#the hard work homestead life

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[windvexer]

farming magic versus wild foraging magic

It's been on my mind a bit but I really think in Witchcraft, a lot of it is finding power. A LOT of it.

You know I talk about my system a lot, building relationships with ally spirits ("correspondences"), evoking and petitioning spirits, laying a compass, carefully storing and distributing energy between spells.

And this is all kind of like farming; you can learn how to cultivate the magical ecosystem around you to carefully seed, grow, harvest, and store power, and to make friends with the gods and spirits within and around this system who help you (or decline to hinder you, which is also very good).

This farming is good because it serves the same function as regular farming, i.e., it's hard work but it provides reliable and predictable resources available throughout the year.

But that's not finding power, that's farming it.

Several months ago I did one of the most powerful workings I had done in a while, which transformed my life. There was no evoking correspondences or compass laying or invocations or spirit offerings.

I found a free-flowing source of incredible power (an eclipse, and I found it by looking up), called it into myself, and asked that it do something specific.

No candles, incense, bells, talismans, or whatever: the actual technique I performed was extremely basic energy work.

The results were humbling, and continue to humble me, and I believe it is probably beyond what I would have been able to accomplish working only through 'farming'.

After all, I am a competent adult. I could build a fish farm. I could learn to keep it regulated and sustained to provide fish all year round.

But it doesn't matter how good of a farmer I am, I'll never be able to compete with the open ocean.

A lot of this stuff about Witchcraft techniques - if it seems like a lot, that's because it is a lot; it seems like hard work because farming is hard work, and it seems like you must plan ahead so much because farmers must plan seasons ahead.

But that's not all of Witchcraft, and homesteading your magic isn't just farming - it's wild foraging, too.

So if all this Traditional stuff seems a bit stuffy and laborious and lacking in spontaneity, perhaps it's good to ask if you're ever leaving the boundaries of your homestead and venturing out into the woods.

And all those planets and transits and holy days and plant lore and special tricks for foraging power without profaning it are not tedious rules, but maps that show pathways to wild foraging your own power, bringing great boons and benefits to uplift your seasonal farming.

[knightjpg]

Tending the Garden

Living by yourself on your little homestead gets lonely after your father's passing. And so, when you find a handsome wounded stranger alone and left for dead in the dust, you take pity on him. Oh, he'll leave again someday, you know that. Which would be fine—if only he wasn't so damned sweet.

tags: Javier Escuella/reader, pining, falling in love

part 1 | part 2

Christ, not again. 

“You better not be dead,” you tell the man lying crumpled in the dirt.

He doesn't stir. With a sigh you put your shotgun on your back and crouch down. 

Scrawny, filthy, and bloody. “What a sight you are,” you mumble, checking for a pulse. It's there, however faint. When you turn the man over you see a young, handsome face; black, half-long hair, a nose that's definitely been busted at least once, and a faint scar across his left eyebrow. He's wearing a tattered poncho, its colours old and faded.  

You sling his arm over your shoulder and whistle for Copper, who obediently trots closer. As an afterthought you grab the man's sombrero and push it onto his head more securely. 

“Alright, girl,” you soothe your horse while hoisting the man over her rear. “Let's get home.” 

You were heading that way, anyway, your little hunting trip yielding two fat rabbits in the traps you'd laid out some days ago. You're not used to catching less, not yet; it’s only been a few weeks since your father passed. 

Maybe that's what moves you to take the stranger with you—the strange bouts of loneliness that have plagued you ever since the funeral.  

Fortunately the stranger isn't seriously injured save for the angry, fresh wound around his neck and some cuts and bruises. You wrap him up in poultice and bandages and put him in your father’s bed; the rest is up to him. 

As for yourself, you set to skinning the rabbits and preparing the meat, curing it and hanging it out to dry to add to your stock of provisions in the cellar. Part of it you set aside to prepare for a late dinner, humming as your knife makes quick work of your home-grown vegetables. 

It's a quiet life out here, in the middle of the grassy hills and patches of dense forest. Redwood's less than an hour away by horse, and you go there on occasion to sell your pelts and buy the few supplies you can't fashion yourself at the little homestead you've lived in all your life.

That said... since your old man died you have to admit you're struggling a little managing it all by yourself. 

When you set aside the now finished stew on the old, wooden table you can see the barn from the window across you, and it's not in a good state. You've been meaning to get around to the repairs, just—after the funeral... it's been hard. 

You eat slowly. The crackle of the fireplace, the clink of your spoon against your plate, and the familiar creaks of the house withstanding the blustery winds of spring are your only companions. Your potatoes are doing nicely; so are your carrots and onions. Might be time to get started on those tomatoes soon... Maybe squash this year, too. 

You're pulled out of your musings when the door to your father's bedroom creaks open and two guarded, dark eyes meet yours. 

You reach for the shotgun lying next to your plate. The man's eyes widen and he takes a hesitant step back. “’S alright, stranger,” you say. “Just makin’ sure you don't repay my kindness by tryna slit my throat. How you feelin'?” 

Your tone is gentle, yet the man hovers near the doorframe, clearly unsure of how to proceed. He's undeniably of Mexican heritage; maybe he doesn't speak English too well? You offer a smile, patting the chair next to you. “You hungry? Food?” 

His eyes light up at that and he nods.  

“Alright. Take a seat and I'll get you a plate.” You stand up, strapping your shotgun over your back. Just in case. Don't you trust no one, girl, your father always told you. It's what's kept you alive until now and you're intending to keep it that way. 

The man shuffles forward and slowly takes a seat on the hard wooden chair. As soon as you put a plate down he inhales the food in front of him with such gusto it draws a surprised laugh out of you. “'S that why you were lyin’ in the dirt out cold?” You shake your head. “Poor bastard. Well, eat your fill.” 

You hand him water as well as whiskey, both of which he accepts graciously. Once he's polished his first helping and starts on the second, you ask him his name. He looks up, cheeks near bursting, and your lips quirk up. You gesture to yourself, introduce yourself, and then, with an encouraging raise of your eyebrows, nod to him. 

“My name, Javier,” he says with his mouth full, pointing to his chest.  

“Nice t’meet you, Javier.” You touch your own neck and pat your abdomen in the spot where Javier got an especially nasty cut. “How's that feelin’?” 

He understands, mirroring you by touching his bandaged neck. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, his accent curled thickly around his words. Not exactly what you meant, but you'll take that to mean it's bearable. 

You let him be, then, content to watch him eat until he's satisfied. When he's done your eyes linger on his dirt-stained fingers. Actually, forget his fingers—he's covered in grime from tip to toe.

“You wanna wash up? There's a water pump just outside.” When he looks at you uncomprehending you get up, scraping your chair back over the hard wooden floor, and gesture with your hand. “Come. Outside. What's it called—? Agua.” 

That seems to land. He follows you, and once you work the pump to fill a wooden pail you leave him to it with a nod. After heading back inside you rummage around in your late father's meagre belongings and pull out a shirt and some jeans that will surely be too big on Javier. Well, at least they'll be clean. 

“Javier!” you call out before rounding the back. “You decent? Got you some clothes.” 

His voice carries back to you in some kind of affirmation and you step around the corner of the house. You're not quite prepared to see him shirtless, however, and for a moment your eyes linger on the expanse of his back narrowing into slender hips. You tear your gaze away from him the moment he turns, thrusting the clothes into his waiting still-wet hands. “Here.” 

“Gracias,” he says, his lips curling in an appreciative smile. It strikes you then just how handsome he looks with his hair dripping wet and little rivulets streaming down the hollow of his neck. His dark eyes regard you with a curious intensity in the beat that passes before you excuse yourself and head back inside. 

Javier returns looking much cleaner, sleeves rolled up around his forearms and jeans tucked neatly into his scuffed boots. He allows you to take his dirty clothes from him and you set them aside for tomorrow's washing. Then you gesture him to sit down, checking to make sure his bandages haven't gotten wet or displaced; but it looks like he was careful, and you don't need to redo any of your work. 

“Rest,” you tell him before moving back to the kitchen to clean up the dishes. When he shakes his head and follows you to the sink you raise an eyebrow. 

“Quiero agradecerte por salvarme. I help you,” he says, gesturing. You snort, pushing his hands away. 

“Ain't nothin’ for you to do ‘side from sit pretty ‘nd heal up.” His brow furrows at that, and you smile, nodding to the kitchen table. “Why don't you sit and tell me what happened to you? Y’looked a fright when I found you.” 

When he remains quiet you look back over your shoulder and see a shadow has fallen over his face, his shoulders tense and drawn up. You hum in understanding, drying your hands on a towel before leaning your hips back against the counter. “Where you headed next, then?” you ask gently. “You got someplace to go?” 

He shakes his head, eyes downcast on his hands folded across his lap. 

“Well. I could use a hand with the barn,” you muse. “Reckon I can let you stay a while if you help me out ‘round here.” 

He looks up that, brows upturned in a hesitant, hopeful expression. “Stay?” he repeats. 

“Sure,” you smile. “You help me, and you stay.” 

—

With some rest and care Javier makes a quick recovery, and after a while of having three hot meals a day his strength returns. His scrawny figure fills into lean, wiry muscle, following your every request with an eagerness to please that never fails to makes you smile. 

He helps fix the barn with you, and when that's done he moves onto a leaky part on the roof. He helps plant you tomatoes by day, and during the evenings you help him practice his English. You ask him to teach you Spanish in return. There are several times you both end up laughing by what essentially turns into a strange game of charades. 

“Ah, cómo describirlo... You sit on a horse.” 

“Ridin'?” you offer. 

“No, no... The chair on the horse...” 

You bite your lip to keep yourself from chuckling. “The saddle?” 

“Sí!” a smile breaks through on his face, pleased you've understood. And so on. You talk about anything that comes up; the chores you do, the vegetables you plant, the animals you catch. You lend him the few books you have, once having belonged to your mother, and read to him while explaining the words best you can.  

Javier doesn't talk about his past nor what he's running from, but that's fine. As long as he doesn't lead trouble to your doorstep a man has a right to his secrets. And though he clearly has moments where he struggles with a heavy sadness weighing upon his shoulders, Javier slowly becomes livelier. 

Sweet spring air with its budding green things lifts your own mood, too. Weeks roll into months, and both of you settle into your comfortable new normal; for as long as it'll last. You don't know what Javier has in mind for his future, but you're assuming he'll probably want to move on from here at some point. It's what makes you force yourself to look away from the way he pulls his ever-growing hair back into a ponytail, forearms flexing when he ties it secure. 

It's also to this end that you share your earnings from what you sell in town, insisting he has a right to it; it was a team effort, after all, wasn't it? It's a joy to see him look down at the money he's earned with his own hands, awe and gratitude lining his face. 

Javier's not the best at hunting or tracking, but he takes to fishing, and you're happy your father's fishing kit will get to see some use rather than collect dust in a corner. He's skilled with a knife too, and your usual workload of skinning and cutting is easily halved. 

“You know, I been thinkin',” you tell him one evening, seated across each other like usual on your couch. “’Bout getting some chickens. Lotsa fresh eggs every day. We'd have little chicks runnin’ ‘round, too. What you think?” 

Javier nods. “We have to build a chicken house.” 

“That's right, a chicken coop. You up for it?” 

“Claro. Tell me when we start.” 

It feels natural, to have these kind of idle conversations with him. To plan, to dream a little. With the rising temperatures Javier often works in the garden shirtless, his hat shielding his face from the sun. You're not sure if it's a blessing or a curse. Several times you feel the desire to reach out and smooth your hands over his skin, to taste the sweat a day's work has collected in the nape of his neck. 

One time Javier catches you, and you're not sure he believes the half-coherent excuse you give him. Good Lord, you need to get yourself together. 

There other moments where you swear lightning takes a hold of you. When you climb down the ladder from fixing the roof his hands steady your hips. When you pore over the English books he painstakingly works his way through he's so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. When you harvest the vegetables in your garden his fingers brush against yours.

Has it been that long since you've been touched? 

It gets to the point you saddle up Copper to go into Redwood just to be away from him and the homestead for a day. You go out to town every few months to stock up on a larger amount of goods and supplies; you're on friendly terms with the general store's assistant, Jimmy, and he's always happy to drive you back with a wagon full of things to last you a good while. 

Copper nuzzles your hand affectionately and you stroke her neck, slipping her an apple. Javier spots you and jogs over, smile bright. “Are you leaving?” 

He's wearing a blouse today, the first couple buttons undone. His collarbones dip so beautifully along his shoulders, and when he wipes the sweat off his forehead the fabric stretches around his muscles. You swallow, mouth feeling dry.  

This is the whole reason you have to head out. Clear your head. Talk to some other people that don't have glittering dark eyes and crooked smiles and stupidly attractive laughs. 

You focus on strapping on Copper's saddle while you answer Javier. “Yep. Time to stock up on some things. I'll be gone for the day, so watch the house for me, won't you?”  

“Of course,” Javier nods. “For the chicken house? Ah, coop?” 

“That's right,” you smile. “I'm gettin' us the materials and some chicks to start out with. A rooster, too. So no more sleepin’ in late,” you add with a little grin. 

Javier groans, but it's in good humour. “Monta con seguridad. Ride safe.” 

“Always do.” 

It's wonderful to feel the breeze on your skin as you ride, and once you reach town you find it was the right call. There's plenty to distract you, though Javier never quite leaves the forefront of your mind. When you get to the general store and greet Jimmy, who gets the catalogue ready for you to place your order, you can't help but add a few clothing items you think Javier might be in need of. You've noticed he enjoys taking care he looks nice, fussing with his hair and polishing his boots, and while your late father's clothes are sturdy and durable they don't possess a lick of fashionable flair. 

A bandana, a vest, leather boots with finely stitched patterns, several blouses... You hardly notice how much attention you're pouring into it when Jimmy chuckles and nods to the pages you're so intently poring over. “Never thought that was quite your style, sugar.” 

Your cheeks grow warm. “Oh—No, that ain't it. I've... Well. I got a wanderin’ stranger on my hands, and I feel obliged to him. Helped me out a lot, now that my Pa is gone and all...” 

Jimmy's surprise melts into understanding. “’Course. You look like you're doin’ a lot better though—just be careful of strangers.” 

“Don't worry. Ain't no one gonna get the jump on me.” 

You pick out the rest of your items, and once you're satisfied you have all you'll need Jimmy tells you he'll start loading up the wagon for you. “I'll take a bit, sugar, so feel free to come on back in a while.” 

You take the opportunity to sell your furs and take a stroll around Redwood, noting the subtle changes that present themselves after not having visited for a while. The saloon has a fresh coat of paint; there’s a new butcher in town. Stores have swapped out their previous goods for things more currently in style.

Behind one of the storefronts’ windows a fine, dark bowler hat catches your fancy, and you imagine Javier wearing it along with his crooked little grin. You exit the store only minutes later, feeling foolish and yet helpless when you imagine his delight at your gift. 

After killing some time in the local saloon you find your way back to the general store, pleased to see Jimmy's loading up the last couple items. He helps you onto the front bench of the wagon, and then you're rattling off. Copper obediently follows behind. 

“Saw you got some chicks 'n a rooster, miss. Think they'll do real well for ya...” 

Jimmy's small talk is pleasant, and you're almost surprised at how quickly your little homestead comes into view again. It never fails to make you feel comforted, to see the squat little buildings and the garden nestled among the hills. 

Jimmy insists on helping you off the wagon again; “You're a lady, I gotta treat you well,” and you allow him with a bemused smile. Only when your feet touch the grass again do you spot Javier from the corner of your eye, holding your shotgun and wearing a much darker expression than you're accustomed to seeing on him. 

He slowly steps closer, dark eyes boring into Jimmy's hand still holding onto yours. 

“Javier!” you call out with a smile. “It's alright, put that gun away, now. This is Jimmy; the feller I told you about.” You turn back to Jimmy, thanking him again for taking the trouble with the deliveries. 

Javier's frown doesn't disappear, however, not even when you gently touch his elbow, asking him to take Copper to the barn while you unload. Jimmy hangs back nervously, eyes darting between you and Javier. He helps you unload quickly, and when you ask if he'd like to stay for dinner he shakes his head.  

“I'd best be goin', miss. You take care now,” and with a tip to his hat the wagon rattles off again. You watch him leave, then turn around to raise an eyebrow at Javier. 

“Ain't like you to be so unfriendly.” 

Javier looks away, an unhappy frown tugging at his lips. “This man is touching you too much.” 

You blink. “Jimmy? Oh, he's harmless. Known him for years; he's always been a good kid.” When Javier's frown remains you chuckle, gesturing for him to follow you. “Alright, alright. Come on, let's go inside. I got somethin’ for you.” 

That piques his interest. “What is it?” 

“Un sombrero,” you grin, then think for a second. “...Algo así.�� Ain't really a sombrero, exactly... 

“Algo así?” Javier's lips curl upward. “Me estás dando curiosidad.” 

“Just wait till you see it.” The cool interior of the house feels wonderful after riding in the sun and you exhale, removing your hat and running your fingers through your hair in relief. 

Javier obediently lets you direct him to sit on the couch while you sort through the boxes. When he’s presented with the clothes you picked for him you can hardly take your eyes off of him: Javier's whole face is aglow with delight. 

“I might have to make some adjustments to make ‘em fit you well,” you tell him when he holds up his new blouses to his chest. 

“Estos son maravillosos!” Javier beams. He's especially taken with the boots, his fingers tracing the delicate stitching. He looks up at you, eyes softening. His smile is a beautiful thing. “Muchas gracias, señorita.” 

That damn fluttery feeling in your chest... “Now close your eyes, mister. Got one last thing to complete the picture.”  

You're made to eat those words. When Javier obediently closes his eyes it's so tempting to reach out and put a hand to his cheek, to touch a thumb to his lips... It takes real effort to tear yourself away from these thoughts and instead open the hat box, unwrapping the bowler hat from its crinkling, protective paper, and to put it on Javier's head. His hair tickles the back of your hand as you do, and maybe you're imaging it, but you swear there's a little hitch in his breath when your fingertips graze his temple. 

He looks every bit as dashing as you'd pictured. “Well, well,” your smile seeps into your voice. “Ain't you a fine-lookin' gentleman. Here's a mirror—open your eyes, señor Javier.” 

He does, eyes widening in surprise and then crinkling in happy delight as he sees the hat adorning his head. He turns this way and that, admiring the fine make and material in the small mirror you're holding up in front of him. 

“Tell me if it don't please you, and 's no hard feelings,” you reassure him, but that statement is met with such an indignant expression you laugh. Javier gets up from his chair, taking your free hand in his. His mouth curves into a sweet smile, and the fact that it's aimed at you warms your cheeks far too much. 

“Cariño,” Javier murmurs, his tone one so gentle as you've not heard before. “¿Para qué es todo esto? ¿Para consentirme?” 

You scrunch your nose, brows knitting together. “Them's too many words I don't know...” 

To your surprise Javier lifts your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. “You are very good to me.” 

You let out a soft little “oh,” and when Javier's gaze on you lingers you fluster, pulling your hand from him and turning away, pretending to be busy with the few supplies still strewn across the kitchen table. “Well, I—I just couldn't bear seein’ you wear your clothes to rags ‘s all.” 

All you hear in response is a little chuckle, but it makes you feel entirely too pleased. 

—

“Do you go—often? In town?” Javier asks you over dinner. Mashed potatoes, summer salad, smoked rabbit. It's a lovely spread, garnished with the flavours of your little herb garden. 

“Not often, no. Why? You miss Jimmy already?” you tease. 

Javier wrinkles his nose in distaste, and you laugh. “I do not miss Jimmy.” 

“Well, maybe you'll warm up to him. Most folk in town ain't too bad, really.” 

“¿Te gusta él—Jimmy?” Javier's tone is casual, almost disinterested. But when you look at him he's awaiting your answer with the watchful eye of a hawk.

“Él es un amigo,” you reply easily. “A friend. My Pa was fond of ‘im too.” 

Javier does a little “hm”, then goes back to poking at his food. You nudge his foot with your own, forcing him to look back at you. 

“What's the matter? You were so happy earlier.” 

“I am happy,” Javier rushes to reassure you. His hand reaches out to touch yours, and when you turn your palm up instinctively to catch his fingers he finally smiles. “Nothing is wrong.” 

After dinner and cleaning up you sit outside, side by side. The air is finally starting to cool. Cricket song hums in the air, the dying light of the sun smattering its final red hues on the evening sky. You share a bottle of whiskey between the two of you, exchanging small talk about the garden. 

When the conversation trails off you watch Javier, his expression serious and thoughtful, gaze resting on the horizon. Not for the first time it fills you with a strange, sad sort of feeling. He'll leave you here someday, and that day is bound to come sooner rather than later. 

“Say,” you speak up. “We should get you a horse.” 

It's almost like you want him to leave. Might be better if he did, actually. You're not in too deep, not yet—or so you tell yourself. You can still let him go. 

“A horse?” Javier looks at you, smiling with intrigue. 

You shrug, trying to appear casual. “Yeah. We could go out ridin’ together if you like.” 

“I would like that.” 

And so plans are made for a visit to a ranch just outside of Redwood. You weren't expecting to be returning that way so soon, but oh well. Not like it'll kill you. 

...Actually, no, it might kill you. Javier's strong arms wrapped around your waist to keep steady when you mount Copper are going to be the death of you. He's already seated just behind the saddle, and the way he instinctively reaches out to help you up doesn't help the stutter of your heartbeat in the slightest. 

A puff of his breath tickles your neck, and you're suddenly very glad he can't see your face. Lord forgive you, but his hands... 

“Ready?” you ask, your voice coming out slightly higher pitched than usual. And when Javier murmurs “Ready,” close to your ear you have a hard time suppressing a shiver. 

Thank God for Copper's easy and dependable nature, because even when you're more distracted than usual by your very attractive cargo your journey goes smoothly. Javier's dressed himself up in his fine new clothes, including his new bowler hat, and he polished his boots till they were shining. 

When you arrive at the ranch he slips off Copper first so he can take your hand as you dismount. “Gracias, señor,” you smile, and he grins. 

Your playful smiles slip when you see the way the ranch hand that's coming to meet you is eyeing Javier. In response Javier ducks his head, letting his hat cover his face in shadow and keeping his eyes to the ground. His tension is a palpable thing. You give the ranch hand a curt greeting, not missing the way his eyes flick between the two of you with wary apprehension. 

“We'd like to take a look at your horses,” you say. Best to move the conversation along quickly, now. “Nothing fancy, for ridin’ 'nd workin’.” 

The ranch hand eyes Javier. “For this greaser?” 

Javier looks up at him for a second, brief surprise followed by muted anger. Christ. Of course he'd know that word without you having to teach him.  

“For my friend. You mind your mouth, boy,” you tell the ranch hand in a clipped tone. The man gives you an odd look. You don't care. 

“Alright then... Follow me,” he says, and though he makes no additional comments about Javier, the way the ranch hand glances back at him says enough. 

“We'll be fine from here,” you're all too happy to dismiss him when he's led you to the available horses. Then, turning to Javier in a much gentler tone. “Alright, darlin'. You take a look and see if there's any you like.” 

The endearment slips out so naturally you surprise yourself. If Javier notices he doesn't say anything; he just nods, focusing his attention on the horses. Poor man. Running from God knows what and then shunned because of his heritage. 

You join Javier, watching him walk past the horses with a concentrated little frown furrowing his brow. When he stops in front of a grey-and-white American Paint he finally smiles a little, stroking the stallion's neck. He catches your gaze, and you nod encouragingly. 

“Fine breed. Learns quickly. Just like you—but a lot more obedient,” you smile, eyes soft so he knows you're teasing. Javier turns his head to you slightly, the tension momentarily lifting from his shoulders. A little grin curls around his lips, crooking it in that way that lately never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

“Then I will take him.” 

He pays for the horse himself, looking proud that he's able to. He shushes and pats the horse gently, telling that its name is Boaz, now, and if he'll be a good horse for Javier he'll get some treats when they get home. 

Javier looks so genuinely happy with himself as he rides Boaz you can't bring yourself to mourn the loss of his arms around your waist. This is good; this is a good thing. He has clothes, money, a horse. Everything he needs to get on with his life and leave you behind as a brief but kind memory. 

The two of you ride slowly, letting Boaz adjust to his new owner and to you and Copper. You don't talk much on the way home, letting Javier fill the silence with excited chatter about Boaz. The barn will just be perfect for him, plenty of space, and Javier is sure Copper will be happy to have a friend, too, and maybe once Boaz gets used to Javier he can race you, you know, friendly competition, but if he wins then maybe you could make that apple pie again? 

