbed at the fluffy paw, staring at it.

“He is.” Feyre agreed, “When he’s not waking you up at three in the morning.”

Not that I am sleeping then anyways. Rhysand seems to not have any other High Lord duties besides make my life a living hell at night.

Feyre watched Tamlin as he let Nyx be curious about his large paw, letting him tug on the fur.

At least Rhysand was always willing to play with Nyx.

She was certain of one thing when it came to Rhys, and that was that he wouldn’t hurt his child. He had honestly taken on more of a maternal role to Nyx than she did at the beginning. Spending time with him, feeding him, changing diapers. 

Feyre almost thought that the male felt regret over his past actions, trying to give her time to heal and rest.

Regardless of what the High Lord of Night had been thinking, seeing Tamlin play with the black haired baby felt so domestic. Completely different from when Rhysand showered Nyx with gifts, took him outside in his stroller, or held him during meetings with the inner circle…

Maybe I was the crazy one? Maybe Rhysand was actually a wonderful partner and I was just causing hassle for everyone involved?

“Do you believe me?” she asked quietly.

“Hm?”

“Do you believe that Rhysand controlled me? That he used his daemati powers on me?”

“Of course.”

“Truly?”

Tamlin nodded, “Why do you ask?”

“Is there really no way I could have fought him off?”

“I am sure you did all you could.”

You say that, yet what if Nests was right? What if I let him win? What if I did want all of this?

Tamlin narrowed his eyes at her, gently taking her hands into his, “Feyre look at me.”

Feyre hesitantly met his green eyes.

“It’s not your fault. Do not let him or anyone else convince you that you actually wanted everything he made you do.”

“But what if I did?” she voiced her fear, “I did want some degree of revenge on my sisters, I did want security, I did want my family together and he gave me all of it. So…so doesn’t it mean that I let it happen?”

“He gave you a perverse version of it.” Tamlin softened, “Daemati…they’re good at making you think you want something, and even better at feeding into your existing desires and convincing you that the thing you got was what you actually wanted all along.”

Feyre blinked away tears.

“Your actions then weren’t fully of your own accord.” Tamlin reiterated firmly.

“I am sorry for hurting you.” she said, “I am sorry for hurting your court. I never meant for it to turn out like that.” Feyre tried to cover her face but Tamlin gently pulled her hands away once more.

“I know.”

She stared at him.

“I believe you.”

Feyre blinked, sniffling, and quickly wiping away her tears.

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, “No need to thank me.”

“There is a need though. You’re helping us.”

He looked at her sadly, “No, I am merely helping to fix what I helped break.”

Feyre looked back to Nyx, her fears although soothed, not gone. 

What if it can’t be fixed?

Feyre felt Rhysand tug at the mating bond but didn’t do anything to stop him, too sleepy and tired to deal with him.

She suddenly felt a feeling of worry and concern flood her from the other side, followed by gentler but still harsh tugs trying to get a rise out of her.

Don’t worry I am not dead.

She shoved the bond away again.

The worry lessened, but still persisted, attempting to question her on her wellbeing.

Feyre didn’t respond, getting out of bed instead, Nyx still sleeping.

Days had passed turning to weeks and the monotony of it all didn’t seem too bad.

Maybe this is how Elain got by back at our old home.

Feyre carefully picked up Nyx, carrying him with her to the kitchen.

Just existing. Detached.

Feyre set the kettle and began preparing breakfast for all of them. Elain quietly slipped into the room, taking a seat at the dining table followed by Nesta, “Since I am such a terrible sister who let you hunt.”

“Nesta, could you let Eris know we need more food?”

“Why don’t you go hunting instead?” Nesta snapped.

“I am not that hungry…” Elain murmured softly, slipping out of the cabin.

It had gotten worse the past week. She and Nesta could barely exchange two words without being at each other's throats.

Elain simply avoided them.

“You’re not a terrible sister…” Feyre trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe their relationship.

Whatever it was called though, it certainly wasn’t good.

“Right, you say that now.”

“I told you that I am sorry, the things I said then we-”

“Just because you didn’t mean them doesn’t make them go away!” Nesta yelled, her voice full of exasperation and Feyre…she just felt so tired.

“It’s okay.” Feyre felt a small laugh escape her, “I wouldn’t believe me fully either.”

“What?”

“I get it. Your anger.” Feyre quickly elaborated, “Well, maybe not fully but I understand where you’re coming from. You’re angry that I hurt you.”

Nesta stared at her.

Feyre picked up a stirring Nyx, gently patting his back as he woke up, his wings stretching.

A small knock sounded on the cabin door.

“You should go. It sounds like Eris is waiting.” Feyre turned back to the food she had been preparing on the stove.

“Is…is that all you have to say?” Nesta whispered, staring at her sister in shock.

“I am sorry.” Feyre apologized.

“...that’s all?”

Feyre looked at her sister in silence, unsure of what to say. 

What do you want to hear from me?

Nesta opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Opened it once more, and when nothing came out, stormed out of the cabin as well.

Feyre put Nyx to bed when a knock sounded on her open door.

“Nesta?” Feyre was surprised to see her sister changed into a nightgown, standing in the doorframe awkwardly.

Nesta stood at the door, crossing her arms awkwardly.

“Nesta?”

She still didn’t say anything, only shifting from one foot to the other.

“You can have the bathroom first.”

Not like I am going to use it anyways with Rhysand tugging on the bond every five minutes.

“I am not here about the bathroom.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You have the same look that Mom did on bad days.”

“What do you mean?”

Nesta sighed, stepping into the bedroom. Her footsteps were light and quiet as she stopped before her younger sister.

“What has he done to you?” Nest cupped her sister’s face, “What has he done to break you this badly. You never wallowed. Never caved. You were never weak. You always had something to say to me. Always had a retort, an insult, a jab on the ready.”

Feyre felt Rhysadn try to tug at the bond angrily but something about Nesta’s touch made him feel much farther away. Like he was just a whisper in the cold night wind.

She put her hands over Nesta’s hands.

“I am weak. I was always weak. I just hid it well.”

Nesta blinked away what Feyre almost thought might have been tears.

“You always had something to say.” Nesta insisted.

“You did too, that didn’t stop Cassian and your time in the house of wind from hurting you.”

Nesta paused, her eyes narrowing at the male’s name.

“I am sorry.” Feyre said, “I know you say to stop apologizing but I can’t because I wish I had stopped it. I know we were never on good terms, but…I would never have wanted you to get hurt like that.”

“I want you to stop apologizing because you do nothing else besides it.” Nesta’s finger gently traced Feyre’s cheeks, “I want you to look alive.”

Feyre smiled back, but that only made Nesta’s expression twist to one of hurt.

“I don’t know how to help you.” Nesta murmured, “I act softer, you apologize. I act rougher you retreat into yourself and still apologize.”

The wind rustled the bloody red trees outside, as rain began falling.

“I am sorry for not being able to help you. It seems no matter what I do I can’t help you…or us.” Nesta said quietly, “This morning…I crossed a line.”

Feyre blinked.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did.” Nesta ran a hand through her hair, exhaling shakily, “I know you were never the biggest fan of hunting yet you did it anyways. You always hunted for us, and I appreciate it. We wouldn’t have had food otherwise. I am sorry for using it against you.”

“You were angry.” Feyre said simply, “You needed a place to vent.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Nesta shook her head, “The whole point of this was to escape a place that did just that to all of us, and now we’re turning on each other.”

Feyre nodded in agreement.

“I can’t claim to be better than Cassian if I do the same thing he does but to my sister.”

“Well, in my opinion you are better than Cassian.” Feyre said bluntly.

Nesta shook her head, “Then you’ve got something wrong with your head.”

“Perhaps, but you’re my family. I take care of you. I can’t…hate you.”

“No, I think you can dislike your siblings.” Nesta laughed lightly, “Pretty sure it’s a rule or something.”

Feyre hummed, uncertain.

She wanted to hate her sister. She did some days, but when it came down to it she was too tired to feel much anger towards them at all. She just wanted some peace and quiet between them.

“Feyre…thank you for taking care of us.” Nesta whispered softly.

Feyre sniffled.

She hated this; being on the verge of tears all the time. Nesta gently helped her sit down, pulling her into a hug.

“I was a bad sister.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“Eh, let’s not sugarcoat, I was an asshole.”

“So was I.”

“Sure, but one of us was older.”

“Thank you for trying to get me out of the courts when I was taken away.”

“I should have stabbed all the faeries. Would have solved all of our problems.”

Feyre felt a small laugh escape her, along with a couple tears.

It sounded like such a simple solution when reality was much harsher.

“Thank you for doing the housework.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The two sisters lay in bed together, Nyx snuggled up in a blanket between them. Feyre almost felt like she was back home. In that house with the painted walls and cabinets.

She didn’t want to go back to that time, but she had missed this. The closeness. The feeling of Nesta’s hand near her hers as the night grew darker and colder

For the first time in weeks Feyre closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to sleep.

This wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. 

Feyre vowed to not let someone take this feeling of peace and unity away from them. Not again.

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1, @planet-faerie, @fox-in-flowers, @bookishfeylin, @mythuzalasheir3

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[sunshinebingo]

@gwynweekofficial Day 6 - Alternate Universe

An "attempt" at a Regency AU

Synopsis: Gwyneth attempts to find her way out of the woods in which she has gotten lost after being separated from her horse. Frustrated and muddy from the fall she has lamentably taken, she crosses path with someone who offers to help her; a Lord who also seems intent on toying with her patience. Word Count: 1.7k

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

“Bloody horse in this bloody wood with this bloody weather and the bl-“

“Hey –”

“AAAAH”

Gwyn turned around and threw her riding boot at her assaulter.

“OW!”

At least her aim was one thing she had not yet lost in these woods. She lifted her white day dress, now brown and heavy from the mud she had fallen into after her left foot had gotten deeply stuck, and readied herself to run for her life.

“Don’t even try to touch me, you brute.”

“For Christ’s sake, I do not wish to touch you, you psycho,” the man groaned as he rubbed the spot where her boot had hit his forehead. “I was just wondering if you were in need of help.”

Gwyn crossed her arms in front of her and puffed her chest. The pine green corset around her waist felt tighter from the water and mud that had seeped through the fabric.

If only she had been wearing her cloak when she had dismounted the horse. She would not have had the need to suppress how shivery she was. If only the grey clouds could part just enough for a ray of sunlight to warm her bare arms. She should have listened to her cousin’s warnings about the changing weather before she set off on this ride.

“Why would you assume that I need a man’s help?”

The man let go of his head with a sigh.

“Because you are covered in mud, walking alone and barefoot in a forest with a single shoe in hand, now none since you threw it at my head,” he pointed at the bump that was starting to form near his right temple, “and, you were cursing so loudly that I am convinced you have frightened all the surrounding animals away.”

Gwyn stared at him with an unimpressed look. She huffed, causing the few curls that had escaped her half ruined updo flying in front of her face. “Fair enough. But you didn’t have to attack me so.”

“I did not throw myself on you, miss. All I said was Hey.” His face and tone projected equal measures of incredulity and exasperation.

Gwyn stared at him, from head to toe this time. His skin was of a stunning shade of golden-brown.  He was dressed in a white shirt and black vest, black breeches and grey boots that rose up to his shin. The sleeves of his shirt was slightly rolled up, exposing strong arms that she could have guessed from his built alone. His attire was simple yet she could tell from the way he stood that he was not of the working class. But Gwyn knew not to be fooled by someone’s rank when it came to their intention.

The man also crossed his arms and matched her posture. His bright hazel eyes bore into hers as he tilted his head to the side.

“Forgive me miss but if I wished to harm you, I would have done so in the time it is taking you to make an opinion of me.”

He had a point, she reluctantly admitted to herself. Besides, considering the circumstances that she found herself in, it would be best to be kind to the only chance she currently had at being saved from this nightmare.

Gwyn had lost track of time while she had been riding around the unfamiliar area. She had already been in these woods for some time when she had realised that she could not find her way out. Needing a minute to stretch her legs, Gwyn had dismounted the black horse, unsuspecting that the first thunder would wait for this exact moment to make itself heard and scare the animal away.

“I apologise, sir. It is simply that,” Gwyn sighed and let her arms fall at her sides.  “I have lost my way through these woods. And my horse. And my boot. And my manners as well apparently.”

A few unkempt strands of his onyx hair fell in front of his eyes as he assessed her.

“Your way can be quickly recovered. Horses and boots are not so rare to acquire around here either. As for the last one...”

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. If she had not lost her other boot in that pool of mud, she would have been tempted to give him a matching bump near his left temple.

“It remains to be seen,” he continued, his lips tugging ever so slightly at the corners.

