#the truth about mother goose

[merry-melody]

[tineni]

au where everyone but timothy is a muppet. yes, they still have to face unimaginable horrors.

[weidli]

has anyone already made an icemav vid to abba's lay all your love on me or do i have to do everything by myself around here

[theveryworstthing]

The 5th Headless Haunting: Hand Rod

No one expected Rodney to come back to the studio after the accident. Some did, jokingly, wonder about how Lucy was taking it though. She was very level headed for a goose, but she was also sensitive, with a flair for the dramatic, and grief can really run a person (or puppet) through the wringer.

They made sure she was involved of course. She sat with the family at the funeral, noticeably quiet in her tiny gold trimmed black dress. His mother had requested her presence, even though some joyless news outlets found the whole thing a little silly. The people who actually knew Rodney didn't care though. He was a silly guy! That silliness created Lucy, and Lucy and her friends had touched enough hearts over the years that everyone was starting to doubt if they'd ever get through the piles of heartfelt letters and art dropped off at the studio every day.

So. Anyway. No one expected Rodney to come back. And he didn't.

It's been 6 years now and Lucy's "new performer " never talks to the public. Eggshell Workshop says that she's a little shy and eccentric, and would rather everyone just focus on Lucy. So far these wishes have been respected. So far, they're getting away with it.

These days the fans marvel at how perfect the voice match is. It's great. Sure everyone who Knows had to get used to...how things are now. Even when the cameras aren't rolling she's up and about a lot, wandering the studio, leaving sassy little notes in the writer's room, psychologically torturing that one executive maybe they don't know and also he definitely deserved it.

Once a year she has a nice mother daughter memorial brunch with Rodney's mom.

Everyone who Knows has vowed to guard Lucy's...private life. their goal is to keep lazy youtubers and ghost hunters focused on whatever gory creepypasta baby show fanfic they come up with this week instead of their actual haunted fleece-skinned coworker. Lucy finds all that fuss hilarious of course, she's never shied away from the spotlight, and she wouldn't mind a small role as the worlds most glamorous horror icon, but she appreciates how offended her studio family gets for her.

Maybe the truth will be revealed when (if) she ever decides to retire.

[angelicyoongie]

The Ivory Fang (Il/finale)

— pairing: mermaid taehyung x (f) reader — word count: 8.2k — warnings: (soft?) yandere — summary: You have run out of options when it comes to treating your mother's illness. When a mysterious man offers you a solution that might save her, you decide that nothing is too strange if it means it'll lead to a cure – not even finding and striking a deal with a mermaid.

Part 01 - 02

The bones above you rattle as you dare to step closer to the pool. Your body trembles under Taehyung's intent gaze, the sharp points of his fangs peeking out as he smirks. There's no doubt in your mind that he would be able to rip you to pieces in seconds with teeth like that, yet, you can't run away now. There is nowhere for you to go but forward and Taehyung has all of the answers you have so desperately been searching for.

"Your request?" Taehyung prompts. His fin flicks lazily up and down, keeping his shimmering tail floating just above the water.

"You know what it is," You find yourself growing angry amid of your fear, annoyed that you were sent on a wild goose chase so far away from your mother. "Why could you not grant my wish on land? Why drag me all the way here?"

Taehyung's icy eyes light up at your vexed tone, openly finding pleasure in your displeasure. He taps a finger against his cheek, dragging out the silence to seemingly shake you further before he says, "My magic is stronger at the island. Your.. situation, requires a great deal of it, so it must be done here."

"Magic abides by certain rules, an order, which must be kept if you want your wish to be successful. So I will ask you again, human, what is your request?"

A brief thought strikes you about faeries and their ability to twist your words into something foul as you look down at Taehyung's mischievous smile. There was a folktale your mother used to tell you when you were young, to teach you to always speak the truth. You followed your mother's will, scared by the implication that a creature could twist your words, until you realized that sometimes - lying was kinder than telling the truth. But perhaps there had been something valuable in her teachings nonetheless. Maybe a mermaid's magic, much like a faerie's, can twist your request into something terrible if you allow space for it.

You take a moment to formulate the request in your mind, making it as perfect and concise as possible without leaving any room for trickery. "I want you to cure my mother of the sickness that is eating away at her body and make her healthy again."

The mermaid tilts his head, exposing the gills along his neck as he considers it. "Very well. And what may you be willing to sacrifice for me to grant your request?"

The answer slips out just as easily as it did the first time Taehyung asked you.

"Anything."

"If it is something of equal value then..." Taehyung pushes himself back from the edge of the pool, the distance making it easier for him to once again scrutinize you from head to toe. You're not entirely sure what he's looking for or what he finds, but he seems to deem it acceptable. "Hmm, fine. I shall grant it."

The mermaid suddenly submerges himself underwater, swimming into the depths of the pool. You shudder as you look over the edge and realize you can only faintly see Taehyung's tail shimmering down below, the water far deeper than you were expecting. You hastily retreat as you notice Taehyung's form becoming more visible, the mermaid clearing the distance in only a few seconds as he breaches the surface. He has something clutched in his hand, something mushy and soft that strongly resembles algae. The only difference is that this seaweed is glowing, a faint light emitting from it as soon as it comes into contact with air.

Taehyung spares you no explanation as he swims over to the other side of the pool, to the same spot he was lounging before you revealed yourself. You watch in fascination as he finds a large shell, placing the algae into it before he starts mushing it up even further with what looks to be a white crystal. You wince as he tears a lock of hair from his head, uncaring, as he adds it to the mixture. There are a few more things added into it that you can't make out from where you're standing, and for your self-preservation, you think it best to stay where you are.