“Claro,” you smile, feeling both wistful and endeared with Javier's boyish grin. The way his eyes light up at the promise of your cooking. “...I'm sorry ‘bout what happened earlier,” you add in a much more serious tone. “And I'm sorry if I should've left it to you. Ain't like I think you can't stand up for yourself.” 

Javier shakes his head. “It is not a new thing,” he tells you. “Thank you.” 

You wave your hand. “My pa always used to say people's people. Don’t matter what they look like—we all get hungry 'n thirsty 'n tired.” 

Javier hums, seemingly pulled into deeper thought by your words, and the rest of the way home you ride in silence. You're not sure what's on his mind save for that he seems vaguely troubled, his mind miles away. Must be about his past. 

You let him be when you get back, wanting him to have the space without someone prodding at him. He spends a lot of time with Boaz the rest of the day and you busy yourself with your own chores. But you eat together outside in the warm summer evening, as always, even if Javier's still caught in his pensive mood. You don't mind the silence anyhow. You look over the grass waving in the wind, the soft sounds of chickens drifting from their coop. Your eye rests on your garden with a mix of contentment and pride, and absentmindedly you let yourself be pulled into musings of what to plant next and where. Peas do well this time of year. 

You startle when Javier starts to speak. “I came to America because I killed a man in Mexico.” You turn to him as he talks. His eyes are set on the horizon, softening orange and reds announcing the end of another day. “Powerful man. If I stayed everyone I loved would die. I was afraid when I got here—I had nothing except fear. I was starving. Weak. ...Alone.” 

Javier looks at you, finally. His dark eyes are pained, grave. So that's what happened to him before you found him. You'd wondered, of course. The scar around his neck that he hides with his bandana. His wariness, his guarded gaze when he meets someone new.  

So he killed a man. You wonder if you should be frightened of him—beautiful Javier with his sometimes sad eyes, who calls your chickens ‘ladies’ and who hums while he brushes Copper for you; who burns his fingers and his tongue because he's too impatient to wait for your pies to cool, and who fusses over the wrinkles in his blouses. 

You can't bring yourself to be. 

“I thought I'd die crossing the desert. I thought I'd be killed here—instead I was simply starving because nobody cared.” He puts his plate beside him, the spoon clattering against the ceramic with a soft clink. Reaches for your hand, hesitant, slow. “You cared.” 

Without thinking about it you turn your palm upwards to take his hand, and his fingers hold onto you tighter when you do. Compassion and sympathy pinch your brow. “Then I'm glad I found you when I did.” 

“You saved my life,” Javier replies. His tone is so soft, and it squeezes your heart. Oh, the soft feelings pooling in your chest—you can't, you shouldn't. You attempt a smile, trying to force levity into your voice. 

“And you paid me back ten times over with all the work you done ‘round here.” You hesitate. Try to burn the feeling of the weight of his hand in yours into your memory. “...You're free to go where you like now.” 

The way he smiles at you then makes you wonder if he understood what you meant, but somehow you just can't bring yourself to ask. 

[angelpregdreams]

"Darlin'."

content: fpreg, vaguely-mentioned pregnancy sex, labor, fpreg birth, 1st person pov a hint of cowboy flavoring, a la croix of the wild west

wc: 2800+

tip jar

“Sloan!” 

A voice called out my name behind me, and I released a sigh as they continued to yell, even as they came closer, “c’mon, woman, just be honest with me!” 

My feet paused their stomping, and I turned in the direction I knew him to be coming from.

“There’s nothing to be honest about!” I shouted back, an annoyed huff leaving me as I crossed my arms over my chest. The action made my nipples sting at the friction and I angrily dropped my arms down. I gave Sterling a glare as he came into view, which he calmly raised his hands up in surrender in response. 

“Fuck, nothing to be honest about?” Sterling muttered, his dark brows raised incredulously. “Are you serious?” 

Shaking my head, I felt tears pool in my eyes at his raised voice, I hated when he spoke down to me. His fucking accent made him sound even more condescending, which only served to infuriate me more. I grumbled unhappily, angry at myself for the tears and for him being annoying, “just leave me alone! You’ve been badgering me for the last five miles, Sterling, it’s getting old.”

He gave me a hard stare, slowly lowering his arms as his eyes flicked over my face - catching my tears. Sterling sighed and beckoned me closer to him. 

“C’mere darling,” his voice was softer now, more like his normal tone with me, it made me choke on a sob, “I know. That’s it, I know about…”

He trailed off and I tensed, my own eyes flicking over his form as I felt my chest heave with a gasp, trying to catch the breath that just left me. My suspicions confirmed with his own speculation. I had to be pregnant, there was no explaining my recent changes other than pregnancy. 

Sterling continued, coming closer to me and finally slipping an arm around my waist, “the baby, Sloan. It’s not exactly something we can ignore…and you know that.” 

I did. Doing our job while I'm pregnant would not be safe, for me or for our little one. More tears fell over my cheeks as I buried my head against his broad chest, crying softly. I didn’t want my life to change but I knew what I had to do. 

He was supportive, as we traveled back home and we made the decision for me to remain on our homestead. His support never waned even when I got angry and sobbed for hours about him having to leave me like this. We would need to continue our work, regardless of my pregnancy, and bounty hunting wasn’t exactly safe for me now.

Once we returned to our homestead, Sterling took our horses to our barn, telling me to go inside, and tend to the house. The bed needed dressing and the fire started. I bit my tongue to keep a retort about sending me inside like a housewife, my eyes rolling nearly out of my head as I stomped towards our small home. He joined me once I finished the bed and began my work on the fire. His quiet footsteps came up behind me, and I gasped when he placed a hand on my back. With the tension between us on the ride here, I wasn’t expecting his touch. 

It was still comforting.

“Sloan…” Sterling started, and I sighed as he continued, “darling-”

I cut him off by turning and planting my lips on his, shutting him up and finding comfort at the same time. We spent the night together in our bed, warmed by a fire, eating our meager food that we had kept while we were away. 

He stayed only for a week, and soon, I was alone. For the foreseeable future, I would be alone and my heart began to feel heavy, soon after Sterling left. Going about my household chores and work on the homestead was easy enough, but I still hated how quiet it was here by myself. My horse was my only company and I spent as much time as I could with her, even taking long detours as we went to and from the only town nearby. Which was its own issue, when I entered the town for the first time. 

Those that knew me by my work with Sterling were kind, but still standoffish, disliking me on the principle. I had gotten used to being looked down upon for my line of work, but it still stung. Maybe it was the change of my brain with a baby growing in my belly, my mother mentioned she forgot nearly everything in her early months and cried every time she did. 

I kept my tears to myself, feeling the sting of loneliness, until I was with my mare, Willow, and we were far, far away from civilization. Sterling and I had no friends here, even after our work for the local sheriff. He was likely to be the kindest to either of us, but I didn’t wish to strain that relationship by overstaying my welcome in town. 

Riding with Willow became harder as I got sicker, then I began to gain a sizable swell around my middle and it inhibited me from even getting in the saddle without some difficulty. The months passed with little excitement. 

I hated it. 

Sterling did make a stop here or there, when his travel brought him close to home every month, give or take a week or two, and showered me with affection and gifts. His hands traveled my new body, mumbling his amazement at the changes every time, and telling me how absolutely divine I was. It was adorable and helped my self-image. I felt heavy and slower than normal. Mentally and physically, I felt slower, the baby taking more and more of myself with every passing day. Sterling didn’t seem to care though, when he was home he waited on me hand and foot. ‘Making up for lost time,’ was what he told me. I would relent and let him, enjoying the attention and his fussing. His tender touch on my swollen belly made my heart flutter for him as it had on our wedding day. 

He was due to leave again tomorrow morning, but for now, he clung to my body as if I would fade away if not held down by him. We laid in bed and listened to the rain hit the metal roof above us. The fire was dim, but not dying, so we lingered comfortably together, dozing in and out of sleep. 

Sterling’s hand strayed over my hip and I smiled, keeping my eyes closed. His touch was intoxicating, and I pressed into his grip, catching his breathy chuckle before his lips pressed against my skin just under my belly button. 

“Perfection,” he mumbled, utterly transfixed. Sterling continued to pepper my belly with kisses, taking a pause only to finish his thought, “perfect and mine.”

My husband devoured me then, his lips and tongue delving between my legs and into my slick heat. His facial hair tickled my thighs and I sighed happily as he showed his devotion, fully lost to every sensation he gave me. Tomorrow Sterling would ride off again, but for now, he was nestled between my legs, one hand on my thigh and the other over where our little one rested in my belly. 

The night passed by too fast. He said his goodbyes, lingering for longer than he should have, not letting me out of his grip until he finally had to leave. He rode off on his own mare, and I stared after them for a time. The baby in me shifted and pressed against my bladder, making me grunt and rub my hand over my belly. 

“Don’t act up because your father’s gone.” I mumbled, returning to bed for a bit more rest. 

Sterling didn’t return the next month. As I continued to grow, crawling closer to my time, worry made me ill - more than once. It wasn’t out of the question for him to be sidetracked or taking more time to travel, but the worry still made me return to the comfort of our bed throughout the day often. 

A lot of the chores fell into disarray, my only constant was making sure Willow was fed and watered. My massive middle made moving difficult, doing anything that wasn’t necessary was asking too much of myself. At one point, I began to wear only my thin cotton nightgown, even while outside, not caring to get dressed if there was nobody around. It also made coming and going from bed easier. 

It was late in the evening when I felt the first contractions. I was waiting for Sterling in the rocking chair he had bought when we moved here when I felt it. My hands rubbed over my middle, taking a deep breath as I realized I was effectively alone for the foreseeable future. Meaning I would have to deliver on my own. 

My throat felt tight, and I struggled to relax my muscles as a few moments passed and the pain disappeared. Tears pooled in my eyes and I cried as my labor started. 

I tried to climb into bed and rest, trying to mentally prepare myself for this. I also couldn’t help but pray for Sterling to return, so I wasn’t alone, but I knew it would prove fruitless. The cross that hung from my neck offered little comfort as I clutched it, breathing in as a pain wrapped its way around my belly. A grunt left me as I rolled over onto my hands and knees, this pain lasting longer than the last few.

“Nughhh.” I moaned, trying to rock myself through the painful gripping of my womb. A weight had slowly begun to move down with this pain and I felt my hips ache as they adjusted for the head of my baby slid down. 

Arching my back, my huge belly rubbing against the bedding as I continued to moan through the pain, rocking and moaning. In the back of my mind, I had some shame acting like this, moving like this, it felt brazen. That thought was pushed away as the pain seemed to peak and I cried out loudly, the weight of a boulder pressing against my pelvis. 

Faintly, I became aware of the patter of rain on our roof, a storm settling in overhead as my labor progressed. 

A split second after I caught the sound of the rain, I felt a huge shift in pressure, my womanhood aching from the inside. I swore in pain, rocking again, as the pressure continued to build. Tears burned my eyes, and I felt my hips strain. There was no relief from the pressure, even as I moved back and forth. The child in me moved and made me gasp, stilling my movements. 

The pain and pressure made my mind hazy, but I was aware of my body rejecting this position, I had to move. 

Slowly, and pausing for several long moments every time I had a pain, I was able to scoot off the edge of the bed, dropping into a deep squat. Fully leaning against the side of the bed as I reached down and tugged my nightgown up and off of my sweating body. I felt hot, everything felt too warm. My womanhood most of all. 

I cried out with another contraction, the squat making the pressure ease some, but the pain remained constant. My vagina hurt, it burned, it felt like the boulder between my legs was stretching my hole apart as slowly as it possibly could. 

The rain outside picked up, the sound of thunder greeting my ears as I dropped my head onto the soft bedding with a cry. The pressure returned and unable to release it, I simply bore down with everything I had in a big push. I screamed loudly in pain. 

A soft sound accompanied the sudden release of pressure, then settling into a deeper ache between my folds. The release of pressure was then followed by the sound of a gush of fluid hitting the wooden floor, and instantly, I knew what happened. 

Unable to help myself, I let out a breathless laugh, the noise turning into a moan as a contraction grew around my tight belly. My hips burned, my pussy starting to bulge and I felt every inch of the child slip closer to entering the world. I cried out, sobbing as the burn in my womanhood spread to my folds. The weight of the child was just as painful, but I was suddenly grateful I moved when I did. There was no way I could even think of moving from this position now.

I pushed again, my body trembling as I strained to urge my child from me. My pussy felt too warm, like someone had held a candle to it, and I couldn’t help the fat tears that rolled over my cheeks and onto the bedding. With a tight grip, I wrapped my hands in the blankets, my knuckles quickly turning white as I pushed once again. 

“Sloan!”

My breath caught in my throat, moan cut midway, as my heart thudded painfully in my ears. That was… “Sterling…” I breathed, my throat sore, but my body quickly reminded me that our child sat at my entrance. I groaned again, barely able to choke out, “...baby…coming…”

“Sloan!” 

I heard him again, but I couldn’t respond again, my body urging me to push. I felt the spread of my folds, the head bulging me outwards painfully. 

The door slammed open, the sound of thunder accompanying the noise, and I heard Sterling’s boots on the floor. 

His hands were on my shoulders, free of his gloves, and rubbed gently. He whispered, “I’m here, dearest, I’m here.” 

I sobbed again, unsure if it was from his sudden support, or from the pain, but it mattered little. I pulled my head up from the bed, groaning as I pushed with a new contraction. The head spread me apart, my folds pulled tight around it as it slowly emerged. 

Behind me, Sterling cooed at me softly and rubbed my shoulders and hips, trying to ground me as I fought with my body with each push. I caught the sound of him shifting several times, his spurs jingling with the slightest bit of movement. It was distracting, if only for a few seconds. 

The head continued to crown, very slowly, as I pushed several more times. I tossed my head back and groaned, the head holding me spread apart as I felt the child wiggle in the birth canal. Gasping, I lifted my head, and grabbed a new fistful of bedding.

“The baby…! Catch…the baby…!” I warned Sterling, feeling the sudden, painful urge to push again. I gritted my teeth and bore down, my squat deepening as far as it could go. I felt Sterling’s hands leave my hips and he obeyed my request as I felt one of his hands brush against my swollen and bulging pussy. He gasped, feeling the head at its widest point in me as I pushed as hard as I could. 

The head slipped out, making me release the push with a gasp. More dribbling of fluid hit the floor and then I heard Sterling’s sharp intake of breath. I felt his fingers prod around my opening, making me pant, but he pressed a kiss to my shoulder, silently telling me to continue.

With the next contraction I pushed, it was only for a split second before I felt the babe wiggle in me again. I screamed loudly, continuing to push as the pain seemed to linger for far longer than before. The baby lurched downward, falling into Sterling’s hands as I continued to push, the rest of the baby falling out of me with a spill of fluid. 

I dropped my head down onto the bed and released the sheets, shakily falling to my knees as Sterling brought the baby to and around to my chest. I lifted myself up and pulled the child close to my chest, weeping when I saw my baby, her own cries sharp and strong. She was perfect.

“We have a girl,” Sterling whispered to me softly, his voice turned watery. “A baby girl.”

I wiped her face, her cries continuing as I felt more tears spill over my cheeks. “Oh, she’s everything.” I said, softly. She was everything. 

Sterling kissed the top of my head, pressing his lips close to my ear and whispering - just for me, “you did amazing, Sloan.”

I leaned against him, wrapping our girl in a blanket and bringing her back as close as possible to me. I couldn’t ask for anything else - my life now felt complete, wrapped in Sterling’s embrace and holding our newborn daughter.

[queers-gambit]

Now and at the Hour of His Death

prompt: any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

fandom: The Last Kingdom

word count: 6.1k+

note: fuck you, Netflix.

warnings: you already know - author needs therapy, projects hard, pregnant wife, Lord’s name in vain, Christianity (obviously), and a fuck ton of fucking ANGST because fuck your feelings. hurt NO comfort, drama, oneshot, cursing, canon-typical violence, injury, and blood. character death and spoilers - yeah, i'm giving you THAT scene. requires maturity and caution. good luck.

also please note: NO, i do not age Osferth to be 16 - that's just a reference age for when he eventually runs away from the monastery.

again, you are missing nothing if this upsets or triggers you and you choose to skip. value your wellbeing, my angels. author is not responsible for the media YOU choose consume, but still, as usual, MDNI

"You should not be doing this sort of work," Ingrith's voice scolded you, and when you turned, you saw the blonde woman standing with her hip cocked and a stern expression. "It's bad for your health to be in such filth, we've stable boys for this sort of chore."

"I do not mind," you sniffled in the brisk air, shoveling the horse shit of the stable into a muck bucket to be dumped into the fields later. "It keeps me busy," you grunted lightly, sure to bend your knees when lifting the pitchfork, "keeps me humble," you listed, dumping the waste to grin at your friend, "and keeps me young."

"In what way?"

"Reminds me of my childhood," you eased, continuing your work. "I slept in a stable from the ages of 4 to... Oh, shit, I guess I was about 16 before I left The Loft."

"What?" She breathed in confusion. "Never knew that."

"Yeah, yeah, true story," you beamed at her, still shoveling shit. "I slept in the stalls with the horses, sometimes in the grain rooms - basically anywhere I could since my work didn't include official room and board, so, I had to make do with what was available. Then, one day when I was about ten, Old Man Rivers said I could use the hay loft if I cleared it out, fixed the rotten planks. Stayed up there till I was about 16, and after that, I kinda ran away."

"Old Man Rivers?"

You nodded, "My mother lived on his homestead, but she was real sick, you see. So, he kinda took me in without assuming responsibility for me," you cleared your throat, shrugging, "let me stay in his barn if I worked with the horses and livestock for him."

"Why would you want to be reminded of that?"

"Seems simpler when I look back."

Ingrith sighed, "C'mon, put the pitchfork down. Come help me prepare the rabbits. The scouts say the men aren't too far off, they'll want a hot meal."

You chuckled with ease and set your pitchfork aside, giving a hearty pat to one of the horse's necks as you passed by to exit the stable. Ingrith made sure you washed up before you were both mounting rabbits on the rack to start skinning them.

"Could I ask something?" She wondered after a time.

"Anything you'd like."

"Why'd you run away? From Old Man Rivers?"

You laughed, "I was in love."

"Oh, you and Baby Monk go that far back, huh?"

"Try even farther," you teased. "Our mothers were friends, and when I worked in the stable, he was in the monastery, but when he came to me, saying he couldn't do it any longer, I couldn't let him go alone. Life was supposed to offer more than what we were given, so, we set out to find the legendary barbarian, The Dane Slayer," you teased, both giggling, "our Lord, the legendary, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"And all this time...?" She smiled, watching you shuck hide like you've done it your whole life. Ingrith inferred you probably did.

"Yeah," you eased, "all this time, he's been by my side. Kept me close, never left me behind. The others weren't too sure about me on account of being a woman, they told us to piss off a few times - but they came around after Osferth refused to send me away."

"He's a good lad, Osferth," she nodded.

"Arguably one of the best ones," you agreed, nudging her arm gently, "but look who I'm telling, right?"

"Oh!" She giggled, swatting at you loosely before going back to your work for a moment. Suddenly, the townspeople of Rumcofa stirred to life, and over the voices, you heard them announcing their Lord's return - which meant all of your men were home. You both grinned and breathlessly left your post, Ingrith pausing a young lad to ask, "How many return to us?"

"Does it matter? Come, c'mon, let us see ourselves!" You all but squealed, overwhelmed with excitment; eager for your own reunion with the man you've loved since you were a young lass.

"Warn the alehouse!" Finan was heard shouting. "Osferth's thirsty!"

"Jesus," you laughed, dodging around the procession of people waiting to greet their warriors on their return home so you could approach the white gelding your husband rode.

His face was absolutely priceless when he caught sight of you. As Osferth eagerly dismounted, your hands smoothed over the small swell of your belly - purposefully wearing a dress that accentuated your ever-changing figure. "Am I dreaming?" He laughed, a stablehand taking hold of his horse so his hands were free to caress your belly. "Oh, my God, I'm not, 's real, oh, God," he beamed, laughing with you. "You're pregnant? Truly? Yes? I-I am not - I am not being deceived?"

"No, my love, I guess our prayers were finally heard."

"OH-HOOOO!" You heard Finan holler as Osferth finally pulled you in for a sweet kiss; both ignoring the Irishman. "Lord! LORD! Uhtred! Hey! Did you hear!? Baby Monk's got some spunk in 'im afta all!"

"Oh, God," you laughed against Osferth's lips, but he was quick to shush you with another breath-stealing kiss.

"A baby Baby Monk! AHA!" Finan was still laughing, your husband's hands caressing both your cheeks when he pulled back just in time for Finan to descend. You grunted lightly when his heavy arms dropped over both yours and Osferth's shoulders, his laugh still booming as he gave a squeeze and cooed, "Oh, congratulations, yah two love birds! Wasn't sure you had it innyah, boy!"

"Don't be so rough with her, Finan, for God's sake," Osferth scolded, nudging his friend to get out from under his arm.

"What?" Finan looked at you gobsmacked. "Sayin' I gotta treat yah different now or somethin'?"

"I didn't say that," you told him prettily with fluttering lashes, fist quickly balling up to jab him in the weak spot of his armor - making him grunt and wheeze. "Aht-aht!" You warned with a pointed finger when he flinched as if to retaliate, "Can't hit a pregnant woman."

"Oh, yeh li'l shite," Finan laughed, Osferth pushing him towards his wife so he could stand in front of you and command all attention.

Osferth took a moment to simply look at you; thumbs gently tracing over your cheeks in sweeping motions, a slow grin breaking across his lips. "This almost doesn't feel real... But how I have to praise God for this blessing. A baby," he breathed.

"A little you and me," you agreed softly. "Sound okay to you?"

"More than okay," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "sounds like a lifetime together."

"Good by me." His nose nuzzled up yours, the sweet moment broken when he sighed sadly; eyes shut and smile dropping. "What is it? What's wrong, love?" You asked, stepping into his embrace so you were nuzzled into his neck and his arms were wrapped around your form in a vice.

"Uhtred means to move us again," he whispered in your ear. "Brida, she... She's got Father Pyrlig, and - "

"What!?" You snapped, rearing back slightly to pin him under your hardened glare. Pregnancy hormones would surely give Osferth whiplash.

"My love, I did not - "

"Brida's got Pyrlig? Fuck are we standin' here for, let's go!" You reached for his hand, ready to march off.

"Uh, no, no, no, no," he pulled you back to him; anchoring his hands on your hips so you could not escape. "You are not going anywhere. Not now - especially now," he glanced at your still-growing bump. "The men will go, you know we will return, but you have this new responsibility, and that's keeping this little one safe. For us," he smiled at you.

You huffed, "I'm not unfit to do what needs done, Osferth."

"I did not say you were unfit, but look at the timing of it," he frowned. "I should've been here when you learned, but I was not, and I am truly so sorry for it. Look, I do not know how long this venture will be, but you know I will return. We've waited for our family for far too long, I will not jeopardize this - so I will return. If you go with us, and something were to happen," he shook his head, "my angel, I would never forgive myself. So I need you to stay here, stay safe, if for nothing else but for me."

"But Pyrlig - "

"Will be saved," he assured.

"And Brida - "

"Will be dealt with," he eased, chuckling lightly. "My angel, you worry too much about everyone and yet never about yourself."

You pouted, "Well, why is it just me meant to stay back? This is your child, too, Osferth, and should have the right to meet them! You can't always control what happens, accidents are real, what if you don't return - "

"Don't think like that - "

"But it's a real threat to us - "

He agreed, "Of course, but - "

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, cutting him off, "we serve Lord Uhtred. This comes first, and I'm not - "

"I've made a vow to him."

"You made one to me, too, you know."

"Angel, please, don't do this. Do not ask me to choose," he begged with a frown, and you caved.

So, with a sigh, you nuzzled into his embrace and relented, "All right, yes, fine, go after Brida and Pyrlig. And when you find them, tell him I am waiting for his safe return, he is dearly missed. Ideally, I'd have him birth our child."

"Of course," he breathed, finding a small reprieve of relief that you did not fight him further about leaving - about choosing which vow to fulfill: the one to his Lord Uhtred or the one to his wife.

Both made to God.