Gwyn rolled her eyes. She lifted her dress and made to turn around. “Good day, sir.”

Perhaps she would walk until she found her way out. Or until she passed out and got eaten by the bugs.

“Wait, miss. It was a jest. Forgive me.” The leaves beneath his feet crunched as he took a few steps towards her.

It was only desperation that made her stop and turn to him once again.

“Shall we start over?” he proposed.

He began to extend a hand to her, then, seeming to remember the rules of propriety, stopped himself and placed it behind his back.

“Very well.” Gwyn bobbed a small curtsy. The man did the same, bowing at the waist like any respectable gentlemen would.

“I apologise for interfering with your...promenade, miss. But I noticed that you seemed quite distressed. Are you perhaps in need of assistance?”

“Well, sir...,” she looked at him inquisitively.

“Lord Singer,” he said with a dip of his head.

Gwyn found herself surprised at having come across a Lord in the middle of a forest. Although she had not expected to find herself lost and soiled in this place but here she stood.

“Miss Berdara,” she introduced herself in turn.

“I do not know what about my appearance is indicating distress,” she said with a false air of nonchalance as she lightly swished her muddy dress around. This earned her a raised brow from Lord Singer that made her subdue a smile.

“But since you so kindly ask with your so good manners, I will take your offer of assistance.”

He chuckled, the sound as heavy as the current weather.

“How may I assist you?”

Gwyn thought about what she wanted most in this moment. A warm bath, a change of clothes, standing on a surface that wasn’t mushy and damp.

“Could you point me in the direction of the Forest House?” she settled on asking instead. Her family, especially her sister, would be worried sick if she did not return soon.

Lord Singer squinted his eyes and looked as though he was only now taking note of her.

“Ah,” he said after a moment. “It makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“The loss of manners,” he replied as though pointing out the obvious worsening weather.

Gwyn scowled. “I beg your pardon?”

“The attitude is also alike,” he said in contemplation.

Gwyn looked at him incredulously. If he was no assaulter, then perhaps this Lord was simply presumptuous and she needed to get away from him just as fast before he could insult her and her family further.

“You’re a Vanserra then,” he stated.

Gwyn stomped her bare feet petulantly on the ground as she walked closer to him. Only this close did she realise how much taller he was compared to her.

“I am a Berdara.”

“But you are related to them,” he said matter-of-factly.

The nerves of this man made Gwyn scoff.

“Cousins,” she admitted with a frown. “Does that not make me eligible for your assistance, my Lord?”

He smirked. Gwyn realised as she noticed the exact colour of his eyes and the dimple on his cheeks that she had never before stood this close to a man who was not a member of her family

“You have clearly inherited the Vanserra’s fire, miss Berdara.”

Gwyn did not know what to make of this statement. His eyes seemed to find her cheeks. The heat she had felt gathering there increased as his gaze roamed her face. Her own eyes travelled from his eyes, to his cheeks, then his nose and lips. Seeing him this close, she could safely admit that he was undeniably the most beautiful man she had ever laid her eyes on.

The sudden rumble of the thunder made Gwyn jump back in surprise. The Lord also took a hurried step back, his cheeks darkening with a flush.

“Well?”

“Pardon?”

“The directions to the Forest House.”

“Oh. Right,” he exclaimed.

Lord Singer looked towards the sky. Gwyn could not even guess the time that it presently was with the dark clouds concealing the sun.

“If you were to go on foot, I’m afraid it would take two good hours before you reach their land,” he explained.

Gwyn gaped. How far exactly had that bloody horse taken her? Well, she could not blame the horse when she had been the one to insist on exploring a place she had just set foot in the day before.

“My home however,” the lord continued, “is but a few minutes away. You can make yourself comfortable there for a while. I shall arrange a carriage for you once the weather gets better.”

As though he was some sort of weather God, a fat droplet of water landed on Gwyn’s nose just when the last word left his mouth. It was followed by a million more as it started to heavily rain.

“Oh shite.”

The lord froze at her curse then erupted in laughter. Gwyn could not help her own laughter from bursting out of her.

“Well then, my Lord. Are you going to assist a lady in distress or not?”

“Since you ask with such manners.” He bowed and extended his hand like he was asking her for a dance.

Gwyn rolled her eyes and took his offered hand, but not before she boldly swatted a hand on his shoulder. The sound of his deep laugh graced her ears again.

“Thank God you do not have more shoes at your disposal for I fear my body would have been found in these woods by nightfall.”

“I could always throw rocks, my Lord,” she said with a shrug.

She pushed aside a curl that stuck to the side of her face thanks to the rain.

“Azriel.”

Gwyn cocked her head with a silent question. More strands of hair fell in front of his face as well, curlier than they were when dry.

“You may call me Azriel,” he said.

She smiled. “And you may call me Gwyneth.”

Then, hand in hand, they started running in the direction of his home.

[cowboydisaster]

Lobo

reupload; originally posted on 14 february, 2023

read part two here

pairing: werewolf!Arthur Morgan x reader

word count: 5.2k

summary: You're on the run, hiding from the law. One night, your dog runs into the woods and comes upon a poor creature stuck in a bear trap. This isn't just some normal wolf... His eyes are the color of the ocean and he seems to understand you. The wolf continues to visit you, shifting back and forward between man and beast. He offers you his name, and eventually his heart.

a/n: this was originally a submission for the rdr events valentines exchange! This was my first ever werewolf fic and I was hella intimidated by it, but it was SO fun. I'm definitely down to do a part two if that's something people want. Let me know! Important things to know about this fic because everyone writes werewolves differently: - A werewolf's eyes glow red when they have found their mate, and after they've found their mate, their eyes glow red during very emotional/vulnerable moments. - A mating bite is just a way for the bond to seal between the two. It can be given by one or both parties -Arthur is a fully normal human being, aside from the fact that he can shift to a wolf. -Werewolves can shift between human and wolf at any time in this fic, not just on a full moon - The full moon makes a werewolf more primal. i.e. wanting to run, wanting to stay shifted as a wolf. It also makes the wolves more drawn to their mates and more protective

also as a little warning I am not well versed in werewolf lore, so if anything in this fic is way far off I apologize.

fic is below the cutoff

Your stallion's hooves slosh in the mud as you canter, riding towards a little area near Valentine that you’re planning to camp at for the night. The moon is full tonight, resting high in the sky and casting the night in an eerie, pale glow with dark shifting shadows. For the last few weeks you've been on the run, sleeping under the stars or in abandoned houses and buildings as you drift further and further away from Saint Denis. It wasn't your fault really. The man you killed? Well he deserved it. But every action has consequences… You’ve been drifting since it happened, never staying in one place too long. Parts of you miss your old life, the structure of society and sleeping in a bed. But the freedom that your current life offers is unmatched.

You've made it all the way up to the cliffs now. It would probably be safe to stick around, surely you're far enough away by now. But an itch under your skin urges you to keep running, to get far away so that they will never find you. Pushing the doubts out of your mind, you whistle, and hear a bark in answer from your Australian Shepherd, Marley. He's running beside your black thoroughbred, Ares, just as eager as you to set up camp for the night. 

After some convincing that the law won't find you this far north, you slow Ares down to a trot, passing by a lightly wooded area along the train tracks. Beyond the trees is a small opening. It's big enough for you to comfortably set up a little camp, but wooded enough to protect you from the near constant drabble of rainfall, and more importantly any wandering eyes from the tracks. You deem the spot safe for the night, whistling for Marley to follow as you trot through the treeline.

It's been a tough few weeks. Your clothes have been growing a little looser around your frame, and your little stash of money from your father’s savings has depleted to nothing. You don't know how to hunt, you're from the city. With no means to get food, your options have depleted to two: steal or starve. There's already a bounty on your head and you don't plan on increasing it, but you know what they say about desperation. Twice now you've stolen saddlebags off of tethered horses in search of food or money. You've rationed your supplies enough to get you this far, but now? Well you're pretty well screwed. 

Hopping down from Ares with a pat of gratitude, you reach into one of the stolen saddlebags in search of something useful. Something soft touches your hand, and you pull out some clothes. There's two shirts and two pairs of jeans. With a sigh, you shove the clothes back into the bag. They're of no use. They're way too big for you, but maybe you can repurpose the cloth later. You step around Ares’ backside to reach into the other side of the bag. Luckily, you find two pieces of salted beef. 

“Well, we got dinner, boy.” You smile, tossing one up into the air and watching as Marley catches it in his mouth. 

You don't have a tent, never got one after escaping Saint Denis, and you don't have a bedroll either. So as per usual, you opt to find shelter under a large oak tree, laying on your saddle blanket and resting your head on your saddle in the dirt. It makes a decent pillow, and it provides Ares with some relief for the night. After finishing your dinner, you eye your boys. Ares is lying in the grassy patch ahead of you, enjoying the subtle rainfall after a long day’s run, and Marley curls up in the grass at your side. 

“Don't worry boys, we’ll find somewhere more permanent soon, alright?” You whisper to them, almost drifting to sleep. You try to stay awake to watch the night. The moon is so full, so bright, unlike any night you’ve seen before. It's equally beautiful and mysterious. The grass dances in the breeze, shining under the moon’s white light while being tapped by slow sprinkling rain. Your eyes slip shut… and Marley barks. 

You know Marley. He’s your best friend, and Marley only barks at danger. Immediately you sit up on the saddle blanket, gripping the handle of your knife out of instinct. 

“What is it boy?” You whisper, scanning the treeline to no avail. Ares has stood up, and is whinnnying, stomping his feet and tossing his head in trepidation. 

Every hair on the dog’s back is standing straight up, and he bares his teeth towards the eastern side of the forest with a low growl. Your brows knit together, as you see no lights or signs of anything. 

“Marley, what's the matter?” You coo, reaching out to calm the dog, but he's too quick. He barks, and takes off into the east side of the forest. 

“Shit, Marley!” You yell after the dog. 

With a sigh, you run over to Ares, not even bothering to put the saddle back on. You sit on him bareback, quickly urging the stallion into the forest after your dog. It's difficult to navigate the dark forest, but Ares needs no guidance as he weaves around trees and jumps over fallen logs after your dog. You have to hang on for dear life as he jumps a particularly large log, as it's much harder to sit without the aid of your saddle. Slowing Ares down to a slow trot, you stick two fingers on your lip and whistle as loud as you can. It's too dark to see anything, and the rain has picked up, soaking your hair and causing rivulets of water to drip into your eyes and drench your clothes. 

You hear his returning bark, and you spur Ares in the direction of the familiar sound. After cantering around a few more trees, you spot Marley. He’s cowering on the ground, shaking with his head on the ground in submission. At first you’re afraid he’s been hurt, and you jump down from your stallion to approach the dog. 

“Marley…?” You whisper, slowly approaching him. 

The breath leaves your lungs when you hear it; The loudest howl you have ever heard. It’s mangled and painful, and so, so close. Your heart beats rapidly, time slows, and you can feel the moment its eyes are on you.  Slowly, you turn around. 

In front of you is the largest wolf you have ever seen in your life. Well, you’ve never seen a wolf other than in the paper but this wolf- there's something different. It’s a male, surely the alpha of his pack, if he has one. He has a sandy blonde coat, broad head and shoulders, and even standing on all fours, the wolf is almost as tall as you. But the most stark detail is his eyes. They are bright, a green-blue mixture that can be compared to the blend of the tide and the sky. There’s something so human about his gaze that you’re almost knocked to the ground by its strength. The wolf’s eyes are locked onto your own, and it tries to step towards you, but stops suddenly and cries out in pain. Your eyebrows draw together, and you step around the right side of the massive wolf. His eyes stay on yours, and suddenly you feel no fear. It’s like you’re supposed to be here, you're supposed to find him. It causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and a dull pressure to buzz in your chest, but you ignore it, continuing your observation of the animal. 

“Oh, you poor thing.” You whisper under your breath upon the sight of his mangled, bloody back leg. It's caught in a particularly nasty bear trap, who knows how long he’s been stuck here. You eye the wolf carefully for a moment, and when you sense no aggression, you step forward. The trap is a pressure lock, and you can dismantle it with your bare hands. Determined, you wipe your hands on your jeans. 

“Alright, now I’m gonna set you free, but you can't eat me, okay?” 

You swear the wolf chortles at your comment, and you lean down in the mud, pressing down on the bear trap with all your might. It clicks a few times, meaning that it’s close to opening. You stop pushing the trap and gasp in shock when you feel the wolf press his nose into your waist, inhaling deeply as if he is savoring your scent. You stutter, and quickly continue pressing down on the trap until it fully snaps open. The wolf takes one full deep breath of your scent, and then throws his head up towards the full moon and howls. It's so loud that your ears almost hurt, but it's not nearly as strong as the pressure in your chest, the unfamiliar buzz that is threatening to rip you in two. You clutch at your rib, gasping in shock when the wolf brings his head back down to look into your eyes. The wolf’s blue irises have been replaced with two deep crimson circles that stare back at you. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can hear it. But just as quickly as you found him, he is gone. He turned tail and ran, limping away on three legs. You’re left in shock, mouth agape, sitting against the wet forest floor.

