#saddled with the tasks but not the responsibility

[karlastarion]

I'm so curious about Kagha, because she's so different from Halsin. She and Halsin are both wood elves, and I get the sense that Kagha is probably not ~young~ but she's not nearly as old as Halsin. When you deal with the Shadow Druids, she's very quick to defer to him and treat him like a teacher she's disappointed. He probably mentored her, if he's chosen her as his second in command - though, I would bet it's in more of a general thing in the way that the First Druid is everyone's mentor, rather than the clearly more direct and specific mentorship he has with Nettie as a healer.

Canonically, Halsin isn't an exceptionally good leader. He's not bad at it, and he has good instincts. He correctly surmises that after the dust-up with Kagha and the tieflings, the Emerald Grove needs an outsider to step in and lead without being tied to any particular grudges or politics. That's savvy enough that I think Halsin was a good First Druid, he just wasn't especially good or great at it and clearly didn't like the position. At worst, I think he let some situations fester because of his focus on the Shadow Curse.

But I'm not ready to say that he didn't realize Kagha was a proverbial snake in the grass ~the whole time~, because I don't think she was. I think she was genuinely and recently radicalized by the Shadow Druids. I think she probably had something of an edge before, maybe she was a hardass or had a mean streak or something. Regardless of how I feel about the quality of the Shadow Druid subplot (which is that I think its pacing is meh and Kagha's face-turn is way too fast and kind of shitty), I think it speaks to the fact that her care for the Grove is genuine. That perhaps Halsin's failure with her wasn't in not realizing she was A Bad Person Actually, but in not tending to her insecurities or noticing that she might be feeling isolated, if she was so effectively shaken by the Shadow Druids' fearmongering.

The recent wave of IRL cults should have taught us all by now that everyone is susceptible to cult tactics if they're sufficiently scared and alone, and BG3 is a game riddled with various cults. You don't have to already be a bad person, or a stupid or weak person, to fall for them. And I think Kagha's story is way less interesting if you just think she's an evil power hungry shrew too stupid to keep herself from being radicalized.

She clearly has a nasty streak, but her apologies and regrets also sound sincere, if you manage to hear them. Even when she isn't "redeemed", she accepts her punishments, even if she does so bitterly and not believing she was wrong. And I have to wonder just how much of that mean streak is self-defensive rather than inherent in her, how much of it is that she struggles to admit failure and learn from it. Or how much is her modeling Halsin's level of single-minded commitment, picking a methodology or an action and throwing all of her weight behind it, even when it may no longer be working.

I wish characters like Kagha got nearly as much love and fandom development and benefit of the doubt as someone like Ketheric. I think she has a ton of potential for that, and way fewer crimes to her name than other fandom favorites who just happen to also be, you know. Men.

[fujii-draws]

as usual: YOU GET IT

Dusknoir realizing seeing Ribbons and Aimilios hurt actually upsets him.

[+ extra]

[ghostaholics]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂

➸ PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!Reader ➸ TAGS/WARNING(S): none ➸ BANNER CREDIT: cafekitsune & benkeibear

Detail-oriented, exceptional manual dexterity when it comes to sewing him up. Your movements are careful and controlled – meticulous with regards to everything that you do but especially focused on how the edges line up so that they don’t overlap. Other medics – they'll rush. Botch it. A shoddy job like tectonic plates of skin forced to converge on each other, because in his line of work, stitches are an afterthought when there's another bloke with a sucking chest wound whose deep in the throes of respiratory distress and the only immediate threat about Ghost's own injury is the small amount of blood he'll lose. Whatever will get it closed. Nobody else cares much about the cosmetic factor. But you do. Painstakingly so. It's a thankless job to spend three times longer than it should to get it right, but he makes sure to express his appreciation for the consideration you put into every single graze/cut/gash (even more diligent if the injury's to any part of his arm that could mess up his tattoo sleeve). They always heal nicely.

He looks for you, after-hours – well late into the night because you were occupied patching up other soldiers. It'd been a grueling mission, lots of WIAs needing your attention. He doesn't even have a good excuse for this. It's a trivial thing, maybe, to bother you. Like asking Atlas for a favour, with the weight of the world on your shoulders and the soul-crushing responsibility of holding lives in the palms of your hands as though you're the last line of defense against death. This is stupid. This is beyond fucking stupid of him. Almost turns around and walks away from the medical tent, because that's how ridiculous it is. But he convinces himself to head in, asking if you can fix the stitching on his mask because the only person he trusts more than himself to do it is you. Though his request is benign, the significance behind it is profound in ways that he won't admit to himself. There are very few people he can count on. And of course, you say yes with a tired smile and a brightness in your eyes that never seems to dull in front of him no matter how exhausted you might be. It's one of the rare instance he lets his guard down, shows his face. He keeps you company the entire time, telling you about why he wears that mask while you restore it back to original condition.

The irony of having an injured medic: Simon's saddled with the pitiful task of having to step into your role because there's a gash on your forearm that needs to be taken care of. He knows how to do a basic stitch – is fairly confident that he can thread the sutures just like you’d showed him a million times by now whenever he’d been looking for a reason to see you ( ❝ Show me how to do it right. The proper way, yeah? ❞ ). And he's admonishing you to hold still, except it's sort of difficult when you're being treated like a bloody pincushion. He'd never let anybody else get away with making fun of him for that but this is you so he lets it slide. After talking him through it (which you find quite odd, considering that he never would've struck you as someone who’d need extra time and help), you inspect his handiwork, mildly impressed.

❝ Oh, you actually... well, you did quite a decent job. ❞ ❝ Of course. ❞ Because he wouldn't settle for anything less than perfecti— ❝ But then again, it is a little off over here, ❞ you point out, just to deflate his pride. There's still smugness to his tone. ❝ Would you like me to start over, then? ❞ ❝ Not on your life, Riley. ❞

He doesn’t mention how phenomenal he is at suturing, doesn’t mention that he sat in on a class for combat specialists early on in his career even though he didn't need to be there and was commended for his technique by the leading instructor. He definitely doesn't bring up the fact that he's been taking long on purpose just because he likes your company.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Toward the end of Young Justice 1998, Anita Fite sets out to avenge her father's murder and for complicated reasons ends up coming home with both her formerly deceased parents in tow. Which sounds great, but...they're now babies. Babies whom she, at age fifteen, has to look after. Her final stories involved her being overwhelmed by this task and working with YJ less because of this new development in her personal life, then the series ended and she just...sort of mostly disappeared.

Sometimes this is responded to as the narrative of YJ 1998 itself choosing to kick her off the team and saddle her with raising her own parents. Which, if that were the case, is pretty harsh, especially for a character who chose heroism for herself and values it.

But I think there's some more nuance to this. Did Anita really quit the team to raise her parents?

After the babies come into her life, she is seen at her home with Cissie looking after them, but there is never any indication that she has formally left the team. In YJ 1998, whenever a team member leaves, there's always a formal declaration, an emphasis on the reactions of the others, and some far-reaching consequences. Cissie's leaving was the dramatic conclusion of an issue. Bart and Tim's exit was a whole prolonged and emotional conversation.

But Anita never announces to the team that she is leaving, nor does anyone react as if she had. She is merely more busy with her personal life now. The fact that no one is lamenting losing her (as they did with Cissie, Bart, and Tim) suggests that the general understanding is that her absence is believed to be a temporary situation.

She is present, as Empress, with the rest of the team at the start of the reality TV show that Young Justice is starring in, implying that she plans to be around for the show at least sometimes and still is considered part of the team.

When Cassie intends to call her on the phone one day during the filming, she refers to her as Empress, not Anita. If Anita had formally quit, no one would be using her code name anymore, as they stopped doing with Cissie.

Young Justice 1998 ends with her as Empress, leaving her parents to be babysat by Cissie and her mother while Anita herself joins the team to deal with Secret's rampage. This is not the behavior of someone who has quit the team. (Compare with the now-retired Cissie, who is featured in the issue but does not show up as Arrowette even to take part in restraining Secret)

In Titans/Young Justice: Graduation Day, the miniseries that transitioned between Young Justice 1998 and Teen Titans 2003 (the comic, not the TV show, obviously), she is still part of the team, unlike Greta and Ray, who were present at the end of Young Justice 1998 but absent henceforth. Anita is absent by the end of the miniseries because of an injury, but she never declares an intention to quit.

Young Justice is implied to have disbanded after this event, and Anita apparently chooses not to join the Titans along with Tim, Kon, Bart, and Cassie. She doesn't join the new team, but there's still no clear indication that she has retired.

She is referred to as an ex-member of Young Justice during her final appearance, a guest-starring role in Supergirl 2005 #33, but again, this is because that team disbanded, not that she specifically quit. There is no indication that she has retired in her role as Empress; she is very much acting as Empress in this story.

This appearance also confirms that she is not caring for her parents full-time; they have a nanny now. Anita is fifteen by the end of Young Justice 1998 and presumably still in school. She is referrred to as her parents' primary caregiver at that point, and she is overwhelmed by it. But apparently this must not have been the permanent situation. Perhaps Ishido Maad, Anita's godfather who is implied to be her guardian after her father's death, stepped up and did something about this teenage girl's having to take on such an adult responsibility alone. I wouldn't be surprised if Bonnie King-Jones, who has been protective of Anita in the past, had gotten on his case about it.

Did Anita really quit the team in-universe, or did the writers just stop bothering much with her after the end of Young Justice 1998? That's the actual issue. No one except her creators wanted to feature her, which is a shame, so she gradually all but disappeared from the narrative. It's the writers'/editorial's fault, not the narrative's.

If Young Justice 1998 had been allowed to continue, I think it's possible that Anita would have stayed on and that her parents might eventually have been aged up back to adulthood; a precedent is established for Agua Sin Gaaz's clones that they rapidly age (see Young Justice 1998 #48). Which would have introduced other concerns (would they rapidly age indefinitely, or would that taper off at some point?), but whatever the case, there could have been room in the narrative for something to happen that would allow Anita to keep her family and her career as a hero, both of which mean so much to her.

But that didn't get to happen, and she's been left in limbo since the late 2000s.

[eff4freddie]

Things You Knew

Javi Gutierrez x Reader Rating: M Words: 8k AN: This is my submission for @burntheedges roll-a-trope challenge and @auteurdelabre trope-off. Apologies for doubling up on challenges but it's been a pretty insane month at work. Anyway. I chose Javi G as I've never written for him before, and my trope was Soulmates. This was really fun to write and I hope you enjoy! Warnings: None

Your ankles crinkled in their sockets when you stretched them, and you didn’t want to think about what it meant, so you didn’t. You rolled your shoulders, feeling the way the tendons strained under the weight of keeping your head up. It wasn’t even that working for Javi was that hard – he was a kind boss, generous with his time and respectful of yours – it was just that his relentless quest had started to take its toll on all your other tasks. Tasks that were mounting up without his attention.

‘Mr Gutierrez…’ you started, your arms full of binders and your iPad balanced precariously on top, ‘you have a meeting with the executive producers this afternoon…’

‘Cancel it, and it is Javi, please. You know this, Cariño.’

He was good looking enough that you didn’t mind the pet name, or that he’d bestowed it upon you the moment he saw you on your first day in the job, seven and a half months ago. Now, though, it grated on you as he strode past you standing patiently at his office door.

‘They’ve said that if you don’t show up this time the deal is off, Mr Gutierrez,’ you tried again, following behind him as he made his way down the hall to the front door. Your heels clacked on the marble in a way that announced your arrival well before you had any intention of making it, and you hated that you were unable to move silently through his house.

‘They can say whatever they want to. They do not understand I’m on a quest,’ he said, talking to you over his shoulder as his longer legs carried him. You sighed, the sorrowful little sound of it stopping him in his tracks. You took a step back as he rounded on you.

‘Como, Cariño?’ he asked, his brows saddled in concern. ‘Do you work too late? Do you carry too many things? Look at all these…’ he tutted at you as he took the binders from your arms, all labelled neatly in your script; the names of his various projects, ledgers, budgets, a contract he still hadn’t read let alone signed. ‘Who makes you carry these, hmm?’ he said, grinning at you slightly as you secured your face in a disapproving glare.

‘My boss,’ you said, but fighting a grin.

‘What a monster he must be,’ Javi said, winking at you. You felt the heat crawling up your cheeks, and hated yourself for it. You had noticed long ago that his voice, when it was just the two of you, was softer, quieter, that he almost whispered to you such that sometimes you found yourself leaning closer into his orbit just to pick up the words. You felt the fizzle up your spine and ignored it, every time, his cologne and his shampoo and just his skin enough to send a riot of butterflies into your throat and suffocate you.

‘Enough of this, it does not matter to me,’ he said, dismissing your months of work.

‘Mr Gutierrez, when you find her, you’ll need…don’t you think you’ll…’ you tried to think of a reason. He didn’t need the money, you knew that. He didn’t need the social status, he had that in spades thanks to his wealth and his association with Nicholas Cage. He had everything a man could want except for the thing that kept him up at night, and when he found it…

‘Don’t you think Nic will want to know what happened to your next movie?’ you tried your Hail Mary, invoking the name of Jesus himself. Javi paused. Your arms now empty you tugged nervously on your sleeve.

‘I will find her,’ he said, determined, and you nodded at him. ‘But when I do, you are right, I will need to juggle all my other responsibilities…Oh, Cariño will you help me, still? You will not leave me to rot?’

‘You won’t rot,’ you said, rolling your eyes at him. ‘You’ll be too happy with her.’

He grinned, his dimples popping out. Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to take them between your teeth, but you resisted, you always resisted.

‘I will be, Cariño, won’t I?’ he said, but he wasn’t asking for an answer, and you could see the way his eyes had drifted away from yours that he was imagining her again, conjuring her in his mind as if he could transport her in front of him just by sheer will.

‘Yes, Prince Charming,’ you said, and he smiled at you, again.

‘If only I had a glass slipper to try on these women,’ he said.

‘You have better,’ you said, nodding to his wrist. Absent minded, he ran his fingers over the mark, the pattern you had seen enough times to know by heart.

He looked at you, sadly, then, his eyes coming back to yours. He knew it was a privilege to have been marked, that not everyone was born with their destiny etched on their wrists.

‘Is this hurting you?’ he asked, and you swallowed, collecting yourself for a moment.

‘You’re not the first I’ve witnessed find their match,’ you said, the words bitter on the back of your throat. ‘I’m happy that you will be happy, Mr Gutierrez. And that you apparently won’t fire me the moment you find her.’

