#sky has never seen a horse

[weepingtalecowboy]

Point of view you are Sky trying to imagine what a horse looks like

The horse girls be like : “Picture this: a tall, majestic creature with four legs that end in these incredible, sturdy hoofs—like oversized nails, but shaped perfectly for the ground they walk on. They’re all muscle and power, but somehow, they move with the kind of grace that makes it feel like they’re gliding, like those birds you told us about.

Their faces are long and elegant, with these soft, expressive little lips at the end of a mouth that seems impossibly long—but it’s mostly hidden under smooth skin, so it’s not weird, I promise.(he is wrong) And their eyes! Deep, dark pools that are somehow both calm and intense at the same time, like they’re looking straight into your soul. They’re strong, beautiful, and full of personality—like walking art you can befriend.”

You hope you’re wrong about it

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language

masterlist

-

He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.  

At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home. 

But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John. 

Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.

“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt. 

John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself. 

The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain. 

“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”

The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers. 

When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone. 

Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage. 

The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit. 

“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”

The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff. 

Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.

“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty. 

Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that. 

“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak. 

And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back. 

He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”

John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus. 

Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves. 

“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “‘Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”

“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”

The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that. 

John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens. 

The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots. 

You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty. 

Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground. 

A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading. 

You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed. 

“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away. 

The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants. 

A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height. 

Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups. 

The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around. 

The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed. 

You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself. 

Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.

Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes. 

In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves. 

You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench. 

“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before. 

Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again. 

“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood. 

You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath. 

The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.

“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest. 

The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.

When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it. 

John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod. 

“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.  

Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second. 

His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”

Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls. 

Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world. 

You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse. 

“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass. 

John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him. 

“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.

John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground. 

With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall. 

Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.

You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth. 

The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle. 

More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line. 

“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear. 

“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”

Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”

So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life. 

And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave. 

Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.

“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”

You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point. 

John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me. 

He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death. 

Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds. 

There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.

You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words. 

These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.

Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him. 

John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”

Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.

[thebleedingeffect]

Thinking about Twilight teaching Sky how to ride a horse I'm gonna start crying

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Hellbound Angel

Male Yandere Demon x Male Angel Reader (CW: Noncon, drugged reader, drugged sex, drug-like cum, drug-like saliva, big ol' horse cock, literally equine dick, belly bulge, armpit kink, scent kink, musk, underwear sniffing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, temporarily mind-broken reader, religious themes, dehydration, forced feminization, reader has minor injuries not inflicted by yandere) Word Count: 2.2k

In the never-ending war against the legions of Hell, the middle ground where most of the fighting was done was on Earth. However, the heavenly forces sometimes deemed an incursion into Hell necessary.

You had been sent on a mission to scout ahead and take note of the coming forces.

Angels were stronger than most demons. Even so, almost your entire squad had been wiped out in a bloody ambush. The other survivors had used the one holy recall scroll to teleport themselves back to heaven.

Each squad sent into Hell is given one and only one. They probably thought you were dead already when they left still with demons in pursuit. They had to act quickly. You didn't blame them. Without it, you were trapped here. Unless you could find a demon's gate that could take you to Earth. That's how the demons made it out. But there would certainly be legions of the enemy at such places.

You had managed to escape the slaughter of your scouting party, but you were injured. Your wings had been hurt as had your leg. Relatively minor injuries, but in a hostile land, they certainly made things more difficult.

To be honest, you weren't exactly the strongest angel on a good day. This was not a good day.

You limped along the rocky landscape, using your holy staff as a walking stick. You stayed low to remain unseen by any wandering beasts or demons as you made your way out of the fiery wastelands and into the white sand desert. Hell wasn't all fire and brimstone. It was the most popular depiction of Hell's most dramatic landscape, but there were other biomes, too. Now you were getting into one of the many deserts Hell had to offer.

It was cooler than the burning wastes, but by no means was it comfortable. Water and food were scarce, the white sands were nearly blinding, and the swirling black sky was a constant ominous reminder that you were not safe.

You could go a long time without food and water. You wouldn't die without them, but after a while, you would wither up and be unable to move. You'd go into a kind of stasis. And then you'd be defenseless.

For days, you wandered. At least... you thought it was days. Despite the perpetually black sky the sun never set. Your lips were chapped, your wounds aching, hope dying in your heart. You had to find an oasis to rest at. Build up your strength. From the limited maps you had seen of this region of Hell there should be one at the heart of this desert, but with your wings and legs messed up it would still take many days still to reach it.

There were several more days of endless marching, hobbling on your injured leg that was getting harder and harder to walk on before you finally saw the oasis in the distance. You tried your best to approach stealthily, going behind dunes and sand drifts whenever possible, and wrapping your white wings around you to provide some measure of camouflage with the white sands. As you got near, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. And out of the smoke stood a demon. It was a trap.

Dark brownish red skin, sharp horns, a tail flicking back and forth, and he stood at least a foot taller than you. He was very muscular, his sweat coated abs glistened in the sunlight. He wore nothing. His long horse-like cock and big nuts swinging freely below a thick patch of black pubic hair.

You caught yourself accidentally staring and looked away quickly before readying your divine staff for a fight. Which was really hard, since you could barely stand without it.

The demon winked and chuckled.

"Do you like it~ There's no harm in just looking, you know?"

He closed the distance between the two of you in a flash and knocked the staff away in one fluid motion.

"As a matter of fact, you can do a lot more than look, little bird. My cum would make you feel so much better~ That oasis you're looking for is still miles away."

"Uh, thanks for the kind offer, but I think I will pass. I'll just be on my way and out of your hair."

You stepped back slowly, hoping to make it to your staff so you could maybe limp away and give him a good smack if he followed. But he wasn't giving you the chance.

"Oh, but you're dehydrated!"

He took a few steps forward until there were mere inches between you. He put a hand on your cheek and thumbed at your chapped lips gently.

"Your lips are all dry. Let me help~"

Before you could decline, he held your head in place and leaned down. He traced and prodded your sore lips with his long slick tongue.

You tried to push him away but couldn't do much in your current condition. And the saliva was having some kind of effect on you.

He slipped his tongue past your lips and kissed you greedily.

Your head grew fuzzy and your legs weak. His spit was some type of drug. It felt... nice...

You resisted it as long as you could, even resorting to biting his tongue, but he ignored it and continued. Moments later, you slumped against him, your head on his muscular chest. The only thought in your head as you passed out was how nice this man in front of you smelled.

He picked you up gently and carried you bridal style. It was fitting since you were certainly his little bride now, as far as he was concerned. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head and then started walking towards the underground dwelling he called home.

When you woke up, your wounds had been healed, and you felt a lot better. Though you were still dizzy. There was an intoxicating smell all around you and you didn't recognize your surroundings.

Your first instinct was to jump up and flee, but you were immediately pulled back down and placed in the lap of your demonic captor. His monstrous cock poking out between your thighs.

You looked down and realized you were naked, your soft cock and balls laying on his unnaturally warm prick.

"Let me go!" You elbowed him as hard as you could but he must have made sure you stayed drugged because you couldn't muster up any strength to put into your struggle.

"Let you go? After all the trouble I have gone through to romance you?"

"Romance!? You kidnapped me and I don't even know who the fuck you are, creep!!"

You struggled with renewed anger, smacking your head backwards, elbowing, kicking, and scratching. All amounting to you gasping for breath, tired, while he chuckled at the attempt.

"You're in Hell! I could have raped you and left you in the sand to be killed by any passing monster and that still would have been considered romance."

He placed his large hands on your legs with his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your thighs.

"I saved you from the desert, treated your wounds, let you rest for days, fed you, gave you water, and bathed you. That is damn romantic!"

He started assaulting your neck with little licks and kisses, enjoying how you squirmed in protest while sitting on his equine cock.

"As for the name that you'll be moaning when I bury myself in you, it's Tevrik."

"My friends will come back for me. You should save yourself the trouble and let me go now!"

This was a bluff, of course. They almost certainly thought you were dead. You didn't know if your deception would work, but you didn't expect him to respond with a cackle.

"No, they won't! Rathiel won't let em!"

A shudder went through you at the mention of your boss who had ordered the mission into Hell.

"He's one of Hell's best agents. Gives us lots of intel."

You were dumbfounded and fell silent a moment before regaining your composure and replying angrily.

"Lies from a worthless demon!"

"I'd never lie to you, sweetie~"

He trailed his hands up and down your thighs as he continued.

"How else did we set up that ambush? Rathiel sent you to us. We needed more angel blood. But not yours."

Your blood ran cold as he began grinding into you.

"I picked you out from a bunch of employee profiles just to be my little princess. I'm half angel myself and wanted an angel bride~ We'll rule this region of Hell together!"

He repositioned you on his lap to face towards him as his flared cock grew fully erect.

"You weren't supposed to be hurt in the battle. I'm so sorry about that. I killed the demons who did it."

You didn't even struggle when he positioned you above his dick, hot precum smearing your hole as his cock pressed against it. The betrayal drained the fight from you.

"After the battle, I just followed you for a bit, so you'd be tired. And now here you are. With me."

The precum and smell of his arousal were making you dizzier. The words he spoke brought tears from your eyes.

"Awe, don't cry. After we have some alone time to adjust, I'll take you to the palace~ You'll be royalty!"

You winced as his cock entered you, expecting pain. Surprisingly, there was none. Instead it was like every cell in your body was filled with pleasure.

This couldn't be right. You had to escape. Sex with a demon was a very taboo thing.

You started struggling but Tevrik held you still.

"Shhh, I know you're upset. But just let it happen, okay? I'll make you feel so good."

As his precum continued to dribble out of his dick and into you and as the betrayal by your trusted higher up sank in you once more lost the will to fight.

Why were you fighting anyway? This cock felt so nice. And he was so kind and romantic to go through all this trouble to get you away from your evil boss right?

You relaxed and lay against his chest as he pumped into you slowly. You looked up at him and realized he had your underwear in his hand and was holding it up to his nose sniffing the crotch.

"You smell so good, girly. So good. You feel good too."

"You smell nice too!" Then your brain caught up with the rest of what he had said.

"A-and I'm not a g-girl." Too focused on your pleasure to really care.

"Nah, you're too pretty to be a man. Too weak too. Plus you have this tight little cunt hugging my dick. You're definitely a girly~"

"O-okay."

You blushed because he called you pretty. You supposed he made a lot of sense. You were clearly a girl. You wondered why you didn't know that sooner. It felt right.

He chuckled warmly as you drooled on his chest and made cute little gasps and moans. He couldn't wait until you were moaning his name.

Tevrik didn't pound you, he didn't want to hurt his sweet baby bird. Instead he just rocked his hips into you and enjoyed the effect it had on you.

After you started making those delicious noises his demonic precum began to make you super cuddly. He continued to breed your tight hole while you started nuzzling him and leaving gentle kisses on his chest. He began grinding into you a bit faster and more forcefully, his cock clearly outlined through your belly as it nestled into you as deeply as he could get it.

"Fuck babe, I'm about to bust."

But you came before he did it. Your cock spilling silvery angelic seed on his belly as you called his name and clung to him tightly. The combined sight of you cumming while impaled by his dick while at the same time calling his name just like you promised he would sent Tevrik over the edge. His large balls filled your tummy with hot demon cum. It made you feel warm and fluttery and loved. Like you could feel his emotions through his seed.

You were so tired from all the emotion and sex that you passed out on top of him, nuzzling your nose into the comforting scent of his armpit as you clung to him.

Tevrik smiled. You were just so precious. Sadly, he knew you'd regress back into struggling against him. But that was okay. He would keep reminding you how the angels threw you away and keep breeding you full of his drug-like semen. Soon you'd crave it. He'd bed you constantly until you needed it. And then breed you as much as you wanted him to after that.

Yeah, it would take a while. But he had all the time in the universe.

Tevrik sighed with content and closed his eyes, taking your underwear and putting it back up to his nose while he relaxed with his cock still deep inside you.

You may have been in Hell, but Tevrik was in Heaven.

[nymphea0]

The Duke And His secret

Yan! Matthias x Reader

Oneshot Story.

Warnings : mentions of nudity, use of power, mention of sleeping pills, Bird corpse, some light mature content.

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Manhwa : 울어 봐, 빌어도 좋고.Cry, Even Better if You Beg. Cry, Even if You Pray.

Author & Ilustration : Solche & Van J.

Word Count : 3.25K word.

Hi Neva again... i didn't post any story a few days ago, mybe? i always forget that i have a tumblr TvT... hope you all are doing well and having a nice day, i never expected my last story character manhwa Ishakan will be liked so much, i'm glad you all like my story, mybe after this story i will update Ishakan's story soon.

Well, for your information. Solche, the author who made Cry, Even Better if You Beg. Has 3 other stories too!, Solche has a style of writing stories in dark romance but realistic version? I'm not so sure. And all the stories, every ML character is a complex character in each of the 3 stories, Matthias is the darkest black character among them all, He is the definition of Black Fleg, not a red flag, but black!, I wonder if you all like it if I write this character again? Like Bastian and Bjorn?.

might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my first oneshot story,love.- Neva🦋🦋

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12-xx-01xx

Birds chirp throughout the Arvis paradise forest, so green and beautiful, so fertile and very pleasing to the eye to see every corner.

But the beauty must be broken by the loud sound of the nobles' annual hunting rifles in the Arvis region.

The sound of horse hooves and the barking of hunting dogs accompany every corner of the Arvis paradise forest.

Three pairs of teenagers are running along the outskirts of the road that is indeed not passed by the nobles.

Layla Llewellyn, Kyle Etman, and you.

Each of you holds a small shovel to bury every bird carcass from the nobles' hunt that lies pitifully along the hunting path.

"They're crazy! How could they be so relaxed hunting such beautiful animals!" Again, it will always be like this, where Layla will complain and cry, and Kyle will calm her down, while you, well you just sigh and dirty your dress.

Lyla is the niece of the gardener of the Arvis residence, Kyle is the son of a doctor, while you, you are just the daughter of an Earl from an empire quite far from the Berg empire.

Your soft and smooth white dress is now dirty from the dirt from the action of burying the bird's corpse, while Kyle is busy calming the crying Lyla.

While you are busy digging the ground you feel someone watching you, slowly raising your head, looking straight there your Amethyst eyes collide with sky-blue eyes, the eyes of the young duke of Arvis, Matthias Von Herhardt, Arvis's perfect work from the Berg empire, a skilled hunter, the , Lyla's natural enemy who loves birds.

There he is, on his horse, still fully dressed for hunting, tall, handsome and masculine, no wonder all the women in Berg want to marry him.