— two weeks later —

You search through the bottom of the same leather bag that you’ve checked three times, foolishly hoping to find some food for you and Marley. You need to find something soon, or you’re going to have to venture into town, which may or may not end up with your neck in a noose. With a sigh, you toss the bag on the ground by your campfire. Tears threaten to fall as you pet your shepherd dog, apologizing for the lack of dinner. Ares is already laying in the grass, and you decide to hit the hay as well. Like every night, Marley curls up beside you while you try to fall asleep. His steady breathing, and eventually his snores almost lull you to sleep, but you’ve been having trouble sleeping. For the past two weeks all you’ve been able to think about is him. You know what he is now, you remember the stories that your Pa used to tell you. The legends of beasts in the west, far more dangerous than the outlaws inhabiting it. Well, they weren’t just stories. You think of him every night, wondering why he ran, why he’s this far east in the first place. Tonight is no different, in fact the ache in your ribcage is especially strong tonight. You’ve felt it ever since that night. 

Eventually, you’re able to quiet your mind, blinking foggily as sleep overtakes your senses. Just as your eyes begin to flutter shut, two blue circles blink from behind the treeline, and then you fall asleep. 

— the next day —

The evening sun wakes you up, surprisingly warm despite the cold day. The light filters through the trees, casting your face in a yellow glow. You'd slept almost the entire day, but you needed it. You haven't been sleeping well, too busy thinking of the wolf. You yawn, sitting up and stretching your arms before checking for your boys. Marley is chewing on a stick beside the charcoal left over from the campfire, and Ares has his head to the ground, grazing on some fresh grass. As you go to stand up, something fiery red catches your eyes and you snap your neck in its direction. About five feet away from your makeshift bedroll is a fox. It's been killed, perfectly hunted in such a manner that the pelt is in perfect condition. With your brows drawn together, you lean over and pick up the fox. Two neat, large canine teeth marks have punctured the animal's neck. 

This was him. 

You're overcome with relief at the fact that he's okay. After he'd run off you weren't sure where he went, or if he had a pack, and someone to fix his wound. You've been thinking about the man for weeks, wondering what he looks like, sounds and acts like, what his name is. Quickly you pull out your hunting knife, taking your time to skin the animal neatly. Every cut is articulate, something you learned from working for the trapper in Saint Denis. You know how to clean, cut and cook an animal, just not how to actually hunt one. You rest the red pelt fur down against the dirt to dry, and then get to work on your fire. Marley brings you back enough twigs and sticks to get a fire going, and before long you're placing nice cuts of meat over the fire, cooking a decent meal for the first time in a while. Marley seems grateful as well, coming over to the campfire to check on the food with his mouth watering. 

It's a good breakfast, well dinner. You don't have much to season the meat with, but a few pieces of oregano manage just fine. You and Marley share the fox, saving the rest of it for the following days. With the day pretty much over before you've even started it, you pull out your journal. 

Ever since that night in the woods, I feel this ache. It's like a rope. I don't understand it much, but… it's pulling me to him. I know it is. He left me a fox- first good meal we've had in a day. That's gotta mean something, right? 

Your fountain pen stops on the paper, and some ink pools out of it, leaving an ink blot. Your eyes widen at the sound of a twig snapping, and the feeling in your ribs intensifies. You carefully close the leather journal, setting it down on the ground before pulling your knees up to your chin and smiling. 

"Come out. I know you're here." You call out boldly, standing up from the ground and facing the forest in the direction of the snap. You can feel eyes on you, but you can't pinpoint his exact location. Behind you, Ares begins to spook, pawing at the ground and snorting in irritation. Marley growls, and you follow his gaze until you see the wolf. 

He's even more beautiful in the daylight. Now you can really see the contrasts in his coat color, like brindle between tan and brown. His eyes are just as striking without the added glow from the moon, and now they shine bright blue. He steps out from the forest slowly, head down to placate you. He steps right up to you, almost eye to eye. The buzzing in your chest is so strong, like the rope is pulled so tight that it's on the verge of snapping. 

"You ain't no regular wolf… I've heard the legends, but I didn't think there would be any of you this far east…" 

The wolf's eyes close and he nudges his head into your side, one again inhaling your scent. You're not sure why he does it, but you don't mind. Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to the wide spot between his ears. You expected his fur to be coarse, but you're wrong. It's soft, like thick layers of silk. Your hand glides over his head, petting his ears while he leans further into you. 

"Thank you for the fox." You whisper, smiling sheepishly at the familiar stranger. 

Slowly, he turns around, going towards where your saddle blanket is laid out on the ground. He gently takes the serape blanket in his maw, backing up and dragging it with him until he's a bit away from you, hidden in the shadows of some trees. You watch on, confused, turning around a few times to coo to your animals. You can hear some growling, some uncomfortable joint cracking, and then to your surprise, the exasperated groan of a man. Your eyebrows dart up in surprise, and your jaw drops when he steps out of the shadows. 

He's the most attractive man you've ever seen. His wolf form is a perfect match to his human form, he has tanned, sun-kissed skin, peppered with freckles. He's covering the lower half of his naked body with the blanket, but it doesn't hide his strong, chiseled chest. Clearly he takes care of himself. His build is muscular and broad. His hair is the same sandy blonde as his wolf's coat, and those eyes, they're just as beautiful now as they are as a wolf's. You don't realize that you're staring until he talks.

"You ain't afraid of me?" He questions, almost unbelieving that you haven't run away yet. His brows knit together just enough for a petite line to make itself evident on his forehead. 

"No… you've been nothing but kind and you've helped me. Hell, you coulda ate me." You chuckle. 

At the mention of that night, you remember the trap and his injury.

"How's your leg?" You ask. Your eyes move down his right calf and you see a freshly pink, rough scar marking the wound where only two weeks ago he was torn into. No human could ever heal that fast, it must be a werewolf thing. 

"S'healed. Got fixed up in no time." He says, drawl low and deep. He moves over towards the fire and sits on the ground, you follow. 

"What are you doin' out here anyway? Ain't safe, 'specially not by yourself." He inquires, making sure he's covered with the blanket as he looks to you for an answer. 

You're not sure how you know, but you know that you can tell this man the truth. And yet you find yourself hesitating, so instead you rebuttal his question. 

"I could ask you the same, mister." You quirk, smiling a bit as Marley trots over to sit by you.

"Well what's your name, then? Finally get to speak to ya, I should know your name." You ask. 

You're shocked that somehow your manners slipped and you forgot to introduce yourself, but the introduction feels… odd. It's like you've known him for years. You tell him your name, to which he smiles, nodding his head like he approves, or is proud of it. 

"My name's Arthur Morgan." He chortles. As if the situation isn't indecent enough, you just remember that you have an extra pair of larger clothes from the stolen bag that might fit Arthur perfectly. 

"Oh, I have some clothes that might fit you. Don't even bother askin' how I came about these but- should be clean and hopefully your size." You say, standing up and grabbing the stolen saddlebag of clothes. Your boots squish in the wet grass as you bring the bag over to Arthur. 

He takes the bag, and with no shame, drops the blanket to the ground. 

Oh. 

So apparently the part of his body that was earlier covered by the blanket was the best part. You can't help it, and he doesn't mind. You watch as he grabs clothes from the bag. There's a trail of soft brown hair that trickles from his chest hair and dips down to the base of his shaft. You gulp, closing your eyes and forcing yourself to look away from the absolute masterpiece that rests between his legs. 

When Arthur is decent, you turn around, cheeks still flushed bright pink from shock and embarrassment. He hands the saddle bag out to you, which you take and toss back towards your saddle on the ground. Both of you glance to the west, realizing that the sun is setting and it will be dark soon.

"I better get goin'. It'll be dark soon…" Arthur whispers, as if there's something he wants to do or say but can't bring himself to. His eyes look to the ground, and he tips his head to you before turning around. 

To his surprise, you grab his wrist. The tether between you two grows so strong that it hurts. 

"Arthur, please don't go. Why don't you stay the night? Head back to wherever it is you go to in the morning." You practically whimper. 

He doesn't even have to think, of course he'll stay, for you he will.

— four hours later —

The night is cold, very cold. The combined effect of your lack of coat and the slowly approaching winter doesn't help. You're curled into the tightest ball you can manage, hugging your knees and shivering. It's miserable, the type of cold that seeps into your bones. Arthur had shifted before laying down for the night, and you can hear his steady breathing behind you. He hasn't slept all night. You've drifted in and out of sleep, but he has stayed awake all night, watching you, protecting you, checking the perimeter a few times. 

As soon as you begin to shiver, Arthur stands up. He circles you a few times, whining as if he is debating with himself over something. But as you whimper, miserable from the night's cruel nature, Arthur trots over. He lays at your back, and you practically moan at the relief. Arthur is so warm. You turn around, curling yourself into him. His fur is like the softest blanket you've ever felt, and his body radiates heat. It's cathartic. 

"Why are you helpin' me? Bein' so kind?" You whisper, nuzzling your nose into his warm fur.

Arthur presses his wet nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent once again. Just like the first night you met him, the color in his eyes bleeds to red. It's beautiful, and you look into them, curious about the change of color. You can feel that tug in your chest again, it's strong tonight, but you ignore it, pressing yourself into his frame until blissful sleep finally overcomes you. 

When you wake up he's gone. 

— twelve days later —

Arthur… I saw him up on the ridge above my camp today. I don't know if he runs in a pack, or why in the hell he's so far east, but… he keeps an eye on me. I swear I see those green eyes just beyond the treeline when I fall asleep. I can feel his presence when he's nearby, like something is pulling me to him. I have this drive to be around him in a way that I can't explain, like I need him… but I haven't seen him since that cold night. 

You steady your hand, focusing on the old oak tree ahead of you. As you exhale, you release the knife, smiling as it lands directly into the thick trunk of the oak tree. 

You trod over to the tree, bending down to pick up the few knives that you've lodged into the tree, and the two that landed on the ground. Marley barks excitedly, and you turn around to find the source. 

Arthur…

He steps out of the woods slowly, head held down as he approaches you in his wolf form. He's breathing heavily, as if he was running for a while to get here.  

"Been wonderin' why you haven't come to see me. Had me worried some hunter had you mounted on their wall." You joke, reaching out to pet Arthur's head. His eyes slip shut, and he pushes his nose into you, almost roughly, as if he needs this like a starved man. He once again inhales your scent deeply.

It's then that you notice something in his maw. Your eyebrows knit together as you hold out your hand. He opens his mouth, dropping a rolled up piece of paper and a wooden wolf into your hand. You're confused as to why he didn't just tell you whatever it is the note says, but you don't have time to ask as he turns tail and runs away, eyes red. 

"Arthur, don't go!" You cry out to no avail. 

The buzz in your chest grows as he runs and you ignore the ache, looking down to the items in your hands. The little wooden wolf is beautiful. It's been hand carved from a piece of oak and a knife. Tears well in your eyes as the ache in your chest grows, and you open the note. 

I'm sorry. I can't stay around you. It's hard to explain, but it's better if I leave you be. That ache in your chest, like something pulling you? I feel it too, and more than anything, I wanna be with you, but it's not fair for me to do that to you, darlin. ‐ Arthur. 

Rivulets of tears run down your cheeks as you sit on the ground, hugging your knees. You've been doing research, stopping into libraries to read books on legends of western wolves and lycanthropes. You've learned how they used to run in large packs, how they were hunted almost to extinction. But most importantly, you learned about their mates. 

They can't choose their mates, instead they are pulled together by the moon. You think over the feeling in your chest, how many times you've written about the invisible tether that  pulls the two of you to each other.

Is Arthur your mate…?

And if he is, why is he leaving you?

— two weeks later — 

The moon is full tonight, and all you can think of is Arthur. You know he'll be out running tonight, and you hope that he comes by. You haven't seen him in weeks, and it's only made your ache to be around him stronger. Maybe the moon will alter his control, drive him to come see you. You’ve been stopping in at libraries in town, sneaking just enough to hide your face from the passerbys. Every book on lycanthropes that you've been able to find has been thoroughly analyzed. You know why he’s hiding. And dammit, if he would just come back you could convince him to stay. You rest a stray leaf in between the pages of your book to mark your page before setting it down on the ground. Marley trots over and you chuckle as he lays down on your bedroll. 