Luckily, Osferth married his best friend and you were never one to pick fights with him. You liked the harmony you had; the peaceful environment you had both cultivated to preserve the trust and love you built through the years. He was genuinely one of a kind; a man who walked many lines between faith, humanity, right, wrong. He was the voice of reason, constantly striving to do better than he did before, learning all he could as if a rag soaking in water. For all he was, Osferth has always been enough for you, and for that reason alone, you never felt the need to argue.

To fight. To voice contempt.

"Question," you perked up, smirking at him as your pregnancy symptoms ran a little wild, "think we've time to, you know, really give our thanks?"

"Angel - "

"What?" You grinned. "You fucked me on the alter all those weeks ago and look - your seed stuck. We might as well go give thanks in the same manner, just to really show God how thankful we are for this blessing he's given us."

"Think the Devil's gotten into you," he laughed.

"Or your child is ruining my hormones," you countered, his lips meeting yours in another passionate display of his excitement.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking your hand, and leading you to the chapel - thinking you were being sneaky, but your matching giggles made Ingrith and Finan beam at each other.

"He does know she can't get more pregnant, right?" Finan teased, flinching when Ingrith smacked his upper arm.

"WHY!?"

"My angel, please - "

"What the fuck is going on, Osferth!?"

"I'm trying to explain - "

"The Queen? The fucking Queen is dead in our village! How can that possibly be explained!?" When Osferth didn't answer, just sat in the wooden chair before the shared hearth of your humble home, you snapped, "Well!?"

"Are you finished? May I speak now?"

With a huff, you nodded and gestured for him to speak; arms crossing around your swollen tits. He explained to you the reason for Haesten's arrival, the wagon his men toted, and why he brought the Queen's dead body to the settlement of Rumcofa. He told you Haesten wanted to keep the peace when King Edward found out, claiming Uhtred's son-in-law, Stiorra's husband, Sigtryggr, had ordered this death - thinking war would surely roll over his lands.

You never knew Haesten to be a generous man, nor much of an honest one, but it seemed the severity of the situation made everyone eerily on-edge. Uhtred dispatched his men; leaving Finan and Osferth in the village with you, developing a plan that would save both Saxon and Danish life. And yet, it was all futile when evil forces worked against good.

You didn't feel safe in Rumcofa anymore, there was a stench in the air; tension that mounted to embrace all residents with discomfort. Something was about to happen, but nobody knew what. You didn't claim or pretend to know what was happening, but Haesten's abrupt appearance spelled danger for everyone involved. So, as a security measure, you kept a long sword buckled around your swelling waist and a dagger strapped under your skirts. With Lord Uhtred gone, there was no invisible fence protecting Rumcofa - leaving it up to you, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf to pose as guard.

Yet you'd never be enough.

Like the surf over sand, a group of angered men descended on Rumcofa. "Who's men are yah?" Finan asked, you lingering at Osferth's side to watch the interaction from a short distance.

"We come from the King," a burly Saxon replied, your head cocking in interest - swearing you've seen him before. "Dane murderers are hiding here and you must hand them over."

"You're mistaken, sir," you kindly offered, the man's eyes shifting over you, "because we live in peace. Any murderers have surely moved on from here. We do not host them."

The man growled, "Don't think that's true, love."

Finan held a hand back at you, meeting your eyes and nodding simply. He turned back for the man in fur, diverting, "Of course, my men will attend to it."

Finan turned from the group, his eyes connecting with yours as he passed by. There was urgency, a quickened pace he adopted; having no intention to hand anyone over, wanting to remove these men without bloodshed. However, that was a distant thought because Father Benedict tried to assure the Saxon leader that nobody in Rumcofa would murder Queen Aelflaed.

You wanted to step in when the Saxon evidently didn't know about the Queen's demise - getting in Benedict's face and demanding to see what he spoke of.

"No, no, no," you muttered nervously, "he can't see the body, love, no, no, no, this is bad. Very bad."

"We can't stop Father Benedict without altercation," Osferth whispered back, keeping a tight hold of your hand, just watching the group. "If something happens, you need to get yourself safe."

"How do we truly know they're from Edward? What credentials do they have?" When Osferth shook his head, you worried, "Got a bad feeling 'bout this, angel."

Then the violence began.

The strange men took charge when their leader walked away, starting to physically harass the citizens; making both you and Osferth step in to try and diffuse the tension. You pushed men off unarmed women, got in between them and the children, did what you could without drawing a weapon.

When a man shoved you away from him, Finan wrangled him away, sneering, "Get yer hands off of her!" He kept the violent men at bay for a moment, telling you, "You need to go, darling - "

"Not now, Fin, look around us! We need to contain the situation, you'll need all hands you can get," You snapped, the two of you forced to part way.

Osferth panted nervously and looked left and right, turning to meet the Saxon and demand, "Tell your men to stand down!" But then, his eyes squinted when you joined his side to pull him back a step or two, recognizing him just as you did.

"I don't think they're here for the Queen, love," you heaved for breath in warning, still backing him up. "They've planned this."

"Finan!" Osferth barked, "These men have been here before!"

The Saxon roared over the fray, "Danes of Rumcofa have murdered our Queen!" His men jeered in anger, making Finan brandish both swords and for Osferth to push you back further from the attention. "Do your duty and rid the cockles from the wheat!"

You were left no choice. Osferth and you both armed yourselves, starting to fight off the Saxons as their leader demanded Danes and Christians be separated. You were unable to help, engaged in battle, but Young Uhtred gathered the Danes and begged Father Benedict to declare the church a sanctuary - thinking it would save lives.

It was only leading the Danes to slaughter.

The Saxon, Bresal, punched Father Benedict when he tried to stand in the way; his men holding Young Uhtred in the doorway to let their men enter the church the Danes were gathered in. They forced Young Uhtred to watch the massacre - men, women, and Danish children all slaughtered with no escape. No hope. No answer to a single prayer. Nobody to stop this bloody situation.

You fought on, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf doing their best to protect you by keeping you in the middle of their wee group. But you still got plenty of action.

"This is madness!" You cried out, slicing a man's throat open. "We need aid! We need more men!"

"This way!" Finan encouraged, "We must cut a path for Ingrith! Check the docks! Check the docks!"

You and Osferth ran towards the water, Cynleaf not far away. You searched for Ingrith, but you had no time to linger; engaged one-on-one again, forced to protect yourself and unborn baby. Not a minute later, you saw Ingrith on horseback, being stalled by a Saxon and for your husband to rush to her aid. He punched the man away from the horse, you hacking at another enemy, in time to see Osferth engaging with two Saxons - one being the leader, Bresal.

It all happened so fast.

You were already racing towards them when the unexpected. Osferth was battling on two fronts, holding Bresal at bay, fending off the other Saxon, screaming for Ingrith, who only managed a few paces before the Saxon's dogs spooked her horse. The noise was deafening; people screaming, crying, dogs barking, horses whinnying, swords singing as they clashed.

You watched it happen in slow motion.

You sprinted faster than ever before.

"INGRITH!" Osferth bellowed in worry when her horse reared back and dropped her to the dirt. It left an opening for Bresal to stab his dagger into Osferth's lung - freezing time and wrecking your world.

"NO!" You screamed, Bresal smirking at you and yanking his dagger free. Osferth wobbled, eyes wide as he met yours, the Saxon walking away as Osferth dropped to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, God, no, no, you can't take him - not yet! Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," You repeated, sliding on your knees in the dirt to catch him. "No, no, oh, my God, no, Osferth, no, please! Not now, not now, please, no, God, no! Don't do this! Please, please, please," you rambled, readjusting to better hold him, hearing Cynleaf and Finan yell for Baby Monk, too. You raged at God, "You can't take him yet! You can't have him! He's mine!"

But you heard nothing except your husband's labored breathing.

"An-Angel, angel, my angel," Osferth choked, wheezing and crying as he couldn't hold himself up and completely slumped back into your body. He pawed at your arms in an attempt to get closer.

"No, no, no, you're all right, you're okay, you're okay, my sweet love, you're all right," you insisted, hands stained in his blood as it poured from his wound. You knew it was essential to add pressure to a wound, but also, that this was all futile. Yet you needed to try. "Hey, hey, hey, look at me, just look at me, sweetheart, please, only look at me, nothing else matters," you pleaded with him in a rush, the lads sprinting to where you held your husband to your lap.

Nobody interrupted you.

"Where's the wound?" Osferth sobbed, trembling, blood spurting from his mouth; going paler by the minute. "Angel, please, the wound? Where's the wound?"

"No, no, no, don't worry 'bout that, hey? Don't you worry, you just keep looking at me," you sobbed, holding his neck and cradling him to your swollen belly. "Just at me, my love, okay? Just look at me - don't look anywhere else, okay? Nothing else matters."

"H-How bad? How ba-ba-bad-bad is i-it?"

"You're going to be all right," you lied to Osferth for the first time.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Osferth repeated through his tears and fears, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He held onto you desperately, sobbing, you slowly rocking. "No, you're all right, Osferth, it's okay, just look at me." You caressed his cheek, smearing blood, but locking eyes. "My love," you whispered, "listen to me - "

"I don't wanna die, please, please, angel, my love, please," he coughed, holding your arm tightly as if it would give him life. "Don't let me die," he wheezed, "don't let me die, my love, please, please. Don't let me die, I don't wanna die. I-I wanna meet our baby, please, I want to meet our baby, I want to be a father. Don't let me die, love, please, I-I wanna be your husband longer - "

"You'll never not be my husband and you'll never not be a father, hear me?" You sniffled, trying to smile at him. "Don't you worry, you're gonna be okay, you're okay, Osferth. You'll always be my husband, nothing will change that - I swear."

Blood pumped with each beat of his frantic heart, making it gush over your fingers. You didn't even feel it.

"Please," he choked, more blood bubbling from his lips, "don't let me die, I don't wanna die. Don't let me die, please, not now, not when our baby isn't here yet, please, I just wanna meet 'em, be a family, I wanna stay with you, don't let me go. Please, don't let me go, I don't want t'go! Don't let me - "

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here with you. I'm right here, Osferth, you're not alone, you're never alone. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you, I won't ever let you go. Never."

He sobbed harder. "I don't wanna leave you. Please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be without you - " But the words choked him, a splatter spraying across your face when he coughed; you didn't even flinch.

"Listen to me," you begged, "I commend you, my dear, sweet husband, to Almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator."

Finan was heard behind you, retching jarring sobs as you read Osferth his death rite prayer. "Don't let me die," Osferth begged still, as if you held that power.

He had always looked at you as if you hung the sun and stars, and now, as if you were his very reason for living. You hated God in that moment for forcing you two through this.

"May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth. May Holy Mary, the angels," now, you choked on your words, emotion clawing your throat, but still continued, "and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace." You sobbed, "May Christ who died for you admit you into His garden of paradise. May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of His flock. May He forgive all your sins, and set you among those He has chosen. Amen. Please, please, say amen, Osferth, say it, please!"

"A-Amen - Amen!" He coughed, trying to get closer to you, nestling into your warmth as he felt impossibly cold. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be alone. I can't go without you, please, don't let me go - don't let me die, angel, please, I can't go without you. I-I’ve never been without you my whole life, I don’t wish to start now. I love you. I-I love you, please, don't let me go, I love you. I need you."

"You'll never be without me," you promised, face coated in blood, grime, dirt, and ash; all streaked with your tear tracks. "You will always be my husband, hey? Hear me? You're always gonna be with me, I will never be apart from you. I'll love you forever, Osferth, I won't ever stop." You felt your chest cave in as you sobbed, "Please, don't you leave me - "

But Osferth was wheezing and panting, only staring up at you. "I only need you," he whimpered, "I've only ever needed you, I can't do this without you. Please, I can't - I can't go without you. I don't want to leave you, I can't leave you, please!'

"So don't leave me," you sobbed, him still clawing at you in desperation. "I love you more than life, Osferth, please, don't leave me, okay? Don't go. I love you so much. Being loved by you was my greatest pleasure in this life, I want our child to know your love, too, Osferth, please, don't go."

"I-I wanna meet our baby, I wanna hold 'em, love 'em," he repeated. "Please, this can't be the end, don't let this be the end. W-We have so much more - we were supposed to have eternity together, my love, my angel, please! This isn't the end, I can't - I can't go without you!"

"You're okay," you soothed uselessly, rocking more prominently. "Just stay with me, my love, okay? Stay with me. Don't go. Only look at me, all right? You hear me?" You sniffled, caressing his cheek. "You're the best thing in my life, Osferth, yeah? Understand me? Where you're going, y-you'll be welcomed a hero, with open arms. You'll be my own angel. My real angel. The reason I keep going for our child. An-And you'll stay there just for a little while until I join you, okay? You'll watch over us, me and the baby, right? Our own angel? Hey? 'Cause you'll never be part from us - you'll never be apart from me. You and I are a forever sorta thing, we'll never be apart, we'll always be part of each other no matter what."

Osferth lost his words, eyes widening and pulling you closer.

You just soothed, "I'm here with you, my love. I'm here, I've got you. You're not alone, I'm right here, I have you. I've got you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Osferth, okay? I love you more than anything, you're my everything. I love you," you sniffled, breaking down in worse sobs, repeating, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't faster, I love you, this shouldn't be happening. I'm so sorry, I should've come faster! I love you, I'm so sorry."

With his last breath, Osferth choked, "L-Love y-y-you."

"I love you," you hushed, bending at the waist to rest your forehead on his, "I love you so much. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be all right, you'll be safe - where you're going, you'll be safe. I'm so sorry, my love... I'm so sorry."

You felt him go still. You felt the last of his breath exhale, his body deflate. You felt his soul detach from his body.

You froze.

"Oh, my God," you breathed, pulling back to look down at his petrified features. "Oh, my God, no, no, no. God, please, please, give him back," you sobbed, "give him back to me! Do not take him! It's not his time, you selfish cunt! Give him back! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Give him back to me, please! Please! This isn't how this was supposed to happen! We promised eternity together, please! Let us have that! Let us be together, give him back to me! I need him!"

Your shrill hysterics were heard all over Rumcofa.

Finan sobbed into his wife's arms behind you, Cynleaf knelt to slowly extend his hand onto your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he offered, but you pushed him away harshly; knocking him into the dirt.

"No! I don't want your fucking condolences!" You snapped, holding Osferth tighter, "I want my husband! I want my husband back! Can you give him to me? Can you, Cynleaf? Can you give him back to me!?"

"No - "

"Then you have nothing to offer me! I want nothing else, nothing from you! I only want him!" You looked away from the young lad, finding Osferth's wide open eyes staring up at you. You whimpered, "I only need him, so, please. Please, give him back to me. Please. I need him, I need him, I can't do this without him, please, God, don't do this. You take so many lives, why add him to the mix!? Give him back! C'mon," you begged the cooling body, "c'mon, love, get up. Get up for me, please, just wake up. Come back to me, get up... Get up, Osferth, get up! Please! WAKE UP!"

But Osferth never moved. Never blinked. Never drew breath. And God never answered your pleas. Your dress was saturated in your husband's blood; a pooling puddle seeping into your knees, bodice drenched, his baby moving in your belly. You wailed into the still air, holding your husband tight to your chest; mouth agape to release the terrible screams of anguish, tears never ending, rocking on your knees. You didn't know what to feel... But devastation was prominent.

You wept until your throat went raw, jaw tender from your open mouth. "I'm so sorry!" You repeated, "I should've been quicker! I should've been at your side! You shouldn't have been alone! This is my fault! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have been away from you. I should've been with you, you did not deserve this end. Please! Forgive me, wherever you are, forgive me, I did not intend for this, I shouldn't have left you, I should've been at your side, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"No," Ingrith whispered, "no, do not say this is your fault, you did nothing - "

"Exactly!" You snapped at her, eyes ablaze, her husband silent. "I did nothing, I wasn't with him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be! And he was stabbed because of you!"

Finan whispered your name in reprimand.

"No! How many times have you rode a fucking horse, Ingrith!? And now, today, the time it truly matters, you fall; you posed distraction," you sobbed, crumpling in on yourself. "He was distracted by your fall... This shouldn't've happened, this is all wrong!"

The trio just watched you, knowing your emotions were raw and unwavering, that your words did not have meaning because your husband had just died in your arms. Hours passed, you did not move. Hours passed, your husband did not return. Hours passed, and your heart shattered with each passing breath you selfishly drew.

Because living felt selfish now without Osferth.

"Sweet one," Finan whispered, the sun setting, "we should move him. Bring him to the church so Benedict can pray."

Your head shook, "No."

"Darlin', we have to - "

"No," you whimpered, "because if you take him to Benedict, it's real. If we move, he's truly gone... He can't be gone, Finan," you sobbed, meeting your friend's eyes. "If you move him, he's gone, I'm not ready to say goodbye, please. Please, don't take him from me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "but he should be laid to rest."

"Don't take him from me," you begged, a new wave of tears starting. "I just - we were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to have this baby, and now, it's just me? This cannot be, so please, don't take him from me, I only need him back. Give him back to me, Finan, please, I can't be without him."

"I know," he nodded, gently encouraging you into his embrace. It meant you had to let go of Osferth, something you did slowly and gradually, leaning into the Irishman's chest. "All right, I got yah," he whispered, looking to his wife. "C'mon, stand with Ingrith. I'll carry him."

"Be gentle," you sobbed, feeling Ingrith grip your arms to help heave you to your feet; watching Finan scoop Osferth over his shoulder. The change of position made more blood splatter to the dirt, your heart stalling in your chest when you heard the mess.

You felt your soul shriveled and hidden somewhere deep in your chest, following as if in a trance. You watched Finan and Cynleaf slowly lower Osferth to the ground with the other dead Danes, feeling yourself drop to the ground in shock.

Seeing Osferth amongst the dead made it so much more real.

"It's all my fault," you sobbed, Finan moving to your side, "it's all my fault, I got him killed. I should've been quicker. This is my fault, my fault, I did this, 's my fault."

Finan knelt beside you, bringing your foreheads together to hold you tightly and let you sob into his embrace. "You didn't do this," he promised, "you did nothing wrong. You are not at fault. Do not carry this guilt."

You sobbed without reprieve.

Young Uhtred halted Father Benedict from praying over the Danes, telling the older man they had different customs, but looked back at you. He asked your name softly, wondering, "Do you wish for a prayer for... Him?"

Even Young Uhtred couldn't stomach the truth, avoiding using Osferth's name out of sheer disbelief.

"That'd be nice," Finan agreed, turning to sit beside you and hold you under his arm. You leaned into his embrace, head to his shoulder. "She read him his death rites when... It happened."

Young Uhtred nodded, bowing his head, leading, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Then, you joined from under Finan's heavy arm, sobbing through your words, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."

Benedict finished, "Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Together, you, Ingrith, Young Uhtred, Benedict, Finan, and even Cynleaf ended, "Amen."

Feeling the most level-headed, Ingrith stepped in and directed the men; informing that Young Uhtred should lead the remaining Danes to Daneland, Finan and Cynleaf would meet Uhtred on the road, and she would accompany you to Wessex - where Osferth could be laid to rest at the place of his birth. Then, the people mourned together for their fallen.

Finan disagreed initially, telling his wife you were his responsibility now that Osferth was passed. But there was no way you could continue with the company, not in your pregnant state. Finan didn't like the idea of you being without him, considering you close to a sister; something of a best mate, someone he couldn't turn his back on - no matter the situation. However, he understood the predicament and finally agreed to part ways, but not before he untied Osferth's crucifix and latched it around your neck. At the gates of Rumcofa, before separating, Finan gifted you his rosary; thinking it might bring comfort in his physical absence.

Years from then, you would bring up a single son named Gabriel (a name your husband favored, a name benefitting an Angel) under Lord Uhtred in his birthplace of Bebbanburg. You never remarried. You never even so much as looked after another man with lust. Gabriel would grow into a handsome warrior and a devoted man of God, satisfied on tales about his father; being painted as a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Osferth, too, was a man of God, a man of the sword, and a man of his word... Until the very end. And when your time came, you were brought back to Wessex to be laid to rest with your husband; your son having a son, naming him Osferth, and knowing, both his parents shined down on him in pride.

It was a comfort for everyone to know, somewhere in the afterlife, in God's warmth, you and Osferth were reunited; looking just as you did the day you parted from one another.

requesting rules and masterlist

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 1

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

NEXT >>

-------

"Enjoying life, Greenie?" 

Dark eyes framed by thick lashes look up with a scowl at the said Builder's voice. And here Mai had hoped for some peace and tranquility after having spent all day out in the sun pulling out weeds and listening to Zart talk incessantly about his love of plants and whatever. 

Gally stands ahead of the new boy, leaning against one of Homestead's supporting structures with the kind of grin that makes Mai want to run for it. No wonder so many new Greenies decide that the Maze is a fair chance. When Gally's out here storming through the grounds, Mai isn't quite sure that the Glade is as safe as they all make it out to be. His temper is something to be reckoned with. 

Mai's been here for only over a week and to say that it's comfortable would be a lie. It feels suffocating, all the more because of the number of people cramped into the Glade. 

Gally takes a step towards the Greenie and the latter freezes up for a second, inwardly screaming at him to go back where he comes from because god knows Mai does not want the peace created undisturbed. But seems that Gally doesn't read faces well, for he plonks himself down next to the new boy while pushing up his shirt sleeves currently caked with mud from all the hard work he's been doing around the Glade. 

The words fall from Mai's mouth without warning, "aren't you supposed to be with your Builders?" 

For a minute, Gally's eyebrows quirk up in surprise. Not a lot of people dare to stand up to him and yet, this new recruit has the kind of fire in his eyes that makes Gally smirk. Little smartass, he thinks to himself. 

"I'm their Keeper, I can do whatever I want." 

"Slacking off is also part of that job title?" 

"You've got quite a mouth on you for a Greenie." 

Mai's scowl merely deepens before he looks away. Gally's right. That's not the right way to keep a low profile here. In the Glade, hierarchy was everything and Mai is stupid to believe that Gally's interest in him excuses Mai from any sort of punishment he might have to offer. 

"Sorry," Mai mutters. 

Gally doesn't seem to mind, clapping a hand on the younger boy's back before he pulls himself back up, "Gotta go back to work Greenie. You coming?" 

Mai grumbles but does as told, already feeling the scars on his hands where he'd been pulling out weeds all morning. He just hopes that his phase with the Garden people is just what it is - a phase. There are far more fun things to be done around the Glade and unwillingly, the Greenie casts a glance back at Gally's broad back as the latter makes his way to his newest architectural invention.

Mai feels his face flush and quickly averts his gaze, knowing full well that he needs to get a hold of himself if he wants to survive in this place.

Well, she needs to get a hold of herself. 

----

Lie.

Lie to them. And to yourself.

Lie, Mai.

Those were the first few words that Mai heard echoing in the back of her brain the moment she'd stepped out of the metal box. The crowd of boys around her hadn't suspected a thing, considering that she was dressed as a boy, had close-cropped hair and was so scrawny one could barely believe a female's body laid underneath. The words were so poignant, dripping with venom of instructions, that Mai had done as told. She'd lied to them all, for the sake of safety.

And maybe that was what had saved her, in the long run.

It's complicated living in a Glade full of horny boys. Mai has to be careful because every second counts. When she goes to the toilet, for example, making up the excuse that she needs to do "a big one" as she'd mutter out to the other boys while averting her gaze elsewhere. Or when she's changing, always volunteering to go pick out weeds and quickly dropping into the Runner's chambers so she could get into fresh clothes. The biggest challenge had been the showers. It was communal and most boys didn't care at all for privacy. So Mai had to wait out in the dark. No boys enjoyed bathing in utter darkness, so night time was her best opportunity. She'd wait until everyone was drowsy enough not to realize that she was gone, scrubbing down her body in milliseconds before shoving on her new clothes.

Thankfully, the boys are either too dumb or too preoccupied with dealing with what the Maze has to offer to give her attention, and for that Mai is grateful.

"So have you decided?"

She looks up from her bowl of soup freshly made by Frypan and herself -- they'd decided to put her with the said young man for the day to see how she would fare and in all honesty, Mai thinks that this is probably the first time she's felt at ease with something -- into Alby's dark eyes.

Their leader is not one that speaks for nothing, and so everything that does come out of his mouth is of some importance.

"I definitely don't want to be a Slicer," she responds with a shrug, and takes another gulp of her soup. The leader takes a seat across from hers with an amused smile, "why not? I think it's fitting."

"Shut up Alby," she scowls at him.