That's what's in your mind, you just stare at him for a moment then go back to burying the bodies of these poor birds.

"Come on Lyla, there's no point in crying, let's bury them properly"

Kyle's voice was very loud but gentle when calming Lyla who was busy crying

In the end you spent the afternoon together burying the carcasses of birds from the nobles' annual hunt.

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Walking in your now dirty white dress, it was certain that the maids and especially your mother would scold you.

Lyla she just looked at you and smiled guiltily with Kyle beside her who also looked at you guiltily.

"Well, you guys should take me to hidden places in this Arvis forest, as payment for me burying all the bird corpses" Kyle and Lyla spoke softly excitedly, especially Lyla who hugged you tightly.

"Of course!! We will definitely take you to a place you've never seen!"

Look at these two cinnamon rolls, they are so cute!.

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You still remember when you first arrived in the Berg Empire, the Arvis region, your mother's hometown. Your father is an Earl who fell in love with your mother, the daughter of a Baron from Arvis, they met at the annual event of nobles from all over the world held in the Berg Empire.

From their love you came, your father loves and cares for you very much, you inherited your mother's soft and beautiful face, while the rest, like snow-white hair, and your Amethyst Eyes you got from your father.

The combination of your father and mother, this is also what makes your grandmother and grandfather spoil and love you very much, they are like seeing your father but the female version.

In addition to the fact that your father loves your mother and you very much, your father made a small agenda that every 2 years you, your mother, and your father, will visit the Berg Empire, your mother's hometown Arvis.

The baron's residence is very different from the earl's residence where you live, if the Earl's residence is full of white buildings that have intricate carvings and statues that you will wonder which is the main residence, then the Baron's residence is only a 2-story building that is not so big with a fairly large yard.

Well, whatever it is, home is home.

That was when you first met Lyla and Kayle, at that time you were still 11 years old, and now you are 14 years old.

This is the second time you have visited your mother's hometown. For you, Arvis is beautiful, especially the forest, but your instincts say that behind the beauty there must always be ugliness that is hidden tightly, but you don't know what the ugliness is.

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After separating from Lyla and Kyle, you were scolded by your mother to the fullest. That is a sign that your mother loves you very much.

While your father just laughed out loud seeing your condition.

"Well, I thought our stray kitten likes to explore Tera, look at her hair, Hahaha" laughing out loud until he almost spilled the coffee in his hand.

"Don't defend her Vincent! This could become a habit!"

Finally you and your father knelt down with your mother holding a broom standing upright scolding the two of you who were behaving immaturely and childishly. The baron's residence is as comfortable as Arvis' heaven and the servants greatly adore your harmonious family atmosphere which is very different from other nobles.

Your father's name is Vincent Zeredith Von Alvern. A noble from an empire quite far from the Berg Empire.

Your mother's name is Teresa Von Adelaide.

Your father is a noble with the title of earl of the Alvern Territory.

And your mother is the daughter of a baron from the Berg Empire, the Arvis Territory, the Adelaide Baron family.

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The afternoon where this is your second day in Arvis, you visit the Berg Empire, Meet the emperor and empress.

After visiting your father and mother let you go exploring within a period of only the Arvis forest and nothing more.

Running excitedly, the lilac dress that fits your body moves gently in the wind, Your snow-white hair moves gently as you run, you wait at the usual place where Lyla and Kyle and you chatted 2 years ago, at a large tree, a willow tree.

You stood under a willow tree looking around the beautiful Arvis Lake, butterflies flying around you, various colors.

You sat looking at Arvis Lake while waiting for Lyla and Kyle to come.

Unfortunately you did not know and did not realize that, at Arvis Lake, someone had been watching you closely.

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Matthias as usual at the age of 17, did his noble routine as a duke of Arvis and.

That afternoon was very hot, naked, Matthias swam around Arvis Lake in the Annex, a private place that not many people visited, while swimming, Matthias saw the willow tree that Layla usually sat on, the same tree where he caught Layla accidentally seeing him swimming naked.

For Matthias Layla was just an ordinary girl, a girl who went through a normal life path in Arvis.

expert layla what matthias saw was you, busy laughing softly playing with the butterflies around you, your long and soft white hair for matthias was like snow in spring.

If lyla is the sun and a little bird, then you are snow and a kitten.

Matthias already knows you even if you don't know him.

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Imperial palace berg

Matthias, 11 years old.

With his mother Elysee von herhardt, and his grandmother Norma Catharina Von herhardt, chatting with various nobles from all over the empire.

Looking around matthias' eyes accidentally saw the other side of the room where he saw a girl who he thought was 8 years old.

A petite body, a soft and smooth blue dress, the type of noble child in general, but that white hair, for matthias it was like the white color of snow.

Time passed quite a long time, but the main event was not over yet, bored looking around and only chatting with the old noble. Matthias excused himself to go to the imperial garden.

Tak

Tak

Tak

The sound of his leather shoes with quite sharp heels made quite a loud noise in the middle of his journey to the garden.

Upon arriving at the garden, Matthias saw the girl again, the same girl he saw at the imperial party.

There the girl stood in the middle of the rose garden, busy looking at the roses that were as red as blood, a stark contrast to her snow-white hair.

Whether he realized it or not, little Matthias was already by the side of the girl who stole his attention.

"Do you like roses?"

In Matthias' entire life, it had never occurred to him to start a conversation first, but here he was, talking to a girl who he estimated was not that far from him.

The white-haired girl turned around and looked at Matthias in confusion.

Bright amethyst eyes met sky-blue eyes. Purple and blue.

Matthias in his life he had never seen someone with amethyst eyes like the girl in front of him.

Usually the colors he saw were hazel, gray, yellow, blue, dark blue, and green, but purple... that was something new.

The snow-haired girl answered.

"I like it, why ask?"

Matthias was not sure but as if his mouth moved on its own and answered.

"I also like roses just like you"

That night. Matthias never asked the name of the snow-haired girl with purple Amethyst eyes.

Neither his mother nor grandmother knew that he met a girl who was not much different from him, at the annual noble event in the corner of the world.

For Matthias the snow-white-haired girl with purple amethyst eyes was his secret, his little secret that he didn't want people to know.

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Matthias swam in the Arvis lake, annex, staring at you who was busy looking at butterflies, not realizing that someone was staring at you.

He saw you 2 days ago, with the doctor's son and the gardener's nephew, for Matthias Kyle is a volatile teenager, Layla is an ordinary girl and you, for Matthias you are noble lady who befriends a commoner? Clearly that is a deviation from social life of aristocrat.

A deviant noblewoman who hangs out with commoners.

Busy burying the carcasses of birds hunted by nobles and himself.

For Matthias, Layla is a girl who likes to cry, is troublesome and goes the wrong way.

And you for Matthias are a deviant noble lady, who really likes to dirty your dress, you look like a cat who is not aware of being covered in mud all over her body.

Chuckling softly, how could he forget you. you, the same girl he met 6 years ago, his little secret.

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That afternoon you were busy playing with Lyla and Kayle, walking slowly along the Arvis forest path or people call it Arvis heaven.

Busy staring at the wild flowers and you saw a wild rose bush, with white and pink colors that clashed. Once again you ruined your dress, well anyway the roses were beautiful and you didn't expect a white stray kitten to be caught there.

Feeling pity and sympathy you knelt down which made your dress that was already torn by the thorns of the wild bushes become even more damaged by the dirt of the ground, slowly releasing the white kitten. which was caught between the tendrils of wild grass you didn't even realize that your chain bracelet with amethyst diamonds was caught there, fortunately there were no wounds on the cute cat, you put the kitten gently on the ground.

The white kitten was busy licking its tiny feet, you had to restrain yourself from squeezing and kissing the kitten affectionately.

You were busy admiring the white kitten until you didn't realize a horse neighing sound was right not far behind you, you turned around slowly, there you saw, the young duke Arvis in his hunting suit, you saw him holding his rifle, the rifle was pointing right in the middle of the position, between you and the white kitten.

You felt that this young duke wanted to hunt the kitten, quickly you stood up and in a position to block the duke's rifle

"Don't! Duke do you also hunt a cats?! Aren't birds enough for you?"

Looking annoyed at the duke arvis who had now gotten off his horse.

Walking slowly the young duke arvis stopped in front of you, he was tall, sturdy and fit, the body type of a trained soldier.

You were only as tall as his chest, amethyst and blue eyes collided with each other.

"Duke? Do you know who I am?" A soft and deep voice came from the duke in front of you.

"Who doesn't know the duke, the perfect work of god from the arvis region, the young duke herhardt, Matthias Von Herhardt"

You answered casually which was answered by a chuckle from him.

You almost wanted to slap his face, you didn't know why but you didn't like the way he chuckled! Just almost.

"You know me, but I don't know you, why don't you introduce yourself to me?" Matthias' soft but deep baritone voice spoke to you.

You introduced yourself to him.

"Which family are you from?" Matthias asked you again.

"Alvern, Roshanette Empire, Alvern Territory"

Answering casually because you don't want to be familiar with this man!.

Silence fell on the two people, the man was busy staring at the woman, while the woman was busy staring at the kitten that was right under his left foot.

Because you didn't want to linger there with the young duke Arvis, you gently picked up the kitten.

"Nice to meet you, Duke, have a nice day"

Then you went to take the kitten away from him.

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.

Matthias he was still standing there staring at the place where you were standing in front of him.

You were so small, so fragile, Matthias was sure that if he touched an inch of your hand, maybe you would be crushed in his grip.

When he was about to return to his horse, Matthias' eyes accidentally caught the soft gleam of the wild grass tendrils.

Walking slowly towards the weeds, crouching down and there Matthias saw, the diamond chain bracelet that had an amethyst color was caught around the weeds.

Grinning slowly, Matthias took the bracelet, even when the bracelet was in his hand, it was very small, Matthias measured the hole of the bracelet on his finger, and it only fit 3 fingers.

Chuckling softly Matthias returned to his horse while carrying the item he took happily and he was not sure whether to return it or not.

Unfortunately for Matthias that was the last time you and him met.

.

.

7 years, 7 years Matthias has not seen you, he still keeps your bracelet that he stole secretly take and never returned to you.

For 7 long years, he had to go through 2 years of war, a time when he pretended to be engaged to his distant cousin, Claudine, many rumors fell on him saying that he was playing behind his back with Lyla, the gardener's niece just because Matthias liked to make her cry like accidentally throwing her hat to the lake and almost drowned.

Or hunted migratory animals just to say the sentence that Layla was just an ordinary girl and to make layla know her place .

His engagement with Claudine ended in failure because Claudine loved Rittie, her other distant cousin.

And the engagement between Layla and Kyle, 2 unstable teenagers who were strange in Matthias' eyes.

.

That night Matthias, his grandmother and his mother ate quietly, only the sound of spoons and forks could be heard

"Matthias, how long will you continue to reject proposals from several noble families?"

Elysee his mother looked at Matthias with tired eyes.

While his grandmother just chuckled softly.

"Are you really with that garden girl ?!"

Elysee stared at Matthias' eyes uneasy.

Matthias he just ate and drank quietly he didn't even answer his mother's question.

"Matthias Von Herhardt! Answer your mother!." Staring fiercely at Matthias, her only child, Elysee, gripped the fork and knife tightly in her hands.

"Mother, even flies will be attracted to dirt rather than rumors of nobles"

Matthias spoke with an authoritative language, if traced, Matthias said that did his mother prefer to hear rumors of nobles that were not true?

Before Elysee had time to speak, Matthias said again.

"1 month, give me 1 month, and I will bring a wife, mother"

After saying that, Matthias left the dining room.

.

.

You, 21 years old, very young and beautiful, you are currently at the age where noble ladies get married.

But instead of getting married, your parents asked you to focus on studying and pursuing your dreams, make yourself happy and have fun.

You are studying medicine, mental health and psychology.

You are currently in the Berg Empire, after 7 years of never returning.

Unlike 7 years ago where you were with your parents, this time you were alone, considering you were old enough.

You visited only for a moment, to see Kyle and Lyla who were getting married.

.

.

Currently you were at the baron's residence of your mother's family, even though your grandparents had passed away, the baron's residence was still well maintained.

You spent the remaining 2 days shopping and helping Layla.

The 3rd day, you spent your time in the Arvis forest alone.

Staring around the forest that you passed through 7 years ago with Kyle and Layla, you didn't expect that now they would be getting married.

You stared at a flock of birds flying, until you felt a cold metal object pressing against the back of your head.

Turning slowly, exactly about 3 feet away, stood the duke of Arvis, Matthias von Herhardt! The man you least wanted to meet!

Matthias stood in all his glory pointing his hunting rifle at you.

.

.

Matthias thinks you are too much, leaving without saying goodbye and then coming so suddenly, how can he be calm when his heart beats so fast just by muttering your name, just by seeing you breathe.

You haven't changed at all, for Matthias you are still the white-haired girl, the noble lady who got into the hang out with commoners, and the noble lady who is like a stray cat who likes to dirty her dress with dirt and mud.

"Duke, do you intend to kill me?"

Asking Matthias carefully.

Instead of lowering his muzzle, Matthias chuckled and said

"Why is that? Are you afraid of me?"

You looked at Matthias in disgust.

"Everyone would be afraid if a stranger suddenly pointed a gun at their head"

Again, Matthias only answered with a laugh that seemed to be mocking you.

"Well, it's not wrong"

.

Unfortunately, that afternoon you spent being forced to accompany Matthias hunting! He used his authority, saying that you were in his territory, and someone who was not from this territory had to obey the orders of the one who held the highest position.

You felt like slapping, hitting, and swearing at the man sitting on his horse! As for you?! You were walking holding his rifle that you were sure weighed almost 4 kg!

This duke is crazy! He must be the incarnation of the devil!

"Lady, are you cursing me?" Matthias grinned slightly, looking down at where you were walking while holding his rifle.

"I'm not the duke, why should I even do that?"

Answering half-truthfully. You almost rolled your eyes in annoyance!

Matthias he just grinned slightly looking at you, it was very clear to him that you were cursing him, it was very entertaining for him, your expression really wanted to make him bite your cheek in annoyance. He had to be patient, just a little longer, and you would be his.

That afternoon you spent your time reluctantly becoming Matthias' assistant.

You are only 5 days in the Berg Empire after that you will return to the Roshanette Empire, Alvern region.

Unfortunately for you it seems like it was just a dream for you.

.

.

.

.

You don't know what what happened to you, after becoming Matthias's hunting rifle assistant that afternoon, right when Matthias was taking you back to Baron Adelaide's residence.