It's late, past midnight as you stand up and start to dress down for the night. You’re not worried about wandering eyes, it's dark, and anyone who steps foot in your camp to look will be met with a bullet. You strip your jeans and shirt, standing bare in the grassy opening. You run your fingers through your hair, before reaching onto the ground for a clean shirt. Just as you go to grab the cloth, you hear it. A low, deep, growl resonates from the forest, it’s him. Through the opening in the trees you can see glowing red eyes, and relief washes over you. His crimson orbs are locked into the little wooden wolf that is tied around your neck. 

“I know why you left, Arthur, why you think it would be best for me.” You whisper, extending your hand out as Arthur steps out from the woods slowly. His paws are massive, expertly stepping over the terrain as he inches forward. 

“I've been reading and learning about wolves… I'm your mate, aren't I?” You say, barely above a whisper. Arthur leans in and licks your collarbone lightly. His eyes are so beautiful, deep red like roses. 

“I feel it all the time. It’s like a tether, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You sigh as Arthur just stands there, listening to what you’re saying. 

“Be great if I could hear what you’re thinkin’.” You bite a little, irritated that you are always talking but can never hear him. 

You watch as he shifts. It's a fluid movement, much more graceful than you would have expected, and in just a few moments he is standing in front of you. His eyes have returned to their soft blue, and you lean in to press your hand against his cheek. Both of you are completely bare before the other, and yet neither of you are uncomfortable. He looks to you with a question.  

“You would tie yourself, you would mate to a stranger?” He asks, eyes glowing red for just a moment on the latter half of the sentence. You chuckle at his misconception. Arthur gently takes your wrist in his hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Arthur, you’re not a stranger,” you chuckle, “In this time I’ve known you, you've shown me your character time and time again. I was hungry, cold, alone, and now I’m not.”

You both feel a buzz of electricity run through you, and Arthur groans deeply as he wraps his hands around your soft waist.

“Arthur, I- I need something, but I don’t know what it is. Please-” You moan against him, the tether clouding your mind. He presses his lips to your forehead, gently kissing down your temples. 

“I know what you’re feelin’ and I can make it better, but darlin’ you know how this works, right?” He asks, squeezing your hips a little. Something comes over you and you can't feel anything but him, you need him. 

“I want to be yours, Arthur.” You mewl, pressing your nose into his chest. Arthur growls so deep, it breaks you out of your trance for a moment. His blue eyes lock onto yours. 

“You look at me. Don’t let the bond fog your head, you want this?” He asks, gripping you tightly. 

“Yes.” You whisper with more clarity than you’ve ever felt. For the first time in your life, you feel at home. This is where you should be, what you are meant for. 

He’s yours

Arthur’s eyes remain locked onto yours as he lifts your wrist up to his lips. Your breath quickens in anticipation as he gently bites down on the side of your wrist. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly you are whole. You are part of something bigger, you are with him. His other half. Your souls are permanently bonded and you can feel him all around you. You gasp at the raw emotion of it all. The tether between you and him pulls even tighter for a moment before it snaps and releases. There is no need for it anymore, as you are one. Tears fall down your cheeks as you lean up to kiss Arthur. Everything is right when your lips crash together. He moves against you as emotions sweep through you like a wave, crashing and swirling together.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony

[itsthesupercw]

Alright I’m also writing something else because I’m obsessed with these two and the lore of this part of the Agatha universeeeeee.

Summary:

Rio has finally found Agatha, or rather, her current identity within the confines of Westview. Although the body and soul of Agatha was alive and well, her mind was trapped as Agnes: a seasoned detective in a small town that was once imprisoned by the Scarlet Witch. Seeing how committed Agatha portrayed Agnes, Rio realized she was not cognizant of the pesky red spell that encapsulated her to this town. Although Rio has unfinished business with Agatha, her priority was to free her from Agnes first.

Chapter 1: Unidentified Body

Rio was trying everything to give Agatha her real memories. She was stuck in a career simulation — deeply attached to this character named “Agnes” who was a skilled detective at the cost of having no personal life. It even seemed that her only life was doing exactly this. Her deranged role included blurring the lines of justice and malpractice, and she seemed to be on an administrative leave until a particular case gave her permission to return. That is, the case of the body in the woods that Rio had left for her.

Rio had finally found Agatha again, after decades of nearly crossing paths like two ships in the night, except one ship glowed under a purple cloth and the other ship hummed green but was hardly in the same water. She was somewhat considered a traveler, meandering in and about the mortal plane and the astral plane that inhabited energetic space slightly beside it. She was also attached to her career, but in a bloodborne type of kismet rather than whatever Agatha was currently enthralled in mentally. Rio couldn’t scoff at this detective chapter too harshly as she watched the ways Agatha’s eyes lit up at certain aspects of work. She could tell Agatha was still inside there somewhere, except her eyes were noticeably more dull and her hair sat dryly. She carried herself differently despite having similar mannerisms Rio had seen across their relationship. It was more pitying than anything — seeing Agatha sit in chairs with mismatched posture, sporting mangey flannels and pants fixed with various oil and beer stains. Judging by these newfound crass and seemingly insecurely-rooted behaviors, Rio concluded that it was definitely beyond Agatha’s current comprehension that the colossal red anomaly kept her imprisoned within the confines of Westview. However, Rio had plenty of unfinished business and a lot of it started and ended with finding Agatha. At least she could thank the whiny scarlet princess for that.

Rio started her mission by borrowing her body. Wanda’s body, the Scarlet Witch’s, the one who cannot follow simple rules of life; whatever you want to call her. With fingertips still black, Rio positioned the corpse face down and at the bottom of a leafy hill in the outskirts of the sleepy town. A creek trickled around the scene, producing copious amounts of slick ground and mud. But there were no footprints, no tracks — just Wanda.

Around the scene in a shallow puddle, Rio also left a signature artifact. Something she saw Agatha wear all the time; its rich lapis color juxtaposing the carving of three women adorned as a necklace. The piece’s history spanned centuries, and Rio was hoping the combination of Agatha’s somewhat sentient state in the final moments of Wanda’s sim would trigger a revival of her true identity. She consequently found out that her efforts were in vain when Agatha saw the face of the rival witch’s body and had the audacity to ask: “Who are you?”

“What happened to you?” Agatha gazed down at the dirtied woman dead in front of her, not able to piece the face from the confines of her brain. Rio watched safely from afar, seeing Agatha berate her neighbor with hostility over a question about her wellbeing. The distance between the two detectives was only a few feet of dirt to Agatha, but her neighbor only saw his front lawn. His row of yellow flowers in the shape of nearly trimmed shrubs kept Agatha off his property when she first approached, but she went through the door in his fence, thinking she was crossing a line of caution tape.

“You don’t seem like yourself.” He commented over a distance in his yard, peering at the woman who stood in a frazzled state before him. She kept calling him Herb.

“Right now, this unidentified woman lying dead in a creek has just got me down in the dumps.” She stared at him flatly, a scowl forming around the corners of her tight lips. “Let me know when the dental records come in.”

Rio watched as Agatha stormed away, feet shuffling with small skids on the texture of the asphalt roads within the neighborhood. It was evident that these two tokens did nothing for Agatha’s memory, and Rio started to feel like a feral cat leaving roadkill on the doorstep of her owner who seemed too helpless to fetch food on their own. Rio decided she would need to get a little more creative.

[thumpierealunofficial]

one hc per thumpie GO!!!

-noobie loves strawberry scented products, the smell hits you like a truck when you enter their room -furface sometimes likes to chase after butterflies but deliberately not catch them just to keep the chase going -long ago, fwoot got punched in the face so hard it warped their upper jaw, deleted their nose, and gave them a black eye on both eyes forever (my random explanation i came up with just now on why they look like that) -butter absolutely adores spooktacle and is besties with rare punkleton :) -rawt likes to eat mud and cement sometimes, it's kind of gross -recess loves to make paper airplanes. often, the wind blows them into the branches and leaves of the Bawnzi where they get stuck, much to the great leaders' annoyance. -tawooo likes to perch up at the very top of the tree and stick their feathers into the KaLnöOd sigil to mark their territory -orange flippy isn't very rational and often makes stupid decisions. they deliberately knocked out their tooth and replaced it with a gold one to increase their monetary value. they plan to replace their entire body with gold within the next year (it's not even real gold). yellow flippy is terrified. -boooo laughs like an evil cartoon scientist -gahwg will disappear into the waters for weeks on end and then just casually return sopping wet and thumping stumpies like nothing ever happened -mosh cannot be trusted around musical instruments. they will play the most divine riffs you've ever heard in your life and then smash and destroy it like an overdramatic rockstar -rhootz' nose probably grows when they tell a lie like pinnochio, except they never lie so it never happens -kal's current special interest is electricity and the supernatural monsters that wield it. they read every bit of lore the monster handlers publish on the subject. -anyanka is the biggest gamer out of all the thumpies, and they like racing games -chesh likes to bring random things very high up the tree and drop them. chesh has broken very many valuable possessions by doing this -gooie's favorite color is blue. they love blue so much they randomly turned blue once. no one has any idea how that happened -skwee hates gentle, affectionate touch like headpats and boops. they love rough touches like punches and smacks (not too hard though) -yuckles stores all their possessions in their hat, which has infinite space -chomph once gnawed a huge chunk of bark off the Bawnzi. this made kartoof absolutely livid. -mace is the biggest thumpie. they're also not very bright. most of their brainpower runs on war -kartoof's distinct, magical language is said to have originated from the trees themselves. kartoof's fluency in this language is what lets them perform their many powerful incantations and rituals. -izit loves peanut butter and will devour entire jars of it and not even wash it out of their fur, it's absolutely disgusting -gof can see very well in the dark. they will screech if you turn the lights on -bamf blinks sideways (i know they canonically don't but i like to think they do) -ruff once got bit by the stump creature oof owie ouchie -tumble loves to roar at everyone, it's absolutely adorable -bangers once traveled to party island expecting to see a sick rave and was utterly heartbroken when they found out there wasn't one -ka8lyn is a surprisingly good swimmer -jon uuh eats rocks or something idk -frankie admires the moon and sees it as a role model -mumsy lost their sight by staring at the sun too much -scoot has a rare condition called carpal hyperplasia (i pulled out the medical terminology textbook to make this one up im such a nerd), where a thumpie's vestigial paw bones overdevelop into actual paws. the paws are nonfunctional.

[heronoegg]

taking what i said from Twitter bc im proud enough of my analysis that i think i can say im right

**Spoilers about the manga currently**

i think im the only person shouting my praises of the Deku's quirk being gone, like i wanted him to lose the quirk so bad he don't need it anyway. look at Mirio and Aizawa? when Mirio was fighting overhaul when he got it taken he didn't need a quirk to punch the piss out of him. Aizawa didn't need a quirk in the first season when Deku was like "your quirk isn't made to fight so many people" and my mans bodied almost every villain at the USJ and only got taken down by a Nomu, he was going toe to toe with Shiggy even after he hurt his elbow and kept fighting.

Aizawa has combat training, what does his hand to hand combat skills have to do with his quirk? and he honestly takes people down with his binding cloth more then using his quirk to take away their quirk, theres no reason to take away their quirk if he's already used his regular combat skills to take them out and knock them out, no quirk even used in this situation if he were to go that route, using the quirk just makes life easy.

Mandalay didn't need a quirk to fight Spinner, her quirk has nothing to do with how she fights.

Ojiro neither, he just has a tail and bro bodied in the class B fight against Sen and Pony. Bro got stabbed in that battle and kept fighting yeah he used his tail but that's all his quirk is, TAIL it's not strong tail, his tail is just strong like a muscle like a arm because he trains and has good COMBAT ABLITIES

Deku can be quirkless and still be doing the things he used to do it just wont be THAT powerful but he can still fight badguys.

And if we are being pretty honest half of the kids in class B's quirk don't have anything to do with how strong they are but they could body people without the quirks that goes for Shinsou as well even tho he's not in class A or B

Examples: Juzo's quirk makes things soft and you get stuck in it, if he walked up to you and punched you in the head and you passed out that had nothing to do with his quirk except for the fact you got stuck in his mud.

Kuroiro can use momentum of his quirk to break somebody's neck if he wanted to look how fast he was going when he stole Aoyama. he could honestly just jump out of the black and kick you really hard enough to break something yes he used his quirk to get the momentum but the kick that is planted is physically and came from how strong he forced gravity to make him.