‘I would never,’ he said, jostling the binders in his arms so that he could extend a hand to your shoulder. You felt the warmth seep into your skin through the loose cotton of your shirt. He wore a look of consolation on his face, and somehow that burned more than anything else.

A moment passed between the two of you, Javi’s thumb caressing your skin without his fully realising. You could see again his eyes were unfocussed, could see the spread of goosebumps up his forearm. You pushed him away, taking a step back and out of his grasp.

‘I do hope it’s soon, though,’ you said, plastering a smile on your face. ‘Not sure I can hold off the execs much longer.’

‘Tell them a family emergency came up,’ Javi said, ‘tell them I am sorry, but I must attend to my loved ones.’

‘Mr Gutierrez, we said that last time,’ you reminded him. He dropped your binders, one by one, on the hall table by the door. Through the glass you could see his driver idling his sports car. You held in a sigh. Taking a pen from his front pocket he at least signed the contract, sight unseen.

‘Tell them again…it is not untrue,’ he said. ‘When I find her, she will be family.’

Before you could try and get him to see sense he was gone, the door opened and closed for him as he strode over the threshold. You forced yourself to look away, to turn your shoulder and stare instead at the binders beside you. You could never look when he left you.

--

You had meant to go home, you really had, but you found yourself unaccountably engrossed in Javi’s bookkeeping and before you knew it the sun was setting over the ocean. Your phone rang, the vibrations jolting you out of your work.

‘-lo?’ you said, without checking, and when you heard a scoff you knew it was your roommate, Karla.

‘Girl, what are you doing?’ she asked, and you sighed.

‘I got…stuck with work.’

‘I’ve been texting. This time you didn’t even leave me on read.’

You had put your phone on Do Not Disturb the moment Javi had cleared the driveway. If he found Her, finally, you didn’t want to know about it.

‘Oh, I…needed to concentrate,’ you said. You realised your eyes were stinging and you blinked them a few times. How long had you been bent over your laptop? Too long, judging by the squawk of protest from your shoulders when you moved.

‘You’re breaking your back for this guy again?’ Karla asked. She knew, or at least she suspected with the benefit of very good evidence, that you didn’t work so hard for Javi because you cared about his next big movie production. Balancing the books for a multi-billion-dollar company wasn’t your job, either. But you knew that Javi had been taken advantage of before, by his own family no less, and you just liked to keep an eye on things to make sure he could trust his accountants.

‘I have a business degree, I gotta use it somehow,’ you said, and you heard Karla laugh. ‘What did you want, anyway?’

‘I was calling to see if you wanted to go out tonight, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.’

‘Mmm,’ you agreed. You felt your stomach protest, remembering that you had forgotten to eat lunch. Javi had a way of making your tummy flip that made it difficult to want to add food to the equation.

‘He’s out again, on the hunt?’ Karla asked, gently, because she could read your mind even through the phone and that was why you loved her.

‘Mmm,’ you said, again, this time trying to sound blasé.

‘And you’re not waiting around for him to come home to see if he’s hit the jackpot?’

‘Mmm-mmm,’ you said, shaking your head for the benefit of absolutely no one.

‘Course not,’ Karla replied. ‘Will you at least go eat something?’

‘How did you…’

‘Could hear your stomach grumbling from here,’ she cut you off, and you grinned. You paused, feeling the smile slide off your face.

‘Do you think he’s ever going to stop looking?’ you asked, and you heard how wistful you sounded, how sad, your voice failing to cover for you.

‘Honestly?’ Karla said, and you held your breath, waiting for her to answer. ‘No, that man is determined and he gets what he wants.'

‘He put the ad in the paper,’ you said, ‘and he went on Late Night and showed his mark on TV.’

‘And how many fakers did that bring out of the woodwork? The cheap tattoos? That one lady who Sharpied hers on and didn’t think he’d try wiping it?’

You scoffed at that. She had lasted all of three minutes, and it was three minutes too long in your opinion. His security teams had received a talking to after that.

‘I don’t like seeing him… like this,’ you said, and you meant distracted and not able to attend important meetings, making you grovel for reschedules. Of course that’s what you meant. ‘He was so disheartened when all that publicity didn’t work.’

‘Kind of makes me grateful I don’t have one, to be honest,’ Karla said. You made your way to Javi’s kitchen, untouched by anyone except for his chef, and scrounged around for something with which to make yourself a sandwich. ‘I think he’ll do all this dating, and he won’t find Her, but he’ll find a girl nice enough, or gorgeous enough, and he’ll make do.’

‘Some stunning influencer.’

‘6 foot tall, waist tiny enough to wrap one hand around,’ Karla agreed.

‘Rich lady hair. Tits up to her chin,’ you added, after a thought.

‘She’ll have a PhD in neuroscience, and something in Law’ Karla giggled, ‘and she’ll volunteer for the UNHCR.’

‘And she won’t know how beautiful she is, she just will be.’

‘She’ll pop out twins and be…wait are we just describing Amal Clooney?’

‘We…we might be,’ you conceded.

‘I met her once, she was lovely.’

‘Of course she fucking was,’ you said, an ache blooming at your temples you were worried would turn into a full-on migraine. Karla was right. That was absolutely the kind of woman Javi would end up with, should end up with, if there was any justice in the universe. You knew this. Of course you knew this.

‘I’m gonna go meet my Not The One But Good Enough,’ Karla decided.

‘Put the sock on the doorknob,’ you reminded her, and she remained on the line long enough to scoff at you before she was gone. She was your best friend.

You turned back to the cupboards, considering your options. The kitchen was well stocked, but it was an ingredient kitchen. You just wanted a box of mac and cheese, not to have to roll the pasta yourself. You sighed.

‘That was dramatic,’ you heard a voice behind you, and you swivelled fast enough to make yourself dizzy.

‘Mr Gutierrez!’ you said, his voice honeyed but his eyes sad in the light from above the stove. ‘You’re back early.’

You watched as he sighed, plonking himself down at the table. Behind him a storm threatened to blow in over the ocean. You felt your stomach sink for him.

‘She was not the One,’ he said, and you nodded.

‘Not even the Not the One But Good Enough?’ you asked, and he shook his head.

You knew Javi. Despite Karla’s predictions, you knew he was uncompromising in getting what he wanted, that he had enough money in the world to engineer any career, any dream for himself but this one thing, this one missing piece, that was nevertheless evading him. He wasn’t the type to settle, even if it would make him reasonably happy. You knew this, too.

‘I do not know how to describe it, just that I knew she was not Her.’

You stayed by the cupboard, not wanting to interrupt his reverie, not sure if you should intrude. It almost seemed as though he forgot you were there, until he snapped his eyes to you. ‘What are you doing hiding in the kitchen?’

‘I didn’t have dinner…’ you said, and he slapped his forehead.

‘I forgot!’ he exclaimed, standing and running out of the room. You followed, because it seemed urgent, and because of course you did. You watched as he ran to the garage, disappearing into the darkness before you heard a car door slam.

‘Sorry, Cariño, I was just so upset about the girl, but it should still be warm. I will heat it for you.’

‘Mr Gutierrez, no, I can…’ you said, not wanting to remind him of the last time he tried to heat up leftovers, including his Great Grandmother’s silver serving spoon.

‘I know, Cariño, no silverware,’ he tutted at you, and you once again found yourself tagging along behind him.

‘Now you know,’ you said under your breath, and you heard him giggle.

So caught up in chasing him down, as per usual, you didn’t even look at what was in his hands until he produced a plate and served it. You had been expecting a half-eaten chocolate cake, maybe some bread and an unwanted appetiser, but what greeted you was an intricate dish, seafood and delicate squares of polenta, a garnish of radish and dill. You looked, as subtly as possible, for any bite marks and found none.

‘The chef recommended it as his favourite,’ he explained, his eyebrows saddling as he watched your reaction. ‘You eat fish, yes?’

You nodded, dumbly. ‘How did you know that I would…’

‘You’re always working late, Cariño. You think I do not notice but I do.’

You felt heat in your chest, your belly flipping again. This time, though, the smell of the food wafting gently over your nostrils was enough to overcome it. You were embarrassed to find your mouth watering.

‘Thank you, Mr Gutierrez,’ you said, warmth in your eyes as you looked at him. He smiled, pleased.

‘She did not like the food at all,’ he said, rolling his eyes as he put the plate down in front of you and went to find forks. ‘She did not like to eat.’

‘Well, she’s crazy,’ you said, too impatient to wait for the cutlery and instead diving in with your hands, picking up a polenta square and popping it into your mouth. An explosion of flavour danced across your tongue and you moaned, your eyes closing of their own volition. When you opened them again you saw Javi gazing at you, pink blooming across his cheeks.

‘It is not cold?’ he asked you, his voice oddly strained.

‘No, it’s good, do you want some?’ you asked, reaching down and holding a square out for him. He came forward, tentative, as you placed the food gently on his tongue. You felt an ember of something lighting between your thighs as he savoured it, groaning slightly.

‘Oh, it is heaven,’ he said, still with his eyes closed. You thought for a deranged moment of slipping from your chair and getting down onto your knees for him, wondering if you could make him make him groan like that with his cock in your mouth. You blinked, swallowing harshly. His eyes opened, gently, to gaze down at you.

‘I regret so much about tonight, and now I must also regret that I did not choose this for my own,’ he said, and you smiled at him. He reached for more and you batted his hand away.

‘Mine,’ you growled at him, and he grinned.

‘My hungry little Cariño,’ he said, and the little ember started to catch flame.

He sat beside you, his hand resting on the back of your chair, as you tucked in. So engrossed in the food you didn’t notice he had lapsed into silence until your plate was almost entirely cleared. When you finally remembered he was in the room you took him in.

He was quiet, his chin resting in his other hand as he considered the darkening sky over the ocean. You could see he was deep in thought, a kind of maudlin contemplativeness he was prone to sink into when things didn’t go his way. You wanted to pull him into your arms and wrap your fingers in his curls, soothe whatever troubled him with your lips on his skin.

‘What else do you regret about tonight?’ you asked, bold for someone who was technically talking to her boss. You pulled him from his reverie, but the room remained heavy with the weight of his sadness.

‘Have I gone about this all wrong?’ he asked. You wanted to reach out and smooth the indent where his brows crashed together, wipe the hopelessness off his face once and for all.

‘I don’t know how else you could have gone about it,’ you said, honestly. ‘You’ve gone about it basically every way there is.’

‘The talk show, that was not such a good idea.’

‘It seemed OK at the time, you just forgot people are generally terrible.’

‘A Sharpie, of all things. And it was black.’

You snorted a little. ‘I mean, no marks for execution but you gotta respect the hustle?’

Javi lapsed back into consternation for a while, and you let him. Being with him set your nerves ablaze but also, paradoxically, calmed you in a way that no-one else did. He was your boss, and he was annoying and this quest of his was ruining your standing with quite a few important contacts, but he was also kind, and he was loving, and you imagined that if you were to rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat it would sound like home.

‘She just feels…I do not know how to say it. She just feels…like she’s right there. But I can not grasp her.’

You wanted to reach out and put your hand on his forearm, rub it with your thumb as you cooed into his ear. You needed to get yourself together. You were tired and he was wearing down your resistance by being so sad and so fucking gorgeous at the same time. You cleared your throat.

‘I should head home, it’s late,’ you said, and he nodded.

‘Cariño…’ he suddenly started, grabbing your arm as you went to move away. You pulled it from him, the heat of his touch even through your sleeves scorching. He sat beneath you as you stood over him at the table, his expression changing from sadness to hope to something else, something not quite settled comfortably on his features. ‘You can come in late, if you like. Since you worked late tonight.’

You couldn’t have said how. Maybe just that the look on his face, his hesitation, just by the way he had paused as he gazed up at you, but you just knew he had been going to say something else, had been thinking something else entirely. You wouldn’t ever be able to articulate it. You just knew this, too.

--

You shouldn’t have been surprised. This was what you wanted, after all. So, you could only smile, a little tightly, when Javi bounded into his office one afternoon, uncharacteristically late, and beamed down at you sitting at your desk.

‘You found her,’ you said, ignoring the stone shifting in your belly.

‘No,’ he said, his face suddenly serious, a look of almost remorse crossing his fucking beautiful features. ‘But she is just as good.’

You nodded at him. Fucking Karla had willed this into existence.

‘So, your quest is over?’ you asked, but he was already bouncing on his heels, looking at you with bright eyes and his dimples so sharp he could poke himself. You recalibrated. ‘Tell me the story,’ you said.

‘Oh, Cariño it was like nothing I had expected but somehow it was better.’ He was looking over your head, as if watching the movie of this perfect moment playing back behind his eyes.

‘We do not have the same marks. Hers is different, it is close but a little off on the left side? Anyway, I was at the bar talking to Marco, you remember Marco he financed my last project? So, I was talking to Marco about locations for filming in the Spring, and suddenly there is a tap on my shoulder and a woman…a vision of a woman…tells me if we need a vineyard she has one on the south coast!’

‘She…has a vineyard,’ you repeated, an image of Amal Clooney in a sundress holding a bottle of wine while giving you the finger appearing in your mind.

‘Well, it is her fathers, but I can not exactly complain about that,’ Javi said.

Ah. There it is.

‘And where did she get her law degree?’ you asked, not able to stamp out all the bitterness in your tone before the words escaped your mouth.

‘Eh?’ he asked, and you waved him away.

‘No, nothing, it’s…that’s great. When do I get to meet her?’

‘Cariño, you want to meet her?’ he asked, and he seemed genuinely surprised this, and because of that it was difficult for you to quantify the hurt it caused.

You’d forgotten, you supposed. All the late-night chats, the bringing you dinner, the times you had stood beside him while he worked his way through half of Europe trying to find his one, then most of Hollywood to boot, you thought that there had been a friendship there, something more than a boss and an overworked, underpaid employee. Of course there wasn’t. He was a billionaire and looked like a model and talked with passion about almost everything he encountered. You were…you. You knew this.

‘Well, I need to vet her, Mr Gutierrez,’ you recovered, quickly. ‘Have you done the necessary background checks?’

‘Oh, I do not need those, this is love,’ he said, and you tasted sour over the back of your throat. Your mouth was turning down all on its own, the muscles of your jaw twanging under the strain. You were horrified to realise you were going to cry in front of him if you didn’t get out of there.

‘Mr Gutierrez, I strongly urge you to do the background checks,’ you said, your voice reedy, but he wasn’t listening. You wondered if he ever would again.  

‘We are to holiday in St Tropez,’ he announced. ‘I have just decided. Will you organise the helicopter?’