You felt like your head was hit by a very hard object, before you even had time to be inside the residence, you only saw darkness and a warm arm hugging you.

.

.

The Annex, another residence in the main area of ​​the Herhardt residence, was Matthias's main house, Matthias's main residence as a duke and where he relaxed and was himself. Surrounded by the clear Arvis lake which was connected by a pier that was integrated with his residence in the Annex.

Slowly smoking a tobacco cigarette, Matthias stared at you there, his little secret, sleeping soundly in his bed.

Matthias knew this was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, he had held himself back enough, looking around the room, which was currently very messy, furniture was destroyed, clothes were scattered, and the bed was very messy.

Matthias has claimed you as his, maybe you will hate him, but Matthias doesn't care, it took him 7 years to realize that he loves you, love? Matthias wanted to laugh so much, in his entire life, he never thought he could fall in love and feel love.

Slowly extinguishing his cigarette, Matthias walked towards the bed, opening your legs a little, that's where Matthias saw the remaining traces of your love activities left behind.

Chuckling softly, Matthias looked at you, your eyes were swollen from crying, even though you were on sleeping pills, you were still able to refuse him.

Looking at your ring finger which now has a diamond ring embedded in it.

Tomorrow Matthias will marry you, make you Duchess Herhardt and tell your parents in the Roshanette Empire, that their child is married.

Matthias only needs 1 week to find a wife, which is you, and 1 month is a phrase that Matthias plays with and gives to his mother as another form of sentence, namely

"In 1 month I will give you a grandson and bring a wife , so be patient mother, soon you will have daughter in law and became a grandma".

Matthias has got you, his, his life, his woman, his wife, the mother of his children, his little secret.

Even if you try to run away from him, Matthias will lock you away from the outside world, whatever it is you are his.

Kissing your forehead softly, Matthias looks at you with love, passion and a deep sense of possessiveness and obsession.

You are his little secret, his secret that he really doesn't want anyone else to see, hear or interact with. Because you are his.

His secret, his little secret.

.

.

.

*Source Image : pinterest

*Source Image : pinterest

*Source Image : pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 ,OG story, Project Dark Manhwa Character Oneshot.

Special Story for my Love; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut

Tag list; @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions , Always be good people Dear. Much love , Neva🦋🦋.

[txttletale]

NOT asking this as a gotcha, I'm 100% sincere, can you point to pieces of AI art that you feel are interesting uses of the medium? Because I'm not philosophically opposed to it, but at the same time I've never seen anything that wasn't naked bandwagon shilling by the same people who pushed NFTs

sure! i think a classic of the medium is secret horses

(i sadly don't know who made it, but i've seen it around and fallen in love). this is everything AI art should be, imo, taking advantage of the liminal dreamlike quality of the medium and using titling and framing to say something about the piece that wouldn't exist if it was presented on its own. secret horses...

my favourite band, everything everything, released an album last year that made use of AI generation, both for the album's art and for small portions of the lyrics (interestingly, they've refused to say which lyrics are AI written and which are human written, which adds another layer of intrigue to me -- the only lyric that they've confirmed is AI generated is the title of 'software greatman', which forms the haunting, powerful chorus of the song that gets deconstructed into electronic incoherence. other highlights include the album art, part burning skyscape, part incomprehensible machine. what is the machine? is it a camera? a monitor? a train? does it matter?

and finally from this album cycle i adore the hallucinogenic exuberance of their video for i want a love like this:

in terms of dedicated artists working primarily within the AI medium, i'm a huge fan of @reachartwork, a really innovative artist who keeps blowing me away with evocative and interesting pieces and pioneer in ethical and cooperative AI art techniques. i'm an especially big fan of their grotesque and uncomfortable 'tooth machine' series:

as well as their desolate, bleak, alien landscapes:

(hole in the sky / river lethe )

and their project, the @infiniteartmachine, a model that produces art based upon algorithmically generated prompots -- effectively a long-term art piece.

finally, i'm a very very big fan of @roborosewater-masters, a bot that makes AI-created magic the gathering cards. this might not parse as 'art' to some people, or be interesting to analyze as such, but to me, someone obsessed with games and game studies, i think that the mix of synctactically correct magic the gathering rules text and abrupt non sequitur makes for really striking and funny pieces that prompt me to think about what the limits of games and gaming are

these are just the artists and pieces i can name off the top of my head, but i hope that they're representative of what generative art has to offer when it's not being done by grifters chasing the lowest common denominator.

[studioeisa]

hello im here for ur jealousy drabble game 😗

"maybe i have a crush on you. so what?" with 🥁🥁🥁.... Mingyu! (surprise surprise haahah)

ⵌ royalty!mingyu x royalty!reader. ⵌ word count: 998 ⵌ notes: alternate universe: royalty, mention of alcohol, teensyyy princess diaries mention. laughed at "... mingyu! (surprise surprise)". ilysb, maple. and since this was our last conversation, i offer you some royally down bad gyu! 🙂‍↔️

When you're the crowned prince, you tend to get everything that you want.

Mingyu doesn't even have to ask. Anything his heart might desire has been served to him on a silver platter insofar. That horse for his eighth birthday? That Mercedes-Benz CLK-GTR for when he started driving? You name it; Mingyu has it.

He tries not to let it get to his head. Really, he does. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. He refuses to be the future monarch that's seen as spoiled, that's viewed as a brat.

It's getting increasingly hard, though, as he watches you from across the ballroom.

Mingyu's fingers are tight around the stem of his champagne flute, almost to the point that the delicate glass might just break. There's somebody trying to talk to him— some sultan from Brunei— but Mingyu is only half listening to him. He knows he ought to pay more attention. It would certainly be the polite thing to do.

Instead, he's trying to catch your eye as you dance with Lee Seokmin of all people.

The thought of the smiley prince from some small country almost makes Mingyu scoff. Seokmin isn't even the heir to the throne! He's a goddamn second born!

… And yet, you're looking up at Seokmin like he hung up all the stars in the sky. Mingyu doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says to the sultan, who had started ranting about oil reserves. "I fear that duty calls."

Duty calls is one way to put it, Mingyu thinks, as he strides off to where you're waltzing with Seokmin.

Mingyu clears his throat the moment that he reaches the two of you. Without missing a beat, Seokmin folds into a curtsy. You follow, albeit with a barely concealed roll of your eyes. If he was less on edge, Mingyu might have teased you for it.

"I was hoping I could get a dance," he says coolly.

"Of course, Your Highness," Seokmin answers.

Delicately, he passes your gloved hand over to Mingyu's grasp. Mingyu doesn't miss the flash of disappointment on your expression, and oh, does that make him want to scream.

He doesn't, of course. Not in this party of dozens of some of the most important world leaders and their children. Not when all eyes are on him, are on the two of you, as you stiffly place your arms around Mingyu's shoulders and he rests his palms over your waist.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You simply fall into the practiced choreography of this familiar dance, this tried-and-tested charade. Back, forth. Back, forth.

Mingyu breaks the silence with, "So, how was hanging out with Prince Charming?"

He sounds a touch more scornful than intended. You pick up on it as you often do. "Prince Seokmin is fine," you answer cordially, carefully. "He's a delight to be around."

I noticed, Mingyu wants to say. You laugh so freely when you're with him. You never laugh like that when you're around me.

In the end, he only says, "I'm sure he is."

The song you're dancing to winds to a close. Your arms twitch around Mingyu like you might pull away, but— despite his better judgment— Mingyu's fingers tighten at your hips. "Indulge me for one more song," he says.

There's a ghost of a smile on your face. "Is that a command, Your Majesty?"

"Never." His answer is quick, thoughtless. "I— I would never command you to do anything."

You seem appeased at that. At the knowledge that Mingyu's question was more of a plea than anything. You relax in his hold, and some of the tension eases out of him as well. Another song strikes up. Your waltz continues.

Mingyu thinks it's going pretty well, that things are falling into place, until you decide to poke the bear.

"You seemed rather cross with Prince Seokmin back there," you muse. "Has he wronged you somehow?"

It's a good thing that Mingyu has spent much of his life in dance lessons. Otherwise, he might have stumbled over his feet. As it is, he manages to maneuver you past a dancing couple without breaking a sweat— even though a muscle in his jaw does jump at your brazenness.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answers. "I was perfectly civil with the prince of middle-of-nowhere Genovia."

A decisively un-princess-like snort of laughter escapes you. Mingyu's heart— the bloody traitor!— skips a beat or two in his chest. He's dazed at the thought of making you laugh, even if it is at his own expense. The back-and-forth that ensues is dizzying, matching the quickening pace of your dance.

"You weren't civil, you were cold."

"Well, I don't owe the prince anything."

"I think you're jealous."

"Am not."

"I think you want me all for yourself."

"And what if I do?"

The words are out of Mingyu before he can reel them in. He doubles down as he spins you around, his words spoken in a rush. "Maybe I have a crush on you," he says. "So what?"

When you turn back to face Mingyu, your palm lands on his chest. His arm snakes around your waist, holding you in place, as the two of you try to catch your breaths after the whirlwind of a dance. You're staring up at him and he's terrified that you can feel the hammering underneath your palm.

There's only a hint of surprise on your features, but it's as gone as quick as it came. When you answer Mingyu's hasty confession, it's with the ice cold composure that you're infamous for.

"Well, I would hope so," you say. "We're getting married in a few months, aren't we?"

The reminder of the arrangement is like a bucket of water over Mingyu's head. He swallows around the lump in his throat before giving you a jerky nod.

"That's right." A beat. "So don't go dancing with any other princes aside from me, then."

୨ৎ * GAME, SET, PLAY ! ( JEALOUSY ) DRABBLE GAME.

[strawberrystepmom]

royalty au - knight!dante x princess!reader. established relationship, implied age difference. screenshot thanks to jas over on pinterest <3 | wc: 2.7k, reading time: ~10 minutes

“As you are aware, things of this nature are sharp and dangerous. Not to be played with like little toys.” 

The sun glints off of the honed metal of the skinny training sword resting across Dante’s upward facing palms, the dark leather of his training gloves framing the blade like the moon in the night sky. 

“You’ve given me this same speech each time we’ve come out here.” 

You offer a flat expression to the man holding the weapon, reluctantly dragging your eyes from the tantalizing shimmer of the gift he’s presenting to you toward his face that sports a delighted smile. I

“Yes you have heard it but never about your own sword,” he reminds, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows. It’s irrefutable so you don’t bother, keeping your mouth shut and your face impassive. “So please consider that this is a dangerous exercise and that much is at stake if you do not heed my direction, highness.”

He lifts the impeccably crafted weapon in your direction. A craftsman on the outskirts of the blacksmithing district spent weeks hammering and shaping something worthy of the royal hands Dante intended it for, surprising himself by having such high standards where you are concerned. 

It is about time he acquired a blade for you to call your own now that you’ve shown that your interest in weaponry isn’t merely passing boredom while waiting for the next pastime to arrive. His old training swords have always been too big for you anyway and expert that he is, the knight can tell you hunger for more than just wood on wood. 

You need to hear the clang of metal. You need to feel the weight of a sword in your delicate, unblemished hand to understand what it means. It is Dante’s responsibility to ensure you do so otherwise you will find a way to do it for yourself as fecklessly as possible.

“How will you dub your weapon?” His question catches you off guard yet you bounce back quickly, smiling at him while your wide eyes slowly fall to their normal size. Reaching for the blade, you wrap your fingers around the hilt and lift it toward the cloudless sky. A reflection of limitless blue shines back at you.

“What do you call your sword, Ser Dante?”

A distraction to buy you time to come up with something good. The knight has no problem seeing through your illusion, admiring your admiration of his gift with a mirthful smile.

“You know very well what I call my sword, Princess.”

Rebellion. It has both quelled and inspired just that. 

“Yes but why do you call it such?”

A story you also know by heart, yet you desire to hear him tell it while you consider your options. The knight unsheathes his training sword from his belt, a less impressive blade than his beloved Rebellion, but he shows off by flipping it back and forth with quick flicks of his wrist.

“My father named it, not me. You’d have to ask him.” Humming and pretending to be unamused, the smile you attempt to hide gives you away. 

As always.

You’re no longer watching the sun shimmer and reflect the sky off of your gift, entranced by the movements of the man who has been bringing you here quietly for months. All it took was explaining how you wished to know how to defend yourself once for him to take to the job, telling the maids and stablehands you wished to take your horse out for a ride. Nobody has asked any questions so far though they may begin now that his favorite forgesmith is aware that this was a gift for royalty. 

Anything you want, you get, no matter how uncouth it may be. He makes it so even at the risk of being seen as indiscreet. 

He abruptly stops his movements and points his sword in your direction. 

“Do you wish to break it in?”

You adjust your grip, nodding with determination. “It is named Skydancer.”

“Will you and Skydancer keep up with me today?”

The nod increases in strength. Dante chuckles, taking a fighting stance.

“Then let’s begin.”

As you take position, you realize that your weight distribution has changed with this smaller sword and jump to embrace the difference in speed. A grin dances across your pretty face, growing when you thrust your arm outward and in the direction of your opponent, forcing him to swing his body outward as well to avoid the blade.

“You can do more than that!” 

The grin dims, swapping places with a more determined set in your brow and curl of your lip. The spring sun beats overhead, the creek a few feet away splashes and bubbles. Dante grunts and heaves, exhaling sharply to mirror your short breaths and determined harrumphing. 

This is your favorite place in the entire kingdom. It seems only correct that it has become the stage where you have learned such an art so unorthodox for your status. 

“Again,” he commands, easily dodging the jab you send toward him. 

The way he smiles, pride practically radiating off of him, reinvigorates your spirit and encourages  you to keep your pace despite the snarl that comes across your face in response. “As you wish” spat through the gritted teeth of the Princess Royal only doubles his amusement. A chuckle rings through the grassy knoll, a man shockingly nimble for his considerable size making sword fighting seem utterly effortless. 

You flip your wrist and subsequently your near weightless blade, pointing it to jab the very point between the leather clad chest of your knight. Dante shuffles backward before you can make contact, stopping with his feet flat on the ground.

“I thought you said you would be able to keep up, my lady.”

Groaning in frustration, you pull your arm and sword back from him and toward your body. The knight springs into action, placing his hand gently beneath your forearm and wrapping himself over your back and shoulders. His face drips with sweat, grin intact. 

“Give in Princess, you’re beat.”

You gaze up at him with wildfire in your eyes, attempting to free your arm and yourself from his grasp. He pants against your back, chest cupping the curve of your spine that keeps you hunched over and rounded in the shoulders. 

Your chest heaves alongside his though it’s for far less noble reasons than being out of breath. 