Look at Rin, he can shoot scales thats it, but look at his arms, he can sock you and you wont be waking up very soon.

a lot of characters in this series can do stuff like this, with the right training you don't need a quirk LOOK AT NIGHTEYE Nighteye's billion pound stamps he threw at Twice and Twice looked at him like he was crazy and left cause he was scared.

i don't think being quirkless even matters if you can just train combat abilities to be OP but this is just my opinion and observation. I don't think Deku needs the quirk anymore, he may can't compete the way he used to be but he can still break somebody's nose

[halfvvater]

the king had summoned LARYSSA of HOUSE FREY, LADY of THE TWINS to be judged upon their MEDDLESOME and PETULANT nature, under his justice as the ruler of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. while they are notably QUICK - WITTED and SUPPORTIVE, many at court are at odds when it comes to their true nature and place in king’s landing, especially as they remind them of GIRLHOOD, THE SWEETEST ROTTING ACHE & DEFT HANDS PILLING COIN UPON COIN, CARELESSLY BUILT TOWERS OF INDULGENCE & DARK VEILS OF MOURNING CONCEALING GLINT IN SHALLOW POOL EYES. in another universe, far beyond the realms of the red keep, they would have been comparable to JULIA THE ELDER ( domina ) & ROHANNE WEBBER ( asoiaf ), of whom they share an almost uncanny resemblance to. as their true loyalty lies to HERSELF & LYSAERA TARGARYEN, when told of robert’s first rebellion, it was unsurprising how they were IMPARTIAL WITH the insurgence against the crown. with the tides rapidly shifting throughout the realm, there is no telling what fates have in store for them, as when you play the game of thrones, you live, or you die.

i.

full name: laryssa frey title: lady of the twins (by birth), tba (by marriage). alias(es): tba nicknames: lary, lyssa. age: eight and twenty birthdate: tba gender & pronouns: demi woman ; she / they. orientation: biromantic and sexual religion: the faith of the seven languages spoken: the common tongue, some high valyrian allegiance: herself, lysaera

ii.

notable features: big eyes, dimples when she smiles height: 5'2, 158 cm. build: curvaceous. eyes: green. hair: dark brown, nearly black; naturally straight, but wavy due to plaiting. she tends to wear it loose, half-up, adorned with bejeweled pins and most likely following the current fashion of court. during her marriage and her early widowhood, she wore her hair covered in veils of mourning. wardrobe: fashion is generally lavish, with intricate embroidery and rich fabrics; she prefers lively colors, in the shades of blue, pink, yellow. again, for several months now due to her widowhood, she has stuck to darker shades of blue and black, but dearly hopes to "liven it up" now she's back at court.

iii.

father: lord ryford bracken mother: lady lynda frey siblings: two ( all older ). marital status: widowed. children: none. pets: keeps several lap dogs, cats and horses; tba. relatives: house tully ( maternal cousins ), house bracken ( paternal cousins ).

iv.

abilities: none of supernatural value. moral alignment: tba positives: tba. negatives: tba. pass times: architecture, sketching, embroidery, astronomy, gossiping, shopping, dancing, horse riding. wields: knows how to use the crossbow and the bow and arrow but does not usually practice it outside of hunting. inspirations: julia the elder ( domina ), rohanne webber ( asoiaf ), elinor tyrell ( asoiaf ), genna lannister ( asoiaf ), conchita closson ( the buccaneers ).

v.

though one of the wealthiest and most powerful houses of westeros, the frey have often suffered from their reputation as lesser than. such a thing is now seen as something of the past, fact solified by the marriage of one of their daughters to house tully. yet, ruling lady lynda is cunning and well-aware there are yet steps for them to climb; though initially supportive of the rebellion due to the aforementioned blood line, the frey would, at the very end, turn their back on that and claim loyalty foremost to the targaryens, with lady lynda herself helping to barter her brother in law for his surrender to the dragons.

somehow amidst it all, the youngest frey's girlhood is spared. while thousands shake off the mud from their garnments, laryssa resumes life at the river's edge. when the frey are further honored by their timely smart, she is the one chosen to be brought to court. to be made lady in waiting to the princess, even at the beginning of her teenagehood, is exhilarating. in no time, she takes to court like duck to water and, though letters are exchanged often between herself and her relatives at the twins, she grows just a little too affectionated to the princess and her own, likening herself to them.

at fifteen, she receives her first engagement. it is struck by her parents but verified by the queen; such an honor should be enough to liften her spirits to the heavens but, when she hears of her bethroted's passing due to a case of the chills, she is gladdened she shall not have to leave court. alongside the princess, she learns all that seems befitting of a lady with a brighter future and, as she turns her loyalty to lysaera, she is quick to do her bidding, and that of the queen's; she learns how to hear, to create and spread rumors inconspicuously, enjoying to earn her place amongst the turbulation of the court.

several years later, when rumor of an indiscretion on her part reaches her mother's ears, happiness is chased to an end. belongings are packed and no pleading from any part will be heard; she is wedded within the year and kept within husband's keep. to say she hates it is an understanding. life as a wedded lady is a bore at best, and she misses court and those she had left behind there; she does little to try to reconcile with the fact, souring her union further. twice she falls pregnant, and twice she loses the babe until they stop trying to co-exist altogether. it is said she has learned old valyrian magic at court and no life can root in her belly nor love in her heart; the rumors content her, and she may have had a hand in spreading them herself.

one day, luck knocks on her door as her husband breaks his neck during a hunt. by then, she has learned how to put up a show, and acts the part of mournful wife. it's been six months since, and without any proof of quickening, she has received her dower money and quickly returned to court, back to lysaera. she's learned her parents intend to wed her again - - continuing to ensure their dues until there are no steps left to climb - - but she's trying to be confident she can be her own master. it is about time, after all.

[thirrith]

skipped my meal again due to a nap that unsurprisingly turned into the familiar ‘do nothing in bed when stressed’ session and it sucks! brain why

[motorhearted]

CHAPTER TWO.

CW: descriptions of object destruction.

{ LAST. — NEXT. }

Every night following a derby, once the people left and the track was cast in darkness, the surviving cars gathered underneath the grandstands. The rows of seats facing the track reached a decent height, and the back half had plenty of vacant space with ceilings that touched the very top. The area functioned like a makeshift barn that happened to have missing walls on each shortest side; wide enough, long enough, and tall enough for the tired vehicles to fit into.

These gatherings could be viewed through a few different lenses. Some could describe it as a winning team heading to the bar after a game; others could describe it as a celebration of life and death. A giving of thanks to whatever gods were listening. The cars refused to miss them for anything; even those with missing wheels and little consciousness were carefully pushed behind the stands.

And that’s why Number 20 had to go.

He had been parked on the track, staring into the dark for what seemed to be hours before he heard the shouts and laughter coming from elsewhere. Every car was expected to be there. Especially him. Especially the coupe.

It would be awkward for all of them tonight. But that would imply there were other nights when it wasn’t. There was no appropriate way for the cars to congratulate the winner while sharing their condolences; it never seemed sincere nor fair for either side. Most attempted to solve this problem by picking one to focus on and completely shutting out the other. The grief was often pushed down in the end, in favor of the more lighthearted, “At least I’m still alive, right?” approach.

At the very least.

Number 20 hated it. He hated it all. He hated that he couldn’t just go to sleep. He hated knowing as soon as he stuck his grille into the party, he would be hounded with praise. He hated that the coupe would have to be there to watch. He hated that he would never be able to apologize in a way that mattered.

As Number 20 spun himself around to face the grandstands, he watched in grim silence as his headlights shone over the charred remains of Number 13 in the distance.

Mud splattered his body as he desperately drove away.

“Well! Lookit who the tow cable dragged in.”

“What were you doing out there Number 20, admiring your work?”

“S’not often y’get t’ see a competitor get barbequed.”

Immediately, the voices and the metal bodies attached to them swarmed like flies. Number 20 tried to nod along and give his fans a daring smile, but he felt the covers to his headlights wince together as he did. He pushed through their jeers about Number 13 and carefully rolled his way through the crowd.

Despite all the noise, Number 20 could still hear the clack of the caps on his exhaust headers every time he hit his brakes. His mighty engine rumbled and turned tires his way. The further he drove under the grandstands, illuminated in the dark by dozens of headlights, the larger his crowd grew.

In his fruitless attempts to avoid, his own headlights landed on a particular someone. This particular someone stood out in the sea the same way Number 20 did; boxy, large, and long. And loud, undeniably so. He was painted a dark purple with two black stripes that went from one end to the other, bumper to bumper. Three short pipes, displayed shortest to tallest like a pan flute, stuck out of his engine. The number 58 was branded on his doors by a skilled hand, slanted forward and exaggerated in a way where the digits themselves seemed to be racing.

“Hey! Hey, Brad! Over here!” he called, as if difficult to spot.

Number 20 flinched at the sound of his own name. Anxiety clawed deep into his machinery. As they cowered at the new voice in their own way, he gave his current crowd an abrupt farewell and drove towards him.

Number 58– Rodney, if Brad recalled correctly— had been stuck with the derby cars years prior to his own entrance. A predecessor in a way, winning almost every match before he too had been forced to fight for his life.

There were many spats to speak of because of this. There was even a time where Brad almost killed him. Thankfully, the incident got Rodney to swallow his pride and pass the crown along.

Champion of the derbies. How awful, he thought.

“Number 20! Look at you, better than ever!”

“Oh come on, man, don’t flatter me,” he tried to joke.

A few smaller vehicles saw him coming and obediently gave him a space to park without a word. Brad settled in with silent thanks. Rodney beamed at him.

“You put on one hell of a show out there tonight. You’re crazy, man! You’ve started to fight like you’re invincible!”

Brad laughed. “What can I say? It’s easy to lose yourself out there.”

“Totally, totally,” Rodney agreed. He leaned closer to Brad, headlights darting around to scan his body in the shadows. “Didn’t even dent yourself too much! You feel okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I feel fine. Did they let you out in all the action?”

“Nah,” Rodney said with a frown. “Not tonight. I guess they had their dibs on you. I got a damn good spot to watch it all go down, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The little hill near the back, yeah. Hell, it was like you were puttin’ on a show just for me in that corner!”

Brad laughed again. “I don’t think that was on purpose.”

“Sure, but it still felt like it. Man, it was brutal, man. You’ve got some good stuff.”

He looked off into the crowd, as if he were guarding them. Brad followed his gaze as it swept over all the vehicles, stopping every now and then to check their dents and scratches. No matter how hard he focused on the chipped paint of a sedan or the twisted bed of a truck, he couldn’t pull himself away from the memories of that night. His companion’s comments certainly hadn’t helped his case.

“Definitely some missing faces here,” Rodney spoke eventually. “Gone, just like that. It’s so crazy, man. I don’t think there’s been a single derby this season that hasn’t killed a car or two.

…Thanks to you, anyway.”

The words made Brad want to drive into a tree. Rodney was quite good at rubbing Brad’s so-called victories in, and no opportunity ever seemed to be a good one. Especially not tonight. It wouldn’t be long before—

“Number 62 didn’t even show up. She seemed so pissed at you.”

“…I thought she was gonna tear me to shreds out there.”

“What, that little thing? You crushed her like a soda can, man! Ripped that headlight right out! Bam, bam! I’m honestly surprised she isn’t toast either.”

“Just resilient, I guess.”

“Not as much as she thinks, apparently. How long till she snaps, you think?”

“…What?”

“I mean, she just lost her girlfriend. You saw her, she was practically glued to that bitch. She must feel lost as hell.”

“Oh. Yeah, I dunno,” Brad replied. “We’ll all lose our minds here eventually. Either that or crushed to bits.”

“Well I don’t think you’ve lost your mind, and neither have I.”

Rodney paused to see Brad’s reaction. He stared back in silence.

“Fine, maybe a little.”

“I just don’t think crashing into each other is something stable cars like to do.”

“Then so be it, man. So be it.”

The nonchalance of it all was unbearable. Brad opened his mouth to change subjects, but Rodney continued.

“See, Number 62 could use that. She really could. Not a lotta cars around here have a reason to fight.”

Brad blinked, giving his companion a curious look. “Use what?”

“A little bit of losing her mind, man! Don’t act like you don’t know. You set her up for a revenge streak.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, man! She doesn’t have anyone anymore. If she’s gonna do anything, it’s gonna be kicking your ass. And considering the damage you did with a mercy hit…”

Brad’s engine was buzzing again. Rodney’s words were slurring together as he processed them. Brad’s headlights darted around, begging for an exit.

The sea of cars was never ending.