The mermaid eventually makes his way back to you, his concoction held safely above the water's surface. "Come closer, human, I need you for the final part of the potion."

You hesitate for only a split second, wary of closing the distance. But the guilt of knowing that you're only prolonging your mother's suffering finally pushes to you take a few more steps forward, falling to your knees at the edge of the pool.

"Very good," Taehyung purrs. "First, I need back what I gave you." The fang.

You had completely forgotten about it in the midst of everything else. You feel a jolt of panic as you rummage around the loose pockets of your trousers, not finding anything. Did you lose it in the sea? Patting yourself down, you let out a tiny sound of realization as you remember the hidden pocket in the back, the one your mother added for safekeeping coins.

"Here," You place the fang by the edge of the pool, watching as Taehyung picks it up with a carefulness you never would have associated with a creature like him.

You shrink back as he suddenly raises a webbed hand towards your face, your heart hammering in your chest as you get a good close-up of his awfully sharp claws. You squeeze your eyes shut as he makes a swiping motion, sure that those talons are going to cut your throat wide open. Instead, only feel a light tug at your hair, much like a knife cutting through it.

You open your eyes just in time to see Taehyung adding a few strands of your hair to his brew, grinding it down to nothing with his crystal. He whispers low under his breath as he stirs, speaking a tongue you have never heard before. You wonder if it's magic or if it's simply the language of mermaids. It feels old though, like perhaps it is older than time itself.

Taehyung places the shell in front of you as he finishes his incantation. "You must drink this and think of your intention – your request – as you do so."

The brew looks murky green and slimy, definitely not at all appealing. It makes your stomach turn to know that you'll be ingesting his hair, but if this is all you need to do, then that is a small price to pay for your mother's health. You grimace as you pick the shell up, balancing it carefully between your hands as you bring it up to your lips. The smell that hits your nose is repugnant and you have no doubt that it will taste even worse. You take a deep breath in through your mouth, using the moment to steel yourself and think of your mother before you tip the shell forward.

Nothing could have prepared you for the absolutely horrid taste that hits your tongue, some of the slimy potion pooling in your mouth despite your best attempts to quickly swallow it. As the final gulp passes down your throat and you heave for air, desperate for something to scrape the nasty residue off your tongue, you feel a heaviness settle around your wrists and ankles. The sensation weighs you down for a moment, tight around your limbs, before it disappears just as quickly as it arrived.

"What was that?" You croak, touching your unblemished wrist.

You freeze as a webbed hand suddenly covers yours, your breath catching in your throat at how wet and off his touch feels. The sharp points of Taehyung's claws are digging into your skin, just short of slicing into your arteries.

"It was your end of our deal. The only thing of equal value to saving a life is to take another. Killing you would be a pity, so chaining your life to mine seemed a better option."

You swallow thickly, unease spreading through your body like wildfire. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Well, if I call, you come. If I ask you to do something, you do it."

"So, I'm your servant," You conclude. "That's... fine. I'll aid you whenever you find yourself in our town."

Taehyung is silent for a long moment before he lets out a small chuckle, one that sounds like he just watched a kitten trip over its own feet. "Oh guppy, I do not think you understand. You are chained to me and my magic that rests on this island. You cannot leave."

"No!" You whip your head up, flinching as you find Taehyung's face much too close to yours. "But– But my mother? How will I know if our deal has worked?"

The mermaid shrugs, indifferent to your distress.

"Trust, I suppose. Desperation. If you ever attempt to leave, the spell will break and your mother will revert back to her sick self again. It is up to you whether you are willing to chance it."

You think you should have seen this coming – how cruel a deal with a magical creature can be. If you stay here you can't confirm that Taehyung is holding up his end of the deal but you also cannot risk going back to check on the odd chance that it actually breaks the spell and dooms your mother. You have no choice but to trust him – to hope that the magic that binds you, also binds him.

Taehyung senses your quiet acceptance, his claws drifting from your wrist to your cheek. You don't fight it as he lifts your head, forcing you to meet his gaze. The mermaid seems to revel in your misery, his eyes gleaming with something hungry and dangerous as he stares you down. His claws draw blood as he slinks closer, the small pinpricks leaving streaks of red trickling down your face.

Taehyung's breath ghosts over your lips as he leers and says, "Now human, what should we do with you?"

Servant was perhaps too kind of a word.

The mermaid puts you to work right away, sending you out to different parts of the island to collect items he needs. He often leaves you with vague descriptions, forcing you to make the trek multiple times when the plant or leaves you have plucked aren't the ones he's looking for. He never allows you to rest or eat until your task for the day is done.

You hobble into the cave, winching with every step as your bloodied and bruised skin makes contact with the hard rock underneath. Taehyung sent you out to find a red fruit today, one that grows at the very top of a tree. You haven't done much climbing since you were a child and certainly never that high up, so each branch you picked to take you further was chosen with caution. Your feet were already scraped and bloodied by the time you had made it halfway up the trunk and the rest of your climb wasn't made easier by the sap-like texture dripping out of the bark, causing every step to feel like it might be your last.

Your legs are shaking with pain by the time you step into the cavern, the crudely woven basket on your back so heavy it threatens to drag you down with each step. Collapsing near the pool's edge, you heave it off your shoulders to give to Taehyung. The mermaid hasn't spared you a single glance since you appeared, his attention locked onto the new concoction he's working on. It isn't until you loudly clear your throat that Taehyung turns around, propelling himself to the other side of the pool in a few seconds with a few strong strokes of his tail.