He’s so close to you. He’s sharing every breath you take, eyes as blue as the sapphires on your favorite necklace crinkling at you in amusement. The steady hammering of your heart against the delicate cage it calls home deafens all thoughts, nulling them from your consciousness. 

Though your lips have never touched a man, you’ve found yourself wondering exactly how they’d feel and taste if they touched this particular one. 

There’s an ache in you that you believe can only be soothed by kissing him. You wish for this so desperately in fact that your tongue dips out of your mouth to wet your lower lip instinctively, hoping the kittenish movement indicates what’s on your mind under no uncertain terms. 

Take me. I am yours.

One of the kitchen maids who often scintillates you with tales of her life outside of the castle walls swears the way to a man’s heart is to show him how conquerable you are. 

“You must be a country all his own,” she told you while slicing potatoes. Your own shirt sleeves pushed to your elbows to assist her even though she slapped at your forearms gently, insisting it’s beneath a future Queen. You ignored her, peeling and washing alongside her hungry for more details to which she obliged with a knowing half smile.  

“Once you’ve become a man’s homeland he will go to war to keep you safe.”

The only man you could begin to fathom desiring to fight for you came to mind, streaking through your memory atop his steed with his fathers sword held above his head. Nevermind the legions of others who have risen, fought, died, survived, and still dedicate their service to the crown that sired you. 

You hunger and long to be what Ser Dante fights for. Not the country, not the King, nor the crown he swore his loyalty to the day he was knighted the first time and the second when he pledged fealty to you as the future Queen.

It is your deepest, most selfish desire.

It’s the fire that has spread from your eyes to your stomach, razing all the good sense in your head and combusting in your heart like a firework. It’s what makes you lean in to press your soft lips against his, a featherlight touch. Even lighter than your hand forged sword or the wind that blows the linen of your skirts up above your ankles and knees. 

Lighter than the press of his lips back against yours, the stubble bordering the edges of his mouth scraping you. A grumble from his chest vibrates against your back, reminding you of the position you’ve found yourself in. 

You let Skydancer clatter down to the grass at your feet, Dante’s gloved hand sliding from your upper arm to your wrist to hold it. Miraculously he holds himself back from greedily mapping out the inside of your mouth with his tongue, breaking the kiss almost as quickly as it happened. 

“My my, this isn’t quite how I believed our spar would go today.”

The burning fire inside of you retreats enough that you realize what you’ve done. Your jaw drops slightly, eyes widening in a panic. 

You don’t wish to be seen right now. 

Bending at the waist to ball the ends of your skirt inside your fist, the panicked rush almost results in you tumbling to the ground until the knight stops you. “No.” He commands, firm but gentle. His strong hand remains wrapped around your wrist though he uses none of his strength to keep you pressed in place, your body betraying you with her desire to stay. That same chest heaves against your back, your heart still pounds. 

All you want to do is kiss him once more, disregarding every ounce of shame that has been instilled in you since the day you graced the earth. Every ounce of you longs to taste and feel, to show this man you admire so much how you’ve felt for so very long. 

This cannot happen again. 

“Let me go at once.” You command in return, attempting to hide the tremble in your voice with false bravado. Perhaps a man who hadn’t known you for almost your entire life would not detect the threat of tears in that particular tone but this one knows well. 

He drops your wrist, allowing you to spring free and take a few steps away. Your head swims, heart continuing to pound while the midday sun beats overhead. 

The awkwardness of the moment prevails, two pairs of eyes who have seen the other as something new from this day forward looking into one another. 

Should you apologize? Truthfully, all you want is to run away although it seems particularly childish of you in this context. You were the one who wanted to express your desire as a woman after all, he merely aroused it to begin with. Not to mention how improper it is for you of all people to force yourself upon a sworn protector. Your sworn protector. 

A dangerous thought curls inside your head. There’s a chance he may have only kissed you back out of duty rather than desire, your still body suddenly sparking with energy and begging you to take your leave to writhe around with your humiliation privately. 

“Please forgive my indiscretion.”

Politely bowing your head, you don’t even bother to curtsy while reaching down to pick up your sword. Dante attempts to stop you, stepping on the blade to weigh it down. 

“Princess.” Gentle but firm, once again and as always. Like you’re a petulant child still and not a fully grown woman who leans into her petulance as means to grasp power.

You gaze up at him, eyes fixed into a stubborn glare. He bends his knees to squat down until he finds himself eye level with you which further pins your sword to the ground.

There’s no escaping this unless you run and almost certainly get caught. You’ll simply have to face the consequences. 

Unfortunately for Dante you’re known him for a very long time too, strategically allowing the hot flood of embarrassed tears at your lash line to overflow and spill down your cheeks and the bridge of your nose. 

“Please don’t tell my father.”

It’s rare you refer to the King as anything besides such unless you’re really about to be in trouble. Are the tears a little opportunistic considering the situation? Most likely but the person least likely to hold them against you is framed by the sun next to you, wind ruffling the ends of his hair that grows more wavy with each passing second thanks to the outside humidity. 

Dante chuckles again, always capable of finding the means to laugh at your miserable charades. His free hand cups your chin, thumb stroking your petal soft cheek to wipe the tears away. 

“Why on earth would I do that?” He smiles. Or smirks rather, turning your face side to side with his hand playfully to see how far he can push it before you swat him away impatiently. “I would only incriminate myself in the process because I enjoyed it.”

Now you spring into action, lifting your hand to grab at his wrist and remove his touch. 

“I don’t wish to force you to keep a secret on my behalf.” 

It’s easy for him to meet you halfway, dropping your chin and instead lifting the palm of your hand to his mouth to kiss the heel of it. 

“Isn’t the fact we are out here training to begin with a secret?” He reminds you, head and face sinking lower so that he can press his forehead against yours. “A lady isn’t to know how to wield something like this,” he nods toward your sword. “Yet I have made sure that my lady does, against the wishes of her father.” 

You are so enchanted by this man - this beast of a human being who loves to ruffle your feathers just for his amusement - even your squirming stops. 

“Your secret is safe with me just as they all are, your grace.”

Frankly, he is the party responsible for many of those secrets to begin with. No one is more guilty of allowing you to indulge in a bit too much table wine or to go out long past your recommended curfew than the former Devil of the Killing Fields who traded in his fangs for something a bit more friendly. 

Something a bit warmer, anyway. That never smells of death or gore and smiles at him and gives his own medicine right back to him. Who giggles and grins and may complain but never truly gives up. 

Sharp as you are, how you haven’t caught on about how he truly feels about you is a mystery. Protective and intrigued and terrified and…given meaning. 

He traded his fields of glory to protect you. The valiant man dropped to a single knee and promised his life not simply to the crown but to the woman he’s so fond of that will someday be wearing it. 

Though tears continue to spill down your cheeks, a smile crosses your lips. Your hand drops the grip and pommel of your little sword and reaches up to instead hold his wrist. Asking no permission, you kiss him again. Harder, as fierce as you swung at him with your sword a few moments prior to now. 

Even if your fondness and desire for his lips - for him -  proves to be temporary, he’ll indulge it. If you grow bored of this in days or months or years the reminder that he was the first to taste such an indulgence will keep him warm for nights to come. 

If you are using him, he will allow himself to be just that. Used in service to the crown as his oath dictates he be.  

At least you will be using none but him.

[canine-witch]

What Omens Have You Missed?

With the New Year comes new energy, and also new omens to look for. I recieved message that some of you have been getting omens, visions, or symbols that you have either failed to heed or ignored entirely. In the chaos, we can often forget to notice and be grateful for what we have. This reading is to tell you and show you what you have missed, and reveal the information you need to know.

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to discard what does not resonate with you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Group One ~ Gray Clouds

You haven't been noticing the omens in nature, seeker. The world may seem mundane at this moment, but there are signs for you. Watch for omens in living and dead creatures, especially foxes and moths. Dead flora and fauna may indicate a warning, perhaps for some negative energy, infighting, or bad luck coming your way. Living flora and fauna, especially ones that seem out of place, indicate good luck and prosperity on the horizon. You may be looking up at the sky more, this is your sign to watch for omens through the clouds, stars, and birds above you. Farms and feasts may be symbolic. Your angel numbers are 111, 555, and 777. Listen carefully seeker, the blessings may be promised where you least expect them. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Two ~ City Clouds

You have been misinterpreting your omens, seeker. There may be many strange omens around you, which may initially frighten you. Depictions of monsters, especially those which look like serpents or goats, may carry good omens. Keys, raging stormy waters, chains, and grapes may also be popping up in your life. For some of you who work with mirrors, you may have seen an image in the mirror, or became frightened by something in your mirror. These are all symbols of your journey reclaiming yourself. The demonic or scary images you've been taking as bad omens, represent recalling something of yourself others took from you, especially in romantic relationships. You are recalling your appearance, your identity, and your destiny, and you are not a monster for doing so. Your angel numbers are 111, 333, and 666. Don't be scared of yourself, seeker, you are blessed and protected. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Three ~ Twisting Clouds

You don't want to hear what the omens are telling you, seeker. The situation you are in right now, is something you are either reluctant or unready to give up. You have been ignoring the signs in normal life, for signs given to you in social media or popular culture. You are drowning out the truth with targeted content that cannot apply to you. Dogs, birds of prey, sea animals, and horses may be important to you right now. You may be hearing wind chimes or strange whispers. You may be crying a lot, as purging. You may be ignoring the number 11. The omens are telling you it is time to move on and let go, and even though change is hard, there is promise of freedom on the horizon. Your angel numbers are 222, 444, 555, 888, and 999. You will be okay, seeker, your guides will never let you go without blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Four ~ Above The Clouds

A person you least expect has delivered you an omen, seeker. This may be a person you distrust, have argued with, or someone you are not close to, but they have verbally delivered a message to you, which you have doubted and chosen to ignore. But, this message is a promise of a new beginning. This person may have been standing in a doorway or under an arch. You may be looking out the window more, or spending time on your porch. You may be seeing people give to charity and do good works. Leaves or feathers may be symbolic to you right now. Fairy circles and rolling plains may be images or places you are drawn towards. You may be noticing hands holding money. This person probably is not the vessel of your good fortune, but they delivered a sign and a promise to you. Don't turn your nose up at them. Think about what they have said, and remember forces work in mysterious ways, even in places you may never expect. 222, 333, 444, and 777 are your angel numbers. Never judge a book by its cover seeker, this person is a test to see if you are ready to recieve your blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Thank you for joining me seeker, I don't normally channel energy in this way, and I hope I have been of service. Blessings be to you, as I have said, so mote it be.

[insidekatmind]

Valentine's Day-Jobe Bellingham

It's Valentine's Day, and London is bathed in a golden light as the streets prepare to welcome the romantic atmosphere of the day. The sky is blue, but the air has that crisp touch that brushes against your face, making everything seem more magical than usual. It’s your first Valentine’s Day together with Jobe, the guy who has captured your heart for a long time, and he’s planned something special for you.

You wake up to a sweet surprise: a red rose and a handwritten letter on the nightstand. You sit on the bed, feeling your heart race with excitement, and open the letter with trembling hands. It’s short, but his words make you smile with all the intensity you feel for him:

"My love, today I want to show you London like you've never seen it before. Get your heart ready for an adventure because today it’s just the two of us and our love. I love you, Jobe."

Emotion fills you, and you can’t wait to see what he has in store for you. After getting ready, wearing a dress that makes you feel more beautiful than ever, Jobe is waiting for you outside your apartment. When he sees you, his eyes shine, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

“Ready for my surprise?” he asks in a voice that makes your heart beat faster. He’s always so charming, but in this moment, he seems even more special. His smile is the sweetest you’ve ever seen, and you can’t help but smile back.

“More than ready,” you reply, your heart full of happiness.

He takes your hand and leads you outside, where an elegant white carriage, pulled by two black horses, is waiting. The wheels creak slightly as the coachman opens the door, and Jobe helps you climb inside. Once seated, the sky of London opens up above you, and the sound of the carriage rolling over cobblestone streets is the only noise that breaks the afternoon's silence. Jobe sits next to you, and with a tender smile, he takes your hand in his.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask with a soft laugh, but your eyes only show curiosity.

���I don’t want to spoil it all,” he says with a mysterious smile. “But I can tell you that London has never been this beautiful. Are you ready?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me where we’re going?” you joke, but he shakes his head, his gaze lost in yours.

“There’s nothing to say, it’s a surprise.” And his tone, serious but affectionate, only makes you more excited.

The carriage moves slowly through the streets of London, and the world seems to stand still. You pass by the most iconic places in the city, but each sight feels more extraordinary, more intimate, more special because you're sharing it with him. The Tower of London, Big Ben, and the Thames flow by like a painting that changes color with every step.

“I can’t believe we’re here, in this moment,” you say, a smile on your lips.

Jobe looks at you with an expression that speaks more than a thousand words, as if every corner of the city has become more beautiful because you're experiencing it with him. “Every moment with you is perfect, Y/N,” he replies, gently caressing your face. “I like to think that even London is smiling with us today.”

You fall silent for a moment, just to listen to the heartbeat of both of you. The carriage continues gliding through the city, but it feels as though you are alone in a world all your own.

Eventually, the carriage stops in front of one of the most beautiful parks in London, a corner of tranquility that seems suspended in time. Jobe gestures with his head and helps you step out. The cool air caresses you as you walk beside him, holding his hand, completely lost in the quiet magic that only two hearts in love can feel.

Jobe stops, turns toward you, and looks into your eyes with a seriousness you’ve never seen before. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice soft, “this is my special place. Where I feel closest to you. I want you to know that every moment with you is my Valentine’s Day. I love you more than words can say.”

His words hit you straight in the heart. You feel overwhelmed with emotion, but the only response you have inside is one: “I love you, Jobe. You are everything to me.”

He embraces you, holding you tightly as though he wants to stop time. The world around you seems to vanish, and the only place that exists is the one you’re in, here in this corner of London. When he pulls away, his eyes shine with an affection that makes your heart beat even faster. “We’re perfect together, aren’t we?” he says with a sweet smile, and you can’t do anything but nod.

“Perfect,” you reply, your heart full of happiness and love.

And as you walk away hand in hand under the London sky, the world seems to be your stage, and every step is a memory you’ll carry with you forever.

[springtyme]

since youre feeling a little burnt out it could be like three sentences and id jump for joy but could you do Arthur Morgan realizing you do not know how to ride a horse and how have you survived this long without riding a horse?

Thank you thank you thank you thank you

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 ♡

Thank you for the request, dear <3 As a certified horsegirl, I really loved your idea, so I might make a part 2 sometime.