[steveskafte]

AT THE LOW EBB The rusty Gates Bridge crossing Sissiboo River isn't far from the end of its life. Taking only minimal traffic, and with the main Weymouth crossing just three kilometres downriver – I suspect it won't be replaced. This steel truss construction can't handle much modern traffic, with a single lane letting no wide loads, just fifteen feet of clearance and a max of a ten tons. If it weren't here, you'd only lose nine minutes on the long way around. That's likely not enough to justify a new span. I'm down here at the low ebb of a steady tidal current, where I'm sitting regularly swallowed under rising water. The stretch of rotting vegetation hangs heavy underfoot, slimy mud gets stuck to my soles, and the smell rides home with me. Sometimes I wonder what the attraction is to beat-up things, but it's a question never answered. Why did Black boxing legend Sam Langford, born in nearby segregated houses in 1886, run away from his abusive father just to be abused for a living? Perhaps we can't ever shake our draw to what's rough. I sure know I've found a beauty there. January 25, 2023 Weymouth Mills, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5554 of my daily journal.

[savvythepirate]

The Calm Before The Storm

Pairing: Jack Sparrow x reader

Warnings: None

Requested by: @klaushargreeves420

A/N: A request for number 30 on my prompt list with Jack Sparrow!

***

Everyone has their own fair share of fears, including you and you refused to let it show even in the smallest of ways.

Some of the ones you carried sounded silly and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about it. Ever since you’ve been recruited to the crew of the Black Pearl, you had the motivation and determination to prove yourself that you had just as much right as they did to belong there. One of the things you did was you would step up and volunteered a difficult task Jack Sparrow wanted done.

One of those fears that you carried within was the the fear of thunderstorms. You’ve suffered through it since your childhood years and you still carried that fear to this day. The never left, and at this point, you expected that and got used to the idea that you may have to live with it for the rest of your life. Nothing you or anyone ever did try to help you overcome the fear worked. It was still there and it was if you were stuck in the mud. As said, thunderstorms really got to you, and you were currently finding yourself in the midst of one. It was your turn to take watch as the Black Pearl continued to set sail to her next destination. You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous at all, in fact, you were just uneasy and that feeling was getting worse with every wave the ship rocked over. You weren’t going to back out of watch and have ask someone else to take your place at the wheel, you forced yourself to ignore the fear, and it wasn’t easy.

Come to find out, it was one of the hardest things you could ever do. As you do, you’d soon see that it was a huge fail, as you suddenly feel an unexpected touch on your shoulder from behind, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin as another clap of thunder erupted at the same time. You didn’t need to look back to see who it was, you knew it was Jack Sparrow. As your eyes met Jack’s, you could see worry written over his face, knowing he thought he had scared you.

“Sorry, (Y/n). I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“It’s quite alright.”

“Listen, why don’t you go down and get some sleep? I’ll take on the next watch.”

“Yes, captain.”

Just as you were feeling a sense relief of escaping the storm, another crackling sound of thunder had come. Only this time, it seemed to be louder then the rest of them before.

Upon instinct, you sprinted to take cover in your cabin. All the while, you were gaining that uneasy feeling once more and it was worse then the last. You couldn’t quite accept the fact that your cabin was a refuge for you from the storm or your fear of the storm. It made you feel weary and a little unsafe as the power of the oceans waters could be felt more down there then it could back up on deck where Jack remains. As you lie there on your bed, you realize that you couldn’t find any sleep. By the time it was your next watch, you were still awake when Jack had come by. The concern he had for you grew as he noticed how tired you seemed and started asking you questions, question to which you didn’t want to answer, but had to. The questions Jack asked you were ones you weren’t comfortable answering to, as silly as it may sound. So you had sugarcoated it and gave him just the partial answers.

“Did you even sleep at all?” Jack asks, examining your tired state.

“I did, but not well. I think I just got a little seasick.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

From the look on Jack’s face, you could tell anything you said wouldn’t convince him. But he allowed the subject to drop while he escorted you to your post.

Night had fallen once again, and so did another storm. Jack took over early and demanded that you get some rest. Ever since you first step on the Black Pearl, you and Jack had formed a special bond, and you knew he really did care about you as you cared about him. But I’m Jack’s mind, he cared about you more then he should be, as feelings for you started growing into something more. You were beginning to feel the same way, but you let silent of it thinking that if anything was said, his reputation as pirate would go down big time and you would blame yourself for it. What you didn’t see coming was that Jack had devised a system, and the way it worked would be he as would take over sailing, he would put Gibbs in charge every so often throughout the night so he can come and check on you. Once you’ve reached your small cabin, you put yourself in a comfortable position on your bed, you reached for your book on the table beside you and started reading.

A technique you’ve learned from your mother was that when ever she couldn’t sleep, she would read a book until she felt the tiredness grow stronger. The trick never worked for you, when it comes to thunderstorms at least, but you still kept a book by your side during these cases. You could hear the rain pound against the ship while feeling the waves rock the ship once more, and every now and then, some thunder. The good news was, the thunder seemed to have mellowed down while the rain was coming down as hard as it was, but even that much didn’t make you feel anymore at ease. The only way it could make it better for you, is when the storm will finally come to an end. Despite the commotion out on the other side, you hear distant footsteps coming by, you didn’t think much of it until the sound of the doorknob twist ripped your eyes away from your book.

It was a “wait for it” moment, you didn’t take your eyes off the door, even when it started opening. You thought it might be Gibbs wanting to stop by since Jack was further away. But much to your surprise, it was Jack Sparrow behind the door, stepping in without waiting for your invitation to allow him to come in. It was a little awkward at first, since there wasn’t a knock at the door, but it grew normal to you in a matter of time. You could see that Jack still had the same expression of worry he showed earlier, so you offered him a friendly smile, a start of an attempt to say everything was fine, that you were fine.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)?” He asks, he could sense that you were nervous.

“Of course, I just wanted to read a little from my book before falling asleep.”

“I think there’s more to what you’re telling me, (Y/n). Please, tell me what’s going on.”

“I just told you everything.”

Before another word was said, Jack calls out for someone to let Gibbs know he would be keeping watch the rest of the night while he stays with you.

“No, really! I’m fine, Jack! You don’t have to stay here for me!”

“Too late.”

“But-“ Another clap of thunder sounded, causing you to flinch, your book falling into your lap.

Jack watches your hands shake almost out of control as you pick your book up, opening it up and pretending to read it.

You wanted to tune Jack out, but to your surprise, he suddenly had become very consoling towards you. Just now after watching the way you reacted to the thunder, raised his suspicions that rainstorms upset you. He comes closer to you, trying to pull your book from your hands, almost battling you for it, wanting to talk to you about this and what could he do to help you through the storm. What you didn’t see was after picking the book back up, you had it upside down and continued to try to avoid Jack’s gaze. You put up a pretty good fight before giving in and letting go of the book.

“Is the storm upsetting you?”

“A little.”

“Tell me more about it so I can know how to help you through it.”

“I’ve had this fear since I was a kid, and it seems to be getting worse. Nothing anyone did helped me to conquer my fear. I feel like I’m out of options for when it comes to help, I don’t have anything or anyone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something about it, helping you through this, I mean.”

“I usually prefer to keep these kind of things to myself. Not everyone wants to hear about it.”

“Well, I do. What can I do to help?”

It took you a minute to think of something, but it quickly came to you.

“Hold me?”

You make room by your side for Jack to join you, hold you as you cuddle up close to his side.

As you’re being locked in his arms, you then ask him to read your book aloud to you. Which he happily obliged, reading from where you left off, slowly drifting off to the sound of his voice. The sound of his voice is soothing to you, and you now know that it’s exactly what you needed. You seemed to have finally found some sort of source that actually works for you, and it was the best thing to discover this was the antidote to whatever it is causing your anxiety, stress level to take off in a spot it doesn’t need to be in.

It was almost like, say what you will about Jack Sparrow.. not everyone knows he’s not what others claim him to be.

***

Requests: OPEN

@savvythepirate

Don’t forget to send in a request or two! 😁

[aspensgrove]

dynasties & dystopias || silco x gn!reader || pt. 3

Underground utopia, dynasties and dystopias Fear is never an option, so dying's not a real phobia

Synopsis: You are stunning, the most sought after escort in all of Zaun. When you stumble into Silco's inner circle, you barely expect to survive, much less be stuck in a sexual stalemate with the kingpin of the Lanes.

Masterlist

Trigger Warning: none for this chapter

"Leave us."

Soon after Silco's announcement, the meeting had adjourned after going over figures for each business, and the upcoming shipment out of Piltover. After Jinx's previous mishap, she was currently "banned from topside." You didn't think that would stop her, but who were you to judge Silco's parenting? It's not like you had seen your own parents in over a decade. Besides, you had more pressing issues at hand - like how to murder the man on the other side of the desk.

"I think that you left some information out of our original terms, Silco."

He let out a low chuckle. "Ridiculous. Did you think I took you in out of the goodness of my heart?"

Silco sat in his chair and lit a cigar, puffing on it slowly. "You won't actually have to run any of the businesses, I just needed-"

You marched up to him and, in a moment of bravery or sheer stupidity, grabbed the cigar out of his hand.

"No, I will actually have to step in. Do you know why, Silco? What you've done to me? Now I've not only got a target on my back because people think I'm from top side, but because I am on your petty little council and I'm engaged to you."

Silco tried to speak, but you cornered him in the chair. "You know just as well as I do that you have just burned my reputation to the ground, and I will never work in Zaun again unless it's for you. No one else will touch me, unless it's to get at you, and that rules out my entire clientele besides an arrogant, handsy, jealous little worm. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

You hoped he would incinerate by the power of your stare alone. The man was still in shock, and you momentarily questioned your resolve. No one talked back to him and lived to tell the tale, aside from his daughter. His blue eye hardened again, the black one as empty as ever.

"What is it about your other work that you will miss so much, exactly? You have more than enough time to yourself, far better accommodation and pay. I have done you a favor."

"A favor?" You puffed on his cigar. You didn't like them, but you could tell it irritated him. "Hah. A favor, drag my reputation through the mud. For all I know you're about to use the city's sex trade to traffick kids. No one else puts it below you, you fucking prick."

Silco moved in a flash you thought him incapable of, and slammed you into the wall, a hand around your throat. You just smiled - weakness spotted.

"If you wanted more, you only had to ask, sir. After all, we are betrothed!"

He sneered at your words, leaning closer and increasing the pressure on your throat. You must've gone mad from your life's plan going up in flames around you, that was the only explanation your logical brain could provide. You laughed in his face, your body shaking against his hand with the movement. His eye was angry, confused, calculating, and for the first time, you saw lust underneath it.

He may think he knew all of your weaknesses, but he underestimated your greatest strength, the only one that mattered in your industry.

Soon, you would be able to read him like a book.

***

Everything in Noxus was tinged red.

Your humble home was in flames, your parents long since gone to war for the Queen, leaving you behind.

You weren't even sure who was burning your house down, this time. Was it Demacians? Did Piltover get a taste for war? Strays who wanted to bring their bloodlust to the city known for it?

You couldn't stomach it anymore. You had to get out.

You tried to make your way to the docks, but you felt something pulling you down. Hands made of blood sprung from the ground, and as you tried to run faster, they pulled harder, harder, harder, until you were dragged from the land and pulled down into the river.

You tried to scream, but the water that filled your mouth tasted coppery. Your whole world was bathed in blood.

But then again, that's how your parents raised you to live.

You jerked awake, looking around your bedroom to ground yourself. You were in your private quarters, above The Last Drop. Still in the Lanes, where you ran to escape Noxus, to escape war, your parents, the bloodshed, the everything.

You had tried so hard to bury yourself in your work, learning the people around you, never letting them get close. You had done well, moving on from Piltover when the Noxian counselor started sniffing around too close. You had done everything you were supposed to, even losing your passions of painting, of inventing, of magic, and now a man had outmaneuvered you. In the age of magic being harnessed by science, of the orb that you saw him send Jinx off with, you were already in enough danger if anyone found out there was magic in your blood. Much less if they knew anything more about your backstory.

Your sea of praise and worship was drying up, and he had made you reliant on him during a time that it was almost impossible to run due to the Zaun/Piltover tensions. If you weren't still so angry, you'd be impressed.

Two loud knocks shook your entire apartment.

"Boss wants you."

"Thank you, Sevika. I'll be right there."

You took your time getting ready for the day. You had played the role of the demure escort for long enough, and instead of Silco believing it was a role you played, he had taken you as naive, stupid, and easily manipulated.

That stops today.

***

"I need a list of every known brothel and club in the Lanes, and a bodyguard with me to meet with the heads of the establishments."

"I didn't -"

"You will give me expendable income or protections to bribe them to heel. Fear doesn't work for sex workers, we live in a constant state of it. If you want loyalty, you buy it."

"Now wait a-"

"I'm willing to take a temporary cut to my payments, in order to supplement the money being given to establish me the baron of the sex trade. After, we will renegotiate terms, depending on the situation."

Silco was seething in his chair, which was oddly attractive. You loved seeing him angry, you wanted to see how far you could push before he was trying to kill you again.