He hums contently as he takes stock of all the fruit you gathered, rummaging around to make sure that they're all in good condition. Taehyung pierces into the flesh with his claws, red juice dripping down his hand as he holds up the fruit to closer inspect it. His cold gaze moves over to you once he deems it satisfactory.

"Did you eat one, human?"

"No," You shake your head. To say you hadn't been tempted would be a lie, but you were afraid of disobeying the mermaid's orders. What if it affected your agreement?

"Good."

Taehyung lifts the basket on top of his head, balancing it there as if it weighs nothing as he returns to the other side of the pool. You massage your sore calves, trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at your stomach. You're not sure how long the mermaid takes before he makes his way back to you - you suspect he always drags it out longer than necessary because he likes to see you squirm – but you feel ravenous by the time he places your dinner in front of you. Your food is always the same; fresh fish cut into thin slices along with blue, plump berries. While it never looks like much, it always fills you up until you think you might burst.

You try not to grimace as Taehyung's webbed hands wrap around your legs, dragging your feet down into the water of the pool. The first time it happened you had kicked the mermaid so hard it left him stunned. In retaliation for your fear, you weren't allowed to eat for two days.

You quickly learned your lesson that it was best to just let Taehyung do what he wants unless you were willing to face the consequences.

You focus on eating your berries as Taehyung drags his hands over the soles of your feet, the mermaid murmuring words you don't understand. You suppress your whimpers as the wounds on your feet begin to knit themselves back together, the skin scarring and smoothing over in just under a minute. You often find yourself wondering if this is Taehyung's strategy for an obedient servant; while he's the one who's breaking you down, he's also the only one who can patch you back up, ensuring that you always come running back.

Fear has kept you from talking much, worried that one wrong question might cause the mermaid to anger and sink his claws into you. But the past weeks on this island have left you feeling restless and starved for more than just food. At this point, you're simply desperate for some interaction. So, against your better judgement, you say, "How does that work?"

Taehyung pauses his movements, "How does what work, human?"

"The thing you're doing to my feet, the, uh, magic?"

"That is none of your concern," The gills on Taehyung's neck flutter as he huffs.

"Right," You murmur, not stupid enough to push when it's clear that he's unwilling to elaborate.

"Are you the only mermaid living on this island?"

You pull your feet out of the water the moment Taehyung is done healing them, scooting back just in case you have annoyed him with your questions. The mermaid regards you silently for a moment, his normally stoic expression wavering just so.

"I am. We are lonely creatures, much too possessive to be able to share the same home," Taehyung says. His nose wrinkles as he adds, "There are some.. exceptions, of course."

"Such as?" You wonder.

"Two of my brothers are a bit more attached than what is considered normal for us. I pity the creature they will choose as their mate."

Mate? It seems odd that such solitary creatures would have partners but maybe this is a good thing for you. If Taehyung starts looking for his mate, he likely won't have time to torment you and send you out on such pointless quests anymore.

"Do you see your brothers often?"

"No," Taehyung answers simply. "The moment we leave the pod, we are on our own. I only hear about my brothers through whispers of others, never directly from them. Such is the life at sea."

The mermaid quirks his lips, showing off the sharp points of his fangs as he notices the surprised look on your face. "You seem shocked that I am willingly giving out information, human."

"I–I suppose," You stammer, flabbergasted. Frankly, you didn't think you would ever get that much out of a simple question, that you would actually learn something about how mermaid society works.

Taehyung gently pushes himself away from the edge of the pool, floating on his back as he drifts closer to the middle of the water. The soft echo of his voice between the cave walls leaves your mind spinning as he confesses, "You are the first creature I have spoken to in years, guppy. Us monsters get lonesome too."

You stand with your hands on your hips just a little ways off the path your feet have forged, staring down the bush full of ripe, blue berries as you consider all of your options. You are well aware that you will get into trouble if you eat some, that you will be defying Taehyung's orders, but you are just so hungry.

It is only midday and you know that you have hours left to go until you have completed the task Taehyung has given you for the day. You need some fuel if you are going to be able to keep going until then. You're sick of feeling like your stomach is either trying to eat itself or almost bursting at the seams, sick of every little aspect of your life being controlled. You know that this is the sacrifice you have made to cure your mother – and it is worth it – but surely it can't hurt if you eat a few berries, just enough to quell the worst of your hunger?

Determined, you reach out to the bush and pluck a handful of plump, blue berries. Their hue is a little more purple than the ones Taehyung normally serves you but that likely just means that they're a little overripe, if anything. You pop them into your mouth, shrugging as the same, familiar mellow taste hits your tongue. You're tempted to grab a handful more to snack on but you decide you better not push your luck too much. First, you need to see if Taehyung notices the few you did eat.

You steady the basket on your back, beginning your trek back to the clearing a little way up the mountain. You've already been there once today but the overflowing basket you brought back apparently wasn't enough. No – the mermaid needed twice that.

You use the billowy sleeve of your dirtied blouse to wipe your face and neck as you near the base of the mountain, surprised by the amount of sweat that's pouring out of your skin. As you follow your own trail upwards, you find it hard to catch your breath despite your leisurely pace, the world slowly beginning to tilt on its axis the more you move forward.

The temperature on the island is mild today, certainly not hot enough to give you a heat stroke, but the symptoms seem to plague you all the same. You stumble to the ground as you reach a cluster of trees, seeking refuge in the shade they're offering. You leave your basket next to you, using the trunk of the tree for support as you try to catch your breath. Your mouth feels awfully numb, a bitter aftertaste blossoming on your tongue the more you try to swallow it away.