Arthur Morgan x f!reader || Masterlist || Arthur playlist

summary: After recently having joined the Van der Linde gang, you still have a lot to learn about your new life. Good thing that Arthur is willing to help you learn.

word count: 2.1k

warning/tags: Fluff. Arthur is a horse stealing sweetheart. Very brief mention of a dead deer. Perhaps a little occ, haven’t played the game in a while.

The camp is alive with the sounds of crackling fire and low conversations as you sit by the flames, warming your hands against the chill of the evening air. You’ve recently joined the Van der Linde gang, finding a strange sense of belonging among these outlaws, but there’s still much to learn. The thrill of the freedom they embody has drawn you in, but the reality of their life is far more complex than you initially imagined. Each member of the gang has their own story, their own scars, and their own reasons for being here.

As you watch the flames dance, you can’t help but reflect on your own past and what led you to this moment and how your life has changed. The things you have to learn are as varied as the faces around the fire. You do feel welcomed by the gang, but you can’t help the nagging in the back of your mind telling you that you don’t really belong. At least not yet.

You are pulled from your thoughts as you hear the familiar sound of hoofbeats approaching the camp. The rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground cuts through the quiet evening, and you turn your gaze toward the sound. The flickering light casts long shadows as you squint into the darkness, anticipation lacing your thoughts. The gang is often on the move, and late-night arrivals usually mean news—good or bad. The hoofbeats grow louder, and soon the silhouettes of a few riders come into view. A few of the members of the gang left earlier in the day to scout the nearby town for supplies and information and have now returned.

And there is one rider in particular who you are the most excited to see coming back. You recognize the figure of Arthur immediately, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glow of the campfire, and the familiar outline of his hat pulled low over his brow against the dusky sky.

Ever since you became part of the gang, you’ve felt an undeniable attraction to him. It’s as if you’re a ship caught in a powerful current, swept along with a momentum you can’t resist. There’s a strength in him that you find captivating, and an unspoken vulnerability that tugs at something deep within you.

You step away from the fire to get a better look as the men ride into the camp. You notice the glint of something large strapped to the side of Charles’s horse—a hefty buck they must have hunted. But that is not the only thing they have back with them. Led by a rope, a horse you have never seen before trots alongside Arthur’s own chestnut mare. A palomino, its shiny golden coat glimmering in the light from the fire.

Arthur rides forward, dismounting with a practiced ease, and you can’t help but admire the way he moves—confident, yet grounded. You stand frozen for a moment, drinking in the sight of him as he guides the two horses forward, desperately trying to quell the fluttering in your chest.

He catches your eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It’s a fleeting expression, quickly replaced by his usual reserved demeanor, but you saw it. The warmth in his gaze softens the rugged lines of his face, the weariness etched by countless hard days seeming to melt away for a brief instant.

He nods a greeting, a silent acknowledgment of your presence. You give him a slight smile and a nod in return, feeling a little embarrassed to have been caught staring, but you hope it comes off as you being interested in the new horse. You are ready for him to turn his focus back on the animals, but instead he calls your name, gesturing with his head to the palomino beside him. “Got someone here I’d like you to meet.”

Your heart skips at the sound of your name on his lips. You make your way over to him, curiosity piqued as you step closer. You have always admired horses from a distance, captivated by their grace and power, but have never had many interactions with them up close, and you can’t help but feel a tiny hint of trepidation mixing in with your curiosity.

The new horse stands patiently beside Arthur while he ties up his own to remove her saddle. You can’t help but reach out a hand, letting your fingers gently brush against the soft, smooth coat of the palomino’s neck, feeling the warmth radiating from its body. “Where did you get it from?”

Arthur loosens the girth of his mare’s saddle and glances over at you, a hint of pride in his expression as he watches you interact with the palomino. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that, darlin’” he replies with a teasing lilt in his gruff voice as he lifts off the saddle.

You feel how your cheeks warm from the name of endearment, rivaling the warmth you are feeling from the fire at your back. You try to compose yourself, focusing on the horse instead of the way his voice wraps around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your fingers continuing to explore the palomino’s neck, smoothing over the soft fur. The horse leans slightly into your touch, and you can’t help but smile at the connection you feel, even if it’s fleeting.

“Yeah, he is.” Arthur glances at the gelding with a fondness that brings a smile to your face, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes light up when he speaks about it.

“Have you given him a name?” you ask, your curiosity now peaked further.

“No…” Arthur shakes his head, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “I figured I’d let you do that yourself.”

You feel a rush of surprise and delight at his words, your heart racing at the thought of Arthur letting you name the horse. The palomino stands patiently, as if aware of the importance of this moment, while Arthur watches you with an intensity that sends butterflies swirling in your stomach.

“Me?” You say softly, trying to mask your excitement with a light laugh. “I’ve never named a horse before.”

“Well, he’s yours now, so it’s only right that you name him.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a mixture of disbelief and exhilaration flooding through you. “You got him for me?”

Arthur’s expression softens further, and he nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small smile. “Yes, I figured… well, you don’t have a horse. Thought you could use one.”

You swallow hard, feeling a swell of gratitude, as well as a wave of deep apprehension. The weight of his gesture sinks in, and the reality of it is almost overwhelming. “Thank you, Arthur. That’s really kind, but…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat. You want to express your gratitude, but the hesitation lingers. “I’ve never had a horse of my own… I don’t even know how to ride one,” you admit, an apologetic tone to your voice.

Arthur’s brows furrow in disbelief. “You don’t know how to ride?” he repeats, shaking his head in bafflement. “How the hell have you survived this long without knowing how to ride a horse?” There is nothing in his tone that indicates judgment; rather, it’s a mix of incredulity and genuine curiosity. Still, you can’t help but feel a rush of embarrassment and a twinge of fear that the gang, who have welcomed you in, will start second-guessing their choice if they realize just how unaccustomed to their lifestyle you really are.

You shrug, glancing away from Arthur’s penetrating gaze. What does his eyes also have to be so piercing blue for? Sometimes it is as if he can see straight through you. “I grew up in a town, I could walk everywhere. And on the occasions I had to travel it was by wagon or train.”

Arthur shakes his head, chuckling softly, but there’s a glimmer of something else in his eyes—concern, perhaps? “Well, darlin’, if you’re gonna be part of this gang, you’re going to need to learn. A horse is your lifeline out here.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. The idea of riding a horse, of being free, and of truly belonging to this life, both excites and terrifies you. But you can see the sincerity in Arthur’s eyes, the way he believes in you.

“Okay,” you finally reply, determination creeping into your voice. “I’ll learn.”

Arthur nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that makes your heart flutter. “Good. I’ll help you. We’ll start tomorrow,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ll have him running like the wind in no time.”

The campfire crackles behind you, casting a warm glow that feels almost like a cocoon, wrapping you in a blend of excitement and nerves. “Tomorrow, huh?” you repeat, trying to envision the scene. The thought of being on horseback, feeling the rush of wind against your face, stirs a thrill deep within you, but at the same time, the uncertainty of it all sends a shiver down your spine.

Arthur seems to catch your momentary uncertainty. “And hey,” he says, his voice low and reassuring, “you don’t have to worry. I’ll be right there with you. And we’ll take it slow, one step at a time.” There’s a tenderness in his gaze that calms you, and you can’t help but feel a sense of safety in his presence.

His words wash over you like a gentle tide, soothing the apprehension that had begun to rise within. You meet his gaze, feeling the intensity of his attention, and for a moment, the world around you fades into the background. It’s just the two of you, standing amidst the chatter from the camp and the hum of the night.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you say, this time with more confidence. “I really appreciate that.”

A flicker of something deeper passes through his eyes, and you wonder if he feels the same current of connection that you do. He looks younger in the soft glow of the campfire, almost boyish, the gentle smile on his face softening his rugged features. “Anytime. You’re one of us now, and we look out for each other.”

For a heartbeat, it’s as if the air thickens with unspoken words, lingering like the smoke from the fire. But then he clears his throat, breaking the spell.

“Now, let’s get this big fella settled, and then we can grab some food. If you’re feeling anyway like my, I reckon you must be starving.” His voice is warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill in the air, and you find yourself nodding in agreement, feeling a sense of ease settle over you.

You glance back at the palomino, who stands with an air of quiet patience. “I could use some food, and I better start thinking about a good name for him.”

Arthur steps closer, helping you untie your new horse. “Why don’t you take your time with that? You’ll know his name when you spend some more time with him. It’ll come to you.”

With Arthur’s help, you lead the palomino to the horse line, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as you navigate the unfamiliar task. You watch as Arthur works with the horses, his movements fluid and confident. It’s easy to see that he’s in his element, and you can’t help but admire the way he connects with the animals. Arthur seems to command respect without even trying. It’s as if the horses know they’re in good hands.

With your new horse now content in his spot, you take a step back, allowing yourself to breathe and absorb the moment. The laughter and chatter of the gang surrounds you, a reminder of the sense of community that you’ve only just begun to understand. You feel a flicker of hope that maybe, you really can carve a place for yourself within this chaotic family of outlaws.

“Hey, you coming?” Arthur’s voice breaks through your reverie, drawing your attention. He’s looking at you with that same warmth, inviting you to join him and the others around the fire. You nod, a smile breaking across your face as you make your way back to him.

As you settle into the circle, the fire crackling cheerfully between you and the gang, you realize that for the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of belonging.

[luimagines]

... Reader goes Fierce Deity for the boys-

REVERSE IT ON THEM-

Alright, I will!!

Masterlist

Immediate Reader, boys under the cut! ***

It was storm of arrows, raining down from the blackened skies- leaving nothing in their wake of destruction.

You ran, keeping your shield over your head.

You were covered in cuts and bruises. You were tired. Weak. Your group was scattered. Lightning struck across the clouds, illuminating the trees above you.

A pause.

A breath.

Another torrent of arrows that knock the shield from your grasp as you duck to hide yourself in the flora of the forest.

Arrows change to horns.

Their cacophony of sound threaten to blow your ears out if the thunder hadn't done so already.

You were frightened.

Where were the others? Where's Link?

Isn't there usually the sounds of battle at this point in time?

You kept running. Deciding to cut your loses and leave your shield in it's place, you wipe your face of the rain, opening your eyes to see into the dark ahead of you in an effort to look for safety.

Nothing.

You start running again.

There has to be something. There can't just be nothing but trees and rocks but with nothing to actually stop the onslaught of attacks. Another round of the horns, this time followed by thunderous horses.

They're getting closer.

Another lightning strike. Something white catches your attention in the distance. You run to it, thinking that perhaps it can lead you to wherever Link might have gotten off to.

You need his help.

Your heart sinks instead. You recognize the item. Time had told you that it was incredibly powerful and while he never put it on, he never let it out of his sight.

It almost pulses in your hands.

It's incredibly powerful. There's no way Time would have dropped it on purpose. Which means something else happened to him. Just like the other boys.

The horses and the grunts of the monster that ride them get ever closer to where you are. Desperate and curious, you put the mask on.

The world flashes in tandem with the lightning, blinding you temporarily with white light.

hello little one. everything will be alright now.

***

Wind

Wind was hiding in a hole in the ground. It was small but so was he. Something of his size had to have dug it before hang but he wasn't sure he knew what animal could have done it. He heard that foxes sometimes dug in the ground but then again so did some monsters. Whatever did it was no longer here though. They had to have fled earlier with the upcoming monstrosity that was the storm above him.

This storm was new and strange. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Of all the storm he was to face alone in the middle of the Great Sea he had never seen the sky as dark and as bleak as this.

He could barely see what the monsters were coming from.

Separated and concerned (not frightened), he wasn't sure what to do next. Wind got used to having people around to help him and this was way beyond what he was used to doing.

He wanted someone to help him.

The horns in the distance don't exactly inspire confidence and Wind covers his ears to shield himself from the blaring sound of it all.

He's shaking.

The horns sound a second time and they're much nearer than Wind would have thought they would be. His heart rate spikes and he begins to perspire despite being soaking wet from the rain.

A whimper leaves his mouth before he can stop it. It shocks him out of his own mental state.

What was he doing? Hiding in the ground?! He was no coward. He was a hero! He was the one that went out to fight and that wasn't going to change today!

Wind takes a deep breath and climbs out of the hole, struggling to get past the growing mud puddle he was sinking into. He grabs his sword, using it as leverage to get out and pulls with all his might.

Lightning strikes again, and in his panic, his footing slips and he cries out in shock.

The monsters hear him.

He knows it.

They start approaching him when a large cry of agony can be heard from just beyond the hole he was in.

Wind gets to his feet rather quickly given the circumstances and looks around. He a monster explode in the tree line and rushes to the scene.

Then he screams.

A massive blade, one he recognizes, nearly takes his head off. Ducking in time to avoid it, Wind rolls further into the mud and looks up in shock. The monster he had missed dies behind him in a instant.

You stand above him, proud and stoic and not at all the way he remembers you. Your name leaves his lips before he can stop it.

You look down to him and hurriedly pull him to his feet.

The rest is a blur. You're quickly checking him over for injuries and other causes for concern before you snap back into action and slaughter the monsters that had gotten closer in the time this all took place.

Wind tightens his grip on his sword and lets out a battle cry worth praising as he charges into the fight.

Answers will have to wait.

He has to face this head on. No more hiding.

Hyrule

Hyrule called on Thunder and let the magic spew from his fingertips. It angered the sky and heavens but he couldn't care less.

He can hear nothing over the sound he creates and the sound of his own pounding heart. He thinks he can taste blood.

Unsurprising.

He watches at the monsters fall around him, struggling to stand under the weight of the storm and his magic.

These creatures like those he had never seen before. He would have asked where they came from but there's no one around him to answer that question. He's just going to have to deal with the hoard on his own and with nothing but his wits about him.

Somewhere along the line he thinks he gets cut and inwardly curses. The monsters simultaneously pause and all snap their heads towards him.

Perfect. Just what he needed.

He tightens his grip on his sword and casts a large flame to send them all flying backwards thirty feet from him.

He's getting tired.

Hyrule rushes the monsters and cuts them all down while they try in vain to pat the flames off of their bodies.

A blade suddenly imbeds itself into his shoulder blade.

Shouting in pain, Hyrule falls to his knees and turns. He can't take it out and the smell of his blood only riles the monsters up more.

"Come on then!" He growls, conjuring up the last of his magic reserves. "Fight me!"

Thunder rolls off of his fingertips. The monsters spasm again. Many of them explode into a familiar cloud of purple smoke. But many does not mean all. The rest get up again and position their weapons in their hands.