"Alright alright," he lifts his hands in surrender, "considering your frame, I say we make you a Cook. Frypan needs all the help he can get anyway."

"That's offensive," Mai states, "what's wrong with my size?"

"C'mon Greenie, you're like four feet tall. You can't hold or build nothing, you suck at gardening, you've got no shuck stamina. I think the kitchen's where you belong."

"Thanks Alby, really shucking inspirational."

"You're welcome." Alby grins. Someone cries out his name then, something to do with the Runners, and he hits you lightly on the arm as he stands, "right. Off to work, shank."

Mai watches as his back shrinks with more distance, and wonders whether Alby suspects something off about her — or him. She's so careful, always double or triple checking, but she can never be too sure. Is that why he's sticking her into the kitchen where he thinks girls belong?

No, you're thinking too much into it, Mai thinks to herself. It's fine, you're doing fine.

Obviously, it's not just fine.

She busies herself all afternoon working as Frypan's assistant in the kitchen. He is easy-going and makes her feel a lot better, something about his presence reassures her, even though the close cooking quarters makes moving about impossible without touching one another. That's not something that Mai feels comfortable with, so she does try her best to avoid moving in the same direction.

Tonight is pork curry from the Slicer's last batch, paired with flavored rice and some green beans from the Track-Hoes gardens. The boys are hungry by the time evening falls and Mai busies herself by serving them one another another, until the familiar clamour of metal causes the entire Glade to freeze.

It's been a week, and yet Mai is still not comfortable hearing the gates close them in every night. The same gates keeping them from the outside. The same gates trapping them in, in a world that they can't even control.

Mai's fury burns as she thinks of it.

"Hey," she turns to see the blonde, the one that looks like an elf with features so delicate that she might swoon at the look of him. He's the next in line, amused by the fact that she seems distracted.

"O—Oh. Sorry," she quickly shoves a few pieces of Pork into his plate and loads it up with the greenbeans, "here you go."

"Thanks Greenie," he cocks his head st her curiously, "how you holding up?"

Mai shrugs, embarrassed that she can't seem to recall his name even though she knows he's second-in-command, "doing alright I suppose. Alby finally figured out what to do with me."

"Yeah I think you're better suited for it than picking out weeds. Zart wasn't impressed."

"It's not my fault your weeds seem to be ten meters long." Mai protests as a flush creeps up her neck.

Newt laughs, "I'm joking Greenie. Relax. Anyway," he lifts his plate in mock salute, "thanks for this. Hope I don't choke on it."

"Well I hope you do!" Mai yells out after him, only to add after some minor reflection, "—a little bit."

After having served all Gladers, Mai takes her own plate and tries to find a seat. Alas, the task proves itself hard upon noticing that all tables are already full. There's only one place open — and that one place is by the Runner's table.

Now, it's not that Mai wants to be rude and ignore them altogether. But the Runners only bring out the particular memory of her pathetic wheeze after having run merely a mile, deeming her not fit for the said job. That embarrassment had only made Mai want to avoid the Runners altogether if she could.

But alas, fate is not on her side today. She spots the asian boy called Minho, whose eyebrows quirk up when their eyes meet. He casts a quick glance at her tray, has a look around, before he grins and beckons her over.

"Hey Greenie," he says as soon as her butt hits her seat. His dimpled smile paired with his pretty crescent moon eyes doesn't help with her heart, "thought you'd never wanna show your shuck face around us after that run."

"Some people aren't Runners. Get over it," you say it more in a mutter but loud enough that it gets the entire table into chuckles.

"Well I think you might just be the next Frypan," another Runner says, "I'm Ben by the way."

"Mai," she responds, not enjoying the way his eyes seem to flicker over her face in thought, as if he's trying to figure out what's off with her.

Because there is something off, just not the kind that they'd expect.

"Huh, Mai." Ben tries it out on his tongue. He takes another bite of his curry, "how are you liking the glade?"

"S'alright. I just wish the Builders could maybe build us actual beds instead of having hammocks."

"Oh he said it," Minho claps Mai's back so hard she almost spits out her food, thankful he hasn't noticed when he only slings an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer, "hey Gally! Greenie here has a problem with your hammocks!"

Uh oh. Mai's horror triples as she watches the said Builder stand from his seat. Numerous eyes have swayed across tables to land on her now. Gally strides towards them slowly, a predator confident in his skin, she can't help but squirm back.

He's intimidating and scary. And yet, her stomach squeezed with an unfamiliar feeling altogether.

"You got a problem with the hammocks?"

Gally's voice brings her back to reality. Mai blinks, "uhm—no, not at all—"

"That's not what you said a few seconds ago Greenie," Minho grins, "come on. Tell him. He doesn't bite."

"He might," mutters Ben from your other side.

"Uh— I was saying how comfortable the hammocks were," Mai responds with a nervous laugh, "so yeah— good job Gally."

Gally doesn't seem convinced, but a call from Alby stating that he wishes to see the Keepers thankfully breaks the attention from Mai.

"Right," Minho quickly clears the plates  away, but not before ruffling Mai's hair as he does so, "I'll see you guys tomorrow. Try not to die Greenie."

Mai lets out a soft sigh as the asian boy makes a run for it, followed by Gally after having thrown her another glance. He doesn't say anything though and as the Glade slowly starts to die out — boys settling into their hammocks and others taking their turns in the showers — Mai is glad when no one seems to pay her attention in favor of sleep. No surprise there, considering how tiring they are after all this hard work.

She settles into her own hammock, tied up close to the elfin-looking blonde, and tries to get comfortable. The Maze walls look even larger as she stares up at them, her breath catching in her throat as she thinks of all the boys that have lived here for months without hope.

Mai falls asleep that night, dreaming of the what ifs and the endless possibilities of what the future might hold.

She just hopes that they'll make it out one day, hopes that the echoing voices at the back of her head are just that — voices.

-----

A/N: AAANd that's a wrap for the first chapter! Like I said, I'm in a TMR brainrot so don't mind me or my obsessive behaviour towards Gally in these series. And can I just say that Will Poulter has aged like fine wine. See you in the next chapter! Do let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist <3

[moonlightkitties]

Snowy Horse Ride (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Plot: After a long day of chores, you and Arthur relax by taking the horses out in a cozy snowy ride.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 732

You huffed as you hauled the last bucket of milk into the barn. Living on a farm wasn’t for the faint of heart but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Ever since Dutch went crazy and you convinced Arthur to run away with you and the Marstons, life was peaceful. Arthur found a rundown homestead with a barn and after a few weeks of working himself to the bone, he got it fixed up. The only con of having a homestead in the middle of the mountains was the unbearable winters.

Arthur was in the middle of the barn stalls, scooping out the horse's dirty bedding and hauling the wagon to the woods to dump. Your heart fluttered when he came back, his fluffy blue coat was around him and he looked as handsome as ever. He walked up to you on the porch and gave you a smile "What're ya lookin' at?" he asked, kissing you deeply.

"I think you know what I'm looking at," you said, as he pulled away. Arthur smiled, his beard scratching at your cheeks as he gave you another kiss.

"Ya wanna go for a ride?" Arthur asked, walking in the house, that was warmly lit by the fire. You followed him and sat beside him on the couch as he warmed up "A ride?" you repeated "You sure the horses or even you can handle that?" Arthur nodded "The horses survived worse than a snow storm," he said, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

You thought about his offer, it has been a while since you've gone for a ride, especially in the snow, and it has warmed up a little since you were in the house.

"Well, Mr. Morgan, I would love to go on a ride with you," you said, kissing his cheek. Arthur smiled and pushed himself off of the couch "Good, will ride to lake Isabella, I wanted to see how to fish population was doing, and then will ride back," he explained, getting his fishing gear ready. "You work too hard Arthur," you said, following him out into the barn where the horses were busy dozing off.

Arthur scoffed "I really don't," he said, saddling up Buell and lead him out of the stall. "You do," you said, leading your own tacked up horse out. "You don't have to go fishing once we get down there, you should enjoy the ride." Arthur mounted Buell and rode him out of the barn, you followed and he turned to you "I will, I just need to stock up before the lake freezes over more."

You sigh in defeat and roll your eyes, you couldn't do anything to stop him even if you wanted to.

After mounting the horses, you and your overworked husband made your way towards Lake Isabella. The sun was shining down, although it didn't help much since you both were freezing. Once you both could see the lake in the distance, you heard Arthur swear. The lake was completely frozen over, you smiled a little, "Well, guess you can't go fishing," you shrug. Arthur grumbled "Yeah, well, can't be helped, I guess," he said, clicking his tongue to make Buell turn away and head back towards the house.

"Come on," you tell him, riding up alongside him "We can still go for a ride."

"I thought that's what we just did," Arthur said. You roll your eyes "I want to go on an actual ride." Arthur chuckled "Come on then," he turned Buell around again "Let's hope you can keep up," he said, then kicked Buell into a gallop. You let out a gasp and made your own horse run, trying to catch up to him. "This was supposed to be a relaxing trail ride!" you yell.

Arthur let out a loud, barking laugh as he made Buell run faster. As you caught up with him, you noticed that the sun was setting and it made the snow look beautiful. Arthur saw that you weren't following him so he turned and rode up beside you.

"It's gorgeous," you said, fixated on the orange and pink sky.

"It really is," he said, although his eyes were looking at the sky, they were looking at you. He thought you were way prettier than the sunset. You were his reason for living and breathing.

And he loved you more than ever.

[moonselune]

Hi Seluney! I love your fics, they are tiny highlights in my day so thank you for sharing!

Here is some fluff (if you are interested by that prompt of course!) to think about!

A lot of the party members have very complicated or tragic ties to their family, to say the least! Karlach's parents are beloved but dead, Githyanki don't have the notion of family and Lae'zel mentions not knowing what happened to the others who hatched with her, Astarion and his "siblings"?? Then you have living (or not depending on how your playthrough goes YIKES) parents with Wyll and Shadowheart and it's very painful in another way! (And then you have Gale, who is the only one having an awesome relationship with his mom, you go Gale!)

So what about the companions of your choice being "adopted" by their inlaws (be it a huge extended family or something small) who are very normal loving people and just love Tav's partner. Enjoy some domesticity, family gatherings, homecooked meals and bad dad-jokes, you fools!

After all the game put everyone through, the party members deserve nice things! (AND SO DO YOU SELUNEY!)

Ahhhh so wholesome !!! I love it !! Thank you so much for your support and you deserve nice things too - which I hope to have done with your ask xox

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the sprawling farmland as you and Karlach approached your family’s homestead. The landscape was dotted with fields of crops, and the sound of livestock filled the air. The farm had always been a haven of activity and life, with your parents at its heart, embodying the spirit of hard work and resilience.

As you walked up the well-trodden path toward the house, you could sense Karlach’s excitement mingled with a hint of apprehension. She had heard countless stories about your family and their boisterous, hands-on lifestyle. Now, she was about to experience it all firsthand.

You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just remember, they’re a bit rough around the edges, but they mean well. They’ll love you if you show them your genuine self.”

Karlach grinned, her eyes gleaming with determination. “Don’t worry, love. I’m ready for whatever they throw at me.”

When you reached the front porch, you could already hear the sounds of your parents bustling around. They were in the middle of preparing dinner, the hearty aroma of something delicious wafting through the air. You gave Karlach a quick squeeze before opening the door and stepping inside.

“Ma! Pa! I’m home!” you called out, your voice carrying through the house.

The commotion in the kitchen paused for a moment before your parents emerged from the back, their faces lighting up with warm, if somewhat skeptical, smiles.

Your mother, a robust woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, and your father, a burly man with a heart of gold, both took in the sight of Karlach with keen eyes. Your mother’s gaze softened immediately, while your father’s expression turned into one of open curiosity.

“Ah, you must be Karlach!” your mother said, her voice rich with warmth. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Karlach stepped forward confidently, extending her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you both. I’ve heard a lot about this place—can’t wait to see it all.”

Your father’s eyes twinkled as he took Karlach’s hand with a hearty handshake. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. This farm’s got more life in it than any city could ever hold.”

Your mother, not to be outdone, pulled Karlach into a surprisingly fierce hug. “Come on in, dear. You’re just in time to help prep for supper. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Karlach beamed and followed your parents into the kitchen, where she was immediately put to work. The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity—dough being kneaded, vegetables being chopped, and pots clanging. Karlach’s enthusiasm was evident as she rolled up her sleeves and dove right into the chaos, her laughter ringing out as she helped with the preparations.

At first, your parents watched in astonishment as Karlach fit right in with their rough-and-ready approach. She didn’t hesitate to get her hands dirty, joining in with the farm chores, mucking out stables, and even helping with the repairs around the barn. Her fearlessness and exuberance won them over in no time.

Your mother, watching Karlach handle the chores with a grin, leaned over to you and whispered, “You know, she’s got a good head on her shoulders. I like her. She’s not afraid to get her hands dirty.”

Your father, catching a glimpse of Karlach covered in a bit of mud after helping with the pigs, clapped a hand on your shoulder. “She’s got spirit, that one. You should take a page out of her book. None of that fancy city stuff for you. More like Karlach—down-to-earth and tough.”

You chuckled, appreciating their approval and the way they had taken Karlach into their fold so quickly. “I’ll keep that in mind, Pa.”

As the evening progressed, the meal was served, and the conversation flowed easily. Karlach charmed everyone with her stories of adventure and her easy-going nature. Your parents, who had initially been skeptical about anyone who wasn’t tied to the farm’s way of life, had fully embraced Karlach as one of their own.

When the night drew to a close and the stars began to sparkle above, your parents gathered around Karlach, offering her their best wishes and a promise that she was always welcome on the farm.

Your mother placed a hand on Karlach’s shoulder with a smile. “You’ve made quite the impression, dear. You’re part of the family now. Don’t be a stranger.”

Karlach’s eyes shone with genuine emotion as she looked at you, then back at your parents. “Thank you. I feel right at home here.”

As you walked hand-in-hand with Karlach through the now-quiet farm, you felt a profound sense of contentment. Your family had welcomed her with open arms, and their acceptance and love were palpable.

Karlach leaned in closer, her voice soft and full of affection. “Your family is amazing. I never expected to fit in so well.”

You smiled, squeezing her hand gently. “I knew they’d love you. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

And with that, you both enjoyed a serene evening under the stars, knowing that Karlach had truly found a place where she belonged, alongside you and the family who had embraced her with open hearts.

Minthara:

The bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate were alive with activity as you and Minthara navigated through the city, heading toward your home. The contrast between the vibrant, chaotic city and the serene atmosphere of your family’s house was always a bit jarring, but today was especially significant. Minthara had been both eager and apprehensive about meeting your two fathers, and you could sense her anxiety.

As you approached the well-kept house, you could see the warm glow of lanterns spilling out into the street. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the open windows, mingling with the distant sounds of city life. Your heart swelled with anticipation; this was an important moment, and you hoped it would go smoothly.

You glanced at Minthara, offering her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. They’ll love you. Just be yourself.”

Minthara, dressed in her usual dark, elegant attire, adjusted her posture nervously. “I know this is a significant moment, but I can’t help feeling uneasy.”

In her defence your fathers were the absolute epitome of what she was raised to think lesser of, two male seldarine drow. But that was her old life, her old beliefs. You had changed her.

You squeezed her hand gently. “My dads are different. They understand what it means to be exiled, and they’ve always been kind-hearted. They won’t judge you.”

With a deep breath, Minthara nodded, and you led her up the path to the front door. You knocked, and the door swung open to reveal your two fathers, both drow with an air of quiet dignity and warmth.

“Welcome home!” your fathers greeted, their smiles broad and genuine. They took in Minthara’s presence with a mix of curiosity and kindness.

Your father, the more talkative of the two, extended his hand with a welcoming gesture. “Ah, you must be Minthara. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.”

Minthara hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand, her nerves palpable. “Thank you for having me. I’m… I’m not sure what to expect.”

Your other father, a bit more reserved but equally warm, placed a reassuring hand on Minthara’s shoulder. “We’ve heard about your exile, you poor thing. Please, make yourself comfortable. You’re safe here.”

Minthara’s eyes widened in surprise as she looked between the two of them. She had been expecting hostility or at least a cold reception, but the sincerity in their words and their welcoming gestures took her aback.

As you all moved into the living area, your fathers quickly made Minthara feel at home, offering her a seat by the fire and making small talk. They inquired about her journey, her experiences, and made an effort to ensure she felt at ease.

You noticed Minthara's initial unease gradually melting away as your fathers continued to dote on her. They served her food, asked about her preferences, and seemed genuinely interested in making her feel comfortable.

At one point, your father, noticing Minthara’s hesitation, began to regale her with stories of your childhood. He wanted to ensure she felt included and appreciated, regardless of her background.

Minthara, caught off guard by their kindness, tried to maintain her composure but struggled. She was unaccustomed to such genuine hospitality from drow who were not aligned with Lolth. She found herself being fussed over, with your fathers offering her more attention than you had anticipated.

You could see Minthara’s confusion and discomfort as she tried to navigate this new dynamic. She kept glancing at you, her eyes reflecting a mix of disbelief and discomfort. “I didn’t expect this. Why are they being so kind to me?”

You smiled warmly at her, understanding her surprise. “They know what it’s like to be cast out and exiled. They have a deep sense of empathy for anyone who’s been wronged, and they see past our differences. They genuinely want you to feel welcome.”

As the evening wore on, your fathers continued to make Minthara feel like a part of the family. They included her in conversations, invited her to join in family traditions, and even showed her some of their favorite recipes, explaining them with great enthusiasm.

By the end of the night, Minthara was visibly more relaxed. She had come to terms with the fact that your fathers were not only accepting but incredibly supportive. She found herself enjoying the evening, feeling a sense of belonging that she had not anticipated.

As the night drew to a close and you all said your goodbyes, Minthara pulled you aside, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and confusion. “I didn’t know what to expect, but they’ve been wonderful. I feel… I don’t know how to explain it. I feel like I’ve been given a chance I didn’t think I’d ever have.”

You gently squeezed her hand, your heart swelling with affection. “I’m glad they could show you that kindness. You deserve to feel welcomed and loved.”

Minthara smiled, her gaze softening as she looked at you. “Thank you for bringing me here. I didn’t know I could find this kind of acceptance. It means more to me than I can say.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

You and Lae'zel approached the small, secluded home where your parents lived. The quiet serenity of the surroundings was in stark contrast to the chaotic and tumultuous world that Lae'zel was accustomed to. Your heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and nervousness; this was the moment when Lae'zel would meet the parents who had rescued you from the harsh confines of the creche.

You had often spoken of your parents' pacifist and spiritual beliefs, but you knew that experiencing them firsthand might be a shock for someone as battle-hardened as Lae'zel. The journey had been long, but the sight of your parents' humble dwelling at the end of the path was both comforting and reassuring. You took a deep breath and gave Lae'zel a reassuring glance.

As you approached the door, you could hear the gentle strains of a melodic chant, a common practice in your parents’ daily rituals. You knocked softly, and after a moment, the door creaked open to reveal your mother, her face illuminated with a warm, welcoming smile.

“Welcome, dear one,” she said, her voice soft and soothing as she bowed to Lae'zel “You must be Lae'zel. I am so pleased to meet you.”

Lae'zel, always one for directness and formality, gave a respectful nod, her eyes scanning the peaceful surroundings with curiosity.

“Greetings,” she replied, her tone slightly reserved. Not entirely sure what to make of the Githyanki, she was covered in crystal necklaces and patterned robes - she had never seen a monk like this, if they were even monks.

Your mother stepped aside to let you and Lae'zel into the house. Inside, the space was filled with calming colors, soft lighting, and an array of spiritual symbols, incense and artifacts. The atmosphere was imbued with a sense of tranquility that seemed almost otherworldly compared to the harsh realities of the Githyanki creche.

Your father, who had been meditating in a corner, stood up and approached with a gentle smile. His presence was calm and serene, embodying the spiritual essence that defined your upbringing.

“Welcome, Lae'zel,” he said, extending a bow in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Lae'zel bowed firmly but with a hint of confusion in her eyes. She observed the peaceful surroundings and the serene demeanor of your parents, trying to reconcile it with the chaotic and violent nature of their offspring.

As you and Lae'zel settled into the cozy sitting area, your mother offered tea and various calming herbs. The conversation began slowly, with your parents asking Lae'zel about her experiences and interests, their curiosity genuine and untainted by judgment.

“So, Lae'zel,” your mother began gently, “what is it that you cherish most about your travels and experiences?”

Lae'zel, momentarily taken aback by the question, responded with cautious enthusiasm. “I value strength and discipline. My experiences in battle have shaped me into who I am today.”

Your father nodded thoughtfully. “Strength is indeed an important aspect of life. However, it is also crucial to find balance and peace within oneself. We believe that the universe guides us, and our actions shape our karma.”

Lae'zel listened with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “I understand the importance of balance, but my path has always been one of combat and survival. It is difficult to see how such ideals would fit into that world.”

You could see the slight discomfort in Lae'zel’s posture as she struggled to understand the philosophical approach of your parents.

After a moment, she turned to you with a questioning glance. “How did such calm and spiritual individuals produce someone as…”

“Violent and chaotic?” you finished, smiling wryly. “I’ve often wondered the same thing.”

Your mother laughed softly, a melodic sound that seemed to fill the room with warmth. “Our beliefs guided us to raise you with compassion and understanding, but we also recognize that each individual’s path is unique. We honor the journey you have undertaken, even if it diverges from our own.”

Your father added, his voice gentle but firm, “Everyone’s path is a reflection of their soul’s journey. The balance you seek and the battles you fight are all part of the cosmic dance. We accept and love you for who you are, as we do with Lae'zel.”

Lae'zel’s eyes softened as she absorbed their words. The realization that your parents held no ill will or judgment toward her, despite their vastly different beliefs, began to ease her confusion.

“Thank you for your acceptance,” she said, her voice more genuine and appreciative. “It is rare to find such kindness and openness in this world.”

Your mother placed a hand on Lae'zel’s shoulder, her touch light but filled with warmth. “We are grateful to have you here. Our love for our child extends to those who are important to them.”

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed more naturally. Lae'zel’s initial reservations began to dissolve as she shared stories of her own experiences, and your parents listened with genuine interest and respect. The harmonious blend of your parents' spiritual wisdom and Lae'zel’s battle-hardened tales created a unique and memorable evening.

By the end of the night, Lae'zel’s initial confusion had transformed into a deep appreciation for your parents' way of life. The evening had been a bridge between two worlds, united by love and mutual respect. As you and Lae'zel prepared to leave, you felt a profound sense of contentment, knowing that your parents had embraced your lover with the same unconditional love that had guided them throughout their lives.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The gentle hum of the forest surrounded you as you and Shadowheart approached your family’s home, nestled among the ancient trees. The sun had begun its descent, casting a warm, golden light through the canopy. You had often spoken of your mothers—druids with a profound connection to nature and a loving, albeit occasionally overwhelming, tendency to fuss over you. Today, Shadowheart would finally... experience them.

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. You were eager for Shadowheart to meet your family, but you also knew that your mothers’ affectionate, maternal instincts could be a bit overwhelming for someone not accustomed to such a display of love.

As you reached the clearing where your family’s home stood, a quaint and cozy cottage adorned with flowering vines and wooden carvings, you could already hear the soft murmur of your mothers’ voices. You knocked on the door, and it swung open almost immediately. There stood your mothers, their faces lighting up with joy upon seeing you.

“There you are, darling!” your mother called out, her voice warm and welcoming. She pulled you into a tight embrace, her touch familiar and comforting. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

Your other mother, her face alight with a gentle smile, stepped forward and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“And who might this be?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity as she looked at Shadowheart. You stepped aside to reveal Shadowheart, who stood with a mixture of nervousness and resolve.

“This is Shadowheart,” you said, gesturing to your lover. “Shadowheart, these are my mothers.”

Shadowheart offered a polite smile, her demeanor a mix of elegance and curiosity. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Your mothers’ eyes widened with delight. “Oh, what a lovely name! We’re so pleased to finally meet you!” your first mother said, her excitement evident in her voice. “Come in, come in! We’ve prepared a feast.”

As Shadowheart stepped into the home, she was immediately enveloped by the warmth and coziness of the space. The interior was decorated with nature-inspired motifs—wooden carvings, leafy tapestries, and the fragrant aroma of herbs and freshly baked bread.

The fussing began almost immediately. Your mothers led Shadowheart to the table, showering her with compliments and offering her a seat as if she were the guest of honor.