This time, you didn’t follow him as he strode out the door. You worried, instead, that you had condemned him, and by extension yourself, to a life of disappointment. It had to be this way, you were sure of it, and maybe you were worrying over nothing. Maybe this vineyard-inheriting goddess could make him happy, in the end.

Almost unconsciously you lifted your sleeve, your fingers tracing idly over your mark. You knew Javi’s so well. It mirrored your own.

--

‘He’s going to fucking marry her,’ you predicted, genuine misery in your chest nearly as heavy as the four pints of ice-cream you’d put in your belly. The Ben and Jerry’s had been Karla’s idea, and only now were you slightly regretting it.

‘Oh, fuck her, and fuck him too,’ Karla said, waving melting Triple Caramel Chunk in the air. ‘She’s probably got a stick so far up her arse she can’t bend over without getting a splinter.’

You snickered at this, the cruelty of it appealing to your whispering dark corners.

‘Daddy’s got a vineyarrrrrd,’ you intoned, affecting a truly awful sort-of-British accent.

‘DADDY! GET ME MORE VIIIIIIINES!’ Karla yelled, and now you were laughing so hard you were in real danger of asphyxiation.

‘DADDY! I’M TIRED OF THIS MANSION BUY ME ANOTHER ONE!’ you joined in, through hiccups of laughter and an errant burp.

You both paused for a moment, catching your breath. In the quiet the sadness seeped back in.

‘I still don’t understand why you don’t show him,’ Karla said, after a while. You sighed.

‘It’s not meant to be,’ you repeated for the hundredth time.

‘How can it not meant to be? You’re marked.’

‘Because he’s just…his life is completely different. I don’t fit into it, in any capacity.’

‘You do in one capacity,’ Karla said, nodding her head to your wrist.

‘He would be disappointed,’ you said, eventually, and Karla sighed.

‘You said when you saw him it was like lightning bolts?’ she asked, and you nodded. ‘You don’t think he felt that, too?’

‘I know he didn’t, because he didn’t react at all. It was like he didn’t see me. He just…employed me.’

‘But that doesn’t mean…’

‘Karla, I love you, but you need to listen to me on this one. There were no turtle doves, no petals falling from the sky. He saw me and he shook my hand, and he said, “welcome to my staff, it is lovely to have you” and then he was gone. The whole soulmates thing, they don’t mention that crushing, ridiculous privilege will override it. He didn’t feel anything for me because there was too much money and status in the way.’

You were dangerously close to tears again, the helplessness and the grief washing back over your bones. To your relief Karla just nodded at you, extending a cold hand to rest on your knee. You immediately shucked her off. ‘Ice-cream hands,’ you muttered, and she smiled.

‘I just…I just feel like, shouldn’t he have the choice? To decide for himself?’ she asked, and you shrugged.

‘It’s better this way. He’s found Little Miss Vineyard. He says it’s…he thinks it’s good enough, clearly. That’s good for him.’

‘What about you, bub?’ Karla asked, and you were going to protest, going to tell her that it didn’t matter, that you were happy he was happy, that maybe the one act of love you could do for your soulmate was to just stay out of his way, but for some reason that night the words died on your tongue. You swallowed down their corpses, feeling them curdle alongside ice-cream in your belly.

‘I’ll be OK,’ you said, and you knew the more times you said it, the more likely you would, one day, believe.

--

Javi and Vineyard were gone for the next ten days, which was enough time for you to harden your heart again and get back down to business. You decided, in the spirit of change and new beginnings, to finally bust out the black Amex card Javi insisted you keep in your drawer ‘for emergencies’ and renovated his office, deciding the mid-century brothel vibe didn’t suit a seaside setting. You were going to do modern coastal, you decided, using company time to browse furniture websites and considering the merit of rattan in a professional setting. You were going to do coastal, and you were going to do a fresh start and you were going to do healing. One decorative seashell at a time.

What you didn’t anticipate, though, so insistent on a new office kit out and by extension a new personality, was that everything would arrive flat-packed. The groundsmen faked bad backs, and the security team were pretty adamant their jobs didn’t extend to Allen keys, and so you found yourself down on your knees, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead, trying to beg the lug nut to sit flush on the dowel, whatever the fuck that was. It was this moment, of course, because the Universe was clearly punishing you for an egregious wrong doing in a past life that Javi, of fucking course, wafted back in.

‘Cariño?’ he said, uncertainly, to the lower half of your body.

‘Mmph,’ you responded, a screw held tight between your lips. ‘-ust a sc-nd Mr Git-er-ez,’ you muttered.

‘What are you doing? Where are my things?’ he asked, and you felt your shoulders drop. You took the screw from your mouth, deciding that four equal table legs that all touched the ground was so last year, and got up on your knees.

‘I wanted to surprise you,’ you said, and you looked around at the detritus of your efforts; the bubble wrap, the ripped-open boxes, the two successfully constructed armchairs that took you the better part of the morning to assemble. ‘I thought, a fresh new look for your new love,’ you lied, and watched as his eyebrows shot up.

‘This was all my father’s,’ he said, gesturing to where the old furniture was stacked up against the back wall. You swallowed. You probably should have known that.

‘I…’ you started to apologise, but he cut you off.

‘It was never my style. But I never knew what my style was until…this…’ he said. ‘This is perfect, Cariño. How did you know?’

Your mark tingled and you pulled your sleeve down tight over your wrist.

‘I thought about what I would like and did the opposite,’ you lied again, and he laughed, clapping his hands in delight.

‘My brilliant Cariño,’ he said, and it would have been kinder if he’d just shot you on the spot. You felt the burn and ache in your chest. You wondered what cute little pet names he called Vineyard. But he was coming towards you, getting down on his knees in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

‘I will assist,’ he announced, in that way he had where there was just no arguing with him.

‘Why do I feel like you have never, in your life, put together flat-pack furniture?’ you asked, and he grinned at you.

‘You know me so well,’ he said, and you really fucking did.

It took an hour and a half, but by the end of your toiling you and Javi had the legs on the desk, all four and all the same length. It turned out if the dowel didn’t sit properly you could just whack it really hard with a paperweight. The things you learned working for Javi.

You stood together, appraising the upturned desk.

‘So, I guess we just each get on the other end and…flip it?’ you suggested.

‘It looks heavy,’ he said, his brows furrowed in concentration.

‘It is, I got the really expensive one,’ you said, and smiled at him when he looked at you, questioningly.

‘You spoiled me?’ he said, and you scoffed.

‘One way to think of it,’ you said, not wanting to tell him you’d paid with glee thinking somehow this might put a little dent in his amour somewhere, knowing that of course it wouldn’t, but feeling the vindication anyway.

‘Ok, Cariño, you get on that end and then I think we…put it on its side?’ he asked, and you nodded at him.

‘Yeah, roll it that way,’ you said, gesturing to your left as you leant down.

‘That way?’ Javi asked, gesturing with his head to his left, not yours, but you weren’t watching him.

‘Mmmhmm,’ you hummed, bracing yourself to lift. Was it lift with your knees to protect your back? Squat? That seemed like it would strain more…

‘1…2…3…’ you counted, hefting the desk to the left while Javi hoisted to the right. It immediately corkscrewed, rolling out of your hand and twisting your wrist as it thudded to the ground. You screamed in surprise and then blooming pain, holding your wrist in your hand as if you could repair it with just your grip.

‘Cariño!’ Javi called, vaulting over the desk and at your side in an instant, reaching out to grasp your wrist. He moved so quickly, so agile over to you that you didn’t have time to react. He pulled up your sleeve to get a better look, turning your wrist towards him to inspect it.

‘Wait, wait…’ you said, as your mark gently rotated into his view.

He froze. You closed your eyes for a moment, terrified to look at him, before you heard his sharp intake of breath. You opened your eyes again to see him examining it, lifting your wrist closer to him to properly inspect it.

‘Cariño…’ he whispered, and you swallowed acid over your raw throat.

‘I can explain,’ you said, but you couldn’t really. He finally lifted his eyes to yours, as if remembering for the first time the mark was attached to a person, and you watched as the confusion on his face crumbled away to a sorrow deep enough you thought he might stop your heart.

‘You knew,’ he said, his voice soft and dripping in betrayal. ‘All this time, you stood and watched…and you never said a thing.’

‘Mr Gutierrez…’ you whispered, not knowing where to even start. He was right, of course he was right, but you had never intended to tell him, had never allowed yourself to imagine the conversation unfolding around you in this moment. The hurt bloomed on his face, and you felt tears start to well at your waterline. You blinked them back.

‘The whole time. You knew,’ he said.

You did, you had known. So many things you had known.

‘I…’ you started, but he was moving, standing up and backing away from you, out towards the door. You looked away as he left you, like you always did. You knew now it would be the last time.

--

This was beyond even Ben and Jerry’s. Karla mostly left you to it, the unique weight of the pain at having hurt your soulmate indescribable. You had read that it was possible, when you finally made the connection, that you could feel their feelings as richly and as closely as your own. The combined weight of your sadness crushed you, pulverised you, such that you could barely think straight. Karla brought you easy food; toast and bananas and chicken soup, and you ate it all without tasting, only feeding your meat suit purely for maintenance, and didn’t allow yourself to remember the taste of the fish Javi brought back to you; his soulmate and his traitor.

You resigned, immediately. In writing, in an email that was never replied to. Each day you scrolled Instagram for news of the inevitable engagement to Vineyard. You held your phone in one hand while you rubbed at your aching mark with the other.

You knew, there were stories, of divorcing soulmates. It was rare but sometimes circumstances overcame even destiny, even biology. Sometimes people died, leaving their soulmates behind. You spent time on message boards reading the stories of people who had lost their connections, of people who had woken up one day and felt the mark cold to the touch, had known in their hearts then and there that their mate was gone. Some had felt it before they had found their matches. They struggled the most; the what ifs, the could-have-beens.

You considered that maybe it was a blessing that you at least knew it was Javi. It would stop you looking for the rest of your life, stop you having to check the wrist of every man you met, second guess any minimal attraction you might have felt to another.

Karla sat on the end of the couch as you stared out the window, the TV on but unwatched in front of you.

‘You love him,’ she said, simply, and you nodded. Heartsick, you didn’t have the words.

‘From the first moment,’ you agreed.

‘No, but it’s deepened, the more time you’ve spent with him,’ she observed. You nodded again before lifting your knees to your chest and resting your cheek there. If you closed your eyes and really tried you could conjure the memory of his cologne, could imagine you rested your head on his chest.

--

A couple of weeks passed. You couldn’t be sure how many. You got off the couch, the thrumming hurt of your heart and your mark lessening somewhat as the days went on. You checked it every morning for its warmth, relieved not to find it cold, and you wondered if your lessening sadness was really just that Javi was moving on with Vineyard. That now you were starting to lose his connection you could be left to your own miserable devices. You considered that this was inevitable, that the ending you had been expecting probably ran pretty close to this. You hated that you had hurt him, though. You had only ever intended to fade into the background before he noticed you were gone.

You applied for another job, this one far less glamorous but less likely to utterly gut you. On the mainland, doing some general bookkeeping and executive assistance for a CEO of a small manufacturing firm. It would be simple work, and you were a shoo-in, subject to a satisfactory referee check. You hovered over the form naming Javi as your previous employer.  In the end you named his business manager, leaving the details for him to fill in.

Your reference check came back within the hour. Glowing. You were offered the job.

Your first week was good, then your first fortnight. You received your first pay-check with gratitude, even though it was almost half what Javi had been paying you. You felt good to be productive again, to be able to put some of your skills to good use. You didn’t have to trail behind your boss as he blew off any and all obligations for some flight of fancy. You spent considerably less time discussing Face/Off.

It was fine, you were fine. It was going to be fine. You were aware, distantly, that you were probably heaving in denial and numbness, and it suited you, so you let it.

Except when you woke on what you thought would be a normal Thursday, your mark burning so hot you gasped awake, reaching for it to check it hadn’t been seared into your skin. Holding it up to the light it looked the same. Karla checked it and confirmed it seemed to the same temperature as the rest of you. Just your nerves were screaming, perceiving a flame not visible to the eye.

You googled, checking message boards, searched ‘burning marks’. There was nothing, which you weren’t sure was a good or a bad thing, worried for a moment you would pull up results from those who had lost their spouses, the burning mark serving as a premonition of the horrors to come. You slathered burn cream on it, which did nothing, took an anti-inflammatory or two and considered calling in sick. In the end you decided against it, because you weren’t sick sick, you were heartsick, and somehow that just didn’t feel anywhere near as real.

On the ferry over to the mainland you considered lowering your arm into the ocean water, the cool of the water maybe able to provide some relief. You would have to get down on your knees in your work skirt, on the wet and not particularly clean ferry floor. You considered it longer than you cared to admit.

In your office the heat from your mark started travelling up your arm and you started googling ‘infections of the blood and skin’ and ‘septicaemia’. You wondered if it was an allergic reaction, if perhaps you had run your arm through some kind of heinous plant, and you wondered if the office had an epi-pen in the first aid kit. You googled if it was bad to use one if you weren’t actually in anaphylactic shock. The internet was pretty damning of the idea.

You wondered if you needed to go the local emergency care clinic, was just debating asking your boss for the afternoon off, when a shadow darkened the door.

‘Cariño?’ it said, a perfect Javi-shaped silhouette as the sun streamed in from behind.

‘Mr Gutierrez?’ you asked, gasping immediately as your mark pulsed, the heat shooting down your arm and into your chest. Was it a stroke? How were you supposed to know if it was a stroke?

‘My Cariño,’ he said, stepping forward into your little office and somehow crowding all the space. His cologne wafted over to you, and you felt the warmth of it spread over your nostrils and down into your blood. You wavered a little on your feet.

‘I’m so sorry,’ you said, stepping back from him as he advanced, feeling the sudden urge to keep space between you, not to let him to get too close, knowing that if got within arms reach you would pull him into you, wrap his arms around your back and your legs over his hips, never detach yourself from him, sink your lips over his neck and taste his pulse through his skin.

‘Cariño…’ he said, but you interrupted him, the searing heat of your mark now making its way to your racing heart.

‘I thought you would be happier with someone more like you… I thought it was a kindness, that you would feel something for someone that would be enough to make you happy. And I only ever wanted you to be happy, you have to understand that I did it so that you could be happy…’ you trailed off, the words spilling out of you now, distracted by the flames in your chest. ‘Karla said I should tell you, let you choose, and I know now that she was right, I think I always knew she was right, but the idea that you wouldn’t choose me, I wasn’t sure I could survive it, so I didn’t let you. It was selfish and it wasn’t very brave and I know I hurt you, and I never wanted to…’ you felt tears on your cheeks, marvelled at them, at how they could appear unbidden. You weren’t sure you were breathing. You weren’t fully convinced you were alive.