An arcing white light knocks the monsters down to their knees and they explode on contact.

Hyrule pauses, feeling side smacked. Where did that come from?

You jump next to him, swinging your blade again to finish off the remaining monsters before they can recover from the previous attack.

You reek of power and magic. It's enough to make him recoil.

He tries to at least, but the blade in his shoulder makes it difficult to any moving at all.

Trying to come back to his senses take smore work than he thought imaginable at first. He's more tired than he gave himself credit for. Another scream is ripped out of his throat before he can stop it.

You had taken the blade out.

"sorry"

He shudders. You sound... wrong.

Hyrule gasps down his next few breaths, forcing himself to look up and see what you have become. Your hair is white and there's war paint on your face but the corners of his vision is turning dark.

Hyrule outwardly curses this time.

He can't stop it. He can't hold on.

His world goes black.

Legend

This was embarrassing.

Part of him was glad that there was no one else around to see what had happened to him.

It was dark and rainy and storming like the goddess were having a cat fight. And frankly, Legend was having none of it.

It would be a lot easier to state his displeasure if he wasn't stuck upside down... hanging from his ankle... and stuck in a tree.

Lightning streaks across the sky as the sounds of the damned scream throughout the forest around him. He has no idea where the others are and he hasn't been able to make out a single sign of life aside from the very things that want him dead.

He chokes on a bit of his hair that flies into his mouth as the wind picks up. He plucks it out and fights to get control of his tunic so he could properly see where he's stuck so he could get out.

He's not going to like the fall. He's at least twenty feet in the air and there's not exactly a soft padding waiting to cushion is fall once he's set free.

He hears the horns of the monsters to his left and struggles to pull himself up.

Strangely, they ride right under him, not bothering to look up to see his dangling form in the trees.

His hat smacks him in the face and in his reckless attempt to clear it from his face he accidentally knocks it off of his head.

It falls to the forest floor.

"Oh come on!" Legend growls and fights the air for a moment before he deflates.

His ankle hurts more now.

He tries to twist himself up and out to at least try to grab the branch that holding him hostage. What he doesn't see however, is the individual running below him, pausing to pick up his fallen hat in peaked interest.

They look up.

Within seconds, while Legend was distracted and no doubt using all the core strength he had to still not reach the branch, something cuts it and he finds himself falling. He yells in shock but he's caught and settled on the forest floor without much thought.

"safe."

"...Oh sweet merciful heavens." Legend's throat locks up when he sees you in front of him. "....What did you do?"

"we must hurry. the others will be in need of assistance." you pick him up again and begin to run.

Legend can do nothing but hold on for his life. He has half the mind to at least try to look at you and try to figure out what on earth that familiar mask had done to you, but maybe this was all a bad dream.

Maybe if he closes his eyes tight enough, he'll wake up and it'll be sunny and bright and he'd get to groan and be melodramatic about getting up and starting another day of seemingly pointless walking and joking with the people he was quickly considering family.

But that doesn't happen.

And you keep running.

And the nightmare doesn't stop.

And there's no song that'll stop this dream. He's already tried.

Warrior

Somehow he had managed to find himself in the middle of the the thick of it once more.

Part of him wants to blame his hubris. He knew better than to run off again but to do so without the protection and power of the Blade of Evil's Bane? You'd think he'd learn from the first time.

Then again, the others have proven to be of a similar mind frame as he, and yet, they're nowhere to be found.

He curses under his breath, beginning to lose steam. The torrential downpour had caused his scarf to weight him down significantly. The mud underneath his feet causes him to slide. But he wasn't known as the Hero just because he looked pretty and could hold the sword in his hand.

Warrior moves his body to account for the added momentum and strikes as many monsters as he can in one swing before gearing up for the next.

The monsters keep coming. He's never seen these kind before. It's almost like they blend into the shadows and dance amidst the whispers of the forests breath. Something pierces him between the shoulder blades.

A scream rips out of him. The arrow had plunged deep but it wasn't enough to knock him off of his feet.

Warrior curses no longer under his breath, but with a wild air of fury and indignation that it was enough to turn the air blue. An arc of light shatters the figments of the shadows before his very eyes, giving him but a brief moment of respite.

Another wave quickly approaches, but is silenced as quickly as the first. The bodies explode and crumble with little sound, which allows Warrior to take into the account the numerous injuries he's already received.

The arrow in his back is minor. The slash on his leg is beginning to scream at him but he's more concerned of the potential of broken ribs. Not that it's enough to take him out of the fight, but he was beginning to grow tired.

However, Warrior wasn't sure if it was the blood loss of simply the loss of steam. Which would have taken him out first, he presumes.

A familiar power crackles in the air. His vicinity goes eerily still as backup arrives.

Warrior pants aggressively, putting hand back on the hilt of his sword. "You promised me you wouldn't wear that acursed thing again!"

He turns and nearly swallows his tongue.

You stand there, tall and confident. 'you're injured."

"...No..." Warrior whispers. "...Where are the others?"

You stay silent, letting him fill in the blanks.

If anything, you step closer and closer. Warrior can only watch in blatant horror. Many questions sit on the tip of his tongue but none of them come out. Something in the air commands him to be still and be silent, and like any mortal man, he submits the forces above him.

You pull the arrow from his back.

Another scream rips through him before he can even register what happened.

"calm yourself. you will be alright." You gently sooth his hair away from his face. "we must keep going. come. you are injured. follow me." And... well... someone had to come save his sorry hide again. What else is there for him to do but to follow and pray that the others are alright?

Sky

Sky had taken refuge behind a large boulder as the storm raged on around him. He was out of breath and while the sword in his hand was ready, there was hardly anything he could do.

He panted and coughed, nearly keeling over in his attempt to catch his breath.

Thunder exploded from the heavens, showcasing the displeasures of the goddess above that had no doubt thrown him and his brothers in arms into some sort of endless abyss.

The forest didn't seem to have to an end.

And neither did the up coming monsters.

So far, he had managed to get away but there was another pressing issue. He had no idea where his group went.

They hadn't been together long before everything went south.

Did they even arrive together at all? Had they all seperated?

Sky can only remember walking through the portal and the beginning of this absolute tempest. Then the beasts came.

He pokes his head around the rock to check his surroundings. Clear. At least that's what he thinks.

Thunder cracks everything in twain once more and Sky gets enough courage from the briefly provided light to move away from his hiding spot.

He hears a battle cry like none other.

His hairs stick up on the back of his neck and goosebumps erupt all over his flesh. "By Hylia-"

He takes off running.

Sky inhales more water than he intends to, but that's not what has his attention. Coughing fit aside, he nearly drops Fi when he comes close to the scene.

That's nothing short of power.

The fighter spins and takes out countless monsters in a single swipe. Sky nearly ducks, feeing the power behind the blade despite his distance away from it.

Sky rushes closer, giving a testament to his title. The Hero of Courage.

He joins the battle with ease. The Master Sword is and always has been a formidable blade. The hoard stands no chance.

Once given a respite, Sky turns to the new person. Their dietic powers were nothing short of curious- by the three, have mercy.

Sky drops your name as a forbidden whisper and drops Fi in the same breath.

You stand tall but not proud. You're shaken to the core.

"there is still so many of them"

"I know." Sky finds himself whispering. You voice had boomed with all sorts of quiet intentions. Do you even recognize yourself right now?

"there is still so much to do."

Sky picks up Fi again and puts her properly in her sheath. "Then let's keep at it."

Four

Four pushed himself out of the puddle, gasping for breath as he choked on the mud. He was running and has fallen face first into what had to be one of the biggest puddles thus far. He counted hi lucky stars that it wasn't a sink hole, otherwise this would have been a whole other issue for him.

He wipes the muck from his face and forced himself to keep going.

"If it rains for any longer, this forest is going to be a marsh by the end of the day." He all but shouted into the turbulance.

Rolling thunder has answered in reply, almost knocking him off of his feet once more from the force of it alone.

Horns blared in the distance but Four didn't feel the need to stick around much longer to figure out what was causing the commotion. He was fine with just getting cover from the rain and getting out of the way until he could find his friends again.

However, it was dark enough that Four couldn't see that far in front of him. He wasn't even sure what the hour was.

Suddenly, he hears a cacophony of footsteps. Or at least, that's what he thinks. It sounds more like a raging herd.

Coming directly towards him.

Four groans loudly and picks a random direction to run in instead. He doesn't have the time nor the energy to pick a fight. Not in these conditions. He knows better than to try and hold them off.

That will have to be a battle for future him to decide (preferably when he is dry and full and not about to keel over from how tired he is of searching with no results to show for it).

He slips again.

"OH come on!"

"blacksmith."

Four feels himself be picked up from the back of his shirt and placed on his feet once more. He looks up and his jaw drops. "...What did you do?"

"i've been looking for everyone."

So has he, but he hasn't seen even the barest hint of anyone. Four gulps, attempting to wring out his hood with little success. It's a comfort gesture at this point. "Find anyone?"

"i found you"

Four presses his lips together in a thin line. That doesn't answer his question, but it tells him everything he needed to know. With a slight hiss, he brushes off the mud from his tunic rather haphazardly. "Well... it could mean that they're no where near this storm... Or those monsters."

You nod and stand up taller. Four hadn't even registered that you were nearly squatting just to talk to him. How much had that mask affected you?

"i've been fighting the monsters. there are many."

Four gulps. "No time like the present then, huh?"

You nod again and pick him up. Four is two seconds from telling you to back off before you start to move. His breath gets stuck in his throat as the trees begin to blur around him.

He holds on to you like a life line, suddenly understand why you put him on your shoulder instead of letting him walk by your side.

He's nervous to see what else is in store.

Time

Time was struggling to get out of the metal armor that weighed him down. He was running through the forest, sword strapped to his hip for a change as the storm raged around him.

He heard the horns, knew that he was losing precious time. Anxiety riddled his body as he tried to think of a solution. He hasn't heard anything from the boys in a while.

He's worried about them.

But he's of no use to anyone if he's caught by lightning while in this armor.

It fights him every step of the way.

He hears the sounds of battle occurring off in the distance and curses under his breath. How more useless can he get?

He eventually gets his armor off. He's sweaty and over heated by the end of it but the rain does a good job at cooling him off. It'll be a pain to fix his armor if he leaves it here later but he has no other choice.

Suddenly a wide arc of light sweeps through the area, illuminating the forest for a split. The cries of the slaughtered monsters follow suit quickly- choking on their own fluids as they cease to exist within seconds.

Time feels his stomach drop to his feet. He recognizes that power.

"No..." He gets up and runs, taking up the sword that would be the easiest to handle as he races through the mud. "No, no, no..."

Another beam of light silences the remaining monsters.

Time stops dead in his tracks. He sees you from behind. Tall- imposing. Your hair grew longer- changing the colors to match that of the god who's power you currently wield.

You turn to him and relax.

Time didn't think the deity could ever look so relived, even if the mask is borrowing your face.

You must have been terrified. The Fierce Deity must have been extra gentle with you to allow your emotions to show on the otherwise stoic nature of the mask.

Time shakes his head clear of the shock and run to you, wiping his free hand over his face to clear it of the water. "You're ok."

You kneel, getting to his level and gently, very gently run your hand over his hair. "where are the others?"

Time can only shake his head.

You continue to look distraught at the lack of answers his provides. "then we go find them."

Twilight

Wolfie was faring non to better with the storm.. He shook his pelt again, desperate to release the constantly growing water weight.

Feeling lighter once more, he takes off in a run, disheartened from the lack of scents he was picking up. He could most certainly smell the rain and the fauna that naturally called these forests home but not a lick of those he was looking for.

He can hear the rolling gallops of approaching horses so he gathers that the enemy is gaining speed. Twilight can only hope that no one is caught in the cross hairs.

Deciding that the wolf was currently of no help to anyone, he shifts back and quickly takes out his bow. Epona is no where to be found but Twilight trusts in his girl's instincts. She'll be safe.

His current idea, however, would be easier to do if he had her at his disposal. Otherwise this might as well be a suicide mission.

Twilight takes to running once more, this time, towards the sound of running horses. Once he thinks he gain enough distance, he climbs up the nearest tree, no thinking of the currently lighting or the storm.

He takes out his eagle mask and positions his weapon.

He sees them.

He takes the shot.

Again.

And again.

The monsters shout in agony, exploding from their injuries once they hit the forest floor. The galloping horses trample their remains with ease.

Twilight aims to take as many of them out as he can while trying his best to not be spotted.

Suddenly, a fighter collides into the massive hoard of monsters. Startling the horses, the monsters were flung off and trample even further. In the flurry of movements, Twilight struggles to see what's happening.

The numbers against them scatter quickly.

Eager to help and to get to know this mysterious being, Twilight climbs down and charges towards the fight, taking down the remaining ones that had been missed by the horses' hooves.

"rancher."

His whole body freezes.

That was a voice of power, yet one that he knew all too well.

You're there, wear the mask of the Fierce Deity no doubt. Twilight drops his sword in shock. You walk towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder as you look him over.

His mouth goes dry as his heart races in his rib cage. "...I couldn't find anyone."

You hum, but it's more profound. Not manly, just... powerful in a way his mortal brain struggles to comprehend. "i've been looking. there have been many monsters."

"I believe you." Twilight reaches to squeeze you hand, wanting to you that you're real. That this is real.

"come." You say, opening your palm to him. "we will find the others."

Twilight nods, putting his bow away at last. "I'm with you. Lead the way."

Wild

This was bad.

"It was my pleasure."

But at least now it hurt less.

Wild pushed himself out of the way before horse hooves can come down on his head. Somewhere in the distance he can hear fighting. There's someone who's out there alone in the storm and holding their own. Which is more than he could currently say.

He groans and holds a hand over a wound that has since healed.

His sword hasn't broken yet but he can tell that it doesn't have much life left in it to give.

Wild slashes the beasts anyway.

His sword breaks right after.

Choking on a curse, he rolls out of the way again and takes off running.

They gain up to him quickly. There was no contest.

A pissed off horse comes to his rescue, body slamming her frame in to the approaching threats. They scatter and give them both a bit of breathing room before making a come back.

Wild takes the opening as it is and gets on Epona's back. "Come on girl. We have to go. We have to get to the others."

While he is not her rider, Epona takes to the task at hands and runs to lead them both to safer ground.

The monsters give chase once more but Wild wasn't going to let them have their way with them so easily. Trusting Epona to steer herself, Wild takes out his bow and begins to fire at will.

A large blur of white and teal, rushes by their side, startling Epona and getting her to hitch up legs in self-defense. It's unnecessary but the action nearly throws Wild off of her back.