“You must be exhausted from your travels,” your second mother said, placing a plate of food in front of Shadowheart. “Please, help yourself to anything you like.”

Shadowheart chuckled softly, a genuine smile gracing her lips as she accepted the plate. “Thank you. I appreciate the warm welcome.”

Your mothers were not done yet. They hovered around Shadowheart, ensuring that her glass was always full, her plate was never empty, and that she was comfortable at all times. Their attentive care was met with Shadowheart’s amusement, her eyes twinkling with a mix of gratitude and mild surprise.

“It’s quite a spread you’ve prepared,” Shadowheart remarked, glancing around at the abundance of food. “You really didn’t need to go to such lengths.”

“Oh, but we wanted to!” your first mother replied, her eyes sparkling. “We’ve heard so much about you and couldn’t wait to meet the person who has brought so much joy to our dear child.”

As the evening progressed, the fussing continued. Your mothers insisted on telling Shadowheart stories about you as a child—stories that, while endearing, made you blush and roll your eyes in playful embarrassment. Shadowheart found the tales amusing, laughing and teasing you gently.

“You were quite the handful, weren’t you?” Shadowheart teased, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I can see where you get your spirit from.”

You playfully nudged her, a grin spreading across your face. “Oh, you have no idea.”

The evening was filled with laughter and warmth. Your mothers, having taken a liking to Shadowheart almost instantly, treated her as if she were their own. They were thoroughly enchanted by her grace, her charm, and the way she fit seamlessly into their home.

When the night drew to a close, and Shadowheart prepared to leave, your mothers insisted on packing a basket full of homemade goodies for the road.

“You must come back soon,” your first mother said, handing Shadowheart the basket with a loving smile. “We’d love to have you over again.”

“You’re always welcome here,” your second mother added, giving Shadowheart a warm hug. “We’re so happy to have met you.”

As you and Shadowheart left, you couldn’t help but notice the genuine affection and admiration your mothers had for her. Shadowheart, too, seemed touched by the experience, her smile reflecting the warmth and acceptance she had received.

As you walked hand in hand under the stars, you turned to Shadowheart. “How did you find it?”

Shadowheart’s eyes were soft, her expression reflecting a contentment that spoke volumes.

“They’re wonderful,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “I can see why you cherish them so much.”

You squeezed her hand gently, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. “I’m glad you think so. They really do have a way of making everyone feel loved and welcome.”

Shadowheart nodded, her smile widening. “It’s easy to see why they adore you. You’re a reflection of their kindness and warmth.”

With that, the two of you continued your walk, feeling closer than ever, united not only by your love but also by the acceptance and affection you had both received from your family.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The grand estate of your parents was a marvel of elegance and opulence, nestled amidst well-manicured gardens and towering oak trees. As you and Gale approached the massive, ornate front door, you couldn’t help but notice the intricate detailing of the architecture and the luxurious surroundings. This was the world you had grown up in—a world of magic, wealth, and intellectual pursuit.

Gale, ever the inquisitive sage, was visibly awed by the grandeur. He looked around with wide eyes, taking in the sprawling grounds and the elaborate facade of the estate. As you approached the entrance, the door swung open to reveal a well-dressed butler.

“Welcome,” the butler said with a polished, professional demeanor. Gale’s eyes widened further as he greeted the servant with an enthusiastic nod.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, finally! I can see where Y/N gets their looks from,” Gale said, his voice tinged with excitement and charm. “I’ve read so much about this place! The magical academies you must have attended—”

The butler raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing at his lips. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir. I am not one of Miss Y/N's parents. Allow me to show you in.”

Gale followed the butler inside, his excitement only slightly dampened by the wave of embarrasment he felt. The opulent interior of the estate was even more impressive up close. Rich tapestries, towering bookshelves, and gleaming chandeliers adorned every room.

The butler led you and Gale through a series of grand hallways until you reached the study—a room filled with arcane artifacts, ancient tomes, and an atmosphere of scholarly pursuit. There, seated behind an impressive mahogany desk, were your parents.

Your father, with his silver hair and scholarly robes, was immersed in a complex magical manuscript, while your mother, with her elegant demeanor and keen eyes, was sorting through a collection of rare magical artifacts.

“Mother, Father,” you began, your voice tinged with both pride and nerves, “this is Gale, my partner. Gale, these are my parents.”

Your parents looked up from their studies, their expressions lighting up with genuine warmth and interest. Your father, setting aside his manuscript, extended a hand to Gale. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gale. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Gale shook your father’s hand with enthusiasm, clearly impressed. “The pleasure is mine. Your home is magnificent, and the magical artifacts—well, I can’t even begin to describe how fascinated I am!”

Your mother stepped forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. “We’re delighted to finally meet you, Gale. We’ve heard so much about your own magical pursuits.”

As the evening progressed, Gale’s excitement became evident. He eagerly asked questions about the various magical artifacts displayed around the study, and your parents responded with equal enthusiasm. Their conversation was a blend of scholarly debate, magical theories, and tales of past discoveries.

Gale’s fascination with your parents’ work was palpable. He peppered them with questions, discussing magical theories and historical discoveries with a fervor that only someone deeply passionate about magic could muster. Your parents were equally absorbed, clearly enjoying the lively exchange of ideas.

“I’ve always wanted to study the intersection of elemental magic and arcane rituals,” Gale said animatedly, gesturing towards a particularly rare artifact. “How did you come across this?”

Your father launched into a detailed explanation, clearly delighted by Gale’s keen interest. Your mother joined in, adding her own insights and anecdotes. The conversation flowed seamlessly, and Gale’s eagerness to learn was met with genuine enthusiasm from your parents.

As the night wore on, the conversation showed no sign of slowing down. Your parents continued to engage Gale, showing him their latest magical experiments and inviting him to delve into their extensive library. The scholarly exchange was so engrossing that you found yourself on the periphery, watching with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Eventually, it became clear that Gale was completely absorbed in the discussion. Your parents, captivated by his curiosity and knowledge, had no intention of ending the evening anytime soon. You, on the other hand, knew it was getting late and that you needed to move on.

With a mixture of laughter and determination, you approached Gale, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Gale, dear, I think it’s time for us to head home.”

Gale looked up, slightly dazed but still buzzing with excitement. “Oh, already? I haven’t even scratched the surface of the library yet.”

Your parents, catching the hint, smiled sympathetically. “We’ve enjoyed having you, Gale. You’re always welcome here. Your enthusiasm and knowledge have been a breath of fresh air.”

Gale beamed, clearly pleased with the reception he had received. “Thank you, I’ve learned so much tonight. I look forward to our next meeting.”

You guided Gale towards the door, the evening’s scholarly discussion still lingering in his mind. As you stepped out into the cool night air, Gale’s excitement was palpable.

“That was incredible,” he said, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “Your parents are amazing. I could talk with them for hours.”

You smiled, feeling a mix of pride and amusement. “I’m simply glad that you enjoyed yourself. ”

As you walked hand in hand, you could still see the gleam of excitement in Gale’s eyes. The evening had not only strengthened his connection with your parents but had also deepened your appreciation for the intellectual curiosity and warmth that they had so effortlessly shared.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The grand estate of your high elf mother was a testament to centuries of noble lineage and refined taste as much as you tried to hide it. As you approached the entrance with Astarion by your side, the opulence of the place was unmistakable as was his excitement: towering columns, intricate carvings, and gardens that seemed to bloom with an otherworldly elegance.

You had warned your lover that your mother was very particular about appearances and had a deep-seated appreciation for high elven nobility. You knew it may hit a chord with Astarion considering he could not remember his family. Yet, you hoped that perhaps the favourable opulence your mother provided would be a balm to him.

When the door was opened by a distinguished servant, you were greeted by the sight of your mother standing in the grand foyer. She was the epitome of high elven grace, with her silver hair elegantly styled and her attire reflecting the nobility she held so dear. Her eyes, though sharp and discerning, softened as they fell on you.

“There you are, my dear!” she exclaimed, her voice musical and filled with affection. She swept forward to embrace you. “I’ve been eagerly awaiting your visit.”

You smiled, returning her embrace. “Hello, Mother. I’d like you to meet Astarion, my partner.”

Your mother’s gaze shifted to Astarion, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took him in. Her sharp eyes caught every detail, and what she immediately saw was potential.

“Ah, Astarion,” she said with a smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Astarion gave a graceful bow, his own expression a blend of charm and curiosity. “The pleasure is mine, Mi'lady. Your home is as magnificent as I’d imagined.”

As you and Astarion followed your mother into the main sitting room, the conversation turned to more personal matters. Your mother’s gaze was fixed on you, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she took in your appearance. Her tone, though gentle, carried an undertone of reproach.

“My dear,” she began, her eyes softening only slightly. “I must say, I wish you would carry yourself more like the noble you are. You have such stunning jewelry and robes that you never wear, and yet you choose to dress in these ragged outfits. Why?”

You sighed, recognizing the familiar note in her voice. “Mother, you know I’m not one for formalities and fineries.”

Astarion, who had been observing the exchange with growing interest, found himself in a curious position. He had often made similar comments, and now, seeing your mother’s concern mirrored his own, he couldn’t help but agree.

“You know,” Astarion said, his voice smooth and diplomatic, “your mother makes a valid point. I’ve often thought that such beautiful jewelry would be more fitting for someone of your stature, my love.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at Astarion’s agreement. “Oh, wonderful! You see, Astarion understands. He has such exquisite taste. Perhaps you should take a leaf out of his book.” Before you could protest, your mother clapped her hands with excitement. “I’ve actually arranged for a tailor to come in today to create some outfits for you, my dear. But clearly, it would be wasted on you if you don’t care for such things. Astarion, come with me. Let’s get you properly fitted.”

Astarion, caught between delight and surprise, found himself being gently but firmly escorted by your mother towards the designated fitting room.

“Oh, this is going to be a treat,” Astarion said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve always enjoyed the finer things.”

As your mother guided him away, she called back over her shoulder, “I’m so glad my child has chosen someone with such impeccable taste. I’m sure you’ll look splendid.”

Left alone in the sitting room, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the turn of events. Your mother’s unabashed enthusiasm for fashion was well-known, but it was amusing to see Astarion so willingly swept up in her plans.

When Astarion finally returned, impeccably dressed in one of the tailored outfits, he was a picture of elegance and refinement. Your mother beamed with pride at her handiwork, while Astarion struck a pose with a grin.

“There,” Astarion said, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “I must admit, your mother’s taste is impeccable.”

You smiled, both amused and touched by the way your mother had embraced Astarion. It was clear that she had taken an immediate liking to him and had found joy in seeing him embrace the world of high elven nobility.

“Thank you, Mother,” you said, your tone filled with genuine gratitude. “I’m glad you like him.”

Your mother smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling with contentment. “Of course, dear. It’s always wonderful to see someone who appreciates the finer things in life and of course loves you so dearly.”

As the evening progressed, you felt a renewed sense of connection with both your mother and Astarion. Their mutual appreciation for elegance and refinement had created a bond that bridged the gap between your world and Astarion’s. And as you watched them converse animatedly, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment knowing that your worlds had come together in such a delightful way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

You arrived at the quaint, country home where your older siblings lived, a place that held countless memories of your childhood. Your siblings, though somewhat overprotective, had always been your steadfast support, especially after they had taken you in and raised you as their own. They had shaped your upbringing with love and a strong sense of family, which had molded you into the person you were today. Now, it was time for them to meet Wyll, your partner.

As you pulled up to the house, you could see your siblings through the window, busying themselves with preparations for your visit. The scent of home-cooked food wafted through the air, mingling with the crisp scent of autumn leaves. Your heart swelled with nostalgia and anticipation.

Wyll, ever charming and confident, stepped out of the carriage beside you. His eyes took in the serene surroundings with interest, and he gave you a reassuring smile. “Ready?” he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “Absolutely. They’re going to love you.”

You approached the front door, and before you could knock, it swung open. Your elder sister, always the more practical and warm-hearted of the two, greeted you with a beaming smile.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, enveloping you in a hearty embrace. “It’s so good to see you!”

Your brother, equally protective but with a more reserved demeanor, stood just behind her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Wyll.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone cautious but curious.

“This is Wyll,” you said, stepping aside to introduce him. “Wyll, this is my older sister and my brother. They’ve been like parents to me.”

Wyll stepped forward with his usual grace, offering a polite bow. “A pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Your sister’s eyes lit up with immediate warmth. “Oh, please, come in! We’ve prepared some food. I hope you’re hungry.”

As Wyll followed you inside, your brother’s keen eyes studied him with careful scrutiny.

“So, you’re the one who’s captured our sibling’s heart,” he said, his tone measured but not unkind.

Wyll met his gaze steadily, a hint of his trademark charm in his smile. “I certainly hope so. As I’m very much in love with them.”

The evening unfolded with laughter and lively conversation. Your siblings, despite their initial wariness, soon found themselves charmed by Wyll’s easy demeanor and genuine kindness. Wyll regaled them with tales of his adventures, always careful to include stories that highlighted his respect for you and his deep feelings for you.

During dinner, your sister took the opportunity to fuss over Wyll, ensuring he had more than enough to eat and frequently checking if he needed anything.

“Here, try this,” she said, placing a heaping serving of her special casserole on his plate. “It’s one of our family’s favorites.”

Wyll graciously accepted the food, clearly appreciative of the effort and care that had gone into preparing it.

“This is delicious,” he said, his eyes bright with genuine praise. “You have a real talent for cooking.”

Your brother, having observed Wyll’s interactions with you and his appreciative attitude towards your family, began to warm up. He joined in the conversation, sharing stories of his own and laughing heartily at Wyll’s humor.

“You know,” he said, his tone more relaxed, “you’re quite a character. I can see why our sibling is so taken with you.”

As the evening drew to a close, your siblings were more than satisfied with their impressions of Wyll. They had taken him into their fold with the same protective and loving care they had always extended to you. Your sister, in particular, couldn’t resist offering some parting words of advice.

“Take care of them,” she said, her tone both serious and affectionate. “They mean the world to us.”

Wyll nodded, his expression sincere. “I promise, I will.”

Your brother, now visibly more at ease, clapped Wyll on the back. “And if you ever need anything, you know where to find us.”

As you and Wyll left the house, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The evening had been a success, and you were glad to see that your siblings had welcomed Wyll into the family with open arms. The bond between you and your partner had only grown stronger, fortified by the acceptance and affection of those you held dear.

Wyll took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That went better than I could have hoped,” he said with a relieved smile. “Your family is wonderful.”

You smiled back, feeling a warm glow of happiness. “I’m glad they like you. They’re a big part of my life, and it means a lot to me that they’ve embraced you.”

Together, you walked into the evening, your hearts light and your spirits high, knowing that your relationship had the support and approval of the people who had shaped your life.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Bringing Halsin home to meet your sisters was something you had been both excited and a little anxious about. Your sisters had raised you with all the fierce love and protectiveness of true guardians, always looking out for you and making sure you were safe. They had been through thick and thin with you, and naturally, they were very cautious when it came to the people you brought into your life. Their approval meant the world to you, and you knew they wouldn’t let anyone into the family without a thorough vetting.

As you approached the cozy cottage where your sisters lived, nestled in a lush forest clearing, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves. Halsin, ever the calm and collected druid, walked beside you, his presence a steadying force. He noticed your unease and placed a reassuring hand on your back, giving you a warm smile.

"Everything will be alright," he said gently. "Your sisters care about you deeply. I understand their need to ensure I am worthy of your trust."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding, but knowing just how intense your sisters could be. As you reached the front door, you could already hear the familiar sounds of their voices from within, chatting and laughing as they prepared for your arrival. The moment you knocked, the door swung open, revealing your eldest sister. Her eyes immediately landed on Halsin, and she gave him a scrutinizing look before turning to you with a smile.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Your other sisters quickly joined, each of them hugging you and then turning their attention to Halsin, their expressions a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled protectiveness. They exchanged glances before the eldest spoke up.

"And this must be Halsin," she said, her tone polite but with a hint of challenge. "We’ve heard so much about you."

Halsin inclined his head in a respectful nod. "It’s an honor to finally meet the people who have cared for my beloved so well."

Your sisters ushered you both inside, but it wasn’t long before they began their gentle yet probing interrogation. They gathered around Halsin, questions flying from all directions, their protectiveness on full display.

"So, Halsin," your second sister began, her arms crossed as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "Tell us about yourself. How did you meet our dear sibling?"

"And what exactly are your intentions?" another sister chimed in, her tone light but with an edge of seriousness.

"Do you truly understand how special they are?" the youngest asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked Halsin up and down.

You felt a flush of embarrassment as they continued to press him, despite your attempts to intervene.

"Come on, give him a break!" you protested, trying to pull Halsin away from their inquisition. "He’s not on trial!"

But Halsin remained unfazed, meeting each question with calm and sincere answers. He spoke about how you had met, how your connection had grown, and how deeply he cared for you. His tone was warm, his words thoughtful, and he never once appeared flustered or defensive. Instead, he seemed to understand exactly why your sisters were behaving this way, and he respected their desire to protect you.

"My intentions," Halsin said, turning to the sister who had asked, "are to cherish and support them in every way I can. Your sibling is incredibly special to me, and I am committed to walking alongside them, no matter where our paths may lead."

Your sisters exchanged glances, clearly impressed by his responses. The atmosphere began to shift, their initial wariness melting into acceptance. They began to relax around him, and soon the conversation turned to lighter topics.

As the evening wore on, your sisters found themselves drawn to Halsin’s kind and wise nature. He shared stories of his druidic practices, his connection to nature, and his adventures in the wilds. They laughed at his tales of animals he had encountered and listened intently to his insights on the natural world. His deep respect for life and his gentle demeanor resonated with them, and before long, they were no longer interrogating him, but enjoying his company as if he had always been a part of the family.

By the end of the night, your sisters were completely won over. They were chatting and laughing with Halsin, offering him second helpings of dessert and even sharing embarrassing stories about you from your childhood. The transition from skepticism to acceptance had been so seamless that it was hard to believe they had ever been anything but welcoming.

As you and Halsin prepared to leave, your eldest sister pulled you aside, a soft smile on her face. "You’ve chosen well," she said, her voice full of approval. "He’s a good man. We’re happy for you."

You felt a wave of relief and happiness wash over you, knowing that your sisters had accepted Halsin so fully. When you turned back to him, he was chatting with your other sisters, all of them smiling and at ease.

As you finally left the cottage, your hand in Halsin’s, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Halsin had faced the scrutiny of your overprotective sisters with grace and patience, and in the end, he had won them over completely. You knew that bringing him into your family had been the right decision, and you were filled with gratitude for the love and acceptance that now surrounded you both.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

okay I know I didn't add jaheira, rolan and raphael, fans you are allowed to come at me but I just kept hitting a block when I tried to write it for them, so instead of giving you something bad I gave you nothing at all. This is my formal apology.

Apart from that, hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[g1rlsp1ckins]

𝓕ARMER'S 𝓓AUGHTER 𝓓R     ✶ 𝓘NTRODUCTION

“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦.”

꒰ Charlotte Campbell is the golden thread woven through the fabric of Sunny Acres Homestead, a farm cradled by rolling hills and kissed by the sun. With hair like spun wheat and a heart as tender as the morning dew, she moves through the orchard and fields as if she belongs to the land itself. The red barn hums with the echoes of generations past, while horses graze in the amber glow of twilight. Here, amidst the whisper of apple trees and the song of cicadas, Charlotte tends to the soul of the farm, her spirit as steadfast as the earth beneath her feet. Sunny Acres is more than her home—it is her poetry, her purpose, and the place where her roots run deep. ꒱

︶֪︶︶֪︶ ིྀ ︶︶֪︶ ୨ৎ︶֪︶︶֪︶ ིྀ ︶︶֪︶

꒰ She is the heart and soul of Sunny Acres Homestead, a sprawling farm nestled in the rolling hills of her hometown. Born to James and Clara Campbell, Charlotte has grown up surrounded by golden fields of wheat, lush orchards, and the hum of hard work. As the only child of the Campbells, she’s taken on the unofficial title of “the farmer’s daughter,” a role she wears with quiet pride.

Her days are a mix of simplicity and diligence. Charlotte rises before the sun to feed the animals, gather eggs, and check on the crops. Her favorite part of the day is tending to the orchard, where the scent of apples fills the air. She’s often found with her guitar slung across her back, singing softly to herself or to the animals, her voice blending with the symphony of the countryside.

Charlotte has a knack for sewing, crafting lace, and embroidery during the quiet evenings in the cabin she shares with her parents. Her creations are sought after at local fairs, where she trades them for things the farm needs. She also has a deep love for storytelling, filling journals with poetry, sketches, and musings inspired by her life on the homestead.

Despite her contentment on the farm, Charlotte harbors a curiosity about the world beyond Sunny Acres. She dreams of visiting bustling cities and meeting people with stories as rich as her own. Yet, she feels deeply tied to the land, knowing that Sunny Acres isn’t just where she lives—it’s who she is.

Charlotte’s kind spirit and hardworking nature make her beloved by the townsfolk. Many admire her for her loyalty to her family’s way of life, but she’s also known for her fierce independence and her subtle yearning for something more. She wears her mother’s old key on a leather strap around her neck—a reminder of her roots and the doors she hopes to one day unlock. ꒱

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

꒰ Beckett Dawson is the quiet yet reliable farmhand at Sunny Acres Homestead. Raised on the outskirts of a small ranching town, Beckett grew up knowing the value of hard work but carried the burden of a tumultuous family life. His father, a stern rancher, demanded perfection, while his mother was the soft-spoken anchor who encouraged Beckett to pursue his quiet dreams. When Beckett was 17, his mother passed away unexpectedly, leaving him to navigate the storm of grief and his father's relentless expectations.

Desperate to find his own way, Beckett left home at 20, wandering from one farm to another before finding steady work at Sunny Acres. James Campbell, the owner, saw the boy’s potential and hired him despite his reserved demeanor. Over time, Beckett has proven himself indispensable, always the first to rise and the last to leave. While he prefers to work alone, tending to fences or herding livestock, Beckett’s skill with horses has made him an asset to the homestead.

Though he rarely speaks of his past, Beckett’s silence carries a weight that those around him can feel. He’s a man of few words but countless small gestures—fixing a broken fence before anyone notices, leaving freshly sharpened tools for the other workers, or ensuring the animals are warm on cold nights. Charlotte Campbell, the farmer’s daughter, is one of the few people who’s managed to draw him out of his shell. She often finds him sketching horses in an old notebook during breaks, and their quiet conversations have become a rare source of comfort for Beckett.

Beckett carries a deep fear of abandonment, a scar left by losing his mother, and the emotional distance of his father. This fear drives him to stay rooted at Sunny Acres, the first place that’s ever felt like home. He keeps a photo of his mother tucked into his wallet, a constant reminder of the one person who believed in him unconditionally.

Beneath his stoic exterior, Beckett is a dreamer, yearning for a life where he’s more than just a hired hand. Yet, for now, he’s content to be part of the rhythms of Sunny Acres, finding peace in the quiet moments and solace in the steady work of the farm. ꒱

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꒰ Charlotte and Beckett's story began in the small, unspoken moments that only life on a farm could create.

Charlotte had always noticed Beckett’s quiet nature—the way he’d tilt his hat lower when anyone looked his way or the way he’d slip away to the barn to sketch horses when he thought no one was watching. To most people, Beckett was a hard worker and little else, but to Charlotte, he was a mystery she couldn’t help but want to unravel.

One summer evening, as the sun painted the fields in hues of gold, Charlotte found Beckett repairing the fence along the orchard. He was deep in concentration, his hands moving with practiced ease. She approached with a basket of apples, her heart thudding in her chest for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

“You’ve been working hard all day,” she said, offering him an apple. “You should take a break.”

Beckett glanced up, startled, but took the apple with a small nod. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff.

That was how it started: quiet conversations during breaks, small smiles shared over the chores, and stolen moments in the orchard where their lives seemed to slow down. Charlotte would hum while picking apples, and Beckett would pause his work just to listen, even if he’d never admit it.

One evening, after a long day of work, Charlotte found Beckett sitting by the pond near the edge of the property. The setting sun cast a warm glow over him as he flipped through his notebook. Curious, she sat beside him, close enough to see the sketches—horses, barns, and, to her surprise, a sketch of a woman who looked an awful lot like her.

“You’re really talented,” she said softly, pointing to the drawing.