‘Cariño…’ he tried again, taking another step towards you but you held your hand up, your aching mark now uncovered.

‘Please, please…I don’t think I can…’ you started, but you didn’t know how to finish. You didn’t think you could stand it if he’d come here to just finally end things. To tell you he was going to marry Vineyard but wanted a clear conscience first. Wanted to let you down easy, in person. Was your mark burning because he was furious with you? He mostly just seemed nervous.

‘Let me speak, Cariño, oh my god,’ he muttered, his patience rapidly running out. You stopped short. ‘I know. I mean, not at first. At first, I did not understand, but I thought about what you must have been feeling, how you must have thought of me.’

‘No, I…’

‘The silly man who runs around causing you problems.’

‘No…’ you started, but he kept talking, despite you.

‘But then I thought harder, and I felt more.’ He gestured to his mark, the perfect match for yours. ‘I was not angry, Cariño, I could never be angry at you. I was sad, I think, that I had failed you.’

You shook your head, the words failing you.

‘I felt more into the mark…I do not think I am making any sense. But I thought of you, my Cariño, I think I heard you in my head a little bit, and I thought of your beautiful heart, and I knew why you did it.’

‘You did?’

At this he shrugged, honest and raw. ‘Of course I did, you are my One.’

‘Why did I do it?’ you asked him, genuinely still trying to settle it for yourself.

‘Because you love, and this is how you show it. You put others first. You always have.’ You nodded. This was true. ‘I see that about you, Cariño. What do you see about me?’

You answered immediately. ‘I see a man who feels deeply and freely, who is passionate about what he wants… who usually gets it.’

‘Usually?’ he asked. You noticed for the first time that, since he had started talking, he had also been moving towards you. That if you reached out to him, and he reached out to you, skin would meet skin.

‘Always,’ you said, grinning.

He nodded. ‘It is true, I will not lie,’ he said. ‘I get what I want.’

He took another step, and this time you stayed put.

‘You don’t hate me? You’re not mad? All those dates…’ you asked, and he shook his head.

‘I knew,’ he said, devastating you in two words.

‘You did?’ you asked, with the little breath you still had.

‘Some part of me knew, yes,’ he nodded. His brows were crashing together now, his face so earnest, so open, as he inched towards you like he was trying not to spook a bear. Later you would realise the closer he was to you the less your mark burned. You could smell him this close, more than his cologne but the clean, crisp scent that was just his skin, just Javi.

‘All of those women, Cariño. In all of those women I looked for you.’

You didn’t think. Nothing about it was conscious. You just felt the firework explode in your chest and moved to him, letting him pull you into his arms and kiss you, his lips searching and little muffled whimpers matching your own. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a melding, a coming together. It was something right and essential slotting into place, a line item checked off on the Universe’s ledger. You gasped into his mouth, your knees weak, your pulse heavy at your throat. His skin on yours. He reached up a hand to cup your jaw, pulling you closer into him.

‘Javi…’ you whispered, and he groaned a little.

‘Say it again,’ he said, and you did.

[alphacrone]

the dumbest part of trying to be a good enough employee to keep around but not good enough to saddle with extra responsibility is having to look at a task that will, invariably, take me an hour to complete and tell someone with a straight face that it will take three business days

[bluecanvasshoe]

platonic!Arthur Morgan & teen!fem!reader

reader being female is only mentioned, like, once at the very start, rest of the story has virtually nothing to do w it

based around the end of the game!!

Arthur notices you’re upset after some sulking around, so he takes you fishing.

warnings: slight rdr2 spoilers, a little smidgen of misogyny, maybe ooc? idk, no beta reader we die like MEN 🔥, little bit of angst, comfort, NO ROMANCE‼️‼️‼️, …….lazy ending, I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK OKAY

word count: 1.5k

Part 2 !!!!! (link is fixed!)

——————

For the past couple months, it’s felt as if nothing you have done has ever gone right.

When carrying hay-bales to the horses, your arms grew tired. Micah laughed as you dropped the feed and breathed heavily. A few months back, Hosea reminded you that, as a child, you weren’t expected to do any of the more challenging work. However, the urge to prove yourself triumphed over his lectures.

Then Ms. Grimshaw approached you in camp, reprimanding you for your insistence on doing the more “manly” tasks. As a girl of the camp who was yet to be an adult, you, unfortunately, were not saved from her pressing you about your future in the gang.

Afterwards, while practising your handiwork with a needle, you pierced your index finger. It drew blood, so Strauss gave you a bandage and a disapproving look.

The gang slowly dwindled in numbers, leaving your already fragile state of mind in a bit of a crisis. Small things piled on small things that piled on big things, and you soon found yourself dreading chores, which turned into dreading every day that followed. The feeling of thinking you were actively disappointing every living being ever drowned out any sense of reasoning.

On a clear morning, you woke up groggy. All seemed well until you were punched in the face with the realisation that you had to actually get up.

Instead of wasting the early morning away, wallowing in the sadness of your flimsy canvas tent, you sat at the dying campfire. Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and your mouth subconsciously pulled down into a frown.

Arthur, ever the early bird, awoke not long after you and sat down on the next log over. His worn and muddied boots crunched on the gravelly terrain, interrupting the chirping of birds. The sun hadn’t yet risen, shrouding everything in a dusky glow.

“You uh… sleep well, kid?” said Arthur, holding onto a steaming cup of coffee.

“Yeah,” you replied simply, staring at the fire. Strauss told you not to drink coffee; he said it was “bad for a child’s development.”.

Arthur sighed, turning his head over as he propped his upper body up, an arm supporting himself by pressing on his knee. “You’ve been acting’ strange,” he commented, “we’ve all noticed. Is somethin’ botherin’ you?”

Your voice caught up in your throat, the words that formed in your head fighting to escape and pathetically losing. “No…just tired.”

The man next to you coughed lightly, clearing his throat. “You…uh, you wanna go fishin’? I oughta' bring some food back to Pearson.”

Fishing? Now there’s something you haven't done in a while. Maybe you could get out of the camp.

“Okay,” you fidgeted with the fabric of your sleep bottoms, your eyes darting from Arthur and back to the fire. It seemed Arthur hadn’t expected you to agree, as he hesitated to find a response.

“Alright, then. Be ready in...about half an hour.”

As promised, you were dressed a quarter after six; at least that’s what your pocket watch you pickpocketed forever ago said. Hopping up onto the pony you used on rare outings, you waited for Arthur to saddle up too.

“You got all your stuff?” He asked, storing away his fishing rod and hoisting himself up, grabbing hold of his horse’s reins.

You look at your saddle bag one last time before turning to Arthur, nodding. “Yeah. ‘Been a while since I've gone fishin’, though.”

“Don’t worry about that; I'll give you a refresher.” Arthur shifted his weight before clicking twice, lightly jabbing his spurs into the side of his mount.

Following his movements, — except spur-less, as you don’t do nearly as much riding as the other men in the gang — you began to move, your horse huffing gently.

You caught up to him thanks to his slow trot, swatting away a couple mosquitoes in the process. “Where’re we goin’?” you asked, your voice raised.

“Well, you ain’t too familiar with his area,” he quickly wiped his nose with his free hand, sniffling. “But it ain’t far. There’s a nice little spot on a lake nearby. You oughta' get a couple bites.”

“Uh-huh,” you sighed, looking down at your hands. Arthur was holding onto his horse’s reins with one hand. You had trouble steering your horse with two.

Arthur slowed once he approached a patch of gravelly sand, getting off his horse with you following. He took out his fishing equipment and walked over to the shore.

“Here,” Arthur reached into his brown satchel, pulling out a block of cheese wrapped in brown parchment paper. “Use some a’ this.” Reaching over, you broke off a small chunk and murmured a hushed ‘thank you’ in return.

“‘M guessin’ you remember what bait is and how to use it, right?” he remarked, preparing his rod. “I think I got it,” you muttered, fumbling with the fishing pole but eventually hooking the cheese onto the sharp point.

“Careful there. Don’t wanna poke your finger.” Arthur joked snarkily, waiting for you to get into a similar position to his, his fishing rod held in front of his body. The bandaged finger he was referring to was sliding the small bit of bait onto the hook clumsily. “Shut up,” you grunted, getting a good grip on the pole and holding it out in front of yourself. The water moved lazily, quietly washing up and down on the sand. The calm surface showed the fish that swam underneath. Minnows dashed around quickly, the small groups of fish moving together.

Crickets still chirped in the distance as birds were beginning to sing, too. The air smelled fresh and felt dewy, a light breeze turning trees into calming windchimes.

“You wanna hold it like this,” he said, tapping his index finger against the line. You attempted the same hold that he had, but with the limited information given, you didn’t immediately get the hang of it.

“No, like- like this, with your index on the line. Should be pressin’ against the rod.” Arthur peered over your shoulder as you adjusted your fingers, pressing the thin string against the wood of the rod. Arthur nodded. “Yeah, that’s good. Now pull back the bail.”

Now, you hadn’t a clue what the bail was, but that hardly mattered. Matching Arthur’s movements, you pulled a semi-circle piece of metal back and over the line spool.

“Alright, now be careful here; don’t wanna take out an eye. Draw back your rod over your shoulder, but not too far. The farther you draw, the longer the cast,” he advised, drawing the pole over his shoulder. You mimicked him.

“Now, you throw it over your shoulder and straight forward,” he instructed, watching your movements. The bait landed about 3 metres away from the shoreline, splashing pathetically before bobbing up and down.

“Just like that. Now, you pull back the bail and wait.”

Silence filled the space between you two—a suffocating, invisible force.

Deer galloped across the lake and within the thick brush. One stopped, a buck, and stared at the two fishermen across from it. His ears twitched before he joined the others.

Loons sang, their eerily beautiful calls travelling across the calm waters. Frogs croaked in the distance, and clouds languidly drifted overhead.

“Look, I… I haven’t a clue what you’re feelin’. But just know that you ain’t alone. We’ve all been stressed. I can’t imagine what you must be feelin’.” said Arthur, turning briefly to face you.

The sun peeked over the distant treeline, slowly casting a calming light over everything in the vicinity.

“I feel like I can’t never do anythin’ right.” You croaked, voice catching in your throat and a painful ache creeping up to your jaw.

“Aw, kid… whad’ya mean?" Arthur had never been great at comfort. He could do it, of course, though he certainly had his favourites when it came to his affections.

You stared off into the lake, your reflection looking right back. “Everythin’ I do feels like a failure. There ain’t a single thing I’ve been able to do right recently.”

Arthur sighed, reeling his line back in and casting it again.

“That ain’t true. You’re a kid. You’re learning. You ain’t… supposed to be great at everythin’, and nothin’ you do is supposed to be right; it’s just supposed to teach you somethin’. This’ll go away; trust me.” He chose his words carefully, coughing to the side before continuing. “Now I know this probably ain’t what you wanted to hear. Feelin’ sad feels... nice sometimes. But it’s true. Basically everyone in this gang is an adult, ‘cept for Jack, so don’t go comparin’ yourself to anyone, ya hear? We’re all goin’ through hard times; none of this is your fault, and you ain’t a failure for anythin’.”

The sun steadily rose, framed perfectly by the view in front of you. Your horses huffed occasionally as geese flew above, honking distantly.

He was right; you didn’t want to hear this. You don’t know what you want to hear. Maybe something about how awful you are, or maybe something about how great and amazing you are. You felt conflicted, confused, and even a smidge defensive.

“But I-” “but nothin’, kid. Do with that what you will, but just... think about it. Maybe see things from a different perspective.” He rasped, clearing his throat. “Or don’t; it’s your choice. But just give it some thought.”

Silence settled between you two again, leaving your conflicting feelings to dissipate.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, watching as your bait bobbed on the water’s surface. The chill of the north was soothed by the warmth of the sun, and everything, in that moment, felt okay.

—

Part 2

[floral-force]

Saddle Tramp - Chapter 1

ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST

simon "ghost" riley x f!reader - old west/cowboy/western au

summary: Anything is possible in the American West--unless your destiny is predetermined. When your fate as the heiress of a railroad magnate becomes entangled with that of a drifting bounty hunter, you ride into a world of opportunity. Despite your differences, something blooms between you and the masked man that is truly once in a lifetime. Saddle up for a journey west full of rugged terrain, kisses under the stars, smoky saloons, and finding love when you least expect it. (Loosely based on spaghetti westerns and the myth of Hades and Persephone.)

words: 2.7k+

warnings/tags/disclaimers: my work/blog is always 18+ only. I do not own any of the media I reference. alcohol and tobacco use, VERY brief and mild sexual imagery, cowboy ghost does something to me, bounty hunter/cowboy task force 141, references to westerns/media in western settings

a/n: at last...I RETURN!! and I come with the first chapter of a fic that has been bouncing around in my skull for nearly a year. I listened to saddle tramp and I finally fleshed it out. I hope y'all enjoy the ride <3 series masterlist | read on ao3 | join the tag list

The hiss of steam and excited chatter hit your ears as soon as you stepped off the train. The trip from Chicago to Denver was comfortable, but nothing beat stretching tight muscles on solid ground. You ached at the thought of sitting again soon and considered yourself lucky to have such a problem. This trip had been a long time coming, but now that you were standing in Denver and faced with its new terrain and the prospect of your fate, a pit grew in your stomach where a flower should be. The sun late-morning sky and the crisp air refreshed your eyes and lungs after nearly five days of gas lamps and poor ventilation. A luxurious trip came at a cost greater than money, you thought, wincing while rolling your shoulders.

You heard a man call your name and snapped your head to the right as he approached you with the two bulging leather bags you’d packed. You walked towards him, picking up your skirt so you could increase your pace. Despite the cool spring air, beads of sweat formed on your skin as you hurried towards the end of the train. You wiped your dewy forehead with the back of your hand and huffed, hoping nobody could discern your discomfort. You stopped at the middle of the train to meet the man carrying your bags in his crisp blue uniform. As he came into view, you recognized his short brown hair and lean frame—it was Douglas, your father’s assistant.

“Miss, you didn’t need to meet me here!” 

You politely smiled and smoothed out your skirts. “Well, here I am, sir.”

He cleared his throat and looked to his right at the bustling station. “The stage is waiting for you.”

“Here, let me take these off your hands,” you said, reaching for the luggage.

“No, miss, I couldn’t let you carry them! Your father would murder me if he found out.”