The blur all but bulldozes its opponents down and sends their remains scattering like bombs that had no chance of having their fuses snuffed out.

Wild focuses on calming Epona down before he ends up underneath a third set of hooves this day. His attention is split between the horse and the fighter who's taken on the hoard like (for a lack of better words) a champion.

The simile is a bitter pill in his mind.

Epona stays put after she calms down and the monsters have been dealt with. Cautiously, he urges her towards the figure as it catches its breath.

Wild's hitches.

Without thinking of the ramifications, Wild throws himself off of Epona and takes of running, you name on the tip of his tongue before he screams.

You had heard his footsteps coming toward you but didn't register that it was him.

Your blade ends up by his throat.

"champion... you are weakened..."

Wild falls backwards. The water from the rain loosened his footwork but at least your blade is no longer at his neck.

"are you in need of potions?"

Wild shudder and shakes his head. What happened to you?

You nod and pick him up without question. You whistle a familiar tune at the same time and Epona comes closer even though she is also untrusting of this new development.

"to safety then." You begin to walk away.

"Wait-!" Wild struggles in your hold. "What are you doing? Let me go!"

"be still hero. it will all be over soon."

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (what may come)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: home

- Next part: the honest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling

The towering cliffs of Casterly Rock loomed ahead, an imposing mass of stone and gold as the Lannister procession made its final approach. The air carried the scent of salt from the Sunset Sea, and the banners of House Lannister billowed in the wind, their crimson fabric vivid against the gray sky.

Jaime rode at the front, his posture rigid yet composed. He had spent so many years away from his childhood home that its sight stirred something uneasy within him. It was a strange feeling, to return not as the Kingslayer or member of the Kingsguard, but as the heir, as a future husband. The title felt unfamiliar, ill-fitting, but it was one he could not escape.

He stole a glance at you. You rode beside him, Winter padding alongside your horse with effortless grace. Your expression was unreadable, but Jaime could see the way your gaze swept over the towering fortress, assessing, measuring. He wondered what you thought of it—whether you saw it as another cage, another prison of stone.

Bronn, as usual, had little reverence for the occasion. “Well, isn’t this a sight?” he mused, letting out a low whistle. “Big, isn’t it? Almost makes the Red Keep look like a brothel.”

Jaime smirked. “I wouldn’t say that too loudly. The walls have ears.”

Bronn shrugged, adjusting his reins. “What do I care? I’m just here to make sure you don’t fall off your horse.”

Ahead, the great gates of Casterly Rock swung open, and a welcoming party stood at attention. At its head was Ser Kevan Lannister, his expression carefully composed as he surveyed the arriving group. He stepped forward as Jaime and the rest of the party dismounted.

“Welcome home, Jaime,” Kevan said, his tone steady, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “And welcome, Lady Stark.”

You inclined your head slightly, though your expression remained guarded.

Kevan’s gaze flickered to Winter, who had stationed himself protectively by your side, his blue eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings with keen intelligence. The men around Kevan shifted uneasily, their hands lingering near their swords as if the direwolf might decide to attack at any moment.

Jaime noted their nervous glances and smirked. “You’re all acting like you’ve never seen a direwolf before.”

Kevan exhaled through his nose. “Not this close,” he admitted. “And certainly not one this size.” His gaze drifted back to Winter, who huffed in response, his ears flicking forward.

“He won’t bite,” Bronn quipped from behind Jaime. “Not unless you give him a reason to.”

Kevan gave Bronn a withering look before turning back to Jaime. “Your father sent word ahead of your arrival. The Rock is prepared for your stay, and arrangements have been made for the wedding.”

Jaime forced a smile. “Of course they have.”

Kevan’s gaze flickered toward you again, his tone carefully neutral. “Lady Y/N, if you require anything, the servants will see to it. My wife, Dorna, has prepared suitable accommodations for you.”

You inclined your head again but said nothing, your fingers absently brushing against Winter’s fur as he pressed against your leg.

Jaime took the moment to step closer to Kevan, lowering his voice slightly. “How much of this was truly my father’s doing?”

Kevan’s expression didn’t change. “All of it.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Of course.”

Kevan hesitated before adding, “Tywin expects everything to proceed without incident. You understand that, don’t you?”

Jaime’s smirk was laced with something bitter. “When have I ever caused an incident?”

Kevan gave him a knowing look but said nothing more.

From behind them, Bronn let out a dramatic sigh. “Are we going to stand around all day, or are we going inside? I could use a drink.”

Jaime chuckled despite himself and gestured toward the entrance. “Come, then. Let’s see what my dear father has in store for us.”

With that, the procession moved forward, the weight of Casterly Rock settling over you both like an unshakable shadow.

The great doors of Casterly Rock swung open, revealing the grandeur of the Lannister stronghold. The halls were immense, carved directly from the mountain itself, their golden hues reflecting the torchlight that lined the towering stone walls. The floors were polished marble, rich red-and-gold banners hanging from the arched ceilings. The air carried the faintest scent of the sea, mingling with the ever-present scent of burning wax and the cool dampness of the rock.

You stepped inside, your boots clicking against the smooth floor as your gaze swept over the cavernous hall. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming—the towering pillars, the intricate carvings, the wealth on display in every corner. It was nothing like Winterfell, nothing like home.

Reality settled on you like a crushing weight.

This was it.

This was your future.

No more trying to outrun it, no more hoping that some unforeseen twist of fate would change your course. You were in the heart of Lannister territory now, surrounded by their banners, their men, their legacy.

A gilded cage, no matter how grand.

Jaime walked a few paces ahead before slowing his steps, turning slightly as if sensing the shift in your posture. His green eyes flickered over your face, steady and observant, before he spoke, his voice quieter now.

"Feeling trapped already?"

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself before lifting your chin. "Should I not?"

Jaime studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he turned fully to face you. "I won’t lie to you," he said, his voice low, just for you. "This place can feel… heavy. Even for those born to it."

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. "And yet, you chose to bring me here."

He tilted his head, lips pressing into a faint smirk, though there was no mockery in his tone. "Would you rather be in the Dreadfort?"

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t answer.

Jaime exhaled, glancing around before stepping closer, lowering his voice again. "It’s not Winterfell, I know. And it never will be. But you are not a prisoner here, Y/N. No matter what my father might think."

You met his gaze, searching for any trace of deception. To your surprise, you found none.

Before you could respond, Kevan cleared his throat, reminding you both of the watching eyes. "Come," he said. "Your chambers have been prepared."

Jaime straightened, his composure sliding back into place as he gestured forward. "After you, my lady."

You hesitated for the briefest of moments, then stepped forward, your spine straight, your expression schooled into something unreadable. Winter padded close to your side, his presence a grounding force as you followed the Lannisters deeper into the Rock.

Jaime watched you for a moment longer before falling into step beside you, his smirk fading as something else settled in his chest—something uncomfortably close to guilt.

For a moment, he wondered if he had truly saved you from Roose Bolton, or merely delivered you into another kind of prison.

The halls of Casterly Rock were quieter at night, though they never truly slept. Jaime made his way toward his uncle’s chambers. He had spent the past hours dealing with the formalities of his arrival, speaking to stewards, acknowledging the gathered household, and enduring the weight of his new responsibilities.

And now, as the evening stretched on, his mind returned to the promise he had made.

Kevan Lannister’s study was lit by a handful of candles, the scent of parchment, ink, and aged leather heavy in the air. A map of the Westerlands lay sprawled across the table, flanked by letters, ledgers, and Tywin’s meticulous correspondence.

Kevan sat at the desk, straight-backed as always, his expression calm but unreadable as he set aside a scroll and gestured for Jaime to take a seat across from him. A servant poured them both goblets of wine before silently departing, leaving the two Lannisters alone.

Jaime leaned back in his chair, swirling the deep red liquid in his cup before speaking. “So, Uncle, what grand tasks await me? Running the mines? Overseeing tax disputes? Or does father have something more humiliating planned?”

Kevan exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’ll be overseeing much of the Rock’s administration, but we will start with matters of trade and military reports. Your father has already outlined the key duties expected of you. I trust you received his letters.”

Jaime smirked. “Oh, I received them. Quite a few, in fact. I could barely keep up with the ink.”

Kevan ignored the remark, instead tapping a finger against the map. “We have shipments that need securing along Lannisport. Ironborn raids have grown bolder near Kayce. We need to reinforce our coastal defenses.”

Jaime listened with half an ear, his fingers drumming against the table. He would handle these matters—he wasn’t incompetent, despite what some may think—but this wasn’t what had been pressing on his mind since they arrived.

After a moment, he leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. “And what of the North?”

Kevan raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

Jaime took a slow sip of his wine before setting the goblet down. “Robb Stark. What does father plan for him now that the wedding at the Twins has been canceled?”

Kevan’s face remained carefully neutral, but the way he set down his quill with measured precision told Jaime that he had struck upon something significant.

“That,” Kevan said, “is no longer a concern of yours.”

Jaime scoffed, sitting back in his chair. “No longer a concern? I think it is. Considering I stole his sister from Roose Bolton, I imagine that changes quite a few things.”

Kevan studied him for a long moment before sighing. “If you must know, your father and Lord Bolton have made new arrangements.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened slightly. “What kind of arrangements?”

Kevan hesitated. “Robb Stark still refuses to bend the knee. He marches south, despite knowing he has no allies left. The Riverlords are fractured, and the Freys will not support him after he dishonored their house. Your father has no intention of letting this war drag on any further.”

Jaime’s fingers curled around the armrest of his chair. “Meaning what?”

Kevan met his gaze evenly. “Meaning Tywin and Roose are ensuring it ends swiftly. Bolton has positioned himself in such a way that he can bring the boy down without the need for drawn-out battles. And when it’s over, the North will be under Bolton’s control.”

A cold weight settled in Jaime’s stomach. “And Robb?”

Kevan did not answer immediately, and that silence spoke volumes.

Jaime exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. “Roose means to kill him.”

Kevan’s voice was flat. “He means to win.”

Jaime let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course. And what of the girl? What of Y/N?”

Kevan’s expression remained impassive. “She is to marry you. That was the trade your father made. If you had not taken her from Roose, she would have been his bride, and the Starks would have fallen just the same.”

Jaime’s grip tightened around the goblet, his thoughts racing.

“So, the Young Wolf rides toward his death,” Jaime murmured, staring into his wine. “And there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”

Kevan did not respond, but he didn’t need to. The pieces were already falling into place, and Jaime could see the end of the game clearly now.

His father had already won.

Jaime leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Does she know?”

Kevan sighed. “No. And there is no reason for her to.”

Jaime scoffed, shaking his head. “No reason? You truly think she won’t suspect? She’s not an idiot, Kevan. She knows there’s a plan in motion. She asked me about it on the way here.”

Kevan regarded him carefully. “And what did you tell her?”

Jaime exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. “That I didn’t know. Which, until now, was true.”

Kevan’s gaze was steady. “Then I suggest you keep it that way.”

Jaime stared at his uncle for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. “Right.”

The conversation weighed on him as he finished his wine, his thoughts circling back to you. He had made a promise—to protect your family where he could, to do something to ensure you weren’t completely swallowed by his father’s schemes.

But now, with Robb Stark’s fate all but sealed, Jaime realized he had no idea how to keep that promise.

And that thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Servants bustled about the grand halls, their footsteps soft against the polished marble floors as they prepared for the day ahead. The fortress was awake, its presence as commanding as the lion that adorned its banners.

You stood near one of those great windows, gazing out at the expanse of the Sunset Sea. The waves crashed against the cliffs below, their endless movement soothing in a way the towering walls of Casterly Rock were not. This place was nothing like Winterfell—the air lacked the crispness of the North, the stone lacked the warmth of home. And yet, this was where you were meant to stay.

A soft clearing of the throat made you turn. Lady Dorna Lannister stood before you, her hands clasped in front of her. She was a striking woman, regal in bearing, with bright, intelligent eyes that reminded you she was no mere noblewoman but the wife of Kevan Lannister—a woman well-versed in the expectations of courtly life.

“Lady Y/N,” she greeted, inclining her head slightly. “I trust you rested well.”

You gave her a measured look, your tone neutral. “Well enough.”

She smiled faintly, as if she had expected that response. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

You followed her as she led you through the halls, her pace unhurried but purposeful. “As the future Lady of Casterly Rock, there are certain expectations placed upon you,” she began. “It is my duty to ensure you understand them.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. “I imagine my duties won’t be too different from what was expected of me at Winterfell.”

Lady Dorna arched an elegant brow. “Perhaps, but the Rock is not Winterfell. Here, you must command not just respect, but loyalty. The Lannisters do not rule through kindness alone.”

You glanced around the grand halls, the wealth of the Lannisters evident in every gilded detail. “No,” you murmured. “I imagine they don’t.”

Lady Dorna studied you for a moment before continuing. “You will be expected to oversee the daily running of the keep. The servants, the household, the management of provisions. The mines may be the source of our wealth, but a poorly run household can make even the richest of lords suffer.”

You nodded, though the thought of taking on such responsibilities in a place that still felt foreign to you was daunting.

“There are also matters of decorum,” Lady Dorna added, her tone taking on a sharper edge. “The Lannisters hold themselves to a standard. You will be watched, judged. You must carry yourself as befits the wife of the Warden of the West.”

You met her gaze evenly. “You mean I must behave as Tywin Lannister sees fit.”

A flicker of amusement crossed her features. “You are not wrong.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, a flare of defiance sparking in your chest. “I am not some docile creature to be tamed.”

Lady Dorna’s lips curved into something resembling approval. “No, you are not. And that may serve you well. But understand this—strength is not always about fighting. Sometimes, survival is the greatest strength of all.”

You stared at her, uncertain whether she was warning you or advising you.

She gestured for you to follow as she continued walking. “There will also be duties outside the household. The Lannisters command many bannermen, and their loyalty must be maintained. You will be expected to attend councils, to play the role of diplomat when necessary.”

“And if I refuse?” you challenged, your voice quiet but firm.

Lady Dorna stopped and turned to face you fully. “Then you will make enemies of powerful men. And that is not a battle you can win, my lady.”

The weight of her words settled heavily on you. It was not a threat, not exactly. But it was a warning. A reminder that this was not the North. You were no longer a Stark in Winterfell. You were surrounded by Lannisters, by those who saw marriage not as a union but as a transaction, a means to consolidate power.

Lady Dorna watched as you absorbed this, then softened slightly. “It is not all politics,” she said. “You will have time to make your place here. To find those who will stand by you. Even among lions, allies can be found.”

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “And what of Jaime?”