"Shit," You groan as your vision begins to blur. The moment you touch your face, you become aware of the weird itching that has begun spreading under your skin, like a thousand little pinpricks stabbing into it over and over. You frantically rub your face, closing your eyes as the movement makes your stomach turn dangerously.

"Sweetie–"

You lurch forward on your hands and knees as you hear your mother's voice calling out to you, the sound so close yet so far away at the same time. Your eyelids feel like swollen boulders as you force them open, your gaze unseeing as you attempt to make out the indistinct shapes of trees and bushes in the darkness.

That can't be right, wasn't the sun shining just before you closed your eyes?

You crawl forward, feeling along the ground as you attempt to make out what direction your mother's voice is coming from.

"Please help me–"

You veer a strong left, using a large rock for support to get up on your trembling, unsteady legs. You stumble forward into the night, swaying with each step as you hurry after your mother's shadow, her cries for help ringing in your ears. You never gain on her no matter how hard you push your body, no matter how loud you try to call out to her. There is hellfire raging inside of your body, making every step much harder than the last.

You slump over a fallen log for support, attempting to soothe the thunderous pounding in your chest before you continue to follow after your mother. The sound of snapping twigs catches your attention, your head turning in the direction it's coming from just in time to see something walk out of the trees. The creature walks unnaturally and jerky, its limbs twitching oddly with each step forward. The darkness shrouds everything but the creature's outline, how big and imposing it is as it hobbles forward, its claws glinting in the faint moonlight.

A demon.

You slide off the log, biting back a cry of terror as you begin to drag yourself in the opposite direction. Your legs are too weak to hold you up, your knees buckling whenever you attempt to put any weight on them. Sweat is streaming down your face as you dig your fingers into the earth, heaving yourself forward with all the energy you can muster. The sounds of the beast behind you grow louder and louder, and dread settles heavily in the pit of your stomach as you realize that you can't escape it. You flip yourself over with shaking arms, vision swimming as you stare up at the canopy of leaves above you. Tears flow down your cheeks as you remember your mother, still lost in these woods, soon to be alone with the same demon that's hunting you.

"Please," You whisper, tongue barely forming the words as you see the blurry figure of the beast above you.

You try to plead more, to ask for mercy as the demon's claws descend towards your face; but just as you open your mouth to do so, everything goes black.

There's a steady stream of grumbling close by as you regain consciousness. You can't pick out much over the sounds of rocks grinding together, but you do hear the words stupid and human repeated more than once. Your attempts to open your eyes are futile, a thick paste holding them closed. You begin to panic as you realize you can't even move your limbs to remove it, your fingers merely twitching by your side.

"Human, you are finally awake," The familiar sound of Taehyung's voice halts your racing heart and calms it from driving you into a frenzied panic.

A wooden bowl is pressed against your mouth, a cool liquid trickling down your throat as Taehyung carefully pulls on your chin to part your lips. The taste is awful, so bitter and rotten at the same time that you have half a mind to stop swallowing it and just let it flow down your chin to avoid drinking it.

"You have to drink it all," Taehyung says, as if reading your mind. "Unless you want to remain paralyzed from the toxins for the rest of your life, of course."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a gurgle that weirdly reminds you of a cat's purr, as he sees you consume every drop. He removes the bowl from your lips as it empties, but his cold finger remains on your chin, the tip of his claw tapping against your cheek. "There was a reason I told you not to eat anything I did not give you, human. Most of the plants here are poisonous in their pure form."

"You are lucky I found you when I did, your foolish hallucinations and running around exacerbated the effects. You would be dead if I had reached you a few breaths later."

Hallucinations?

You can't remember anything past eating the berries before your trek up the mountain. The little feeling you do have in your feet seems to prove Taehyung's statement true, though. They feel scratched up and achy, like you've been running on uneven ground for hours. The mermaid lets you stew in the realization that he saved your life as he moves around, all too aware that you can't respond with your swollen tongue.

You eventually drift off to sleep to the sounds of Taehyung grinding herbs together, the mermaid murmuring words of the old language as he works.

The next time you wake up, you can finally open your eyes. The thick paste that was keeping them shut is gone and as you take stock of the rest of your body, you notice that your hands and feet move according to your commands. Even your mouth feels back to normal, your tongue no longer heavy and thick behind your teeth.

You roll your head to the side, finding that Taehyung is still kneeling next to you, right where you surmised he was earlier. His icy, piercing gaze is still as unsettling as always, but it also feels oddly comforting as he looks you over from head to toe, making sure that you're alright.

"Can you move all of your limbs?" "Yes," You croak, wriggling your fingers and toes to confirm that you can.

"Do you still feel like the fires of hell are inside of you?" Taehyung asks as he places his hand on your bare stomach, your muscles jerking at the feel of the cool and slightly sticky texture of his skin against yours.

"No," You murmur, "It's all gone."

Even if you do not remember anything of your hallucinations, you do recall the awful burning sensation that was all under your skin, scorching your flesh from the inside as the poison ate away at you.

"Good," Taehyung removes his hand to push himself to his feet, his movements just as unnatural as that time in his shop.

Without the cloak covering him up you're able to see just why he moves the way he does – the bones in his legs are twisted, jutting out in odd directions. You wonder if it's because Taehyung is half fish, that perhaps his anatomy does not line up correctly whenever he uses magic to transform his tail into legs. You know better than to ask though, no good will come out of antagonizing Taehyung with silly questions when he just nursed you back to health.

It's odd to think about, but it is true. Despite making your life a living nightmare for the past month, he still saved your life. Whether it's out of the good of his heart (you doubt it) or him not wanting to find a new servant, you'd rather not know. You're not sure which truth would be worse.