That line of thought should probably concern you more than it did.

"Do we have a deal, sir?" You bat your eyelashes at him, as you held your hand out over the desk. Silco's glare deepened, but he took your hand and forcefully pulled you to stand over the desk.

"Just because I gave you the title, doesn't mean I can't take it away."

"Then you shouldn't have announced it in front of my greatest admirer. He'll be checking to see that you were telling the truth, we have to put on a better show now."

With the mention of Finn he released your hand and leaned back into his chair, calculating.

"Why are you so willing to help now?"

Your eyes twinkled. He was treating you as a person now, no longer an instructable subordinate.

"I don't like you. I don't like your operations. But you announced me as your fiance, and gave me a position that didn't exist before. I'm not stupid."

"What do you know about Finn?"

You rolled your eyes. "What do you know of my interactions with Finn?"

He shrugged. "He's a regular of yours, you may have information on his whereabouts. Jinx said she overheard him talking about you."

"So that meeting wasn't by chance?"

"It was, but it certainly sped up the process."

You paused. "Finn was… possessive. More so than someone should be over a working escort. He wanted me to leave the life to be with him, but gave me no guarantees that I would be taken care of."

"Has he mentioned me at all?"

"I doubt he was thinking of you while getting his dick sucked, sir."

Silco's blue eye widened at the crass language before returning to his normal, detached expression, a slight smile pulling at his lips.

"It seems that I was right in making you my fiance."

"Why did you do that? It would've been enough for him to see me with you."

"It is none of your concern."

Your anger flared up again. Just when you thought you were getting somewhere, he clammed up again. There was a book laying to your right, and you threw it at him. He barely flinched as he walked around his desk, resting his hands on your chair as he bent over you.

"It became my concern when you dragged me into it, sir."

"You are to sit on our unofficial council. You are to back what I say, and argue my case where you see fit. You are good enough at reading situations to understand when that is needed. You would never be promoted so quickly if you were still just an escort."

So it was exactly what you thought was happening. "Their respect was slipping, and you needed a status symbol as backup."

He narrowed his eye, but you stared right back. The tension in the air was palpable, and you wondered if he saw out of his right eye. By all accounts, the scarring should have made him completely unattractive. For some reason, it didn't.

Silco stood, fixing his tie. "I trust that I can now expect you to know how to dress and act in meetings. With your promotion, you are no longer expected to be at all of them."

You nodded, also standing.

"Have a good day, sir."

tag list: @ichigomiluku

[kittydemon9000]

The Beginning of Heatstroke, aka Red's Villain Origin

* crashes down from the ceiling * I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED ONE OF MY 5+ CURRENT WRITING PROJECTS! BEHOLD, A WRITTEN VERSION OF THE 'Red's Villain Origin AU', also known as RVO / Heatstroke AU

To summarize the AU for SPBNR for those that don't now it: 

“Who'd be the biggest conspiracy theorist out of the M!Ninja? The one who drinks 5 hour energy at 3am and spits off the craziest theories and then actually gets it right but nobody gives the theory any merit because the rest of the theories are too crazy?”

The answer: Red / M!Kai

Red: Okay hear me out: Smith is actually an alternative version of one of us sent here from another dimension.

The other M!Ninja: You’re just saying that because Smith’s cool and you want him to be your counterpart

Based on the M!ninja making red cork boards trying to figure out ‘What Is Up With Smith’: Red gets increasingly accurate and nobody will believe him (all pre shogun reveal) and he eventually snaps and takes up a secret villain persona to fight Shogun like 'if they won't believe me I'll do it myself' and it gets awkward when he accidentally does too much damage and catches not only Shogun's attention like planned, but also the rest of the Ninjaforce, and now he has to keep his own identity a secret

So, without further ado, I present... Heatstroke

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

Red blamed the 5-hour energy coffee blend at 3:00am for this.

It was no surprise that between ‘Operation: What’s Going on with Smith’ & the sudden appearance of Shogun that the resident Bounty red-stringed ‘joke’ cork-board doubled in size and seriousness. It also was no surprise that Red had a corner all to himself and that his theories were… in the words of the others, ‘wildly inaccurate and implausible’.

But this time, he was sure he’d gotten it right.

Smith is Shogun sent here from another continent/planet/dimension with the goal of protecting Ninjago City.

The latest string of laughs and scoffs at his theory was the last straw. He’d show them. He’d prove it!

Which was why he was currently standing on the roof of a noodle house, awkwardly adjusting the spare motorcycle helmet he’d ‘borrowed’ from Nya and painted black and orangey-yellow (red had seemed too obvious). He’d exchanged his Ninjaforce outfit for a soot-burned cross between a bomber jacket and a leather jacket. Down his back jutted a row of flames like the spines of a monster, courtesy of one of Nya & Jay’s unfinished inventions Red had modified- surely nothing bad would come of that!

For tonight, the Red Ninja was off-duty. For tonight, it was Heatstroke’s turn.

He fiddled with one of the weapons he’d ‘lent out’ from Master Wu. It resembled a small arm canon, like a smaller version of the Ultimate Weapon. The plaque under its post had read ‘Elemental Focuser’, which, in cryptic Wu speak, probably translated to ‘you can use an elemental power like something out of Avatar: The Last Airbender’. So far he’d only figured out how to activate a focused jet of fire. Well, at least it was on brand. He hoped it would help him catch Shogun’s attention so he could unmask him.

He’d tried confronting Smith at school, of course. But there were only so many ways of saying ‘are you the new vigilante helping the ninjas’, and Smith has a genuine talent for dancing around the topic. Red could confront him with the name Shogun to get a proper reaction, but that would mean explaining how he knew the name and outing himself as the Red Ninja.

So fake villainy really was the only way.

His plan was to use the Elemental Focuser to cause some minor petty damage, just enough to attract the new vigilante. Perhaps set a trash can on fire, block an alleyway with rocks (if he figured out how to change the setting from fire to earth), small things that could easily be repaired.

Of course, plans were never actually stuck to. One way or another, something was always improvised.

Red’s improvisation just happened to involve him accidentally setting the entire alleyway on fire.

He’d only been aiming for one dumpster, honest! And maybe he’d spotted a couple fliers for a SoG meeting on the ground and happened to burn those too. And a newspaper article blaming Lloyd for the recent Garmadon attack, again. And an article about those ‘Damn Ninja Menaces’ by a S. Sonah Sameson. And-

Okay, so maybe Red had aimed the fire at a few small targets. But just a few! And with good reason and good care, but…

Well, fire liked to burn. Give it enough kindle and it’ll continue to grow, stretching like reaching branches towards each other to join in a massive bonfire. 

So now the entire alleyway was on fire, and Red was panicking. 

He’d luckily chosen an abandoned part of town near the beaches where Shogun sightings seemed most frequent, but with the stupid Elemental Focuser not switching from fire mode to water mode or ice mode or something that didn’t have the potential to burn Ninjago City to the ground, Red had no way of stopping the flames.

And more flames meant more destruction which meant a bigger audience.

Which was why his previously muted comm suddenly flared to life, the only warning Red had before Nya’s water strider mech slid around the corner.

Red scrambled onto a roof as the mech drove past, spraying water at the bonfire to dose it. His sigh of relief was just as quickly dosed as Lloyd’s voice came over the comms; “Status, Grey?”

“Flames are out,” Nya replied. “Pursing the joker that set it ablaze.”

Uh oh. Red took off across the roof, leaping from building to building. Tiles creaked, pebbled and dust scattering underfoot. The sounds of the mech’s engine roaring behind him echoed through alleyways below to create the illusion the mech was everywhere at once. 

As the chase grew on, more mechs started to join in. Red ducked into a narrow avenue to avoid Zane’s tank, then under a cafe overhang to throw off Jay and Lloyd. His heart hammered in his chest and he groaned, filling the inside of the motorcycle helmet with steam. Saying this was going ‘bad’ would be the understatement of the century. 

What had he been thinking? Oh wait: he hadn’t. Seriously? ‘Oh I’ll just pretend to be a villain real quick, that should get Shogun’s attention and not the attention of literally my entire team of fellow ninjas!’ Stupid, impulsive, this was why everyone was always calling the red ninja the ‘hothead’ when he really tried not to be- Lloyd’s voice over the comms snapped him from his thoughts. “I can’t catch them! It’s like they know our every move!”

Red winced as he climbed up a banister and leapt from balcony to balcony. Sorry, Lloyd. 

He didn’t miss how the others asked Nya where Red was. And how she made up excuses the others bought so easily- granted, he’d told those excuses to his sister before setting his plan into motion, but still, ouch. They acted like he was simply being at best too busy and at worst lazy and selfish.

He just wanted them to know the truth! Why couldn’t they at least try to believe him when-

Of course, that was when Shogun dropped out of the sky and tackled him.

Red shouted with surprise as he tumbled down from the second floor, slamming into a few softer bags of garbage to break his fall before rolling and slamming into the unforgiving concrete. A crack formed in his vision as the visor of his motorbike helmet smacked into the concrete ground. One of the fire jets on his back sputtered and sparked, sending a thin wisp of smoke into the air.

Shogun pinned his wrists to the ground and growled. “Who are you?”

Red tried to break free, agony turning his muscles and bones to fire with the movement after his fall, but the vigilante was too strong. Damn, how often did this guy train?

“Who am I?” Red said, a nervous tinge to his voice. He quickly smoothed it over with faked confidence. “Who are you? Who are all of us, really?”

Shogun narrowed his eyes behind his hood. “Did Garmadon send you? Or someone else?”

Red sputtered. Really, the nerve! Garmadon? The thought turned his insides to disgusting mud. “Nobody sent me!”

“Then why are you here?” Shogun spat.

“Why am I here?” Why was he here again? Oh right, the bright idea on how to reveal that Shogun was Smith. “It’s, uh… a valid reason! That I don’t have to tell you!” He tried for a villainous laugh. Stay in character, don’t blow your cover, you got this!

Shogun was unimpressed. “Nearly burning down my home was a valid reason?”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to set everything on- wait, WHAT?” Uh oh. “You LIVE here?”

Now it was Shogun’s turn to look uncomfortable, though the expression was quickly wiped from his face. “Nothing wrong with this district.” 

Red nodded. “‘Course not. Uh, sorry about that… wasn’t my intention, I swear.”

Shoot, he could hear Jay’s jet getting closer. He had to get out of here, but Shogun, annoyingly, didn’t seem to be in the mood to simply let him go. “Then what is your intention?”

“Well, for starters, it’s getting out of here. This really isn’t going to plan and I’d rather just be home right now, or even inventing a time machine like in that book ‘Hands of Time’ to slap my past self in the face for even thinking about this stupid idea in the first place-“

Jay wasn’t the only one that could ramble under pressure, it seemed.

Shogun leaned closer. “What idea?”

Red shrugged as best he could with how he was pinned to the ground. “Well, for starters, I just wanted to prove to my friends that you’re Smith, and things just kinda escalated from-”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he said. 

Shogun lurched back, letting go of him. His eyes betrayed a kaleidoscope of emotions; surprise, worry, suspicious, hurt, fear, realization. 

“…Kai?”

Well, f!ck.

“I-“

Red was about to badly attempt to bullsh!t his way out of his identity reveal before it suddenly dawned on him that Shogun had not denied his theory. 

Which meant Shogun was Smith.

And it also meant Smith instantly recognized him as Kai, which, considering his disguise, was aptly concerning. Sure, he was the first one in his group of friends people would think to do something this extreme but give him some credit! Zane was a regular detective, he’d do the same if it meant answers! Or, well, at least something similar. And Nya could be an adrenaline seeker. And Lloyd- well, maybe not Lloyd. Or Jay, either. Cole had his head just enough on his shoulders that he probably wouldn’t do this either.

But come on, instantly guessing it?

Well, at least Smith/Shogun didn’t know Kai was the Red Ninja. That would be a catastrophe.

Right. Back to the current catastrophe at hand.

Shogun- Smith- still had a look as if he’d been slapped, and Red hated it. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend. Shogun… Shogun hadn’t wanted them to find out his identity. And then Red had gone and done it, just to prove that he could be the smart one, or a leader, or the protector so they didn’t get hurt, or literally anything but just the ‘hotheaded one’. 

…And he’d done it in the most hotheaded, impulsive way possible.

He really was an idiot.

The cracked helmet hid the look on his face, a twisted mess of distraught and shame. But it didn’t help hide how he took stumbled to his feet and away from Smith, nervous that any second he’d spill another mistake and mess up again, like how he always freaking messed up on everything. Don’t pick this fight, interject there instead, no, not there, idiot, there, FMS why are you so useless-

Focus, focus.