You yanked them out of his hands and met his wide green eyes. “He won’t, Mr. Douglas. Now, I’d really love to get the last leg of my trip over with. Traveling is hell for my head.”

“Right this way,” he sighed, motioning for you to follow him through the throng of people.

This wasn’t your first time in Denver, but it was a one-way trip. Your rigorous education groomed you to take over your family’s business, and your father finally decided it was time to begin the hands-on portion of your training. Responsibility made it slightly easier to pack your bags and leave the bustling city you called home, but the expectations on your shoulders weighed your feet down. The only people waiting for you in Denver were Douglas and your father, and you doubted you’d be allowed to visit your aunts and cousins in Chicago within the next six months.

At least Colorado had scenic views and the scent of opportunity. It helped distract you from the bumpy ride in the stagecoach; the first-class passenger train car spoiled you more than you realized. 

“Only a few hours before we reach town, miss.”

“I don’t know how you stand this, Douglas. This is worse for my nausea than a choppy day on the lake or at sea.”

“You’ll adjust in time.”

“I hope so,” you grumbled, “because this is unbearable.”

Finally, the stagecoach came to a stop. Douglas exited and helped you step out, then gestured to the wooden posts framing a dusty main street. 

“Welcome to Steel Run!”

You forced a smile, then grabbed your bags from the driver. Just ahead of the posts, you saw your father speaking with another man on the shaded porch of what you assumed to be the sheriff’s office. Squinting up at the awning, a large sign confirmed your guess. Douglas snatched your bags before you could protest, then urged you to follow him towards your new life.

“Mr. Clarke!”

Your father turned at Douglas’ call, then beamed when he saw you. He abandoned the conversation and walked towards you with his arms out. You fell into his hug and savored the small comfort despite the conflict in your chest. He said your name and planted a kiss on the top of your head. You looked up at him when he pulled away, hoping that your expression gave nothing away.

 “I’m so happy you made it here safely. I trust the journey here was enjoyable?”

“It was, until the ride in the stage.”

He laughed. “You’ll become accustomed to it.”

“That’s what I told her, Mr. Clarke,” Douglas chirped.

“Good man!” 

Your father’s hearty laugh echoed in your head and bounced off the buildings. You leaned to the left and looked past your father’s shoulder at the man standing awkwardly on the porch. He met your eyes, his hair cut short on his head and his clothes perfectly tailored. A badge pinned on his vest glinted when he shifted towards you. You furrowed your brow and nodded your chin at him.

“Who is he?”

“Oh, that fellow?” Your father twisted to look back, then gestured for the man to join your clump. 

When he finally reached your father’s side, he gave you a slight bow. “I’m Phillip Graves. It’s a pleasure, miss.”

You gave him a weak smile. “How do you know my father?”

“My father used some of the profits from his fur trade to fund much of your father’s railroad company. When he passed a month ago, I took over and I’ve been working closely with Mr. Clarke ever since.”

“Phillip, please call me George. We’ll be closer than business partners soon.”

Closer than business partners? What in the hell was your father implying? Your hands grew clammy.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Graves.”

“Please, call me Phillip.”

Your father clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your duties as deputy. I wouldn’t want you to upset Sherriff Ryan.”

“I will see you later then, George.” He gave you a nod and took your hand, kissing your knuckles. “It was a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Phillip turned and marched into the building. Your father watched him, then snapped back to focus his wide grin on you. 

“I apologize for the short notice, but I’m hosting a welcome party for you tonight.”

“Tonight?” Your eyes widened and you groaned. “Father, you cannot be serious. I look a mess and the clothes I packed need to be ironed!”

“I went to the trouble of having the seamstress sew something together for you.”

“You didn’t have to—"

A sudden hug forced the air out of your lungs with an oof. “Consider it a welcome gift.” He pulled back and sighed. “Now, let’s head home.”

As you marched down the road towards your father’s property—no, your new home—Douglas pointed out a few notable storefronts. The seamstress on the right, the general store on the left, the saloon on the corner where a new street intersects the main road—“We named it Providence Street,” your father noted—and the doctor just across the street from it. How convenient, you mused as you passed the door. You peered down the street while you walked through the intersection. Meek dwellings peppered it, the short, small cabins housing hopeful prospectors. The buildings lining the road started to spread apart from each other, only one property claiming the very end of main street. 

Finally, your trio approached the two-story home, its slanted roof and warm brown wood suddenly imposing under high noon. You stopped to stare when your toes reached the brick path leading to a shaded porch, the awning supported by four solemn cedar posts. In the distance, mountains scarred the sky; scattered around the home were the trees you’d watched crawl higher and stretch wider throughout the years. Your eyes flitted over the rope swing you’d abandoned after adolescence as a gentle breeze swayed the wooden seat. Lush green leaves offered shade around the property and wildflowers dotted it with splotches of color—you were glad you’d convinced your father to let nature take its course.

“You’re staring as if you’ve never seen it,” your father chuckled, snapping you out of your daze.

“Just savoring the moment, Papa.”

“There will be plenty of time for that later, my dove. For now, let’s go inside—you’ve had a long journey.”

You nodded and followed him, Douglas trailing behind you. Your father opened the front door and held it open for you with a wide smile. Your knees were weak as you crossed the threshold, the sweat on your skin and soaking into your clothes suddenly overwhelming. Excusing yourself and promising your return soon, you hurried up the plain white staircase with Douglas following in your frantic footsteps.

Immediately to the right at the top of the stairs was the door to your room. You turned to Douglas and held out your hands for your bags; he obliged with a nod and rushed back downstairs.

As soon as you stepped inside your room and shut the creaky door, your bags slipped out of your hands and hit the floor with a thud. Afternoon sun flooded the room through the windows in front of you and to your right, its burning light filtered by sheer white curtains. The chestnut armoire in the middle of the wall on your left faced a matching bed with plush sheets and pillows. A sweet siren song called you over and pulled you onto the mattress, finally relieving the fatigue you’d been fighting since morning. It bounced as you flopped belly-first onto it with a groan and a curse. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed rich purple fabric draped across your reading chair in the corner, and something sparkled on the side table next to it. You decided to investigate later as your eyes fluttered shut, the siren of sleep pulling you into the sea of dreams.

A clang filled Simon’s ears when the bars of the town jail cell closed, the air thick under the bandana hiding half his face. Outside, there was a muffled whinny—probably Johnny’s impatient Pinto, Eejit. On his left stood Price, stroking his beard and watching the sheriff like a hawk as he counted out their reward. Johnny leaned against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket while Gaz looked over the wanted posters nailed into the back wall. The deputy stood over the sheriff’s shoulder across from Simon to observe the transaction. The bounty they’d brought in muttered in the cell, no doubt sending curses their way.

“Eight, nine, one thousand.” The sheriff slid the stack of bills across his desk. He tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly, gentlemen.”

“Happy to help,” Price said, pocketing the money.

“Bastards! My men will kill you!” The bounty yelled, knuckles white as he gripped the cell’s iron bars. The unbothered sheriff lit a cigarillo and offered one to the deputy, who turned it down.

“Not if we get to’em first, mate,” Gaz responded. Simon turned to see him rip a few posters off the wall and hand them to Johnny, his careful hands folding them one by one.

Price turned his back to the sheriff. “Let’s go, lads. Saw a pub down th’road.”

The deputy interrupted their exit with a scoff. “The saloon is at the corner across from the general store.”

Simon turned on his heel and sent a hidden scowl his way, eyebrows pressed together. The deputy withered under the searing gaze but to his credit, he barely showed it. 

“I don’ give a fuck what you Yanks call it. If it serves whiskey and I pay for it, it’s a fuckin’ pub.”

He stormed out of the sheriff’s office and joined his group outside. Gaz and Johnny smirked at him as they untied their horses’ reins from the hitching rail, but Price shook his head. He started to count the money out and met Simon’s eyes under his hat when he gave him his cut. Even though no words were said, Simon could hear the older man scolding him for mouthing off. He smirked under his face cloth; Price knew that even a smack with the butt of his pistol wouldn’t change Simon. They joined the other two at their horses, untying them and urging them up the road single file.

A short walk up the road, and they were tying their horses up and then entering the town saloon. Jaunty music paused when Price parted the swinging doors and led the other three men inside, and it resumed once they swung closed behind Simon. Johnny wasted no time sauntering up to the bar and ordering a bottle of whiskey with four glasses while the others staked their claim on a table along the wall across from it. It was livelier than Simon had expected it to be in the late afternoon; the sun could still cut through the hazy, smoky air and shine on their sins. Gaz waved off a saloon girl and settled into the chair facing the wall, making sure not to block Simon’s view of the street outside.

Johnny arrived and set the whiskey and glasses in the center of the table with a grin. “Drink up lads, firs’ one ‘s’on me.” 

Price poured the amber alcohol, and each man took a glass. He raised his in the air and said, “Cheers to a job well done.”

“May the next one be even easier,” Gaz added.

They shared a chuckle and clinked their glasses. The whiskey burnt Simon’s throat, but it was a welcome change from stale canteen water. The longer he lived in the States, the more he got used to their pathetic excuse for whiskey. Johnny refilled his glass as soon as he set it down. Simon raised his eyebrow, and the Scot only shrugged before taking a sip of his refreshed drink. He supposed this was Johnny’s way of telling him to relax—maybe tonight, he would.

But it would take more than a bottle of whiskey, that was for bloody sure.

“I’ll be right back,” Simon flashed his container of tobacco as he stood up.

Gaz looked up quizzically. “Why won’ya smoke in here, Ghost?”

Simon shook his head and pushed his chair in. “Too many people in here starin’.”

He cut off any protest before it could begin with hurried steps back outside and onto the creaky wooden porch. A deep breath of fresh air instantly calmed his nerves. He turned to the right where there was shade and leaned against a sun-bleached post in front of where their posse’s horses were tied up. After calming his flighty eyes, he tugged his face cloth down and under his chin. Finally, he placed a cigarillo he’d rolled just the night prior by the campfire light between his chapped lips and lit it with the steady hand he used to fire the pistol on his hip. The first drag was smoother than the ride into town, an unexpected treat. He was going to make this last and blame the long smoke break on the distant mountains piercing the sky.

He'd be lying if he said American scenery was blander than boiled potatoes.

Shadows grew longer as the sun descended towards the horizon, late-afternoon light trickling over the land. Another deep inhale numbed his mind, a smoky exhale danced towards the blue sky. Two men in crisp suits walked past and glanced at him, then quickly returned to their lively conversation after noticing the holsters on his hips. This town was perfect for a quick bounty and a drink, but not much more, Simon decided, flicking ash on the ground. He watched the smoke rise as the gray bits fluttered down and landed on the porch, robbed of the chance to meet freedom above, doomed to a fate they couldn’t change. He put the rolled tobacco back in his mouth and looked up. 

Then, he saw her.

She stood in front of the general store fiddling with a piece of paper. The cigarillo nearly fell out of his mouth when the clouds parted and doused her in golden rays. She held her hand over her eyes and turned to her right, briefly scanning her surroundings and stopping on him. She returned his stare and made Simon her captive. If she walked over and demanded that he get on his knees and get under her skirt, he’d happily oblige. He shook his head and got the image out of his head—it was wrong to think of a lass like that, even more so when she looked that damn angelic.

When he opened his eyes, she had vanished, and his cigarillo was burnt out. He dropped it to the ground and snuffed it with the toe of his boot until it was ashy mush. He yanked the cloth back up over his nose and pushed the saloon doors open with a bang. His posse turned where they sat, watching him march to their table. His proposition would be a tough sell, but he had money in his pocket and would waste it all on squeaky beds and shitty whiskey if it meant they’d agree to it.

“We have to stay another night, lads.”

next

taglist: @johfaam0 @johfaam @nickangel13 @oliviagreenaway @sinfulsalutations @dheet @tizylish @sofasoap

[xcerizex]

"dammit, he's a fool in love. someone punt him."

Alkaid and MC making everyone feel single like the sickening couple they are.

A collection of people wanting to deck Alkaid.

(alkaid x little painter, modern au, fluff, rage, blonde violence, except it fails, everyone wants him to explode, 1.9k words)

"Hm? Miss Unique!"

You turn around in surprise as Stella calls out to you from the entrance of the hall. Dropping your things, you make your way over to meet her.

"Stella! I didn't expect you to participate in events like these."

St. Shelter Academy had recently proposed a collaboration event between the astronomy department and the art department as an advertising opportunity. Currently, the hall is decorated with small exhibits showcasing team projects worked on by both astronomy and art students alike.

Having been praised as one of the leading stars of the art department by O'Connor, you've been saddled with the task of being the main spokesperson for the art department, often spending time arranging discussions between students from both majors.

As laborious as it is, it has its perks.

Stella nods her head with a hint of pride. "Usually, I wouldn't. But when I heard that you'd be here, I just knew I had to take the opportunity to study you again."

You're not sure how you feel about that.

You take the chance to flash her a smile and move on in an attempt to get back to work. But then you hear her speak, and you can practically hear the scowl on her face.

"Alkaid."

You see him smile as he approaches, footsteps slightly giddy and bubbly as he makes his way towards you.

He nods his head towards Stella in greeting. "Hello."

The scowl on her face smoothens, but her vindictive aura remains.

"I didn't expect you to be a part of this event at all. Are you sure you're not too busy?"

Her sentence conveys worry, and her tone suggests spite. You notice a few colourful balloons bounce on the ground and take interest in them instead of the one-sided cat fight happening in front of you.

"Yes, well..."

Alkaid smiles, just a tad bit more smug than usual. "The professor had requested for me personally, so it was quite difficult for me to refuse. I'd be troubling them."

You snicker inwardly. But your amusement doesn't last for much longer.

"I also heard she would be here too, like you." Alkaid picks up a heart-shaped balloon from the ground and hands it to you, his smile softening.

"After that, I had no other reason to refuse."

Great, now your heart is melting and it's all his fault. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment at his sweet words as you take the heart-shaped balloon from him, squeezing it lightly.

Still, you don't want to lose to him. So you tug at his sleeve to whisper softly;

"I'll make you a custom balloon later."

He smiles widens at that.

And Stella has heard everything.

"Ugh, gross."

Stella picks up one of the balloons from the floor and specifically throws it at Alkaid with as much force as she can. Unfortunately–the truth is as such–it is but a mere balloon, and everyone watches as it floats past it's intended target, the Pikachu ears crumpling as it bounces off the floor.

"..."

"I apologize."

The first one to speak up is Alkaid, but all that does is rub salt into the wound. Fortunately, Stella has had plenty of practice maintaining her composure in front of him, so all she does is jerk her head in an odd sort of way in response to his words.