"What was the paste for?" You ask instead. "To make sure you did not start bleeding out of your eyes," Taehyung replies simply.

"Oh," You gulp.

Eager to steer the conversation over to something else, to make you forget just how bad this whole situation could have turned out, you pivot to another question that has been lingering in the back of your mind.

"Why–" You clear your throat, "Why did you pick me? I can't be the only human desperate enough to seek you out for a deal?"

"You would be surprised, human. Not many of your species are as, hm, selfless, as you."

The mermaid picks up a bowl you hadn't noticed before, the contents sloshing around as he hobbles back to where you're lying. You advert your eyes to the sky as Taehyung moves closer, finding it difficult to watch his stilted movements without it triggering something primal in your head, something that just wants to flee from the unnatural sight before your eyes.

"Drink this."

You glance back at Taehyung as he presents you with the bowl, once again kneeling by your side. Your arms shake as you lift it to your mouth, your head as heavy as the mountain you're in the shade of as you strain to lift your neck. The taste is still as awful as the first time Taehyung made you drink it but you diligently swallow down every drop, confident that something in it must be aiding your recovery since you already feel so much better.

"I did not always have magic," Taehyung explains as he takes the empty bowl back. "I made a deal with a sea witch. I was too young to know what I was asking for, what the witch was asking of me in return, and yet I accepted it without question."

"Mermaids have long lifespans, we live for twice as many moons as you humans do. I did not think it would matter much if I lost a few turns of the seasons, but the witch wanted so much more than that. It feeds of my life force, my very essence. I am a child of the sea, made to swim and hunt in it for centuries, and yet it tells me that half of it is already gone - eaten by the witch in an attempt to prolong its own existence."

You recoil as Taehyung lets out a small hiss, revealing his fangs as he thinks back on his mistake. He gives you a sour look as he notices your poorly concealed fear, as if you should already be over that by now.

"D-did you try to break it?" You ask, voice trembling.

"Of course," The mermaid rolls his eyes. "I did not just ask, I begged–" He heaves a deep breath, gaze blazing with anger at what you can only assume is his indignance of having to sink so low, to subject himself to something he considers to be beneath a creature like him.

"It did not yield to my pleas. The witch told me that it was only a creature with a will of steel, a heart of gold, and a selfless mind that could break my deal – my curse. Another mermaid would never possess such qualities and neither would other sea creatures. It only left humans."

Taehyung's deep baritone voice seems to go even lower as he stares you down and says, "I have visited countless human settlements before yours, seeking a human that would fit the witch's description. Not a single human ever entered my shop before you."

You shudder as the mermaid uses his claw to push a lock of hair away from your face. "What does that mean? You tricked me?"

"Perhaps," Taehyung hums, grinning in a way that shows off all of the horrible teeth in his mouth. "Or perhaps we simply took use of each other. You need me to keep your mother healthy, as I need you to break my curse. Your determination to save your mother even when you were at death's door showed me that you are precisely what I have been looking for – that you are the creature that the witch spoke of."

Taehyung cradles your face in his cold palm, his eyes shining with a different hunger than before, "Well done. You have passed my test, guppy."

You swear under your breath as you dump your basket into the soft sand, the grains still warm between your toes from the setting sun. With all the berries and herbs you have been picking lately, you forgot just how heavy firewood could be. You grumble as you pull the crudely chopped branches out on the sand, stacking them until they form a small bonfire.

The fire catches easily this time, roaring to life with the help of some big half-dried leaves. You still remember your first night on the island vividly, just how cold and scared of the unknown you were as you curled up to sleep near the flames. It never crossed your mind that you would still be here, months later, sitting in the same place and repeating the same motions. Not even in your worst nightmare would you ever dream that this would have become your life – your new normal.

You pat your growling stomach, staring out at the quiet sea as you wait for your dinner to show up. The setting sun has barely moved in the sky before Taehyung breaches the surface, throwing two fat and heavy fish up on the shore. You ignore the grisly sight of their missing heads, the identical teeth marks along their necks making it quite clear who the culprit is. Using two sticks, you skewer the fish, leaving it to roast over the flames.

Taehyung has pulled himself up beside the fire by the time you're done preparing your food. You made the bonfire near the water on purpose, just close enough that the waves lap at your toes whenever the current grows stronger. The proximity lets Taehyung leave most of his heavy tail in the sea, the dancing flames reflecting off his white scales.

"Is this another one of your human inventions?" The mermaid shoots the roasting fish a weary look, his lip curling with distaste as he notices how the scales burn and blacken.

"I suppose so," You shrug, turning the branches so that the fish cooks evenly. "We have always relied on fire for food and warmth. Surely you must have seen humans use it before?"

"You seem to forget, guppy, that no human has ever approached me before you did. I did not waste my time watching them, not when one would eventually find its way to me."

Taehyung experimentally reaches out a claw towards the bonfire, holding it close until the very tip begins to glow red. You let out a strangled sound as a thin line of smoke begins to rise from his claw and grab his wrist to pull him back, away from the flames. Taehyung's finger sizzles as you shove it into the damp sand near his torso, your eyes wide as you look at him in disbelief.

"Are you trying to hurt yourself?!"

"Peculiar," Taehyung murmurs as he lifts his finger, staring at the burned spot at the edge of his otherwise pure, white claw. "I could not feel it."

"Oh by the deities," You groan. "Perhaps your claws are too thick to allow you to feel pain but you can still burn. Be watchful of the fire."

Taehyung's bright cold eyes snap to your face immediately, "Are you showing concern for me, human?"