Beckett froze, his face turning red under his hat. “It’s… it’s nothing,” he stammered, closing the notebook.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted, her voice gentle. “You should show people your work. It’s beautiful.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time, he felt like someone saw him—not just the farmhand or the quiet boy, but Beckett.

“You’re the only person who thinks so,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well,” she said with a teasing smile, “I guess I’ll just have to think it enough for everyone else.”

From that moment on, their connection deepened. Beckett began to open up, sharing stories of his past and dreams he’d long buried. Charlotte, in turn, found herself trusting Beckett with her hopes and fears, knowing he would never judge her.

One autumn night, under a sky full of stars, Beckett finally found the courage to tell Charlotte how he felt. They were sitting on the tailgate of the truck after finishing the day’s work. The air was crisp, and the smell of hay lingered around them.

“I don’t know how to say this,” he began, his hands fidgeting with the brim of his hat, “but you’ve changed everything for me, Charlotte. You make this place feel… brighter.”

Charlotte’s heart swelled, and she reached out, placing her hand over his. “I think you’ve done the same for me, Beckett,” she said softly.

That was all it took. From then on, they were inseparable, their love growing in the quiet strength of their shared moments. Charlotte encouraged Beckett to pursue his art, and Beckett became Charlotte’s steadfast supporter, her anchor in a world that could feel overwhelming.

Together, they found a balance—a love as steady and enduring as the land they both cherished. Sunny Acres Homestead became more than just a farm; it became the backdrop to a love story that grew as naturally as the crops in the fields. ꒱

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꒰ Sunny Acres Homestead is a picturesque farm tucked away in a serene valley, surrounded by rolling hills and golden meadows. It has been in the Campbell family for generations, a testament to their hard work and unwavering connection to the land. The homestead exudes charm, from the weathered red barn with its iconic white trim to the cozy farmhouse perched on a slight hill, its wide porch offering sweeping views of the surrounding fields.

The heart of Sunny Acres is its orchard, where rows of apple trees stretch toward the horizon. In the summer, the orchard buzzes with life as bees pollinate the blossoms, and in the fall, the air fills with the sweet scent of ripe apples ready for harvest. Beyond the orchard lies the grazing pasture, home to a small herd of horses that have become as much a part of the farm as the family itself. The horses, a mix of sturdy work breeds and a few rescues, are cared for with love and are often the first thing visitors notice when they arrive.

The farmhouse itself is a blend of rustic and welcoming, with wooden shutters framing lace-draped windows and a wraparound porch adorned with rocking chairs and flower-filled planters. At night, the porch is illuminated by soft, warm lights, making it the perfect spot for storytelling or quiet reflection. Inside, the home is filled with the comforting smells of fresh-baked bread, worn quilts, and a crackling fireplace that keeps the chill at bay during winter.

Sunny Acres is more than a farm; it’s a lifestyle rooted in simplicity and connection. Every corner of the property tells a story, from the weathered swing hanging from the old oak tree to the barn’s loft filled with decades of tools and keepsakes. The Campbells pour their hearts into every aspect of the homestead, from growing their crops to raising livestock and fostering a sense of community among their neighbors.

Season after season, Sunny Acres Homestead thrives as a beacon of resilience and hope, a reminder that some of the greatest joys come from the land and the people who call it home. ꒱

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

made by @g1rlsp1ckins

[lowkeyrobin]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please do newt (platonic/familial) with a younger sibling who makes/mends close and personality wise is similar to Luz from TOH? Thank you! :D

yesyesyesyesyesywsyes omg please keep the maze runner requests coming I'm very very fixated atm kdk how to function, PLEASE SPAM ME W TMR REQS RJNENE ; anyways thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!! ; post writing robin here, I tried with the personality like Luz but I struggled for some reason so I'm so sorry about that LMAO

NEWT ; clothing maker/mender

summary ; you make and mend clothing around the Glade, and Newt is somehow always there to help

warnings ; language, Newt is still a runner so pre-injury era

genre ; platonic fluff

word count ; 1.1k

masterlist

The day you came up in the box, you were frightened and felt like you didn't fit in with the other kids of the Glade. You were socially awkward and didn't know how to talk to people, although being a people pleaser.

Talking was just hard for you, but luckily, Newt understood. He tucked you under his wing and tried to help you fit in with the others, but to no avail. Nothing was sticking out to you, it wasn't like jobs were supposed to be enjoyable but you truly couldn't fit in anywhere. The fifteen year old boy with dirty blonde hair was there for you, though, reassuring you that actually becoming a Glader, even after remembering your name, took time.

Becoming a Runner was off the table at day one, you had zero stamina and could barely run for shit, let alone your life, you and Newt, and Alby, Minho, and the other Runners quickly agreed upon that. Being a Builder was quickly eliminated as well, because you didn't want to deal with obnoxious assholes like Gally, Hank, and Alec all day long. Plus, you knew nothing about "structural integrity" or whatever the hell they were talking about anyways, wood to hammer to nail was all you saw.

You quickly gained a friendship with Winston after a month or two in the Glade, but no way in Hell were you joining the Slicers either. You'd gain an emotional attachment to the animals much too quickly to then watch them die, the emotional despair would be a bit much at the moment. Bagger was also off the charts, leaving Med-Jack and Track-Hoe on the table for you.

Newt wasn't going to let you become a Slopper, considering you weren't bad at helping people nor farming, you just had to find your thing that you'd be comfortable doing. So, you settled on Track-Hoe as they needed more help in the gardens and you wouldn't mind getting your hands dirty, with dirt, that is. No blood.

You found, or maybe relearned, your nick for sewing one morning as you needed to repair your shirt, and ran straight to Newt with your new talent. After seeing it himself, Newt quickly bounced to Alby's side to ask if you could make mending and making clothes your job. You hadn't had any luck finding a job out of the many in the Glade, clearly, so this might've been your luck turning.

The next coming days were slow. Thankfully, Alby approved your idea of a new job, considering you and Newt wouldn't stop pestering him about it, and it'd be a great convenience to have you around for something as necessary as clothing. The builders graciously built you a little hut next to the Homestead to give you your own little place to go and work, instead of working around the Glade and potentially dirty-ing the clothes you fixed and made.

The hut consisted of a table, a loom, a hanging rack for finished projects, and a little chest system organized by all the threads, needles, etcetera. Alas, Newt was the one to help you with your new job on days when he wasn't running out in the maze. Minho switched him out with Ben or George on those days as per his request, as to help you learn how to talk to and understand the Gladers, whom you didn't understand too well yet.

But, by the time the next Greenie, Henry, arrived, you were right on track. You modeled and measured and patched and sewed your days away, finding peace in the seemingly boring activity. And by this time, Newt had become your brother figure and your best friend, considering how much he understood and supported you and helped you get some great opportunities around the Glade. And now, you were the Keeper of the Seamers, the only worker, but still the Keeper.

After a long day of running in the maze with Minho, Newt jogs to your expansion of the Homestead, desiring your help.

"Hey, Shank" He warmly smiles, closing the door made of sticks behind him. "How's your day been?"

You shrug in response. "Slow. Need me to fix anything for you?"

He awkwardly smiles and nods, looking down at his knees. His cargo pants are ripped, and the skin beneath painted a light red in comparison to his pale complexion, rug burns covering his kneecaps.

"Tripped and fell out in the maze" He explains, "Just don't want them falling apart because it kinda trailed 'round to the back" He says, tracing the little rips around his knees.

You nod. "I mean, the best solution would be keeping them like that or turning them into shorts for hot days. But I know the maze is cold and stuff, so, your call. I don't wanna ruin your running pants but I can always scrounge up new ones, and the next Greenie will be up in two days so it wouldn't be that long of a wait-"

"I'll just keep them ripped" He lightly smiles, cutting your rant off.

He knew damn well to not let you spiral over something so little, so he developed the radar to sniff out when you were about to rant about small things for an hour out of panic. He pats your shoulder before sitting down next to you, looking over at the rack of finished clothing you'd patched up and finished making.

"Oh, were you able to finish that shirt you were making for yourself?" He asks, running a hand through his hair.

Lord, he needed a haircut, although the best method of that was knives, which made it all choppy and blunt. Hopefully, WCKD would send up some cutting shears or something soon. All of your hair needed a cut desperately.

You nod, setting your needle and thread down to go grab it. You pull it off the rack and hold it to your chest. A simple, thin, off white, long sleeved shirt rests against your torso as you cheesily smile at him.

"Looks good"

"Thanks" You put the shirt back on the rack, deciding to put it back in the Homestead near your hammock later.

Newt was usually very supportive and went out of his way to show appreciation and reassurance for you, though making it casual to actually feel real for you. Once he found out that he needed to speak with you like that after reassuring that you'd live without rain, he learned the lesson.

Before you can speak again, Ben runs in, looking for your help.

"Y/n, I ripped up the sleeve of my shirt, can you fix it?" He asks, holding the grey-blue shirt up for you to see

"Yeah, sure, leave it on that table" You reply, pointing at the table in front of you.

"Thanks, you're the best!" He says, setting the shirt on the table before leaving.

Newt looks up at you and smiles, "You're getting used to talking to people, I see"

You nod, catching his infectious smile.

"Welcome to the Glade, Y/n/n"

[dreamdepot]

Running in Place (Link x Male Reader)

[One Shot] Life on a farm far from any sages, demon kings, or creepy masks is pretty peaceful, so when a new face drops by it can be quite the exciting change. But… why does he look so familiar then?

AO3 Wattpad or below!

A/N: “We’ll be taking a break from Hyrule for a while,” he said, like a liar.

I couldn’t help it. This is what happens when you watch a bunch of GDQ runs of Ocarina of Time and then Groundhog Day passes. This is a bit more experimental, but I hope you enjoy it.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched. It was the crack of dawn, the perfect time to get started on the day’s work.

Daybreak Farm was a small but respectable plot of land that you took care of all by yourself in the forested hinterlands. There were few towns out on the frontier, and you were miles away from any major cities, content to live off the land with an honest day’s work.

The day began as any other. After washing up, you tended to your horse, cow, goats, and cuccos. Together your loving livestock provided you with more than enough milk and eggs for yourself. Next, you tended to your small grove of apple trees. The crop was coming in nicely and you’d have a few baskets ready for market day tomorrow. Next, you checked on your real moneymaker, the hops, which the local town brewery paid top dollar for. Then, you checked the potatoes, knowing some of your friends nearby would happily trade some for their wheat. Finally, you tended to your own small herb and vegetable garden which you grew for a little variety and to keep you out of simple subsistence living. Usually, that would leave you complete with the day’s work by noon, with plenty of time for hunting or fishing.

As you wrapped up your chores and grabbed your fishing rod, a visitor caught you by surprise. You nearly screamed, not expecting someone to be standing so close behind you. Nearly leaning into you was a tall man with long ears wearing a… well, it was a green tunic that looked a bit out of place these days, but damn did he rock it. He looked at you with hooded eyes, a small grin, seemingly knowing a bit too much. His voice sent a shiver down your spine. “Hey.”

“H-hi!” You took a hesitant step back (despite not wanting to) and bumped against the wall.

“Aww don’t be shy, not after we had such a nice talk yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember. Are you just playing hard to get?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before. I tend to remember handsome strangers.”

He leaned one arm against a barrel. “Handsome huh? I bet-aaaHHH!” The barrel, empty, tipped over under his weight, sending him crashing into a pile of hay.

You held back your laugh. “Are you okay, handsome?”

The stranger snorted, flipping his hat back up out of his face. Pieces of hay stuck out of his hair, but the color was so close it almost looked like a bad hair day. “So much for my suave entrance.”

You leaned down, brushing some hay off of him and helping him back to his feet. “To be honest, probably not the best way to introduce yourself to someone you’ve just met.”

He dusted himself off, studying you with his sapphire eyes. “You… really don’t remember me?”

“’fraid not, stranger.”

“Deku nuts…” He muttered. His voice relaxed, revealing a little twang of an accent you couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry, I must’ve sounded like a total asshole.” The soft apologetic grin on his face was far more endearing than the sultry look just before. “My name’s Link. I should make it up to you. Maybe I can help with the chores?”

You shook his hand. “Nice to meet you Link, I’m [Y/n]. And no worries on chores, all done for the day, but I wouldn’t mind some company fishing.”

Your visitor’s eyes lit up as you handed him a colorful rod. You led Link down to the brook on the edge of your homestead. You didn’t get anything terrible fancy, mostly trout and the occasional salmon, but it was just enough for you – and maybe another. You cast your line, taking a seat on your favorite rock, dipping your toes in the water. Link settled on the bank next to you, crossing his legs.

“I really am sorry,” Link said after a while, shifting, yet his eyes never left the bobber. “Can’t tell you how embarrassing that is.”

“No trouble, though I hope you don’t come on that strong to all your dates.”

Link laughed, pure and almost musical. It felt much more natural than his façade earlier. “No, actually. Normally I’m the one getting pursued.” He hastily added, “Sorry, that sounded like bragging, huh?”

You shook your head, watching your line tense for a brief moment before the fish decided it had better things to do. “Nah. And I’ve never had anyone come onto me like that… or well, anyone even really interested in me. It’s quiet out here in the frontier, y’know? You don’t run into many people, and not a whole lot who fancy guys on top of that.”

Something flickered across Link’s face, but it was gone in a split second. “Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.”

“That’s the truth…” The conversation then turned to farms and crops as you explained your life to your new friend. Talk flowed as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and soon the sun dipped low, just peeking over the trees. Finally, when you realized Link now knew practically every detail of your life, you took control of the conversation back.

“So, tell me Link,” you said, appraising his clothing again, “what is it you do? You’re dressed too well for a farmer and you’re too fit for one of the hoity-toity types that come visiting up here. What’s your story?”

Link’s smile remained, but something seemed to disappear from his face; you just couldn’t put your finger on it. “Ah, nothing exciting really. I’m just a traveler.”

“Awfully well armed for just a traveler.”

“Just a traveler,” he said, with a firm smile.

You wanted to point out how unfair that was, when suddenly your bobber sunk. You pounced on your line, reeling as hard as you could until a fat trout flopped out of the water. “Well… hope you plan on sticking around to help me eat this guy.”

Link shrugged. “Sorry, not today, I need to take care of something before nightfall.”

“Yikes, you better hurry. It’s a new moon tonight; it’ll be pitch black out.”

“New…” Link’s voice trailed off. “What day is it today?”

“Thursday.”

Link frowned, counting something. “That’s not right. Today should be Friday.”

You sighed. “Thank goodness it isn’t. Friday is market day, and I have way too much to do before I run all of this produce up to town.”

“You make the trip all by yourself? Isn’t that dangerous?”

You stood and stretched. “It’s not too bad. Occasionally run into an Octorok or something, but they’re easy enough to ignore. Worst case, I lose an apple basket or two.”

“You should have someone else there to help you. It’s too dangerous. Who knows what other monsters might be living out here?”

“Why? You volunteering to be my bodyguard?”

“I… you know what? Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“Well then, you better get a good night’s sleep, Link,” You said, tossing the rods and the trout over your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Link seemed deep in thought but gave you a smile. “Definitely.”

You and Link parted ways just outside your farm gate. After closing up the barn, you headed inside to make a simple baked fish for dinner. Before you knew it, you were feeling sleepy. As you crawled into your bed, the wind whistled through the nearby caves, playing a natural lullaby for you as you drifted to sleep, looking forward to seeing the handsome stranger again.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched. It was the crack of dawn, the perfect time to get started on the day’s work.

Daybreak Farm was a small but respectable plot of land that you took care of all by yourself in the forested hinterlands. There were few towns out on the frontier, and you were miles away from any major cities, content to live off the land with an honest day’s work.

The day began as any other. After washing up, you tended to your horse, cow, goats, and cuccos. Together your loving livestock provided you with more than enough milk and eggs for yourself. Next, you tended to your small grove of apple trees. The crop was coming in nicely and you’d have a few baskets ready for market day. Next, you checked on your real moneymaker, the hops, which the local town brewery paid top dollar for. Then, you checked the potatoes, knowing some of your friends nearby would happily trade some for their wheat. Finally, you tended to your own small herb and vegetable garden which you grew for a little variety and to keep you out of simple subsistence living. Usually, that would leave you complete with the day’s work by noon, with plenty of time for hunting or fishing.

In fact, today was so like every other day, you were having the strangest sense of déjà vu.

It was while you tended your vegetable garden that you heard the crunch of boots on the gravel leading up to your homestead. You instinctively grabbed the nearest tool – unfortunately a mere spade. You never were the best at sparring but you weren’t going to let anyone jump you without a fight.

Instead, you found a handsome man walking up the path with hair as gold as wheat. To be honest, he looked like the type to walk straight out of the – ahem – “reading material” hidden under your bed. He gave you a friendly smile. “Hey, you better hurry if you’re headed into the market today. Looks like the wind is gonna pick up soon.”

“Uh, no. That’s tomorrow, but thanks… who are you?”

“…Link,” he said, head cocked. “Hey, I’ve been traveling for a while, what day is today?”

“Thursday, usually head in for Friday market days in the next town.”

“I see,” Link said, a lopsided smile growing on his face. “In that case, how about I help you get ready? I’m just passing through and figure you could use a hand.”

“Sure, thanks,” you said. Your luck was unbelievable, but you weren’t about to turn away an extra hand. You showed Link the best way to tell if the fruit was ripe and the two of you got to work, easily finishing the apple harvest hours faster than if you were picking them all yourself. “Well, thanks for your help, Link. I don’t think I can offer much, but maybe you’d join me for some fishing? I’ve got this nice spot just on the edge of the farm.”

Link brightened. “I love fishing, used to go to this one place all the time.”

“Ah, so I’m dealing with a pro, huh?”

“You could say that.”

Link walked beside you to your favorite fishing spot, though you were surprised when he took a seat on the bank right next to your favorite rock. “I heard there’s some really good trout here.”

You shrugged. “That might be overselling it, but we’ll see.”

Five minutes later, your jaw dropped as a fat trout flopped on Link’s line. “I guess you really are a pro.”

Link simply grinned. “I’ve got some practice.”

Soon, the two of you were walking back to the house, several trout in tow. “So, market day, you head into town right? Not like… Castle Town though?”

You laughed, “I wish! No, I’m not important enough to make the trip that far, I don’t even go to Kakariko. I’ll leave that to the folks at Lon Lon Ranch. No, market day for us is just a small place called Suthorn Village on the Hylian border.”

“Suthorn huh? I can do Suthorn.” You raised an eyebrow, but Link turned to you with a grin. “I’ll help you out and be your bodyguard.”

“Pfft, I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Link crossed his arms. “Trust me. I’ve traveled all over the world, and the last thing you want to do is tempt fate. You might know these mountain roads better than me, but I know the monsters that live here.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised a hand. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone, only to get attacked by a Wolfos. I know you probably only see Octoroks and maybe the odd Chu Chu, but this time of year is Wolfos mating season. They get awfully territorial.”

You tried to form words, but no argument would work. Not to mention that golden sword strapped to his back looked awfully sharp. “Fine, I guess I could use a helper. Afraid I don’t have much to offer in terms of pay…” Living on the outskirts of civilization didn’t really lead to a fortune.

“I don’t need pay, just some food and someone to keep me company.” He winked.

“Can’t argue with a deal like that… tell you what. I’ll fry up some trout tomorrow for our trip.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The two of you kept walking a bit farther. “So, uh, you really are out here all by yourself, huh?”

“Yeah, you are too, aren’t you?” you said. He seemed surprised. “It’s in your eyes. You look like you haven’t had someone to talk to for a little while. What brings a guy like you out here anyway? Not a whole lot of exciting things in my corner of the world. Most folks head out towards Hyrule instead.”

He let out a short laugh. “I’m that easy to read, huh? Well, you’re mostly right, though I don’t see much reason to head into Hyrule myself. I’m actually out here looking for a friend. We got separated some time ago, I was hoping to find them again.” To say that was like finding a needle in a haystack was an understatement, it was more like finding a Zora in the Ikana Wastes – possible but damn unlikely. “How do you deal with the loneliness?”

You shrugged. “It can be a bit hard from time to time, but as long as you learn to move with nature and the spirits instead of against them, things become easier. Just like the violets that grow in the cliffs around here.”

Link blinked. “Like flowers?”

“Yeah, they’re my favorite ones. My mother always said that you have to be flexible yet resilient, just like those flowers. Only then can you bloom.”

“Hmm… like flowers…” Link muttered.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched and tried to come to life. After pouring a cup of strong Terminan coffee for yourself, it was time to face the day. For some reason, you were exhausted this morning. You stumbled out the door, rubbing your eyes, when you nearly ran into someone. You opened your eyes to see a ghastly face staring back at you.

“AYEE!” You fell back, by some miracle not spilling your coffee. You scrambled back, only to realize the cursed visage was etched into a mirror face, strapped to someone’s back. That someone turned with a friendly wave.

“Mornin’! Sorry about that, I forget it’s not the most welcoming face sometimes.” The long-eared stranger said, “Was passing by and saw your crops are pretty close to harvest. Figured I’d ask and see if you need some help.”

You looked the rather handsome stranger up and down through bleary eyes. Normally, you’d be more resistant, but something seemed trustworthy about him – the type of guy who stuck to his word and always got the job done. But then again, that could’ve been the sleep deprivation talking. “Yeah sure, that’d be great,” you muttered before taking another swig of coffee.

Damn if he wasn’t a man of his word. Somehow, he managed to pick all the apples in record time. Not only that, he had a perfect eye for figuring out which ones were ripe and which had worms hidden inside. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he learned the same method you learned from your parents.

That was what led you to your next line of questioning for the strange farmhand. It was easier to convince the moon to fall than to pry a single detail about his past out of him, but you were determined. “What about your family?”

Link seemed to flinch. “Oh… my family isn’t around anymore.”

Way to go, remind him of something terrible. “I’m so sorry, I-”

He waved his hands. “Oh, not like that, more that we were separated a long time ago. When I was a kid, I left home. When I came back… my home was pretty much gone, all that was left was…” He took a moment to find the word, “I guess, brother would be the best term, even if he was a pain in the ass. He told me my village was attacked and everyone was safe, but in hiding. I know they’re all okay, just… not around anymore.”

“I see.” You didn’t.

The two of you finished with the crops, moving on to the animals. Even your goats, stubborn as they were, seemed to love him, nudging him with their round horns playfully. You instead focused on your cow and cuccos. Link seemed to be a little wary of your feathered friends. As the two of you finished up and you carried the milk pail to your house, your eyes fell on that ghastly shield again, and his golden sword. “You’re pretty well armed for a random ranch hand.”

“I’m just a traveler, doing odd jobs while I travel,” he said.

A wave of déjà vu passed over you, but you ignored it. “What brings you out here then, Mr. Just a Traveler?”

“Oh exploring. Was here looking for a friend, but I don’t think they’re here. So, figured I’d take a look at the caves around here. You never know what you can find in random grottos.”

“You end up in a lot of trouble I bet. Jumping into strange holes like that is the best way to ask for monsters to jump you.” You thought for a moment. “Then again, you look like the type that doesn’t have trouble with monsters.”

“Oh? And what does that mean?”

“I don’t know, you seem like the type to go on adventures. Hell, you look like you came out of a fairy tale, like you’re about to go save a princess… or a prince,” you added, trying to keep the hopeful note out of your voice.     

“Y’know, I met a prince once. Couple times actually.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No really, a prince of Hy…” His voice trailed off. “Well, a prince.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Was he a rich ass or some fancy dreamboat like the fairy tales say?”

“Neither, he actually kinda reminds me of you.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s a good thing.”

You shrugged, pouring some of the milk into a bottle for him. The rest would go to your stew tonight. Normally you’d just do a baked fish, but for some reason, fish didn’t sound appealing – almost as if it was the only thing you’d eaten for the past week… or more.  As you handed the milk over, you gave him a hard look. Dark bags hung under his eyes and despite his smile, his eyes seemed a little dull. “Link, you’re looking really tired. I don’t know what you do, but… please don’t go too hard on yourself.”

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

“If you insist…” You sent a silent prayer to the local guardian spirit to watch over your new friend. The wind whistled through the caves, their song more mournful tonight than usual.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched. With almost agonizing slowness, you sat up in bed. It was a slower day, so you were helpful when a stranger offered to help with your farm work in exchange for a hot meal and some supplies. Link was his name, and he clearly looked like the type to have quite the tale to tell, but stubbornly refused to let on any details. He, however, was pretty interested in you. Being there and working together felt oddly natural, like the way things were meant to be. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Link was quite the pretty boy.