"Whatever."

You take the chance to catch her up on the collaboration plans and watch in real-time as Stella's simmering anger cools off, her eyes twinkling with interest the longer your discussion lasts. Once you've made sure she has the necessities down the pat, you watch her enthusiastically say thanks for helping her with her research as she bounces away to help out.

It seems as if you've contributed to your own demise, and you can only hope that the day she finds out you're an alien never comes.

Thankfully, Alkaid is still standing there. So you sigh dramatically and turn around to hug him by the waist, rubbing your cheek on his clothes.

"I'm tired."

Running around, setting up meetings, and directing booths and teams has slowly drained you of your social battery. You have half the mind to complain to St. Shelter Academy's admin system about O'Connor's habit on dropping all sorts of work on his students, specifically you.

It's the same for Alkaid, being an astronomy student comes with all sorts of time-consuming assignments and projects, leaving him little time to breathe. Recently, the both of you haven't had much time together. So as taxing as this event has left you, you're glad for the opportunity to spend more time with Alkaid again.

He accepts your embrace, fondly reaching up to wrap his arms around you and squeezing you gently. And when you feel his chest tremble in an exhale, putting just a tad bit more weight on you, you know he's tired too.

But you also know that he would rather collapse in secret than worry you about it, so you pull back and pinch his cheek.

"Ow!"

You see his left eye squint in slight pain as his cheek is stretched, leaving his face deformed, but he doesn't complain and simply leans in closer.

"Go sit down over there. I can't focus on the job if my boyfriend keeps hanging around 5 meters near me; you should be taking a break."

His eyes stare back down at you, and he raises his eyebrows while rounding the edges of his eyes to create a puppy stare. But you don't fall for it, you can't!

"Go listen to her, lover boy."

A sour voice interrupts their sweet nothings, and they snap out of their little world to see one of Alkaid's classmates watching them from the side, holding a roll of tape in one hand, and a small telescope in the other. Neither object has ever looked as terrifying as they did today, and the both of them pull away reluctantly upon seeing his deadpan expression.

"Alright then."

Alkaid finally agrees to your suggestion, but not before bringing up your hand and pressing a gummy into your palm.

"See you then."

You happily unwrap the gummy and plop it in your mouth before taking off back to work, waving goodbye to him. Alkaid's classmate watches the whole interaction with his eyebrows twitching and his hands gripping the roll of tape in an effort to restrain himself from throwing it at Alkaid, as he hands him the telescope they had been working on as a project for the event.

"I'm begging you Alkaid, if you're going to flirt with your girlfriend, do it somewhere else where...," he gestures to the entire hall. "All of us don't have to see it."

Alkaid spots a few miles away his classmates watching him with tired expressions on their faces, the occasional art student glancing over with red ears, and Stella glaring at him again. Once she realises he has caught on to her, she promptly whips her head to the other side in an effort to hide her animosity.

Alkaid gives off an apologetic smile as he takes the telescope from his hands. "That's rather restrictive."

"Well, restrain yourself."

"I'll try, but I make no promises. It's easier to show sincere love if done in the moment, in my opinion."

"WHICH IS ALL THE TIME, UNFORTUNATELY FOR US."

They hear someone groan somewhere off at the sidelines. "Good grief he's a goner."

"I need to hit him actually."

Alkaid clutches the telescope in his hands a little tighter. "Huh?"

"Someone hit him, I don't care what you use. Anything is fine."

"Wait, what do you- WOAH!"

"And that concludes the event's itinerary."

You clap your hands with a sense of finalisation, and most of those around you scatter off with new tasks on hand. The majority of the planning has been done, so all you have to do right now is wait for the final results of the posters to be sent to you for approval before you're done for the week.

Slumping down on your wheely chair, you spin around a few times to get rid of all the built up stress plaguing your shoulders until someone grabs the armrest to stop you midway, and you bump into their arm.

"Alkaid!"

He smiles at you. "Yes?'

He did that on purpose! But all your pettiness is long forgotten as he places a warm flask of mocha coffee in front of you, the steaming and comforting aroma instantly calming you down. You relax back into the chair.

"Thank you, Alkaid."

The others are still there.

An art student watches the entire show with interest, but Alkaid's classmates–already tired enough as it is with him–simply scrunches up their noses at him before resuming their work.

After taking a sip from the flask, you stretch out your legs while yawning and patting his arm, which is still holding on to the chair. "Okay then, once I'm done with the coffee, I'll get to work on that balloon."

He blinks his eyes in surprise.

"There's no need to if you're tired. The balloon can wait until after the event."

You refuse that, and shake your head. "No, I want to do it now. I want to make a balloon of my boyfriend and hang him up in my room."

Okay, maybe that sounded a little weirder than you had expected but hey; you're sleep deprived, no one can blame you. So you play it off cool and pretend you don't notice.

"I hope he deflates."

Someone chimes in, and another comment follows.

"I hope your cat punctures a hole in him."

"I hope he explodes and flies out the window into the sky."

Well damn, they're upset today. Or maybe this is how they show their affection.

You try your best not to laugh at their feral wording as Alkaid simply shakes his head in exasperation. Taking the time to savour your coffee, you listen to Alkaid tell you about his day, which consisted of working on small collaboration projects for the event, Sparkles swiping his cookie jar into the sink, and people throwing all sorts of objects at him out in frustration. The remaining students slowly leave one by one, until there are only two astronomy majors left to witness this sickening, homely show of bubbly love.

"And done!"

You screw the cap back on the flask, and gather your remaining items before you take off for the day. As you zip up your bagpack, Alkaid spins the wheely chair around to make you face him.

You feel him poke your forehead and whisper, "Beep."

"Alright then, let's go."

You feel your heart swell in affection, and promise yourself to make the balloon as durable and high quality as possible.

"I hate him actually."

"I should deck him, actually."

You calmly stand up and try to push the flask into the side pocket of your bag, as one of Alkaid's classmates stands up ominously, gripping a rolled up poster in his hands. Sensing danger, Alkaid takes a small step back.

This is not going to end well.

So once you've slung your bag over your shoulder, you quickly grab his hand and pull him along as the both of you rush out the hall in hurry. You hear him laugh behind you, but you focus on getting the both of you out of there as quick as possible to evade the impending, explosive violence.

You make a mental note to keep that balloon as safe as possible.

a gift for @zedieame !

[helluvaoutlaw]

(((Continued from: )))

@lady-phenix

Striker accepted the envelope with a firm nod, securing it inside the inner pocket of his jacket.

As he met her gaze, a flicker of something deeper stirred within him. Was he doing this purely out of duty, or was there something more driving him? The thought unsettled him, but he pushed it aside for now.

"I will deliver this letter to Prince Stolas as quickly as possible. In the meantime, stay strong and hold onto that hope. We'll get through this together."

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility mixed with an unfamiliar warmth.

"I'll leave at once. I'll be back before you know it. Until then, trust in the plan and keep yourself safe."

Striker gave her hand a gentle squeeze, lingering a moment longer than necessary. As he turned to leave the library, he couldn't shake the feeling that his motives were evolving. With one last determined glance at Phenix, he stepped out of the room, ready to embark on the mission that would hopefully bring an end to her suffering.

///////////////////////////////////////////////

Striker reached the stables without hurry, carefully masking his urgency to avoid arousing suspicion. The cool morning air filled his lungs as he approached the stable, the scent of hay and horses calming his racing thoughts.

He found his second in command, Sergeant Thorne, tending to one of the horses.

"Thorne."

He called.

"I need you to oversee the palace while I'm away. I'll be delivering a letter to my mother at the post office in Pentagram City. Her telephone is broken, so this is the quickest way to ensure it reaches her."

Thorne looked up, his brow furrowing in concern.

"How long will you be gone, Captain?"

"Not long."

Striker reassured him, patting the neck of his horse as it was saddled.

"Just a quick trip there and back. I trust you to keep everything in order while I'm away."

Thorne nodded, accepting the responsibility without question.

"Understood, Captain. Safe travels."

With a final nod, Striker mounted his horse and set off at a measured pace. He had to maintain the appearance of a routine errand, but his heart was set on the urgent task ahead. The letter to Prince Stolas was safely tucked in his jacket, a lifeline for Lady Phenix. The captain knew he had to succeed, not just for duty's sake, but for her safety and his own growing sense of purpose.

[c0nfessions-of-a-writing-freak]

Roars And Rose Petals

Pairing: Hiccup 'Horrendous’ Haddock III x fem!reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Graphic description of violence

Summary: After a mission involving sinking dragon hunter ships and freeing any trapped dragons on board goes wrong and one of the dragon riders is left injured, Hiccup tries to make sure (Y/N) gets the proper rest she deserves with much resistance on her part of course.

A/N: For the sake of this story your dragon is going to be female. The name or species is up to you though. I'm not sure how I feel about this one-shot overall. When I first started working on it I think I started it out strong but the further along it went the more I feel as if I lost sight of the one-shot. Hope you enjoy tho :)

(Y/N): Your name

(H/C): Hair colour

(D/N): Dragon's name

(D/S): Dragon species

*Gif does not belong to me

(Y/N)'s hands tightened around the edge of (D/N)'s saddle. She lowered her chest to the point she was almost laying flat on (D/N)'s back as they began to dive through the rows of boats sitting on the water's edge. Jutting an arm out in front of her and (D/N)'s head, (Y/N) called out, "Come on girl, let's sink them before they sink us."

A gargled response was announced from below (Y/N) before a beam of flames was shot towards one of the boats. A chorus of strangled-out cries filled the air as (D/N)'s head turned and the flames they were emitting fell to another ship, tearing through the deck and leaving smouldering wood. A gentle pat hit the side of (D/N)'s neck, silent encouragement once the flames ceased.

"(Y/N), more help is needed on the other side of the armada," Astrid called out from Stormflys back, passing by (Y/N) and (D/N) on her own way over to meet Snotlout and Fishlegs. By the sound of it--or lack of it--Hiccup and the twins seemed to be doing just fine.

"On it!" (Y/N) called after the blonde, turning (D/N)'s so they could follow after the Deadlynadder. "Come on (D/N)," (Y/N) muttered, "Just a few more ships and then we can go home and relax for the rest of the week. I promise I won't let Hiccup rope us into any more missions or training exercises."

A pleased rumble left (D/N)'s chest at the same time as a bemused yell left Hiccup. "Hey!" He had called, grinning over at (Y/N) before diving out of the way of some dragon root-laced arrows. (Y/N) chuckled, shaking her head as she focused back on the task at hand, eyes locking on where Astrid and Stormfly had disappeared to.

Without warning, a metallic chain was shot their way. "Quickly (D/N), up. Up!" (Y/N) screeched at the sight of the hooked weapon.

(D/N) let out a bellowing screech as she tried to shoot up, wings snapping out. She wasn't quick enough however as the chain wrapped around (D/N)'s right wing, pulling the (D/S) wing taut with the hook digging into the underside of her wing. A cry escaped from (D/N)'s throat, shaking (Y/N) as their bodies jolted with the pull of the chain.

"Steady (D/N)," (Y/N) attempted to say, hands tightening once more on (D/N)'s saddle as her (H/C) whipped around her head, the wind picking up and throwing her hair around. (D/N) seemed immune to (Y/N)'s words as her left-wing rapidly shot up and down.

Growing more erratic with every passing second, (D/N) started to shake rapidly, trying to throw the chain off her. In her attempt to loosen the chain from her right wing, (D/N) also began to jostle (Y/N) from her back.

"(D/N), no!" (Y/N) shouted as she began to fall, slipping from the leather saddle as (D/N) began to crash down hard, being pulled in by the dragon hunter ship. "Someone? Anyone?" (Y/N) tried to call out as gusts of wind slapped against her face. When it became apparent that no one was coming, (Y/N)'s eyes squeezed shut, arms coming forward to cradle her head as she got ready for impact.

Before (Y/N) could hit the crashing sea's surface, a chain identical to the one that had trapped (D/N) wrapped around her waist, snagging one of her arms by her side because of the angle at which she was falling. The hook of the chain tore through (Y/N)'s shirt and dug itself into her side, making her wince as she got whipped through the air and came crashing into the side of the boat.

The tips of her boots scraped against the water's edge as she dangled against the side of the boat momentarily before being pulled up, the rattling of chains filling (Y/N)'s ears as she struggled to free her arms. When she reached the halfway point, she had managed to untangle her arm from her body and the dragon-proof chains. With a soft grunt, (Y/N) brought both hands to the hooked metal that was still lodged into her side. Taking a steadying breath, (Y/N) tried to relax before she abruptly pulled at the hook, ripping it from her skin. A startled cry tore through (Y/N)'s chest but she did her best to muffle the noise.

Keeping the remainder of the chain wrapped around herself, (Y/N) allows herself to be pulled up and over the side of the ship. Only then did she unravel the chain from her waist and fling the hooked edge at the dragon rider that shot and pulled her from the air. The hook hit the hunter with a strangled cry from him before he fell to the ground, weighed down by the heavy metal.

(Y/N) didn't stay put for long after that as she jumped forward onto the boat's deck. Picking up a stray bow from the fallen dragon hunter, she tore an arrow from the quiver still latched to the hip of the man. Aiming the bow and arrow, she didn't hesitate before releasing the arrow on one of the dragon hunters, tearing them from their focus as the arrow buried itself in their shoulder.

The wounded hunter's cry caught the attention of more hunters, pulling them away from the dragons in the sky and to the fallen rider on their ship. (Y/N) tried not to look put off by the many eyes on her. Instead, she readied herself for the onslaught of weapons that were bound to come her way. "Someone grab her!"

Getting another arrow from the hunter's toppled-over body, she aimed it at the nearest dragon hunter, getting ready to shoot it at the first sign of danger. "That's right, come and get me!"

None of the dragon hunters took a step forward and for a second, (Y/N) thought she had successfully warded them off. But when the padded thumps came from behind her and a soft growl began to emit, (Y/N) realised it was a certain dark-scaled dragon that had warned the hunters off. "No one is going to be getting anyone unless it involves getting you out of here."

A smile danced across (Y/N)'s face as Toothless began to stalk forward, his nose scrunched and teeth flashing in a warning. "If it isn't my knight in leather armour," (Y/N) cooed as she lowered her bow and arrow, discarding them to the floor as she stepped towards Hiccup and Toothless.

"Well, I wouldn't say-" Hiccup began to say, cutting himself off as he watched (Y/N) crouch in front of Toothless. "And she was talking to the dragon," He muttered grudgingly.