"No," You hastily reply. You can see the flash of Taehyung's teeth out of the corner of your eye as he grins, clearly not believing you as you busy yourself with the fish.

You can't pinpoint when the shift between you and Taehyung happened, exactly. Perhaps it was after he saved your life, or maybe it's simply a silent understanding that you both have something to lose if you don't cooperate. More likely though, you think it's just loneliness. The only creature you can talk to out here is Taehyung and the same goes for him. The days and nights get awfully long when you have nothing but your own voice to listen to.

Taehyung has seemingly realized that too, and in turn, he has grown... kinder. He still makes you gather things around the island every day and doesn't let you eat until your tasks are completed, but they have grown easier than before – and have become quicker to complete. There is still a bone-deep uneasiness that flares up whenever you're around him, a survival instinct that never dares to go dormant, but the visceral fear you used to feel as Taehyung showed his fangs or flexed his claws has dulled down enough to be manageable. At least, that's what you like to fool yourself into believing.

You move the now cooked fish away from the flames, giving it some time to cool down before you dig in. You rest your head on your knees, looking at how Taehyung's tail leisurely moves back and forth with the current. Glancing past it, you can't see anything but open water, Pearl Bay is too far away to be visible in the distance.

Hesitating, you trace out indistinct shapes in the sand as you carefully ask, "Do you think your magic would still work if you left the island and I followed you? Perhaps it's the proximity to you and not the island that counts? We could try–"

"No."

The silent anger in Taehyung's voice makes a chill rush down your spine. As you dare to turn your head to look at him, you find that his features are set in stone, hard, as he glowers at you.

"But–"

Your next words are replaced by a cry as Taehyung suddenly grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You fall to your knees, your face oh so close to the mermaid's exposed fangs as he snarls, "You cannot leave this island. Ever. Do you understand?"

The fear racing through your body renders you speechless, your mind much too occupied by the flecks of dried blood on Taehyung's sharp teeth to formulate an answer.

"I said–" The claws around your wrist begin to hurt as they dig into your skin, drawing blood, as Taehyung leans in closer, "Do you understand, human?"

"Y-yes," You stammer, "I'm sorry, I understand."

"Very well," The mermaid releases you the moment you utter your compliance. He makes sure you watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth, licking your blood of his claws with a tongue that seems abnormally long. "Do not ask foolish questions again."

You can only nod in return, shocked by the display. His gaze flickers to the forgotten fish by the fire. "Eat your food."

You know a command when you hear one and you're not dumb enough to disobey Taehyung when he wants something. You fumble for the closest stick, heart pounding, as you grab one of the fish. You bring it to your mouth without much thought, biting into it before you can displease him further.

You yelp as the still fiery hot scales burn your lip, your eyes watering as you reach up to touch the wounded skin. You can tell it's going to blister and it's going to hurt for days, if not weeks, until it heals. Still, you chew and swallow the burning piece in your mouth, wincing as it moves down your throat.

Taehyung makes a clicking sound that resembles a tsk, turning your head back to face him once again. He stares at the burn on your lip, cocking his head as he assesses it.

"Be watchful of the fire," He echoes, half-mocking.

You hold your breath as he mirrors the same position as only moments before, his breaths almost mingling with yours. As Taehyung closes his eyes and whispers a few words of old under his breath, you're struck with a reminder of how handsome he is. You usually can't look past his fangs or piercing eyes, but like this, he simply looks like a beautiful, normal man. Someone you no doubt would have been drooling over if he had lived in your town.

Taehyung's cutting gaze demands your attention the moment he opens his eyes. You lose the ability to blink as you hold his gaze, heart stuttering with something other than fear as he says, "You are no use to me broken, guppy. I will continue to mend you and keep you whole. I can promise you that much."

You freeze up as Taehyung's cold lips press against yours, the kiss firm and unyielding as he pulls your bottom lip between his own. You make a noise in the back of your throat as Taehyung's tongue darts out to swipe across your burn, the sting instantly melting away. Before your body can make up its mind on whether it wants to push the mermaid away or pull him closer, Taehyung inches back, disconnecting his mouth from yours.

It takes you a moment too long to realize that Taehyung just used magic to heal your burn, the skin unblemished and smooth. You touch your lip, swallowing thickly as it tingles from Taehyung's kiss. You're not quite sure if the relief you feel is because your wound is gone or because you finally had the barest taste of intimacy after so long. You think it's for the best if you don't look too deep into yourself for that answer.

Taehyung seems pleased with himself as he watches your reaction. The mermaid's smirk spells trouble, the flames of the bonfire reflected in his eyes as he glances at your mouth.

"Interesting," He says, licking his lips, "Very peculiar, indeed."

You waddle out into the ocean, sinking slightly into the soft sand beneath with every step. As the water reaches your knees, you feel the weight of chains wrap around your wrists and ankles, slowing you down. The pressure around your limbs grows tighter the more you dare to move forward.

You stop when the water laps just below your belly button, glancing down at your wrists as if that would expose the invisible restraints that are hurting you. 137 steps. You have been pushing yourself one step forward every day, attempting to figure out just how far Taehyung's spell reaches, and you think you've finally found it.

The magic that is weighing you down is pulsating, squeezing and constricting your limbs in a way you know would bruise horribly if you could see them. It feels like a breaking point, like if you just push forward a little more, the distance will snap the chains right off. This must be the border you can't move past without risking breaking the spell and dooming your mother.

You retreat a few steps back, not willing to take any chances. The pressure from the chains lessens just a tad, as if urging you to go back to shore and rid yourself of the pain. You stay in place though, staring longingly at the faint, small outline of Pearl Bay shimmering in the distance. You've found that you can only see it on particularly nice days, when the sun is beating down and there's not a single cloud in the sky.