After finishing up the harvest work, the two of you laid back in some of the fresh hay in your barn to relax. You still had to swap out the hay beds for your goats, but the two of you had definitely earned a break. That’s when Link commented, “You know, your farm isn’t far from what they call the Lost Woods.”

“Mmhmm,” you said. “My farm is about as close as any of us out here dare to get to it. Too dangerous.”

Link nodded. “Where I’m from there’s a story. They say anyone who gets lost in there turns into a Stalfos, and children become imps known as Skull Kids.”

“I don’t know about that, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” You wiped your forehead, looking out across the valley towards the supposed woods on another side of the canyon. “I don’t trust it. People say that magic isn’t around like it used to be these days, but…”

“What?”

“Don’t laugh at me, but I used to hear children laughing in there years ago but now, the woods are silent. You even used to see the light of fairies dancing between the trees, but now, nothing.” Link’s face fell. He muttered something under his breath, just quiet enough that you couldn’t catch it. You weren’t entirely sure what to say but wanted to make him feel at least a little better. “Well, maybe not completely silent. Some days, I hear music.” Link was still looking at the ground but his ears twitched, so you kept it up, slowly shifting the subject away. “I love music, you should hear the band they have in the bar in town sometime. Only problem is they’re missing a good flute player. Flutes are so beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Oh, well, uh… they’re not for me.”

“Not your style huh? You do seem a bit more like a drum or guitar kind of guy.”

He barely hid a wince. “A little I guess.” Maybe talking about music wasn’t the best idea right now.

“Sorry, guess I’m a bit rusty at entertaining guests,” you said sheepishly. “Just thought I’d try and pick up your spirits a bit. You look even more tired than I do.”

Link raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You look like a trout that’s been swimming upstream for too long, like you’re fighting something. If you fight nature for too long, you’ll just tear yourself apart. You have to be flexible but-”

“Resilient, like the violets that grow in the cliffs.”

You stopped. “Huh, funny you should mention those.”

“Why? They’re your favorite, aren’t they?”

You whipped around, staring at Link in shock. “How did you…” Suddenly things were falling into place, the weird déjà vu, the way Link seemed so guarded. You steadied yourself. “We’ve had this conversation before… haven’t we?”

Link remained stoic for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Then, why can’t I remember it?”

Link sighed, sinking back into the hay. “It’s because, for some reason, today is looping over and over. It’s the same day every day.”

The silence hung heavy in the air. It felt like shoving a bear off your chest just to get your next question out. “How long has it been?”

“About a month.”

“Damn.” You sank back down. An entire month of reliving the same day. No wonder you were exhausted. No wonder Link was exhausted.

“I’m the only one unaffected… well, I think I am at least. You’re the only one I’ve really been seeing this past month.”

“Surely you could find better company than me,” you laughed.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Oh…”

“To be honest, you’re the most interesting guy I’ve met in quite a while.”

“Oh? …oh!” You tried to ignore the way your cheeks burned, as Link shifted closer to you. “So how do we get out of the time loop? No offense, but it’s probably getting a bit exhausting to do the same day over and over, and I bet it’s really boring for you to deal with explaining everything to me each time.”

“Actually, this is the first time I told you.” Link scratched his head. “I thought that maybe trying something different would eventually break the loop, but I’m out of ideas.” He then explained some of the things you together did over all the past loops, most of them fairly similar. “I’m stumped. It’s not my first time in a time loop, but that time…” his voice trailed off.

“What about that time?”

“Just… forget it. I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry.”

You leaned back into the hay. “Link, why is it you don’t talk about yourself? I hardly know anything about you, but you know me like the back of your hand. I feel a bit at a disadvantage.”

“It’s… difficult.”

“Difficult to explain the details or difficult to bring up since I forget each time?” He didn’t answer. You looked at him, but he was staring off somewhere you couldn’t see. You’d drop the topic for now, but some part of you knew he hadn’t said a word of his past to you. You gently slid your hand over to his. He jumped a bit when you made contact but gently closed his fingers around yours. “Hey, how about we go inside and get something to eat. I’m not gonna make you work again if we’ve only got one day.”

“Food sounds great,” he said quietly, squeezing your hand.

The two of you headed inside, and you quickly got to work on a creamy vegetable stew. The wind whistled through the caves and you found yourself humming along without meaning to.

“What’s that sound?”

“Hm?” You asked, as you looked up from the stew.

“There it is again!”

“Oh, that. The natural caves and grottos around here are shaped in just the right way to catch the evening winds. Depending on the wind, they play different little tunes. Sure beats a music box.”

“Different tunes?”

“Yup,” you gave the stew a slow stir. “It all depends on the time of year and direction of the wind. Some nights I get some nice slow ballads, and some nights they’re a bit more bouncy.” You doled out a hearty helping into two bowls, handing one to Link, who eagerly dug in. “Now that I think of it though, they seem a bit different lately. About a week ago, the songs seemed a bit more… well musical. It’s hard to explain, but it’s almost like a real instrument.”

Link hesitated for a moment. “Anything weird happen about a week ago?”

“Not that I can think of. We did get a pretty strong storm, but I can’t complain getting a little extra rain this time of year. Fish like it too.”

Link finished the last spoonful with a thoughtful look. “I think I know why we’re stuck in a time loop, and why I’m the only one who isn’t affected.”

You looked up from the stew. “Should I be worried? It’s not like a monster or anything, right?”

Link sighed. “No, that’d be too easy. I’m going to explore the caves. I think the answer lies there.” He fidgeted. “It means… I’m going to have to spend a while just looking, I think.”

You tried not to let your disappointment show. “How long do you think?

“I dunno, maybe a week?”

A week wasn’t so bad. And besides, you wouldn’t even remember it, right? “Are you sure you’ll be okay? Those caves are dangerous.”

“Believe me, I can handle it.”

“Right, but still…” You collected the bowls and took them to the washbasin. “Hey, what if I come with you? I know these mountains better than most people.”

Link shook his head. “Appreciate it, but this is something I need to do myself.” He stood and made his way to the door. “Thanks for dinner. Hopefully I’ll be back in no time, and we’ll be free of this time loop.”

As he opened the door you took his hand. “Link, if next week is… well, today again, you’ll still come back and visit me, right? Just so I know you’re safe?”

He lifted your hand to his lips and gave you a small kiss and a soft smile. With that, he walked down the path and into the night, accompanied by the breathy song of the caves.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched.

A handsome stranger stopped by briefly to ask for directions to the caves. You told him it was dangerous, but given his gear, he was probably going to be fine.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched.

Your goats broke out of the fence again. You knew you needed to fix that, but with Market Day tomorrow, there was too much to do. It’d have to wait.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched.

Rain hammered down against the farmhouse roof. By the looks of it, it was a proper torrent, and the roads would be unsafe for Market Day. So much for that, maybe you could make a special trip next week instead.

At least it gave you time to get some rest. As you brewed yourself some coffee, you kept thinking about a strange dream you had of a monster thing that wished to rule the world and kidnap pretty princesses but seemed rather smitten by you instead.

Imagine that.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched.

Absolutely nothing of interest happened today.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched. You threw open your window shutters to look out at the beautiful sunrise, only to find a stranger standing at your door. You hurried downstairs and opened the door. “Uh, good morning, can I help you?”

The stranger looked up with crazed eyes. “Hi! Good morning! My name’s Link and I think you’re really cool!”

“Uh…”

“Here!” He shoved a bouquet of slightly crumpled flowers into your hands.

“Oh? Oh! These are my favorite… but…”

“Resilient! Like flowers!”

You took a shaky step back. “Are… are you okay?”

“I…” He trembled, before stumbling to the ground. It was then you realized he was so thin; he must not have had a good meal in days.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there,” you said, helping him to at least sit up. “Come on now, deep breaths.”

His eyes fluttered, unfocused, but he turned towards your voice. “I missed you,” he croaked out.

“I…” It was hard to figure out what to say to a delirious man.

“I forgot you forgot.”

“What?”

He closed his eyes. A shaky breath seemed to rattle his body. “Time loop.” He then looked at you as if that one word explained everything and hadn’t launched about fifty billion other questions. He then looked a little sheepish and asked, “Milk?”

Now that you could handle. “Sure, just a moment. Stay here.” It didn’t take more than a minute to fetch him a bottle. When you returned, he was oddly still, almost to where you were afraid he wasn’t long for this world. You steadily held the glass to his lips, trying to keep him from drinking too quickly. With some fluid in him, you then dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth as he trembled. Eventually, he gave up trying to sit up by himself and leaned into you.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” He kept mumbling. “It’s all my fault…”

“Hey now, no need to apologize. Uh, Link, right? How about you start your story at the beginning?”

He stared at his feet for a good minute before finally starting to explain. Throughout his story, you gently dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. The longer the story went on, the more worried you became as he clearly was in no shape to have been traveling alone, let alone exploring caves and damp grottos. “I meant to be gone a week but got a little delayed. There were more caves than I thought. Then I got trapped in a rockslide.”

Your chest felt hollow. “How long of a delay?” He remained silent. “Link, how many days have there been in the loop now?

He looked up, the bags under his eyes especially prevalent. “Ninety-eight.”

“By the Light of Ordona…” You sat beside him, taking his hand in yours. “I’m so sorry…”

“’s’not your fault,” he muttered.

You stared at him as his eyes unfocused, blankly looking out over the horizon. You had to do something. You stood, pulling him to his feet. “Okay, then you deserve some rest.”

“I…” He weakly protested, but you shoved him through the farmhouse door. “I’m supposed to get it back, it’s my responsibility!”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. If you’re trapped in this time loop, then you have time to rest.”

“Nooo…”

“The stupid thing in the grotto will be there tomorrow!”

The two of you stumbled through the door and up the stairs – which suddenly felt way too narrow for a normal person, let alone two. Your visitor was essentially deadweight, barely helping, though that may have been a blessing in disguise given his mental state. Halfway up, with his foot caught on a step, the disoriented Link decided it was the perfect time for questions. “Who’s Ordona?”

You were caught off-guard for a brief moment. “Oh right, you’re not from around here. Ordona is the spirit who guards this part of the forests. The Golden Goddesses don’t care for us farmers all the way out here.”

Link let out a snort. “Guess I made the right call coming out here then. I don’t think I want to see them anytime soon…”

“What, they don’t like you?” You said via a half-laugh half-grunt.

“No, they like me a lot. That’s the problem.” You helped him flop into your bed and then turned to your cabinets, searching for any leftover herbs you could use to help. “You can’t stay here and watch over me, you’ve got to do your harvest, right?”

“Link I’m not going to leave you to only get sicker just so I can pick a few apples,” You said, snatching up a rather aromatic mushroom and a jar of green jelly. “Besides if we’re in a time loop, I can always pick them tomorrow.”

“But what about…”

“No buts, you are staying there and resting!” You ordered over your shoulder as you ran down to the kitchen to grab a kettle. By the time you came back with some boiling water, Link was propped up on the pillows with his arms crossed. You groaned. “Link, you need to have time to take care of yourself too. It’s not like you need to constantly squeeze everything out of every single day.”

He groaned as he fought to keep his eyes open. “I do when all I have is one day… one day to get to know you…”

“Me? But what about the thing in the grotto? Or your friend?”

Link sighed. “Maybe. But it’s been ninety-eight days, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I didn’t want the stupid thing in the grotto to begin with. As for my friend, I’m not sure if we’ll ever see each other again. But through all of this, I’ve been with you all these times and I know I want to be with you, more than ever. I want to be out of this loop so we can actually… you know.”

“Link, are you asking me out?”

“Give me a little break here, I’m dead tired and not used to the whole… relationship thing.” He sighed. “I’ve been running for most of my life. I’m done.”

“Then stop running and rest. Let’s just have a few days where you stay with me or something.” You sighed, giving him his medicine. He choked it down, but it seemed to bring at least a little color back to his cheeks. Despite that, sleep was clawing at him and he slid down the sheets. “I promise I’ll help you find whatever it is causing this time loop. But for today, you need to go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.”

You almost laughed at how childish it sounded. “And why is that?”

“Because every time I sleep, you forget me.”

Your words died in your throat. Instead, you crawled into the bed with him. For a moment the two of you just laid there in each other’s arms, as the wind whistled through the caves.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched. For some reason, you felt like you had never slept more soundly. As you finished dressing for the day, a knock came at the door. You quickly descended the stairs and opened the door to find an unusual visitor dressed like a mercenary. Even more surprising was seeing all of your apples already harvested and ready to go to market.

The stranger looked at you with determination. “[Y/n], this is going to sound weird, but I need you to give me an honest chance to explain everything.” He presented you with a bouquet of the violets that grew on the cliffs.

You weren’t even sure what to say to that, but you gave him a nod.

“My name is Link, and I’ve been stuck in a time loop. For what was over three months for me, I’ve gotten to know you. I know you love fishing in the brook behind your house. I know you cook a mean stew. I know you love cuccos and that you know exactly what each of the sounds they make means. I know you love the sounds of the caves at night and the cliffside violets. I know you grow your crops and take them down to the village yourself – which seems so dangerous, and you should really carry at least a dagger or bow with you in case something happens!” He sighed. “I know you love the mountains but hope to see the world. I know you don’t mind being alone, but you don’t like being lonely. I know you’re kind and caring and… and I know that I’m in love with you.”

You were left speechless, your hand curling tighter on the doorknob. At first you wanted to ask if this was some kind of joke, but everything he said was too accurate for a joke or a coincidence. You set your jaw and looked him over carefully, for any chance of a ruse, but all it did was make him feel more familiar to you. “I… know you.”

“You remember?”

“I mean, I feel like I should at least.” Link’s face fell. You took his hands in yours. “But I trust you. And I… I’d really like to get to know you more.”

Link squeezed your hands. “Believe me, I promise I’ll do whatever you want, but first, I think it’s time to stop this loop.”

“Yeah, uh, how exactly? I’m just a farmer, not some fancy adventurer.”

“I’ve checked everywhere. I know the source of the time loop is a stupid treasure in one of the grottos, but I can’t find it!”

“Did you check under my house?”

Link could have been knocked over by a stiff breeze. “What?”

“Didn’t I say anything? There’s one of the grottos under my house.”

“The grotto with the treasure… it’s under your house.” Link’s eye twitched. “This whole time, it was right here?!”

“At least it wasn’t somewhere worse?” You suggested.

“I wish the goddesses didn’t have a sense of humor…” He grumbled. You ran your fingers along his cheek, releasing some of his tension. “Fine, let’s end this.

You led him to a locked and frankly forgotten storm-cellar door on the side of your home. After fiddling with the rusty lock and hinges, you led Link down a shaky ladder.

The grotto was not big at all, a tad smaller than your bedroom. While you had considered turning it into a proper cellar multiple times, the work required just wasn’t worth it. The mountain granite was unyielding and everything was covered in moss and slime. A small stream ran from one end to the other, not deep enough for anything but minnows. The stream flowed into a small crack in the wall that led out to where you fished. Air flowed opposite the water and into the rest of the caves. Wedged into that small crack was the mouthpiece of a tarnished flute-like thing, seemingly left there for decades if not centuries.

“That’s it?” You asked. It was an odd “treasure” if it could be called that.

“It’s… complicated,” Link said. In that moment, his eyes looked so old. Time loop aside, he looked like he had seen much more than any man should. “Do you know what it’s like to have a responsibility thrust on you, knowing you’d have to do a thankless job for the rest of your days? At first, I was at least chased around for it, but now… now I’m just alone.” He groaned, his eyes hidden by his hair. In a small voice, he said, “I hated it. I hated that stupid ocarina. I never asked for all this, I only wanted to live a normal life, to have a fairy like the other Kokiri back home.” He took a deep breath, and the confession slipped out. “I hated it so much, I threw it away into the mountain river. The water must’ve carried it here. But… I’m still a knight, and my duty is to protect it to my dying breath.”

Admittedly, you were a bit lost, but understanding could come later. You sat next to him on the mossy boulder and took his hand. At first, he flinched but relaxed into your touch. “Life can be so unfair… I’m sorry you had to face this alone. All of this time looping nonsense and then… well everything you haven’t told me. Or maybe you did tell me. I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

A wry snort escaped him. “No, I didn’t tell you that whole story yet.”

“Someday, I hope you can.”

He looked up to you, a bit of confusion in his eyes before he understood the depth of your words. “I hope so too.”

With that, Link stood and approached the instrument. With a sigh, he reached down and plucked it from the crevice.

And then, everything was plunged into darkness.

==============================

The cucco’s cry greeted you that morning, as it did every morning.

You yawned and stretched. Your head was pounding, and you felt stiff. Everything seemed like a blur, you could hardly remember climbing through the grotto with Link yesterday.

Wait.

Yesterday.

You threw open the shutters. All of the apples Link picked was still there, ready for market day. “It’s… Friday.” You then saw someone loading the produce into your wagon. “Link!”

The swordsman set down the crate, turning to you. Even across the distance, you could see his eyes were filled with a hesitant hope. “Good morning… do you…”

“I remember!” You ran out of the house in your nightclothes, leaping into his arms. “It’s over, it’s finally over!” The two of you laughed as Link toppled over, sending you both tumbling onto a dirt pile. The only thing that wasn’t covered in dirt was the gleaming ocarina hanging from Link’s belt.

Soon, you were rolling down the road with on your wagon with Link by your side. Your horse made slow but steady progress across the bridge towards the market. Link had just finished filling you in on the rest of the time loop you forgot. He then sheepishly added, “Um, I was thinking, this trip doesn’t get any less dangerous. You probably need a bodyguard for the next market day.”

You smiled. “I think I do.”

One market day turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into Link fully moving into the homestead. Together, the two of you cut a bit more of the forest back, building a bigger pasture for your cow, goats, and cuccos. You built a bigger house right next to the brook and dug out a little fishing pond. As people soon came to trade with your growing farm, it almost felt like you were building a village – and someday it might be. For now, it would be your personal slice of paradise.

It would be several years before he told you about his travels, his life in Hyrule and his time in Termina. Around that time, the ocarina would occasionally glow, and he would disappear for a day or two, but he was always quick to return to you – often with some rare gift that seemed impossible for him to have gotten a hold of. Of course, those adventures are a story for another day. They hardly mattered to Link when he finally had his home after all these years, a home with you.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Vance did not grow up in poverty or in Appalachia. He grew up middle class in the Rust Belt, in Middletown, Ohio. His grandparents were from eastern Kentucky, in Appalachia, and he visited their old homestead during holidays. His experience with Appalachian poverty is the equivalent of a student writing about their summer vacations. Vance is quick to qualify his success with faux-humility: “I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve accomplished nothing great in my life, certainly nothing that would justify a complete stranger paying to read about it.” Still, he claims the book is a representation of “the American Dream as my family and I encountered it.” He is playing off the belief, widespread in Appalachia, in my experience, that folks who are suffering from addiction, in need of social welfare, or otherwise down on their luck are to blame because they didn’t work hard enough. Vance boldly generalizes his family as “hardworking, except of course for the many food stamp recipients who show little interest in honest work.”

[...]

I don’t have the money and power that Vance does, but here’s what I’ve learned: Appalachia is a distinct place. It is easy to spin false narratives about it because not many people know much about it outside the region. Addiction is a public health crisis here, as are mental health and heart disease. Queer people, women, and non-white people live here. Its relative lack of monetary and educational resources exists alongside its wealth of natural beauty. Growing up in a place of natural beauty reminds you that the earth is alive, and it’s sick. Growing up with few resources amid addiction teaches you to make much of little, to use imagination as refuge, to be attentive to those around you, and to care for those who are not always well enough to care for you back. It reminds you that community extends past your biological family and that family is a responsibility and gift. It reminds you that salary is not the measure of a person.

27 August 2024

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 Prologue #1: Growth Mindset

Author's Note: I made some changes to my plans so the next few posts will be the prologue to Part 2 of Safe Harbor. They will fill in some gaps from the last chapter and set things up for the next chapter!

I’m preparing for my therapy appointment but this time instead of making the drive to Evergreen Harbor, I’m logging into our meeting on my PC. 

“So how are things going in San Sequoia?” Khadija asks me once we’re both settled in.

“It’s going great,” I tell her. It’s a little weird seeing her on the screen instead of in person, but before long our conversation feels as comfortable as ever.

“I’m glad to hear it! Is everything going okay with your roommate? I know you were a little apprehensive moving in with someone you don’t know that well.”

“Yeah, Paul’s pretty cool. I figured he would be, being Lucy’s brother and all. And everyone in the community has been welcoming.”

“So no secret cult activity?”

“Nope,” I laugh. “If anyone’s performing any rituals, they’re doing a good job of keeping it under wraps.” My impression of my neighbors so far has been that they’re mostly wannabe bohemians–they like the idea of a homesteading lifestyle but don’t want to fully commit to a life without modern luxuries. Pretentious, maybe, but not harmful.

“It sounds like you like it there.”

“I do. It’s different, but it’s fun. I’ve been helping out with the animals; you know, cleaning the chicken coop and milking the goat, stuff like that. I even helped hatch a chick!”

Khadija laughs. “I have to say, I never expected you to be out in the field doing labor.”

“I didn’t expect it either, but it’s not that bad. I guess I’ve been doing a lot of new stuff lately. Paul convinced me to join a yoga class and I think it’s helped me relax. And would you believe I’ve been doing cross-stitch?”

“Cross-stitch? I wouldn’t have pictured that either, but it sounds nice.”

“Yeah, it takes a lot of patience because I messed up a lot at first, but it's kind of relaxing in a way.”

“Relaxation seems to be a big focus for you right now.”

“I guess so. I’ve been trying to find new ways to regulate my emotions like you suggested. Honestly, I’m feeling really good right now.”

“I can tell. I’m really proud of your progress, Johnny. I can see you’re really putting in the work.”

“Yep, even when it comes to the hard stuff, like having to talk to Lacey, I’ve been able to work through my feelings and do what I need to.”

“Oh yeah, how did that go by the way?”

“It was okay. I just told her what I said to you, that I think she’s a really great person and I value her friendship, but I just don’t have romantic feelings for her. And I apologized for leading her on.”

“How did she take it?”

“Pretty well, I guess. I could tell she was disappointed, maybe even hurt, but she was cool about it. Work was a little awkward for a bit but I think we’ve worked past the worst of it.”

I'm glad that Lacey and I are still friends, but I do feel bad still about how everything went down with her. She's everything that I thought I wanted, but for some reason, it just wasn't clicking for me. The whole thing makes me more empathetic to what Lexie went through when she broke up with me; it really doesn't feel much better to be on the other side of things.

“Well, I’m proud of you for doing the right thing, even if it was difficult. I think it says a lot that you’re trusting your own feelings and not getting hung up on what you think you should do. I’d like to see you do that more often. How does that sound to you?”

“Good, but a little scary,” I answer. 

“A little fear is understandable as long as it’s not keeping you from growing. I think you can work through it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I wasn't sure I'd ever get to this place, but for once in my life, I actually feel like I can handle whatever's coming my way. And I can't wait to take it on.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[volklana]

Wish I Didn't But I Do, Remember Every Moment On The Nights With You.

Cowboy!Sihtric x Reader

Part I

Title Comes From This Song:

You leave your small hometown behind, along with the man you loved. What happens when you are forced to reunite?

Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse and heavy drinking.

Dust and hardship, that’s all this place had ever meant to you, and as you turned up the dirt road, the old familiar smell of dust and heat filled your nostrils.

It had been years since you had been back here, and truth be told you never intended on stepping foot on this scorched earth ever again.

“Hallowed land,” your Grandpa had called it, but he was a mean old bastard who was too fond of using his belt as a means of punishment when you stepped out of line, and so this barren piece of dirt suited him.

“Can’t we do this over the phone?” you had begged Osferth when the mention of your Grandfather’s will came up and he sighed long and sad down the phone.

“Y/n, you really need to come down here in person, so there can be no dispute.”

And so here you were pulling down that old familiar dirt track, with distaste in your mouth and bitterness in your heart.

Osferth was waiting on the porch of your Grandpa’s cabin, he removed his hat as you approached and then of course there was Sihtric, because of course he would be there.

“Your Grandfather’s shadow,” you used to spit at him, the son he never had.

You had known Sihtric almost your whole life. 

Ever since your mama decided she couldn’t handle raising a kid on her own anymore and shipped you off here to live with your Grandpa.