Lady Dorna tilted her head, studying you. “What of him?”

You hesitated, then asked, “What role does he expect me to play?”

A knowing smile tugged at her lips. “That, my dear, is something only he can answer.”

The conversation lingered between you as the great halls stretched on ahead. Casterly Rock was vast, imposing, but it was no longer just the seat of House Lannister—it was your future.

And whether you liked it or not, you had no choice but to face it.

The evening air in Casterly Rock was crisp, the distant roar of the Sunset Sea crashing against the cliffs below. A few torches burned along the stone balcony where Jaime sat with Bronn, a jug of wine between them. The fortress was quieter now, its halls less imposing under the cover of night, but the weight of what Jaime had learned still pressed heavily on his mind.

Bronn leaned back against the stone railing, taking a long sip from his goblet before exhaling contentedly. “You know, for all the gold stuffed into this place, it’s got a real gloom about it. Doesn’t feel like a home.”

Jaime smirked, swirling his own wine absently. “That’s because it isn’t. Not really.”

Bronn raised a brow. “Not to you, maybe. But you’ll be Lord of the Rock soon enough. Got yourself a fine Stark bride, a title, and all the gold you could ever piss away. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Jaime scoffed, setting his goblet down. “You think I want this?”

Bronn smirked. “You think I care?”

Jaime let out a slow breath, running his fingers through his hair. His golden hand rested on his knee, heavier than usual. “Tywin’s making his final moves,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now.

Bronn lifted a brow, intrigued but cautious. “Go on.”

Jaime hesitated before leaning forward slightly, lowering his voice. “Robb Stark is still marching south. My father and Roose Bolton have no intention of letting him reach his goal.”

Bronn frowned. “I thought that whole bloody wedding business was off after you stole the girl from The Leech Lord.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “So did I.”

Bronn took another sip of wine, watching Jaime carefully. “And?”

“And it doesn’t matter,” Jaime said bitterly. “My father doesn’t let loose ends slip through his fingers. The Starks were always meant to fall. Roose is in a position to strike, and my father has already ensured that the right doors are open.”

Bronn let out a low whistle. “So, that’s it then? The Young Wolf gets slaughtered, Bolton takes the North, and your old man gets another war wrapped up neatly with a golden bow?”

Jaime’s grip tightened on his goblet. “Something like that.”

Bronn chuckled, shaking his head. “And here I thought you were actually starting to care about the little Stark girl.”

Jaime’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and defensive. “This isn’t about her.”

Bronn smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “No? Because it sure as shit seems like it is. She’s the one who made you start asking questions, isn’t she?”

Jaime exhaled, rubbing his temple. “She asked me about it before we left King’s Landing. She already knew something was being planned. I told her I didn’t know anything.”

“And now you do.”

Jaime nodded slowly, staring into his wine. “Now I do.”

Bronn studied him for a moment before leaning back again. “Well, that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

Jaime scoffed. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I do,” Bronn said with a grin. “You’re thinking about what happens when she finds out. And she will find out. If she already suspected, then she’ll be watching, listening. And you—” Bronn pointed at him with his goblet, “—you’re in love with your little Stark bride, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

Jaime shot him a glare. “I am not.”

Bronn laughed. “Right, and I’m a bloody septon. Face it, Jaime, you’re torn between keeping your father happy and keeping that girl from gutting you in your sleep.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his jaw tightening.

Bronn sighed, finishing the rest of his wine. “So what’s the plan, then? You gonna stop it? Save the noble Young Wolf and his army? If so, that’s a real piss-poor way to keep Tywin in your good graces.”

Jaime closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. “I don’t know what the plan is. But I do know that I can’t just sit by and do nothing.”

Bronn tilted his head, considering him. “You know what I think?”

Jaime exhaled. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

Bronn leaned forward, his grin widening. “I think you’re finally growing a conscience. A bit late, but better than never.”

Jaime scowled but said nothing.

Bronn stretched, yawning as he placed his goblet down. “Well, whatever you decide to do, I expect to be rewarded for all this. Gold is nice, but the stuff I know? The things I hear? That needs to be secured with something bigger.”

Jaime shot him a look. “You want a castle.”

Bronn grinned. “Aye. A nice one. With a good view and a decent bit of land. Maybe even a lady wife, if she’s got the right temperament.”

Jaime chuckled, shaking his head. “You really don’t aim low, do you?”

Bronn smirked, standing and adjusting his belt. “No point in that. You should know—after all, you’re the one aiming for the impossible.”

Jaime sighed, leaning back against his chair as Bronn walked away, his laughter still echoing through the halls.

Jaime sat there long after his companion had gone, the weight of what he had learned settling over him like a cloak. He had always been Tywin Lannister’s son, always followed the course set for him. But now, he wondered if he was capable of choosing a different path.

And if he did—what the cost would be.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quiet at this hour. Jaime walked with a measured pace, his mind burdened with the weight of unspoken truths. He had thought about it all evening, running over the words in his mind, trying to find a way to tell you what he had learned about your brother. But every time he came close to forming the words, he saw his father’s face in his mind—stern, commanding, absolute.

And so, instead of turning toward his own chambers, Jaime found himself stopping before yours.

The guards stationed outside glanced at him before stepping aside without question. They had been given their orders—he was to have unrestricted access to you. The thought sat uneasily in his stomach. He wasn’t here to exercise power over you, but to offer something he wasn’t sure you would accept.

He knocked lightly, then opened the door without waiting for a reply.

You were seated by the window, your long hair loose over your shoulders, illuminated by the silver glow of the moonlight. Your eyes flickered toward him, wary but unsurprised.

“What do you want, Lannister?” you asked, your voice quiet but firm.

Jaime smirked faintly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “A simple goodnight would suffice.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “And to see if you needed anything.”

Your gaze lingered on him, studying him, weighing the intent behind his words. “That depends,” you said at last, standing from your chair. “Do you actually care? Or is this just another duty expected of you?”

Jaime exhaled slowly, stepping further into the room. “Would you believe me if I said both?”

You turned fully toward him, arms crossing over your chest. “I suppose that’s the best I’ll get from a Lannister.”

Jaime let out a soft chuckle, though there was little humor in it. “I never claimed to be anything else.”

A silence stretched between you, the tension thick, unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Jaime wanted to tell you, wanted to warn you, but the weight of his family’s legacy pressed against his chest. He couldn’t betray his father—not yet.

So instead, he shifted, grasping for something—anything—to deflect. “Your direwolf,” he said suddenly. “I hear you’ve been complaining about his living arrangements.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “I wouldn’t call it complaining. More like voicing my irritation.”

Jaime smirked. “And what exactly is irritating you?”

You sighed, stepping toward the edge of the bed, your fingers brushing against the silk sheets absentmindedly. “He’s being kept in the courtyard like some common dog. He’s not a pet, Lannister. He’s my family.”

Jaime tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly. “You truly see him that way?”

You shot him a sharp look. “Do you not?”

Jaime exhaled, considering your words. “I suppose I’ve never had anything… anyone that loyal before.”

You studied him for a long moment, something flickering in your expression, but you didn’t press. Instead, you looked toward the window. “I just don’t want him caged. Not like me.”

Jaime’s chest tightened at your words, at the quiet vulnerability beneath them. He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You turned back toward him, surprised by his words, but Jaime only met your gaze steadily.

For the first time since arriving at the Rock, something between you shifted. The unease remained, but it was different now—less about defiance, more about something unspoken, something neither of you could quite name.

Jaime took another step forward, close enough now that he could see the flicker of candlelight reflected in your eyes. His gaze dropped, just briefly, to your lips. He wasn’t sure which one of you moved first, but the space between you vanished, the air growing warmer, heavier.

Then, just as he leaned in, you turned your head at the last moment, your breath brushing against his cheek instead.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” you whispered.

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest.

Slowly, he stepped back, exhaling through his nose. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.

As he walked back to his chambers, his mind was a war of conflicting thoughts. He had wanted to tell you the truth, to warn you of what was coming—but instead, he had let the moment slip away, distracted by something he hadn’t expected to want.

Jaime Lannister wasn’t sure what frightened him more now—his father’s wrath or the way his heart had nearly betrayed him in that room.

[radioactiverats]

thoughts on seekers locking landing gears and spiraling in the sky as a gesture of trust, similar to how eagles do that courtship spiral :3c or even just twirling in the air together a little too close. yes its probably really dangerous, but nothing beats being in total sync in the air

OH >:3c Absolutely in love with this. THE RITUALS ARE INTRICATE. I'm gnawing on this from various angles. Firstly thinking about this being a seeker-specific aspect of Conjunx Ritus (mutual Act of Devotion??) and it would honestly be so beautiful :,)

My mind jumped to this,, (angst warn)

---

In early stages of the war, when the exhilaration of following Megatron had worn off and bots were starting to realise their sparks weren't worth his doomed-to-fail commands (not enough experience yet..). When he was mostly relying on fear to keep his troops in order before he'd gained their full loyalty, there had been an Incident. You remember it like it was yesterday, because Starscream had looked ashen when he came back that night, and you'd never, ever seen that expression on his faceplate before.

You sit up, shuffling over to make room on the berth as Starscream plunks himself heavily down. After a few cycles of increasingly uneasy silence, he finally manages to speak.

"Two seekers have offlined."

His iron grip on the edge of the berth tell you the circumstances of their deaths were not straightforward.

"What do you know of Conjunx Ritus?"

You actually take a nanoklik to think about it, which Starscream appreciates given the solemnity of the situation.

"I know there's four acts?" You finally say, suddenly embarrassed about your naivety. To be fair, you'd never really had a chance to consider the possibility. Thankfully, Starscream just nods briefly.

"Correct. The fourth and final stage is called an Act of Devotion. Back on Vos, we seekers had a different way of performing it."

Starscream takes a klik to collect himself. You can't help but wonder if he has a Conjunx. If he does, he's certainly never talked about them.

"It's called a Death Spiral," Starscream finally says, voice horse. "Two seekers soar to the very fringes of the atmosphere and there, before the eyes of the universe itself, lock their servos and their landing gears before free falling back to planetside."

Beside him, you're enthralled to learn about this aspect of your own culture that you'd never had a chance to become familiar with. At the same time, you're picking up on a strange emotion that clogs his vocaliser and the faraway look in his optics, so you remain quiet as he resets his vocaliser.

"At the very last second," Starscream continues softly, "the two seekers pull up immediately before making contact with the ground."

It sounds incredibly dangerous, but you're enraptured by the idea. You know this because Starscream has made you practice something similar in the past, and there were a few times you genuinely thought you wouldn't make it through training in one piece even with landing gears. It undoubtedly took a lot of skill to harness the winds without the aid of thrusters, and even more courage and trust. You supposed that was where the love came in.

"It's... exquisite." Starscream offlines his optics, shakes his helm before turning to look at you, a ragged sort of pain spiking jaggedly through his EM field.

"I can imagine," You murmur quietly. It sounded like he was telling a story, back then. One from experience.

"Earlier today, two seekers engaged in a Death Spiral. But they didn't pull up." Starscream ex-vents raggedly, tilting his helm up to stare at the ceiling. "It was a pact."

For a klik you just sit there, frozen in silent horror. When he speaks again, it's through gritted denta. "Megatron has now enforced a ban against Conjunx Ritus between seekers."

You had a few guesses as to why. Seekers' valuable frame types to the Decepticon cause meant that Megatron couldn't afford to lose them. However, as increasing numbers of troops grew discontent with his leadership, Megatron as usual had decided to silence them through cruelty. It seemed that today's incident had been the last straw.

---

Outside the context of courtship rituals though, I see twirling together as a show of trust that anyone can do, from sires/carriers/sparklings to amica endura, cos flying and the skies are so deeply entwined with the seeker identity. Imagine just flying with your bro and the exhilaration of doing a complicated spin together, so close you can feel the heat of each other's engines on your plates before zooming apart again, the sound of your laughter carried on the winds. Must be so good to be in sync like that fr.

That being said, I think Starscream's determined to make sure cadet never feels alone in the skies, which is meant to be your home. Maybe in better times, I can see him joining cadet for training - the moves are a breeze for him, but it warms his spark to see you so happy while in the air. Not sure they get the luxury of the Autobots' "wanna go for a drive?", especially since his interactions with you must be under the guise of training - so Megatron won't see you as a target. Still, one must imagine Starscream happy.

Thank you for the lovely ask!!!!!!! Another yap... but in the process I have learned so much about eagles... I will put some sofas in my inbox so asks are received comfortably

[radiance1]

Based on this post.

"You're odd."

Tim turned to Danny, who was braiding one of the younger horses' mane and tiled his head. "Am I?" He asked, continuing to run a brush through the mane of his father's caretaker's steed. "I don't think I'm odd."

"Well yea, cause you're you." Danny huffed and gestured at his with one hand, pulling it back to comfort the foal in his lap before recontinuing to braid. "It's not bad, not really. But I thought Fright Knight just cared about serving the Ghost King and betraying him occasionally." Danny sniffed. "I didn't think he had an actual life beyond that and then boom! You appeared." Due to having his hands full, he gestured at Tim with his chin.

"And that's... odd?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Tim looked up at the sky, the clear night sky full of twinkling stars that he would have never seen in Gotham. By now he would be sneaking out of his manor to try and catch more pictures of the ever-elusive Batman and Robin. He was so close to figuring out who they were.

He just knew it.

Unconsciously, his hands slowed down until they stopped entirely. Eyes squinting as he pulled up what pictures he had in his memory and trying to connect the dots.

An arm wrapping around his shoulder snapped him from his thoughts. "Don't take it too hard. I'm odd, you're odd, we're both odd." Tim thinks there was a misunderstanding here. "Me and you? We're odd buddies!"

Tim blinked.

He blinked again.

Something warm was in his chest.

"Odd buddies?" He asked and Danny presented his pinkie finger with a smile. "Odd buddies!"

That was the first pinkie promise Tim ever made.

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

The infinite Realms has recognized the bond established between the Ward of Time and War and the Ward of Fear.

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

"You're odd." Red Robin stated, arms crossed over his chest and both voice and expression flat.

The Ghost Prince, most recent potential addition to the Justice League, merely shrugged. "You're odd too." He said, sending a finger gun in the vigilante's direction.

Warmth bloomed in his chest when he saw the look of recognition and mirth in the Ghost Prince's eyes.

He didn't forget him.

Red Robin held up hand, pinkie finger extended and a smirk on his lips as he tilted his head slightly. "Odd buddies?"

The Ghost Prince mirrored his smirk, and curled his pinkie around Red Robin's.

"Odd buddies."