You have no idea how long it's been since you made your journey from Pearl Bay to here. The weather doesn't change much and the seasons certainly don't. Days bleed into nights and into days again, and you lost count many full moons ago of when you arrived at the island.

Sighing, you adjust the loose shirt hanging off your shoulders.

While you have never left the island since that day you stepped ashore, you know that Taehyung has. The moment the clothes on your back became too tattered, you found a rucksack filled with drenched clothing, all different styles and sizes. The mermaid never confessed to bringing them but you know there is no other explanation for how they just 'suddenly' turned up on the beach. It's all very strange. Taehyung has been meeting your every need lately, almost predicting them before they even arise. He has been acting a lot more than attentive than you're used to and that paired with his increased affection, you're not sure what to make of it.

As if your thoughts were a beacon, you hear a soft splash behind you. Strong arms wrap around your waist, pushing you further into the sand below as you bear the added weight of a mermaid hanging off your back.

"What are you doing, guppy?"

You shiver as Taehyung's cold cheek rests against your bare shoulder, water dripping steadily down your back from Taehyung's drenched hair.

"Not much," You say, turning your gaze to the spotless sky, "Just thinking." "Very well."

Considering how quickly Taehyung accepts your vague explanation, you can tell the mermaid has something else in mind – something he deems more important to do.

Barely a second passes before you feel the touch of his lips against your shoulder, your breath hitching as he leaves a trail of kisses up your throat. You lean your head to to side, allowing him easier access to your skin.

After that night Taehyung healed your burn, you don't think there has been a single day that has passed without the mermaid initiating some kind of physical intimacy with you.

The kiss seemed to awaken something in Taehyung; a feeling he only seems to crave more and more with each passing day.

To say that you mind it would be a lie.

Perhaps it's a sign that you're slowly losing your mind – but being held and kissed after so long feels nice. You know it's crazy to enjoy it with a creature like him, but what other option do you have? He's the only semi-human being around here and, well, his handsome face and toned muscles do make it quite enjoyable. There are still parts of you that find Taehyung's touch off, that makes alarm bells ring whenever you're held a little too tightly, but you've found that the more you ignore them, the less they bother you.

You let out a soft moan as one of Taehyung's longest fangs scrape across your skin, the sting immediately soothed by his tongue. He has taken it upon himself to experiment; to try out different methods in order to drag as many of those delicious sounds of you as possible.

You can feel your control slipping as one of his hands slips under your shirt, moving up, up, up.

Hastily grabbing it, you pause his movements just under the swell of your breasts. The intimacy is nice but you don't think you're ready for this yet. You're worried you might never want to leave if you let yourself sink that far into depravity.

"Taehyung," You murmur, catching the mermaid's attention. He nudges the back of your neck with his nose in response, breathing in the fresh scent of herbs and salt that always clings to your hair.

"What do I need to do to break your deal with the witch?"

Taehyung's grip tightens, the points of his claws digging into your skin possessively. "Why do you continue to ask me this, human? I have already told you that I do not know."

Because this is the only thing you know will distract him enough to forget about touching you more.

"Did the witch ever tell you when we would have to seek it out?"

There's a reluctant pause, a low series of perturbed clicks and grinding teeth before Taehyung tightly responds, "No. The sea will call for us when the time is right."

Your questions have their intended effect though, Taehyung's hands slipping away from your body as he detaches himself from your back. You hear him fumble with something behind your back, seemingly just as keen to distract you from your questions as you were to distract him from taking things further.

"I have something for you, guppy."

A string gets passed over your head, a necklace of sorts falling into place just below your collarbone. You pick up the heavy pendant attached to it, eyes widening as you recognize what it is - the ivory fang you had returned back to Taehyung. It glistens under the sunlight, its surface smooth and even.

"What is this?" You murmur as Taehyung peers over your shoulder, his chest flush to your back.

"It is mine," He reveals. "I lost it in my first battle. The shark had it coming for encroaching on my territory, but it did put up a decent fight, I shall give it that."

"That's, um– impressive?" You're not sure what the right thing to say is, you have never had to fight a shark before after all, but the mermaid seems pleased with it nonetheless, nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck.

"Why are you giving it to me, though? What... what does it mean?"

"It means that you are mine, my little guppy," Taehyung purrs. "I have decided to bestow you the honor of being my mate."

Mate? That can't be, that's.. that's not possible.

"Tae–"

The mermaid wraps you back up into his arms before you can protest, spinning you around so that you are face to face with the creature that has decided you are his to keep. His icy gaze is narrowed, his handsome features set with determination.

"Even if the sea witch lifts my curse, you will still be mine," Taehyung declares as he pulls you tight against his chest. "Your mother will perish if you leave me and so there is nothing back there for you now."

He leans down, his cold lips moving like gentle waves against your ear as he says, "You belong here, with me – forever."

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed the final chapter of TIF! it was nice to once again revisit the tcs-universe and it was fun to write a "softer" mermaid yandere story 🤧 i would love to hear what you think about the chapter – comments and reblogs make my day!! 🥺💖

if you enjoyed the story and would like to support me, you can do so here! 💖

[kathrahender]

Imagine a Top Gun AU where everytime something hurts you (it can be the death of a person you care about, someone telling you mean words...) you get a scar.