Sihtric was a skinny little runt in school. His clothes were always too big and hung on him like rags and he always had lice in his hair.

His dad was a mean old drunk, who treated him like his own personal punch bag. Rumours always hung over their house that he had murdered Sihtric’s mama in a drunken rage one night. Official cause of death ruled she had fallen down the stairs, but if that was so, Sihtric had ‘fallen down the stairs’ one too many times too. 

The other kids shunned him and beat on him more, until at sixteen he eventually had enough and quit school to come work on your ranch.

Your Grandfather had given him the beaten old homestead on the outer edges of the ranch to live in and Sihtric did all the repairs himself and fixed it up proper, your Grandpa talked about it for weeks, going down many times just to marvel at the work Sihtric had done.

You hated him.

He barely spoke a word, always lingering around the edges, working long, hard hours and in many ways you thought he was more at peace with the horses than he ever was with another human being.

You’d caught his eyes on you more than once, and he always looked away as if he had been burned when your eyes would bore back at him. He knew you despised him and he didn’t know what to do to change that. 

Until the summer down by the creek when Uhtred had invited him around the campfire, and you drank whiskey that Finan had stolen from his father, and under the stars and music blaring from Uhtred’s truck your friends had adopted him as one of their own.

And you drank so much you could barely see straight, you had kissed him underneath the stars, feeling his heart flutter in his chest, it was his first kiss, and from the moment his lips touched yours, he could never get enough. 

From that night on Sihtric became one of your friends, he worked long hard hours on the ranch but the evenings were spent getting up to mischief and adventures with Uhtred, Finan and Osferth and slowly but surely, apathy towards him turned into young love. A passionate and wild young love centered around whiskey and bonfire smoke, and a million promises whispered under a million stars.

“I wish I had been nicer to you in school,” you whispered one night as you lay on his chest in the back of his open pickup truck.

“You were plenty nice,” he mused in his slow drawl and you twisted to examine his mismatched eyes.

“But I didn’t talk to you.”

He hmmd and twirled a piece of your hair between his fingers “But you never belittled me, or mocked me, or laughed when I couldn’t spell something right.”

Your eyes glistened with tears under the stars because sometimes you were reminded just how badly Sihtric had been treated, that simply not humiliating him was considered an act of kindness to him. That night you made love for the first time and when you held Sihtric against your breast he buried his face in embarrassment at the tears that slid down his cheeks onto your skin. He had never known what it felt like to be held and loved before and it made his heart so full that you would allow him to feel it with you.

Sihtric was there for you when your mom passed, holding you for hours while you sobbed so hard your ribs hurt.

When your grandfather had a heart attack and almost died it was Sihtric who kept the ranch in running order while you nursed your Grandpa back to health and when Sihtric’s own father was killed in a bar fight you were with him the night he punched a hole through the wall, knuckles bloodied and split when he found out his brother had gotten everything, he wasn’t even listed in his father’s will, and only because Uhtred and Finan threatened to send him to meet his father, Sven, relented and allowed them to return with Sihtric’s mother’s ring, and a photo album of her pictures. The only things he ever had of his mother. And after it all Sihtric had gone to your grandfather and asked him for his blessing to ask you to marry him.

Your Grandfather refused saying you were both too young, but Sihtric didn’t let it deter him, he always knew he would make you his wife someday. 

But you had always wanted more. More than small town gossip. More than marrying and popping out children and sitting at the same pew every Sunday. More than dirt and cattle and pickup trucks and your Grandfather’s heavy handed punishments but somehow Sihtric lessened all of that ever so slightly, until the day your Grandfather found you and Sihtric in his cabin and he beat you so bloody you spit on the dirt and swore you would leave if it was the last thing you did.

When your college acceptance letter arrived you had formed your getaway plan.

You and Sihtric were going to take a greyhound bus to the big city, you would go to college and leave this small town behind and begin your lives together. 

“Where are your bags?” you cried, smile slipping off your face when Sihtric stepped up to the bus stop.

His eyes glistened and you swallowed the lump in your throat “You’re not coming are you?”

He slowly shook his head and his gaze settled on the ground.

“Sihtric..I have to. I have to leave,” you cried and his eyes softened.

“I know,” he sighed “But I can’t come with you. My place is here.”

“Sihtric,” you begged, grasping for his hand  “Sihtric, please. Come with me. Your place is with me, our place is together.”

“You’ve never wanted this life y/n, and it’s not what you were made for. Gods you are so smart and you have a real chance of making something of yourself but that life is not for me, my place is here amongst the horses and land, and I refuse to hold you back.”

You were openly crying, grasping onto his hand for dear life when the bus pulled in.

“But I love you,” you cried and he cried too, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“I love you more than life, but you know that I am right in this. I will be a weight around your neck and you will grow to resent me, and it will tear us apart. This way there will always be a chance you find your way back to me. You’ll know where to find me.”

You grasped him tight, savouring his all too familiar scent.

“I have to get on this bus,” you eventually broke the silence and Sihtric stepped back to allow you to gather your things.

He carried your suitcase up to the undercarriage and then both of you clasped each other again.

“I’ll call you when I get there, we can talk about this.”

“I’ve made my mind up,” Sihtric sniffed resolutely and then the driver honked the horn at you and Sihtric urged you forward with a nod of his head “Go,” he commanded and you clambered up the stairs in a daze. 

You watched him rooted in place as the bus pulled away, tears drying on his face and he lifted one hand up in a wave goodbye. This image would be burned into your mind for years to come.

Neither of you took the breakup well.

Sihtric threw himself into work and whiskey and you threw yourself into studying, even more determined to make something of yourself now, or else it would have all been for nothing.

Your Grandfather cut you off completely. He had expected you to marry and give him Grandbabies that would some day inherit his sacred dirt, “You are just like your mama,” he had spit the last time you spoke on the phone “This place is better off without you and I don’t wanna see you no more. You’ve broken that boy’s heart and he is more family to me now than you will ever be.”

You had tried to rebuild some sort of friendship with Sihtric but it became more and more awkward each call until eventually he stopped accepting your calls and then a few months later a letter arrived, it was in Sihtric’s childlike scrawl but you could tell he had enlisted Osferth’s help with spellings, but there in plain black and white he asked you not to contact him anymore.

To make it worse, Finan and Uhtred who had been your friends first to begin with seemed to have sided with Sihtric and you mourned the loss of their friendship too, Osferth who in time would become a lawyer and manage the financials of your Grandfather’s ranch was the only one who stayed in touch.

So you forged a new life for yourself, but you lost a huge chunk of yourself in the process.

Now you appeared cold and distant, and at times overly critical and ferocious in your attempts to succeed. You gutted that small town girl out from within, along with any tenderness you had ever felt for your small town past, including Sihtric. 

It was easier now to focus on his flaws and his cowardice and betrayal, and you let those emotions chip away at your heart until all that was left for him was bitterness and resentment, and eventually hatred.

A bitter taste in your mouth whenever you thought of him which only worsened when a few years later Osferth called you to break the news that Sihtric was getting married. 

You never received an invitation but you wouldn’t have gone anyway, it took place on the ranch and your grandfather had initiated it. You had creeped on Finan’s social media until you found the pictures of the day and you had to swallow down bile and disgust, alongside the whiskey you were downing.

When the news came through that your Grandfather was dying, you called him to talk and he once again confirmed that you were a disappointment to him, and he spat that you shouldn’t bother coming to see him, so you didn’t come. And then days later Osferth called to confirm his passing, you didn’t attend his service. You wouldn’t have come today either, only Osferth insisted it was the only way his will would be recognised.

“Let’s get this over with,” you sighed climbing the steps up onto the porch of the house you had grown up in.

Sihtric greeted you with a bow of his head, his hat in hand and you responded with a curt nod but kept your gaze forward as you all made your way inside to the kitchen table.

Nothing about the house had changed but you refused to let it choke you up, hardening your face and remaining stoic.

Sihtric’s cabin and all livestock on the property went to Sihtric. You had expected this so it didn’t come as a surprise.

The ranch and house itself went to you but you watched Sihtric fidget anxiously in his seat, you knew what he was thinking, you were going to sell this place out from under him, and you seriously considered it.

“There is however a stipulation,” Osferth added and you and Sihtric straightened up.

“Your Grandfather added a clause that states the beneficiary, which in this case is you y/n, must reside continuously in the property for a minimum of one year before any sale of the property may be allowed.”

Your heart sank a mile a second down to your toes “That surely cannot be legal,” you barked and Sihtric slunk back in his chair in shock.

“Unfortunately it is binding y/n, if you do ever wish to sell the ranch that is the clause.”

“That old bastard!” you spat, “Did you know about this?” you shot at Sihtric “Of course you did, his little shadow, how could you not!”

“On my word, I swear to you I did not know,” Sihtric pleaded.

“On your word,” you scoffed dryly “As if your word means shit to me.” 

Sihtric kept his eyes trained on the ground but his cheeks were tinged pink.

“I’m trapped here,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “He found a way to trap me here finally.”

Osferth reached across the table and squeezed your hand “I tried to talk him out of it but he was set.”

You squeezed his hand back because ultimately you knew there was nothing anyone could do to sway your Grandpa’s mind once it was set on something.

When you called your business partner to break the news, the silence was deafening before he finally managed to weakly ask what you were going to do.

Your head was thumping and all you wanted was to get into your car and drive away and leave this place behind, leave it all to Sihtric and be done. 

“I don’t know,” you cried “It’s such a fucking mess.”

“Look, take a few days, I’ll hold down the fort here, I can email if I need anything.”

“Thank you Aldhelm, don’t know what I’d do without you,” you sighed and collapsed down on the sofa, trying to block the blinding light that was killing you.

You rummaged through cupboards until you found what you were looking for, whiskey and any amount of it too, and you began to drink yourself into oblivion.

You made your way out to the swing on the porch and watched the sun set down behind the mountains.

From the corner of your eye you could see Sihtric down on the outer edges rounding up cattle on his horse. His silhouette was like a ghost of your past and finally the tears that had been threatening to fall all day came in a flood and you clung to the bottle of whiskey like it was a lifeline.

“Y/n?” a voice called, pulling you from the depths of your despair and your head flung in the direction of your best friend in school’s voice.

“Gisela?” you gasped rising up to throw your arms around her, stopping in surprise at her swollen belly, which she rubbed shyly.

“He’s due any day now,” she beamed before taking in your appearance “Uhtred told me about the will, and I thought you could use a friend right about now.”

It was shameful and out of character but you were a sobbing mess in her arms when she pulled you close. 

She took a seat on the porch swing beside you and for a while you sat in silence watching Sihtric work.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do? She tested after a while and you shook your head sadly.

“I can’t stay here for a year. I’ve got a business to run, I have a life in the city but- but the alternative is I leave here and just let Sihtric handle business but I’m still tied to this place legally and financially and mentally I don’t feel strong enough to be bound to this place.”

“Were you really so unhappy here?” she tried gently, and your teary eyes sought out Sihtric’s silhouette again “Some of my happiest moments were here. But that life is gone now.” 

Gisela followed your line of sight and smiled sadly and what your words implied.

“Look, all I ask is that you don’t sell this place out from under him. It’s all he’s got. At least give us all a chance to pull together to get him some money to buy this place, he’ll never afford it on his own.” 

“All he’s got?” you scoffed and Gisela bumped you sadly.

“You should talk to him, see if you can work this out together.”

You considered her quietly, you couldn’t say what you really wanted to say, mindful of the fact that she was Sihtric’s friend too.

“I’m happy for you and Uhtred,” you smiled and she beamed “You guys were always perfect for each other.” 

“I did send you an invitation,” she smiled sadly and you squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry I just couldn’t face it,” she shook her head in silent understanding, the ‘it’ that you couldn’t face was currently riding closer and closer your way and passed by with a gentle tip of his hat.

After Gisela left, you finished the bottle of whiskey and made your way out towards the stables.

Sihtric was brushing down the horses, unaware that you were watching him while he spoke gently to the animals and you wanted to soften to him but it just made you angrier.

“Are you happy?” you scoffed and he stopped his ministrations, turning to face you in shock.

“Y/n,” he tried but you cut him off.

“This was what you always wanted right? The animals, the land, the wife. Perfect little life. What did you think if you stuck by him enough he would give it all to you?”

“Y/n-” he tried again, taking a step towards you, face etched with hurt.

“I hoped he would too. I hoped he would leave it all to you, but here we are. You’ve got what you always wanted and I am trapped here again, miserable.” 

“I didn’t choose any of this,” he begged but you could not be placated.

“You might have stuck to him like a shadow, but he was my grandfather!” you spat and Sihtric rounded on you.

“Has it ever crossed your crazy little mind that the reason I stuck to him like a ‘shadow’ was because I never had a fucking father of my own? Not one that didn’t kick seven shades of shit out of me every single day. I’m sorry that he was so tough on you and that you hated it here, but he was the only adult who ever truly gave a shit about me and I loved him.” 

You had never once heard Sihtric raise his voice and it stunned you for a moment. 

“You blaze back in here thinking you know everything but you don’t know anything, because you weren’t here. You chose to leave, you had the choice, I didn’t..-So don’t come back here thinking you have it all figured out because you weren’t here.” 

“You say it like I abandoned you,” you quipped and Sihtric scrunched his face, and you could see him trying to swallow down his anger.

“You did,” he eventually sighed, so low you barely heard it.

“Sihtric, you left me! I wanted you to come with me, but you chose to stay. You left me.”

Sihtric took a step towards you, eyes locked on yours while you were both trying to silently communicate the hurt you had caused each other, and before you could fully comprehend, you were almost chest to chest and Sihtric was reaching for you.

“But it doesn’t matter now,” you whispered “We’ve both moved on, and after a couple of days I’ll be gone again.”

Sihtric stopped all movement toward you, his hand dropping down to his side and taking a huge step back. 

“I have to get back to work,” was all he offered and you returned to the big house alone and drunk with a head swimming in pictures of mismatched eyes.

A few days later Gisela called to invite you around to hers and Uhtred’s house so you made some homemade pie and made your way over and were formally introduced to Finan’s wife Eadith, “So this is the famous y/n,” she mused smiling kindly before pulling you into a hug “I’ve heard so much about you!” she mused with a knowing smile and you instantly loved her.

“There she is!” Finan almost roared, picking you up and spinning you around and you clung to him.

Uhtred was a little shier in his approach before finally deciding to just go for it and pull you into a hug. Uhtred’s silence had hurt almost as much as Sihtric’s, he was your oldest friend and at the time it had felt like he had chosen Sihtric over you.

“I’m sorry,” he hung his head in shame “After so much time had passed I didn’t know how to reach out.”

“It’s alright,” you smiled, brushing your finger under his chin so he would actually look at you, “It’s alright. It’s water under the bridge,” and he smiled his huge smile before ducking in for another hug where he nearly squeezed the life out of you.

The peace was disrupted when the porch door swung open and Sihtric arrived, a huge blue bear under his arm.

“Sihtric,” Uhtred laughed “The boy is not even here yet and you have already spoiled him rotten.” 

Sihtric grinned bashfully before dipping forward to place a kiss on Gisela’s cheek, he did the same with Eadith but paused when he got to you, leaning gently to press but the ghost of a kiss on your cheek, before he clasped hands with Uhtred, Finan and Osferth. 

Eadith and Finan left to collect the takeout and beers and an easy silence fell among the group as you stepped out onto the porch, sipping absentmindedly on a bottle. 

To your surprise Sihtric was already out there smoking, but you were calm and not drunk today so you went and stood beside him. 

“I’m going to be the baby’s godfather,” he announced proudly, breaking the silence and your heart swole. Sihtric had always been open about wanting kids and you had seen first hand how good he was with them.

“You have any of your own yet?” you asked and he took a long drag of his cigarette before shaking his head.

“I thought your wife would be here tonight,” you muttered looking down at the wooden slots of the porch and he turned slightly to face you, eyeing you before he simply replied “Nope.”

“What about you? I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“I guess the whole love thing never really worked out for me,” you smiled sadly.

Sihtric’s eyes were boring into yours again and he looked like there was something he wanted to say but Finan’s truck pulled into the driveway and the words died on his tongue.

Uhtred lit a bonfire out the back and it felt like being a teenager again with music blaring and the drinks flowing. You and Eadith were like kindred spirits, dancing and laughing and you genuinely could not remember the last time you had felt so carefree, despite how much was on your mind, you felt young and reckless again. One thing was for sure though Sihtric never took his eyes off you the whole night, as he sipped on his own beer. And the longer the night went on, the more you kept hoping to meet his eyes and when you finally did it was like all time stood still. 

When Uhtred finally helped an exhausted Gisela to bed you took a seat beside Sihtric at the fire and he bumped your shoulder.

“Good to see you let loose,” he smiled and you hmmed.

“I haven’t felt this happy in years,” you admitted before you realised how sad that sounded out loud.

“You only smile like this when you’ve been drinking,” he noted and you couldn’t help but silently agree.

“Sihtric, where is your wife?” you finally tested and he smiled sadly.

“Woke up one morning, all my life savings, my car and her were  gone, divorce papers left on the table.”

“Sihtric,” you cried, turning to face him.

“I know,” he laughed “It’s like a bad country song, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, hands flying up to cover your mouth in shock as he laughed along too. 

“Ah, it’s not so bad I had already lost the love of my life long before then.” 

“Sihtric,” you sighed “Why didn’t you come with me?” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said softly “Like you said the other night, you’ve moved on.”

You sighed picking at a thread of the throw Uhtred had wrapped around your shoulders, “What if I hadn’t?”

“Don’t,” he begged, face crumpling in what looked like agony.

“Don’t you ever think about what it would’ve been like if you’d come with me?” you pleaded.

“Or if you’d stayed,” he shot back.

“I’ve spent all these years hating you, wishing you would just turn up at my door and tell me that you made a mistake, to tell me that I was enough.”

“Y/n, you were everything. Everything to me. You were always destined for more, for bright and beautiful things. I’m a small town idiot who can barely read. What on earth would I do in the big city except hold you back, get in your way and drag you down. I loved you enough then to let you go. I just hoped you loved me enough to return to me one day.”

You were crying softly and Sihtric took your hand in his, “I’m not going to ask you to stay forever, but could you find it in you to stay the year, and if you still feel the same I will buy the ranch.”

“But?” you asked, big glassy, pleading eyes examining his mismatched ones.

“But, if your feelings change towards this place, I won’t let you go without a fight this time,” he whispered, closing the distance and pressing his lips to yours, you melted into the familiarity of his lips and whimpered as his hands came up to your face. 

Tagging: @canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

troyottonick @alexagirlie

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

So I've been thinking about witch Assassins would be the worst yanderes. I did worst case scenario because I can 🩶 AC1-3

1 is a normal person, 10 is full coo coo 🔪

Altaïr: 6/10 or 3/10

Young arrogant Altaïr wouldn't be a fun yandere to have but he's not the worst. If you can handle his normal ego you're fine. Well unless you freak out when he kills someone in front of you. He has no issues getting his hands bloody and doesn't care if you see. He also doesn't like you having friends outside of the brotherhood, and will eliminate anyone who he thinks will corrupt you. Everyone in the brotherhood knows better than to try and get between Altaïr and his target, even a non lethal target. He won't hurt you, but he will use fear to control your actions.

After everything happens with his character arc he is much better. He has a lot more value in free will and has definitely calmed down. He still doesn't trust the people around you but with the brotherhood at his disposal he doesn't need to get his hands dirty or scare you to keep you protected. You can live a normal life, just with a bloody angel on your shoulder. And no, I don't think he would use the apple against you. He has grown and doesn't feel the need to anymore. However despite being much less intense and overbearing if someone makes the mistake of hurting you he will personally make sure that it never happens again. The reason his rating is so low is because he's normal unless an external force makes him do something.

Ezio AC2 4/10 or 9/10

Oh boy. So he did have some mild yandere tendencies when he was younger. Mostly his protective instincts, but the worst he would do is beat up people who upset you. He didn't have much to do during the day so he would spend a lot of time just hanging around you, pestering and flirting.

After he lost his family though… let's just say his obsession with revenge could only be outmatched by his new extreme need to protect and possess those he cares about. He's calmer if you stay in Mario's villa, but that doesn't mean he's sane when he has to leave you. If you don't want to go to the villa… he will try his best to convince you with soft words and big round puppy eyes. If that doesn't work then plan C is to take you by force. He's doing this for your own good, It's to keep you safe! He doesn't know what he would do if he lost you too, and frankly I'm a little scared to find out. He may hurt you by accident. If you try to walk away from him he will grab your arm so tightly that you know it's already bruised. He gets overwhelmed by fear and forgets his strength. He will spend the next week trying to apologize, he is absolutely heartbroken that he hurt you and he will punish himself for it. As to be expected from a man led by his emotions.

Rathonhagé:ton 7/10

I don't think his personality has really changed all that drastically to warrant more than one rating. In fact, I don't think he would really be any different even if his village wasn't raided.

Even without being smitten by someone this boy already has no issue killing if he sees a random civilian getting harassed by red coats. So you can only imagine the heights he would reach if his obsession was in danger, real or perceived. It's hard to tell if you will even notice his yandere behavior or not. Like I said before, he has no problem killing for you, but he also doesn't want to kill in front of you. He knows he's big, dark, and intimidating, but he genuinely doesn't want to scare you. He's so soft and shy when he's with you that you can't even imagine the rage and bloodlust he keeps hidden just under the surface. All in all he has some of the worst yandere tendencies when it comes to intensity, but he will do his best so you never know. The less you know, the better. Also he feels community is extremely important so he's not the type to get really upset if you make friends. To him that's more people who will look out for you. He would prefer if you join the homestead but understands if you don't want to leave your town. He won't force you to do anything you don't want, he doesn't want you to resent him if he does. If you don't join the homestead he'll pop in and check in on you whenever he can. It's totally not stalking…

Desmond 1/10 or 10/10

Ummm… so before he got taken by Abstergo there were no issues. He was just a guy. The only problem came AFTER Abstergo. Especially when he is not bleeding.

He's lived through SO many tragedies. He's seen and felt the pain and loss of his ancestors and it's carved deep scars in his heart. May the Isu help whatever poor soul decides to hurt someone Desmond cares about, because they will suffer the concentrated pain that's been festering for centuries. Surprisingly, his yandere tendencies (especially the aggression) aren't nearly as bad if he's bleeding an ancestor. That's because when he bleeds he will adopt his ancestors tendencies, not the full collection of emotional pain he usually carries with him. If you remind him of anyone his ancestors knew then he's more likely to bleed that ancestor. If not, then it's really just luck (or unluck) of the draw who he bleeds. I'm sorry if he bleeds older Ezio because being in modern time will make him feel like he has no control of the area and Ezio Desmond will freak out the worst.

Begrudgingly I'll give you Haythem too. (Do not ask me to write for him. I do not like him but his character is interesting enough that I will give this to you.)

Haythem 2/10 or 9/10

It depends on if he meets you before or after Ziio. Before Ziio he's basically a normal dude. A little "protective" but not much else. He's more just showing off than actually being proactive. He lets people fight their own battles for the most part, and has a “whatever happens, happens.” type personality.

After Ziio dies he goes completely insane. Guilt and loss corrupting his views on freedom and morality. He is still a Templar, still one of the most powerful people in the colonies. He will use every authority he has to make you do what he wants. If that doesn't work he is more than happy to use force. He has this sickly sweet smile on his face as he drags you kicking and screaming to whatever safehouse he decides you will stay at. Lavish and clean, so different from the outside. He just wants to pretend that everything is fine, just for a little while before he has to go out again. It not a protective instinct, but a possessive one. Like someone stole his favorite toy so he latches on to the next one with a ferocity.

[furiousgoldfish]

In the last poll, I asked people what their primary motivator was, and a lot of people answered 'Unknown', which is a perfectly good answer, especially if you're young, and you haven't figured it out yet. There's a lot of fears in developing a goal because what if you don't have what it takes to reach it, or you're unable to move towards it? It's a scary thought to decide on a goal and then find it impossible.

In abuse we're often told we cannot reach any possibly goal, and any idea of happiness is stupid to even consider, even the most undemanding, common and achievable ones are put our of reach and into the area of impossible. So, I'm going to list some scenarios that fall into the area of possibilities, and I want you to think about whether any of these would make you happy:

You can vote even if you didn't vote 'unknown' in the last poll! If more than one appeal to you, pick your favourite. It's okay if the scenario feels too fictional, unachievable or unreachable, just pick whatever you hypothetically feel would make you happy.