Trying to conceal a wince as she lowered herself to the ground, (Y/N) scratched the underside of Toothless's chin for a few seconds before raising again, angling herself so Hiccup could see her torn skin, a pool of blood starting to build and soak her shirt. "Don't worry, I didn't forget about you Hiccup," (Y/N) hummed as she lightly dragged her fingers against Hiccup's shoulder, placing herself behind him and on Toothless's back.

"Hold on," Hiccup warned, waiting only a moment as he felt (Y/N) wrap her arms around his waist before he adjusted Toothless's tail and the two of them shot up from the dragon hunters ship, Toothless shooting a plasma blast to the boat deck, both scattering the hunters and tearing through the wooden surface. "Are you ok? Toothless and I tried to get over here as fast as possible once we noticed you and (D/N) weren't in the air anymore."

"I'm fine," (Y/N) seethed through her teeth, trying to keep her voice level as she lied to Hiccup. A soft rumble came from Toothless as he looked back at (Y/N), sensing something Hiccup couldn't. "We need to get (D/N) though. She was taken down before I was."

"Astrid and Snotlout are already on it," Hiccup assured, chancing a glance back at (Y/N) to give her a reassuring smile. But when his gaze landed on her clouded-over eyes his smile instantly dropped. Turning his head back round and lowering himself forward to whisper into Toothless's ear, "Get us out of here bud."

At the increase in Toothless's speed, (Y/N)'s grip tightened around his waist. "No- wait- Hiccup! We can't leave yet. What about (D/N)?" (Y/N) chocked out in a panicked shout, head whipping around to face the ship both Astrid and Snotlout were hovering over a dragon hunters ship, one of (D/N)'s wings sticking straight up as the sound of shouts rung out from said boat.

"Like I said, Astrid and Snotlout will take care of it. Toothless and I are getting you back to the Edge," Hiccup stated, leaving no room for objection.

Against his hopes, however, (Y/N) still attempted to object to him. "I need to be there when (D/N) is retrieved. I'm not going to abandon her with a bunch of dragon hunters to be sold off."

"She won't be alone. Astrid and Snotlout are going to be with her every step of the way," Hiccup's voice took a gentle tilt, one of his hands reaching back to steady (Y/N) on Toothless's back. When his hand came in contact with (Y'N)'s side, a large hiss escaped her, forcing Hiccup to retract his hand quickly and look back at her with a worried glint in his eyes. "Are you sure your okay, (Y/N)? You don't sound too good."

"Hiccup I'm fine," (Y/N) murmured, head still turned so she could face the dragon hunters ship, Watching as Stormfly took out a few hunters with her spines and Hookfang lit himself on fire, a startled screech coming from Snotlout at the sudden heat. As Astrid and Stormfly dived towards the boat deck, (Y/N) turned her head back around before resting her chin on Hiccup's shoulder. "Let's just get back to the Edge."

"At least we're finally on the same page," Hiccup muttered, eyes flickering down to where (Y/N) lay. At the pale complexion of the (H/C) haired girl, he turned back to Toothless and muttered, "Get us out of here Toothless."

The black-scaled dragon let out a light roar before shooting forward, propelling himself as he raised himself further into the air, gliding at level with the clouds. Fishlegs and the twins were ahead of them, flying closer to the water's surface as they had a headstart on getting away from the destroyed fleet on hunting ships.

There was almost a sense of calmness in the skies. If it wasn't for the dreadful silence and the loosening grip of (Y/N) behind him, Hiccup could nearly say it was an enjoyable flight. "Just hang on a little longer (Y/N). It won't be long now."

"I don't know what you're on about, Hiccup," (Y/N) attempted to chuckle, raising her head so she could shake it before dropping her forehead to rest on his shoulder, eyes glancing down ar ger side where she could see her blood-stained shirt sticking to her skin, the red mellowing in with the dark tones of her shirts.

"That's alright," Hiccup said airly, focusing on the sky in front of them.

When Toothless's feet touched down, (Y/N) was instantly on her feet and making her way towards her hut, taking some staggering steps every once in a while as a flare of pain shot through her side. With every step she had to fight back a wince, trying to compose herself as she knew Hiccup's eyes were most likely watching her, sceptical of nothing but she needed to get away from Hiccup so she could fix the gash in her side.

She didn’t get far though before the clicking of Hiccup's metal leg was racing to catch up to her. “Are you sure your okay (Y/N)?” Hiccup asked once he was walking in step with (Y/N). “Ever since the dragon hunters ship there’s been something off about you.”

(Y/N) chanced Hiccup a glance from the corner of her eye, furrowing her brows at the implication. “I don’t know what you want to hear hiccup. I’m fine. I can say it again if that’ll help-“ (Y/N) was cut off as her knees gave out from below her.

Bracing herself for impact, she welcomes the crash that never comes. Instead, she is engulfed by two warm arms. One of Hiccups' hands landed on her gashed side, making (Y/N) jolt upwards in pain. “Oh my gods! I’m so sorry (Y/N),” Hiccup exclaimed as he lifted his hand from your side allowing you to sag in relief as the pain subsided. Hiccup could only feel dread however as he saw the red liquid coating his fingertips. He stopped breathing at the sight of it, the remaining arm wrapped around (Y/N) tightening.

“I promise it’s no big deal Hiccup,” (Y/N) began as she struggled to try and push herself up. “It’s just a small cut. Once I wrap it I’ll be as good as new.”

“Good as new?” Hiccup questioned outraged as all his breath came flooding back into him at the sound of (Y/N)’s voice. “You can barely walk and seem to be losing consciousness by the second. Sorry if I don’t think you'll be able to walk this off like every other mission gone wrong.”

“Have a little faith in me Hiccup,” (Y/N) muttered as Hiccup helped to right her up, both his arms still wrapped securely around her, careful of where his fingers splayed to not bring her any more harm than she had already endured.

"My faith will be restored once we get you patched up."

"I can live with that," (Y/N) agreed, nodding her head sluggishly as she spoke, maybe the blood loss had started to get to her. "Just drop me off at my house and I'll be able to take care of it."

"You've done more than enough to prove you can't be left alone," Hiccup stated, voice sharp as his worry for (Y/N) started to build. Turning his head back to Toothless who had been slowly trailing after them with his face turned into something of worry, Hiccup said to the dragon, "Keep an eye out for (D/N) and come and get us when the other dragon riders land. I'll be with (Y/N) helping patch up her wound."

"You don't need to help Hiccup, really," (Y/N) said with a shake of her head. "You've already done more than enough for me. All I need help with is getting back to my hut."

"It's fine (Y/N), I want to help you." The two of them began walking at a slow pace, Hiccup considerate of the breaks (Y/N) had to take every couple of meters to steady her breathing. "It's times like this where I wished we picked a better design for the Edge."

(Y/N) turned her head to face the taller boy with two furrowed brows. "I like the design we have," She said slowly.

"Yeah, but not in moments like this," His voice grew softer.

"My hut is a perfect distance from the stables that at night I don't have to hear the snores of Hookfang or any other dragon that might be staying there."

A soft chuckle left Hicuup's lips. "I think you were the only one who took that into account when deciding where your hut would be."

"At least I'm not like Fishlegs."

"Why's that?"

"I didn't decide to build my hut on the ground," (Y/N) states like it's obvious. "Sure my hut's a bit of a trek from the clubhouse but I think it's worth it now that it's actually built."

As (Y/N) stopped speaking, the two of them stopped outside of her hut. Hiccup left her side only momentarily to open the door for her, reaching out an arm to help her hobble inside. They only broke apart once more after Hiccup urged her to go and take a seat at her bed while he looked for something to wrap her side in.

"Tomorrow we should fly to Berk," Hiccup started as he began to walk back over to (Y/N). He hadn't been able to find any scraps to use so instead he had a worn-out green shirt that he hadn't seen (Y/N) wear in a while. "Gothi will have better supplies than we do."

"Nonsense." Hiccup began by tearing a strip of the fabric off before gesturing for (Y/N) to lift her shirt and expose where she had been cut. Hiccup tried to keep his voice level as he spoke, watching as the fresh and old blood became clearer. "We need to make sure one of our best dragon riders is in top shape."

A hiss disguised as a chuckle left (Y/N)'s lips at the first contact. After that, not many words were spoken between the two of them as Hiccup worked with delicate hands while (Y/N) was left to watch while keeping her shirt out of the way.

When Hiccup finished he stayed crouched in front of (Y/N), not letting his eyes stray afar from her covered skin. "Promise me you'll be more careful out there," Hiccup muttered lowly, throat sounding dry as he refused to meet (Y/N)'s eye.

(Y/N)'s forehead creased at the boy's words, and her eyes downturned as she tried to catch his eyes. "I never tried to put myself in danger. It's just they had (D/N) and things started to get a little rocky until you showed up."

"I should have been there quicker," He shook his head, a few small braids flying as his hair got tangled. "I don't know what I would do if you got hurt like this again."

A soft sigh escaped from (Y/N)'s lips as she spoke, a hand hesitating only briefly before she was reaching forward to rest it on Hiccup's cheek, guiding his head so he was facing her. "Today was a one-off. Normally it's me who's saving you and Toothless remember?"

"I know." A ghost of a smile appeared on Hiccup's face before it was disappearing just as quickly as it arrived. "I just can't bare to see you get hurt again."

"And I won't," (Y/N) hummed as she bent forward, resting both of their foreheads together. "What we do is dangerous Hiccup, but you got to trust me when I say I'll be fine. I wasn't paying attention today, that's why (D/N) and I went down. I'll forever have the memory of today to remind me to pay more attention, okay?"

"Okay," Hiccup sighed, his shoulders relaxing from their tensed position.

"Now," (Y/N) said as a smile stretched across her face. Standing up, she dragged Hiccup up by the hand as she began to carefully walk to the door of her hut with a staggering one-legged Viking behind her. "I've got a dragon shipment that should be coming in soon. Do you mind escorting me back?"

"Of course, m'lady," Hiccup grinned, offering (Y/N) his arm once he fell into step beside her. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you on your way back to the stables." Hiccup said, elating a laugh out of (Y/N).

That was how the two of them ended up walking arm-in-arm back to the stables where an energetic (D/N) was waiting for them.

[prismatoxic]

Things don't go as planned during the final confrontation with the Winged Lion, and Laios loses his identity, trapped in the body and mind of an animal. When he emerges from the dungeon after months, barely humanoid and mentally feral, it's Chilchuck who finds him and is tasked with helping Laios fix what's been broken. Taking back his identity is only half of the puzzle, though. Laios is hardly fit for the responsibility he's soon saddled with, yet there are no other options; his friends will do what they can to ease the burden, but ultimately, Laios needs to somehow rise to the challenge. His intense emotional attachment to Chilchuck overrides all else, but turning a beast back into a man is a bigger task than Chilchuck has ever tackled before, and he's not sure he can pull it off.

hey what if this guy was in the real world for some reason 👇

would that be crazy or what

(collab with @captainfkingmagic)

[admistedenslush]

Saddle Tramp

Cowboy!Dark!Aegon/Reader

Summary: Aegon Targaryen, the outlaw with a penchant for indulgence, stumbles upon a lonely saloon where he is determined to satisfy his needs

Tw: non con, fem!reader, guns

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In the vast expanse of the wild west, Aegon Targaryen emerges, his golden locks tousled and his visage of breathtaking beauty. Whispers of his notorious charm echo through the dusty saloons, yet the true depths of his wickedness surpass even the tales.

Mothers warn their daughters to stay away from his path, while good men caution their sons not to follow in his footsteps.

The townsfolk lived in constant fear, never knowing when Aegon would strike next. He became an emblem of the darkness that lurked in the shadows, a reminder that evil could manifest itself in the most alluring of forms.

He played with the desires and vulnerabilities of others, using them as pawns in his wicked game. No one was safe from his treacherous pull, as he effortlessly weaved his way into their lives, leaving destruction in his path.

Aegon Targaryen could make the devil himself blush in shame.

⊹

As you navigate through the speakeasy, a gentle murmur of small talk fills the air, blending with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. With expert finesse, you deftly serve the familiar faces that frequent this hidden establishment, their preferred beers and plates of rancid chicken.

As the last server closing tonight, you felt a slight unease. It's understandable to worry about the safety of a girl, regardless of age, being alone at this hour. However, as the last drunken men bid their farewells, your nerves started to calm. Now, back to the task of sweeping the floors, you found solace in the serenity of being alone once again.

As you hummed to yourself, carefree and oblivious, the loud thud of the double swinging doors abruptly snapped you out of your reverie. Without even turning around, you curtly declared, “We're closed. And mind you, don't dirty these floors with your mucky boots.”

A dark, unsettling laugh echoed through the empty saloon, causing you to slightly turn your head, feeling agitated. However, your irritation quickly dissipated as you caught sight of the figure standing just a few feet away. Your grip on the broom loosened, and it fell to the ground with a clatter that rang in your ears.

“My boots are clean, dear,” the fair-haired man remarked, his voice dripping with mischief. “Had a lass licking at them just a fortnight ago.”

Silence enveloped the room, and fear began to take hold. “What's the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?” the man taunted. “Well, I'll let it slide this time. I want a cold whiskey.”

Your voice quivered as you stuttered out a response, your lip trembling. “We… we don't have any ice.”

Aegon clicked his tongue in a gesture of disappointment as he made his way towards you, and an overwhelming sense of dread coursed through your veins.

Instead of confronting you, he simply walked past, nonchalantly settling into a booth. With a casual air, he propped his feet up and slouched in a relaxed manner. Your heart raced as you scurried over to the bar, your movements resembling those of a skittish mouse. Hastily, you reached for a glass, but before you could even begin pouring, the man interrupted you, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance. "No need for a glass. I'll take the bottle.“

Reluctantly, you acquiesced to his demand.

As you placed the bottle of whiskey on the table, your hands trembled slightly, and you found yourself unsure of where to put them.

“Please, have a seat.” he said, looking up at you with a twisted smile that sent a shiver down your spine. You took a seat as far away from him as possible in the cramped booth.

The man took a hearty gulp of the liquor, and the sight of it nearly made you gag. Aegon placed the bottle on the table with a satisfying pop, and then he spoke, “Have a drink.”

You furrowed your brow, and he immediately noticed your confusion. “You don't drink, do you?” he asked. Once again, fear rendered you unable to answer, unsure of what to say.

Silence hung in the air, and Aegon grew increasingly irritated, smacking the table in frustration. “Speak when spoken to, girl,” he demanded, his anger palpable. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, drip by nervous drip.