Lloyd’s voice, sharp in the intercom and full of static from his tumble, snapped him from his thoughts. “Anyone got eyes on the arsonist?”

Red caught Smith’s eye as he raised his hand to his own communicator. He was so screwed, so busted, so doomed… Smith would report it, and the others would know, and they’d think he was just messing around in an alleyway with some stolen devices and weapons out of curiosity or rage, - and-

“None yet, still looking.”

…What?

Smith stared at him, gaze searching. He looked shaken, more so than Red- who’d just taken a fall from a second story, mind you, it was a miracle he wasn’t more injured than a couple small scrapes and some future bruises-, yet everything from the set of his jaw to the softening of his furrowed brows suggested a change in emotions. Well, not quite change; more like repress and replace.

“You wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you.”

Red flushed, hand instinctually clamping into a tight fist at his side. The still-working fire jets on his back ignited without him pressing any buttons; faulty activation from the fall or something. 

Palms up and hands raised, Smith silently asked to defuse the situation. “Didn’t mean it as an insult. This wasn’t about venting some anger, was it.”

Red’s lack of response only confirmed it. Smith continued. “I won’t say anything about this if you don’t tell anyone my identity. Deal? I know finding it out was important to you, but-“

“Deal,” Red interrupted. Guilt ate away at his core, like a wave of water dousing a candle. “Smith, I-“ He swallowed hard and stared at the alley floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to…”

Smith’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he flinched before relaxing as Smith didn’t move further, nor did the grip tighten. “I’m a little hurt, you’re right. But I’m not mad. And I won’t tell the others, so you can relax. But you better get out of here and get yourself an alibi. We can talk at school or something.”

Wow, he was handling this rather calmly. Red was struck by the sudden memory of- what did Jay call the word? Right. Compartmentalizing. That… wasn’t healthy. But at the roar of Lloyd’s mech somewhere nearby, he didn’t comment further. Instead, he shot Smith a grateful nod and ran down the alley, sticking to the shadows and blind spots of the flying mechs and the tight alleyways where the land mechs couldn’t reach him. 

When he got home, miraculously without further incident (though Shogun leading the others on a wild goose chase over the comms certainly helped there), he ditched the outfit in a bag hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the shed. He’d return the weapon to Master Wu’s ship later, and… well, hope Nya never searched for the missing supplies. There wasn’t a way of fixing it without involving her or Jay, and neither was an option.

Heatstroke was back off duty, and so was the Red Ninja.

For now, he could just be Kai Smith. And there wasn’t any issue with that.

…

Right?

—————

yooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THIS IS AMAZING REHJJGFHDESFXJVZ

and ah yes, good ol trauma and compartmentalizing, we love to see it

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (Part 2): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Imperial life sounds nice on paper... but will it ever live up to reality? (the answer is always no).

wc: 2.2k

tw: none (again, backstory. I’m SORRY! The lemon-y stuff will begin in the next part)

masterlist

“There was this patch of mud I was sure we’d be able to get through...” 

You’re sitting across from the Imperial Warrior and watching him scarf down your mother’s cooking, noting his ravenous appetite and the way he waves his hands around as he details how his horse is trapped in the mud from the storm that followed him here, and how he longed for death until he happened to find himself at your door, blah, blah, blah…

Your father and mother entertain him eagerly, nodding their heads and humming at his story, but you’re not having any of it. You just want to know what’s in the letter with the Imperial Seal on it so he can go and you can return to your mourning in peace. The letter is sitting with your father, untouched and forgotten while the man drones on and on. 

There’s something about how he’s going on about his horse that’s stuck in the mud that bothers you; there are too many intricate details and he’s--

“I’m sorry, I don't think we caught your name,” you interrupt, and the white haired man stops mid-sentence, a long silence echoing in the room. 

“Gojo,” he announces, holding his hand to his chest. “You can call me Gojo.” 

“And Gojo, you say your horse is stuck outside? We should help you go and retrieve it.” 

“Oh, no need, I was about to say that the lovely townsfolk helped me out with my situation. It’s in a stable as we speak.” 

You eye the confident man with some skepticism, then look over to the letter with intent. “And the letter?” 

“Ah! I almost forgot.” He motions for your father to open the letter, and when your father breaks the seal and slides out the paper, you angle your head to read the words scripted across the paper. You and your father read at the same pace, because your faces drop at the same time. 

“The Imperial Matchmaker?” The image of the wizened young woman dances before your eyes, and you blink twice, dismissing the improbability that her visit to your village just six months ago had anything to do with you or your family. She hadn’t even spoken to you, let alone laid eyes on you. How in the world--

“My story was to conclude with why she was not picked this time. I regret that I was not on time to come and retrieve you, my lady.” When Gojo holds a hand to his chest again, you feel some sort of sincerity from him. “You see, there are three princes of--”

“But aren’t there more illustrious ladies of the Court that might suit their needs?” you ask, squinting your eyes. There’s absolutely no way you were destined to wed a Prince of the Imperial Court. 

“What the Matchmaker has ordered will go as planned,” your mother announces, shooting up from her seat and hurrying from the table toward your room. Your father follows her, letter still in hand, leaving you alone with the white-haired warrior. You look over at him in disbelief, raising a brow in challenge to speak. 

“I assume you had an eventful day,” he begins, picking at the rest of his food thoughtfully. “You should go and rest. We leave at first light.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Your mother, fussing over you as always, is crying as you wait for the horse and carriage to be brought from the town’s stables. Your father had neglected to come out of the house to see you off, even though you knew he loved you just as much as your mother. Perhaps seeing his last daughter off was even more painful than the other three had been. 

You can’t help but feel somewhat uneasy at the thought of being thrust into marriage to someone who ranked so much higher than you. Would you even get accustomed to court life in time? Would you feel at ease among the nobility of the land? Or would you be a wife who was shunned and set aside, only to be pulled out and bred occasionally? The thought isn’t even complete when the horse and carriage parade through the gates, the white haired man reappearing. 

“Oh...” Your mother breaks into a fresh set of tears, knowing wherever that carriage goes, she can’t follow you. “Oh, y/n, you’ll have to write as much as you can. Please let us know how you adjust. We’ll be here if you ever need to come home. We’ll be there for the wedding, too, don’t worry…” As she drones on and adjusts your clothing, you realize she’s saying all the things she needs to hear in order to feel comforted. You, on the other hand, feel nothing as they load your items into the back of the carriage and finally, place you in the modest-sized thing. 

When you pull away, you watch your waving mother fade into the distance, waving back until you could see her no longer. The open-air hits your face, and as you leave the only town you’ve ever known, you wonder if you’d ever be back. 

The letter - your future - is resting in your lap, and you finger the thing, flipping the edges of the letter around and around while scenery drifts by you.

Before long, you’re out of the town’s limits, and steering toward a path you’ve never seen before. Your nerves leap to extreme heights, and you release the clasp on the curtains that will shield you from sight. What did it matter that you were in unfamiliar territory? Wasn’t that just a metaphor for the rest of your life? 

The steady rocking of the carriage and sounds of nature lulls you into a rhythm and then, slowly, into sleep. There was no point in staying awake the entire time; you might as well get some rest before you met your future husband. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You don’t realize the carriage has stopped until you awake, your left hand knocking against the side of the carriage as you slide out of sleep. 

“Gojo?” When there is no response, you peel the curtain aside, and notice you’re in the middle of greenery. When you look down, there are faint signs of a path, but it seems to be grown over by grass and moss. “Gojo?” 

You have two options: you can get out of the carriage, risk staining your dress, and find the white-haired bastard, or you could stay put and wait for him to return. At first, the second option seems fair, but the longer you wait, the more you worry about him. 

Finally, you gather up the courage to exit the carriage, planting your feet firmly on the ground beneath you and walking to the front of the carriage. The horse is still there, eyeing you as you walk around it, untethered to anything but remaining dreadfully still. You reason that if something were to have gone wrong, the horse would have taken off, and you with it. But there’s no sign of a struggle, and you’re alone. 

Well, almost. 

You hear a couple of voices getting closer, and one is unmistakably Gojo’s. But the other voice you don’t know. “Perhaps we should just go now and avoid riding straight into the camp.” 

“No,” Gojo grunts. “It’s part of the show. We have to show her off before he gets her.” 

Camp? 

“Is she really as beautiful as Yuko said?” Yuko? What did he have to do with-

“I would say even more so.” The voices are getting even closer, and you have to make a choice , and fast: either get back in the carriage or confront the two on their words. “But we have to make her believe she’s still going to the Imperial Palace even though--” You’re out of time before you know it, and you’re stuck standing on the other side of the horse, facing Gojo and a shorter, black haired man with wide eyes, who is most certainly not an Imperial Warrior. His eyes widen even more when he sees you, but Gojo just moves to scratch the back of his head. 

“I’m assuming you heard most of that conversation, y/n.” 

Instead of responding, you take off into the opposite line of trees, weaving your way through the brush and grass with as much maneuvering as you can manage. Quick footfalls are crashing behind you, but you bob and weave through the branches, hoping one might catch the person off guard and buy you more time. You have no idea where the village is in regards to your current location, but perhaps if you could find the closest town, you could get ho--

You fall face first into the forest floor, a body landing on your back with enough force to knock the wind out of you. Fallen debris is scratching at your face and exposed hands, the dress covering most of your skin and protecting you.

“Y/n… you’re fast, I’ll give you that. But not as fast as me.” You’re hoisted up by your arms, and not-Gojo throws you over his shoulder and carries you back to the carriage, defeated. 

“She’s dirty! Ugh, he’s going to kill me.” Gojo whines when you return, and the man sets you in the carriage with a thump, exhaling deeply. 

“If she didn’t run, we wouldn’t have this issue.” The man breaks the handle off the inside of the door and shuts it, effectively trapping you inside. “And if you had done what I told you to do, she wouldn’t have gotten out in the first place.” You scramble to the far side of the carriage when he tosses you a dirty look, then disappears around the front. “Ride on, dumbass. And if you think you don’t have a true runner on your hands, you’re absolutely wrong. Keep an eye on her at all times, Satoru, and don’t stop for anything.” 

Satoru. 

You store that piece of information in your brain, the name registering somewhere deep in the annals of your memory as the carriage lurches forward again. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You can’t sleep, even though it’s night. 

Your captor is being guided by the moonlight, and when you hear the sounds and smells of crackling fires and shouts of acknowledgement, you know you’ve arrived somewhere that isn’t the Imperial Palace. 

You tried to find out why Gojo had tricked you and your family, why you were being taken somewhere that wasn’t the palace, and why the letter even existed if you were simply being taken hostage. But every shout had only been met with silence. 

You dared not to open the curtains now. Even when the carriage stops, you clutch yourself and attempt to squeeze your body as far away from the door as you can manage. Silence falls over the ruckus outside, and you hear footsteps approaching the door. It feels like an eternity before the carriage is flooded with moonlight and someone grabs you roughly, yanking you out into the open. 

Your first reflex is to struggle to remain in the carriage, but when that fails, you rely on letting your hand loose and your fist fly into the face of your assailant. The sound of crunching bones as your fist makes contact with their nose is unmistakable, but your victory is short lived. Another pair of rough hands grab your arms, twisting them behind your back uncomfortably. 

“Unhand me!” you shout into the night, but the person does not do as you ask. It’s only then you can observe your surroundings with clarity. As you pant into the chilly night, you see scores of eyes - male eyes - observing the scene with a mix of disbelief and amusement. You yank against the hands that are restraining you, but when Gojo appears in your line of sight, he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. 

“You broke Haibara’s nose,” He looks over at the man clutching his face, blood running down his fingers. “That’s not very ladylike.”

“No, it’s not,” a deeper voice replies behind him, and a hand lands on his shoulder. Your eyes drag from Gojo’s face to the man now beside him, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming an awful nightmare. Standing beside Gojo is a man of similar height; his long, black hair cascading around his shoulders and onyx eyes raking over your appearance lustily. 

Before you is General Geto Suguru, one of your country’s most feared enemies. His presence makes your knees weak - and not because of his good looks. No, it wasn’t even his looks that preceded him. His name was known among your people to be synonymous with “curse eater”, which made him even more fearsome than just a bedtime story told to keep children in line. Because if a man was able to eat curses… could he not eat children just as easily? 

“You’ll need to apologize to Haibara, little one.” 

But for some reason, instead of finding your voice, you spit at his feet in a show of bravery. The men in the gathered crowd reel back, inhaling in shock. But Geto and Gojo just raise their brows, looking at the spit gathered on Geto’s shoe. Geto cocks his head to the side a little, eyeing you curiously. “Haibara, follow me. Oh, and Nanami, bring her as well. I can see she’ll need some discipline before she’s wed to me.”