“No, sir. Only in church, the blood of Christ,” you managed to splutter out, shocking both him and yourself. His laughter faltered, but a sly smile remained on his face.

“Sir… I like the sound of that,” he mused.

Aegon took another swig, causing a hiccup to escape his lips.

"Do you know who I am?" he slurred, glancing down at your chemise. Not wanting to provoke another outburst, you replied, "Yes, you're Aegon Targaryen."

He smiled at that and continued, "Then you know. Good. The truth is, I'm craving some company."

Immediately, you knew where this was heading and abruptly stood up.

"If you're looking for company, there's a brothel just a few miles from here," you suggested, hoping to divert his attention. "I want you," he yelled back like an insolent child.

Fear began to grip you as Aegon swiftly drew his pistol, aiming it at you.

"Don't test me, girl. I've put a bullet through a pretty thing like you before," he spat, his mouth wet like a rabid dog.

His lazy demeanor transformed into a determined one, causing you to gulp. "Come here, my dear. You're so easily frightened. Come sit on my lap," he beckoned. You approached him, clutching your skirts, and settled onto his strong thighs. And there, you felt something hard underneath.

"Can't you sense the impact you have on me? My cock is as hard as a boulder," he said, holding his gun up to your face. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Part your lips" he ordered, as tears streamed down your cheeks.

His fingers gently caressed your cheek as you complied, opening your mouth.

"Let's see just how far down the rabbit hole we can go," he chuckled, placing the big iron in your mouth.

"Savor it, darling," he whispered.

Aegon squeezed your mouth open as he rammed the gun down your throat, making saliva drip down the sides and choking you.

The blond cooed at you, almost giddy as he watched the act.

He rubbed his clothed cock under you and suddenly yanked his gun out of your lips as you could hardly breathe and he preferred his lover to still be warm and alive.

Aegon swiftly turned you on your stomach and deftly laid you on the table as you urgently pleaded, “Please.”

Your desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as he callously lifted your skirts above your backside, squeezing your ass cheeks apart.

“Fuck Yes,” he groaned, attaching his lips to your sensitive bud. He ran his tongue down to your leaking cunt, and you clenched at this.

Little gasps and moans fall from your parted lips as you grip the edge of the table to ground yourself.

Aegon pulled back to admire your creamy cunt, basking in the scent of your musk before diving back in.

You unleash a torrent, Aegon drinking as much of your nectar as he can.

There’s so much, it seeps around his mouth and on his shirt. He doesn’t care. He could drink from you forever, and unbeknownst to you, that’s his plan.

Aegon rose to his feet, and just when you believed the ordeal was finally over, you heard the faint sound of his rustling belt. Timidly, you glanced back at him, feeling an odd mix of emotions. Nausea twisted in your gut, yet a twisted pleasure also coursed through you.

"What are you doing?" you asked shyly, your face growing warm.

A grin formed on his face as he giggled.

"I'm going to claim you as my own, my dear maiden," he whispered, his words laden with a darkness that made your blood run cold.

"No!" you cried out, your voice filled with desperation and defiance.

“No?” He gave a sultry chuckle and stroked his cock as he bent his knees. With a forceful slam, he crushed your face against the table, the sound reverberating through the room. Your cheek pressed uncomfortably against the wooden surface, nearly melding with it as you laid there, feelings mushed and trapped.

You whimpered as he pulled his hand away and pressed the head of his cock against you. He wrenched your head back so that you were forced to arch your back and guided himself to your entrance.

As he forcefully plunged into your cunt, his moaning overpowering your pitiful cries.

Your entire body shook as he fucked you. He was vicious. As if punishing you. His hand slipped from the back of your head to your throat, and he pulled you against him.

“Such a tight cunt,” he muttered.

You were sore, battered. From head to toe. Your entire body ached and your pussy thrummed. His flesh clapped against your ass, the flesh raw and tender.

He growled as he felt the sudden gush and your walls pulsed around him. He sped up, and he snaked his arm around you.

He tore your chemise down to your stomach, grabbing your tit as his pace picked up again.

“Fuck-!” He exclaimed and came with a spasm. 

His hips slowed as he rode out his climax, his hand even tighter around your neck. He bottomed out as he sighed in relief and reluctantly let go of you. He pulled out and let you drop against the booth.

Furthermore, he chuckled and you heard the subtle rustling again. You shakily sat up and cradled your face as you looked up at him. His cock was already tucked away, a wet spot forming along the front of his pants.

His come dripped from you, and you pulled down your skirts with a shudder. To hide yourself. To hide your shame as he stretched the crick out of his neck and settled on another stool, elbows on the bar.

You gazed at him, overwhelmed with a sense of profound disorientation. Your mind was a blank canvas, unable to grasp even the simplest of thoughts.

“Here's some spare change,” he tossed the money carelessly in front of your feet.

You glanced down at the money, a wave of disgust washing over you.

“I'm not a whore,” you retorted.

“Then it's for the whiskey bottle,” he replied, and in an instant, he stumbled out of the saloon.

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not proofread

[acourtofthought]

Just something about that E/riel anon which struck me:

To them, the “essence” of Elain’s character is fate vs Freewill…and i define don’t think it is.

Elain’s differences from her sisters, and the most quiet of their shared traumatic experiences, is far more open-ended to me. Where Nesta was overcoming her poor response to that trauma and Feyre somewhat similarly becoming hyper independent as well, Elain is…what? A gardener and maker of comforts, incredibly friendly and now faking her smiles. Fate and frewill are not the essence of that character, that’s the essence of their ship.

🧼💖

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Hello there!

Right?? Elain was free to marry who she wanted as a human while Nesta was told she needed to find a match to benefit their family.

Feyre was burdened with the task of taking care of their family while Elain, while I do give her credit for being the peace keeper of the group, was allowed to hold fast to her dreamer persona because nobody saddled her with the rough tasks.

She absolutely chose to help Feyre in ACOMAF despite her engagement but that was her choice, she wasn't forced into it.

Elain had all the freewill in the world to go back to Graysen despite everyone's belief that he was a tool.

I'm really confused on how it's so important to Elain's story that rejecting her bond proves that she's taking control of her life. Hasn't she been doing that since book 1 despite the traumas that had plagued all the sisters?

If anyone hasn't been given freewill in love it's Mor because of how her family views her and how her sexuality would have been an issue for them, how they would have taken it out on her. She was punished for choosing who to give her virginity too while Elain was glowing after her night with Graysen.

I LOVE Elain and while I don't love how the other characters don't see her clearly, they've never stood in the way of her freewill. The one time Nesta tried Elain turned around and clapped back so no, nobody has taken her choices away from her.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Nikki McCann Ramírez and Ryan Bort at Rolling Stone:

Donald Trump continued his pre-election economic event tour on Tuesday with a lengthy interview with Bloomberg at the Economic Club of Chicago. It was a total mess.  Bloomberg Editor-In-Chief John Micklethwait did not take it easy on Trump, and it quickly became clear that the former president has no conception of the mechanics of or the potential ramifications of the economic platform he’s running on. Bluntly, the former president was incoherent when pressed with real questions about his policies. Micklethwait spent most of the interview attempting to break Trump out of what the former president repeatedly referred to as “the weave,” his term for his rambling digressions — with ever-decreasing intelligibility — and general inability to focus on a given topic for more than a few seconds during his rallies and interviews. Micklethwait didn’t weave along with Trump, however, repeatedly working to bring him back on topic and answer the actual questions. The grilling exposed Trump’s total cluelessness with regard to his own economic policy, and led Trump to attack Micklethwait as biased.

Trump gets schooled on tariffs

The central pillar of Trump’s economic plan is widespread tariffs on all imported goods, with penalties appearing to increase depending on how much he dislikes the country. Economists have warned that such a policy could have devastating effects on American consumers, who would be saddled with increased costs for all imported goods.  [...]

Trump gets frustrated and bashes the interviewer

Micklethwait’s attempts to keep Trump on topic earned him no grace from the former president, who hates few things more than being contradicted.  When Micklethwait asked Trump to address a report by The Wall Street Journal estimating that his economic proposals would raise the national debt by upwards of $7 trillion, the former president fell back on his standard playbook: bashing the interviewer.  “What does The Wall Street Journal know? They’ve been wrong about everything, and so have you by the way, you’ve been wrong,” Trump replied, crossing his arms and curling into his seat.  [...]

Trump claims his rambling is strategic

At one point, after Trump spent minutes meandering through multiple trains of thought in response to a question about the American dollar’s status as an international reserve currency, Micklethwait attempted to interject into his rambling. Trump wasn’t happy. “You have got to be able to finish a thought because it is very important,” Trump said.  “You’ve gone from the dollar to [Emmanuel Macron],” Micklethwait countered.  The former president claimed that his speaking style was “called the weave” and that “it’s all these different things happening.”  OK then.

Today in front of The Economic Club of Chicago, Dementia DonOld revealed that he isn’t up to the task for the Presidency for a 2nd time should he get elected, as he was constantly pressed by Bloomberg’s John Micklethwait on how he would enact his economic agenda and ludicrously defending his ramblings as “the weave.”

Three weeks from now (if they haven’t voted already), Americans need to reject this cognitively-challenged fascist dementia patient at the ballot box and vote for Kamala Harris, who is sane and has actual cognitive skills to do the job.

See Also:

Daily Kos: Another public appearance confirms that Trump is an unstable mess

HuffPost: Trump Says Experts Are All 'Wrong' For Telling Him His Tariff Proposals Won't Work

[the-dork-urge]

Stable work || Reader x Zevlor ||

SUMMARY: Where the reader takes care of the Hellriders horses and gentle commander Zevlor is the first one to notice her hard work. Written in the middle of the night. Just a short one. Wordcount: About a 1000 Fluff

Growing up on a farm thought her how to best care for many animals. But beyond that, a profound love for all creatures had grown. And she would not part with any of it, from the awe-inspiring ickiness of birth, to the solemnity of death. Not even now, after she had moved to the city. People couldn't quite comprehend why she still chose to work amidst the mud and manure when the urban landscape could offer her so much more. She had found the transition from her rural upbringing to city just too great to entirely leave her roots behind. Each feeding, grooming, and tending to the Hellrider's horses provided her with a grounding stability amidst the chaos of urban living. Back in her hometown, she had her family – people unafraid to dirty their hands, indifferent to titles and fancy attire. It was all love and warmth, and while she missed the comfort of home, the small town had no more opportunities to offer her. What she hadn't fully anticipated was the profound loneliness that accompanied setting out on her own. The pungent smell and the messiness of her tasks likely explained the lack of people around as she worked. Occasionally, someone would arrive to pick up the horses, but they paid her little mind, even as she assisted them in retrieving saddles and reins.

"But you are a good boy, aren't you?" She spoke out loud, stroking the stallion between his ears. "You always wish me a good morning, don't you?" The horse nickered in response, pawing at the floor, ready for more attention. She stroked its soft and warm nose and pressed a kiss on its fur. "Don't tell the others, but you are my favorite." She laughed at her own words, at the absurdity of talking to a horse.

"Don't worry; this one's not the gossiping type." A voice nearby startled her, causing her to pull away from the horse with a jump. The horse, equally startled, blew air forcefully from its nose in response. "God's, I'm sorry. I should not have approached you two like this," the man said. "It's alright," she replied, her heartbeat gradually returning to normal. "No harm done. Just caught me off guard, is all." She offered a reassuring smile to the man, appreciating his concern for both her and the horse. She didn't recognize the man's face, but the distinct armor and insignia emblazoned upon it were unmistakable. "Commander," she acknowledged with a quick bow.

"Zevlor," he replied, extending his hand.

"Commander Zevlor," she repeated, then hesitated, glancing down at her hands, coated in dirt and grease. "I'm dirty, I should not sha-"

"Nonsense," he interrupted with a warm smile, dismissing her concerns. "Nothing dirty about it, especially not from my own horse," he explained, shaking her hand with enthusiasm. His smile was quite infectious, his handshake strong and warm as she told him her name.

"You have a good horse, Commander Zevlor.'' "Yes, and you seem to know your way around him. He's usually much more standoffish," Zevlor observed, reaching out to his horse and patting its neck with care. She imagined those hands, currently gentle with the horse, gripping reins firmly, leading his mount into the chaos of battle. It was a stark contrast, the tenderness he displayed now versus the potential harshness required in the heat of conflict. "I must confess, I haven't noticed you here before. Have you joined us recently?" he asked.

"About a month now, sir," she replied, her gaze fixed on the commander as he interacted with the horse. "But don't worry. Most people don't notice me; I am often crouched behind the stable walls, and it's easy to avoid someone covered in hay and muck."

"No, the fault is mine. I should have inquired about those caring for my horse. And for doing so, I thank you," Zevlor said graciously, looking at her. His demeanor was far gentler than she had anticipated from previous encounters with other commanders. It made her smile back in return.

"Just doing my job, Commander," she responded , though in her heart, she knew it was more than just a job. Her dedication to the care of these animals mirrored the commitment others had to their weapons. Zevlor's acknowledgment made her feel seen, a rarity in her routine. "You need your horse?"

"Yes, please," the commander replied. She strode past him, toward the tack room, retrieving the saddle and bridle with practiced efficiency. Reentering the stable, she was met by the horse's gentle whinny. Zevlor followed her inside the stable and without a a word, he took the bridle from her hands, allowing her to settle the saddle onto the horse's back. Zevlor swiftly attended to the bridle before standing beside her, offering his silent assistance once more. Making room for him, she started adjusting the straps of the saddle. Their hands brushed softly as they both reached for the same strap, a fleeting physical connection that sent a warm shiver through her. The heat rose to her cheeks as she suddenly lost her composure. Zevlor, sensing the pause in her movements, glanced down at her, his eyes momentarily meeting hers. Feeling his gaze on her, her heart started to race, and she found it difficult to maintain eye contact. Mortified by her own reaction, she wished she could disappear into the stable walls, or cover herself in hay and crawl off. Summoning all her composure, she forced herself to speak, though her voice came out as a mere whisper. "Thank you, Commander, for your help." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she cursed herself for letting her nerves get the better of her in his presence. "It's my pleasure," he spoke. She double-checked if everything was adjusted accordingly before she took the reins in her hands, gently guiding the stallion out of its stable. The horse swung its neck in excitement at the newfound space to move around. She gave the reins to Zevlor, and as he led his horse away, he spoke. "I will see you soon, (y/n)." Hearing him remember her name, she couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness, worsening the already excisting blush on her cheek. As he walked away, she watched him go, already feeling nervous and excited at the thought of their next encounter.