Maverick got his first scar when his father died. Since then, everytime someone told him cruel things about Duke or about his flying, another scar appeared in his body (even if he tried to deny it, the words of his classmates or superiors hurt him). When his mother died, he got another scar, but this was bigger than the previous ones and closer to his heart (in this AU, depending on how much they hurt you, the scar is little or big, and it's closer or further from your heart). Eventually he started dating people who didn't care about who his father was, but when they saw his scars, they found him disgusting. That's why he decided to hide his scars with his clothes and not date anyone.

A few months later, he met Goose. Goose, who was the person who he most cared about. Goose, who was his friend and his soulmate. Goose, who saw his scars and thought he was still beautiful. Goose, who made him accept his scars instead of hating them. Goose, who made the scars disappear (in this AU, there are soulmates too, and they are the only ones who can make the scars disappear).

And then Goose died.

When Maverick lost Goose, he got back all the scars Goose made disappear (in this AU, if you lose your soulmate, you get back the scars they made disappear), and another scar appeared in his body (the new scar was the biggest, almost covering his chest completely, and it was red, as if it was covered in blood). He tried to hide them, but someone could see how hurt Maverick was. The last person he wanted to show his scars to. Iceman.

In Canon, when he heard his apology he was apathetic, trying not to cry in front of Iceman, but in this AU, he didn't just lose his friend. He lost his soulmate. And that was enough to collapse in front of Iceman. Maverick thought his "rival" would leave him crying alone, not caring about him, so it was a surprise when he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder, trying to make him feel supported.

They had a bonding moment, but Maverick didn't expect that to make his "rivalry" (they weren't rivals anymore but they weren't friends neither, and he thought they could never be friends) go away.

And then the Layton mission happened.

He felt something weird when he held Iceman's hands, and when they hugged, he had the feeling something changed between them. And it did. After the mission, Iceman and him became friends, and they both decided to be Top Gun's instructors. One day, after a lesson with the students, he went to the locker room to change his clothes and he saw one of his scars disappeared (it was close to his wrist). He couldn't believe it at first, and he asked himself who touched him that day. Then he realized. It was Iceman.

At first, Maverick didn't want Iceman to know. If he touched him and made the scars disappear, including Goose's scar, then he would have nothing to remind him of Goose. If he kept the scar in his chest, he would always remember what he did to Goose. He would always remember Goose was dead, and he would always remember that what happened to his best friend was his fault. He needed to keep that scar because he deserved to suffer, he deserved to remember Goose everytime he looked at the mark in his chest and blame himself. That's why he didn't tell Iceman they're soulmates.

That didn't last.

When Iceman asked him to meet in a restaurant, he said yes without thinking. He thought nothing could go wrong. And then, after the date (and Maverick didn't even know it was a date), they end up in Maverick's bedroom, where Iceman discovered the truth. He saw his own scars disappearing when Maverick touched them, and he saw how Maverick's scars also disappeared when he kissed them. Maverick looking at him with fear made him realize that he already knew they were soulmates, but he didn't get angry. Not when he saw the scar in his chest.

"It was because of him, right? You didn't tell me because you didn't want this scar to dissapear" he said, not touching Maverick. When he saw him looking away, he gently held Maverick's face in his hands. "It wasn't your fault, Pete. You don't have to blame yourself, you don't deserve to suffer. What happened to him was an accident" he pressed their foreheads together, and wiped away Maverick's tears. "Mav, living like this is not living. You have to let me help you. Let me heal you".

Despite Maverick's thoughts about the situation, he couldn't bear Iceman looking him like that, with pain and sadness, as if his suffering affected him too. That's why he said "Okay", and when he felt Iceman's lips in the scar of his chest, making it disappear, for the first time in months, he felt something more than pain or apathy. No, that wasn't true. It wasn't true because everytime he was with Iceman, he felt okay. He felt he could handle Goose's death, he felt safe, he felt protected, and he felt everything was going to be alright. And then Iceman kissed his forehead, holding him tightly, not wanting to let him go. At that moment, Maverick knew he would always fight to keep Iceman by his side.

Iceman, who was the only person who actually supported him after Goose's death.

Iceman, who was the only person capable of making him feel safe.

Iceman, who was the only person that brought back his smile.

Iceman, who was the only person that made him feel loved again.

Iceman, who was his best friend.

His lover.

His wingman.

But most importanly,

his soulmate.

[insane-fanfic-author-4life]

The Brick is a Duck AU | 15 headcanons | 320 Words

Everything is the same but the 'Brick' is a duck named Brick who hates Jason with a seething passion and keeps attacking him throughout the series and Rick just never put that into context.

To tell you the truth the duck has always hated Jason since he stepped on its webbed foot when he was three and the duck was a hatchling.

It has imprinted that Jason is their moral enemy as it had imprinted that the local mother goose who lives in the lake was its, well, mother.

Everyone just EXPECTS Jason to remember to look out for a flying, angry coming his way.

I mean it's the norm at Camp Jupiter and in New Rome like whenever that flying kid's around look out for a blood thirsty duck

But since Jason still can barely remember anything from his past he just doesn't dodge as he normally would

The duck is very confused but happy for it's final win

QUACK QUACK QUACK MY ENEMY HAS DUMBED DOWN SINCE THE LAST TIME WE HAD FOUGHT QUACK QUACK QUAC- AHHHH THE BUTCHER

All the residence in New Rome call the killer duck Brick the Killer Duck

They love that duck- it's like New Rome and the 12th Legions mascot

fight me on this but just imagine 6 year old Jason screaming at the top of his little lungs while being chased by a killer duck

Jason got teased about it his WHOLE life

Dakota: Haha where have you been, duck boy Jason: Shut up, Dako 

Jason subconsciously is still scared of duck (though he doesn't know why since he has no memories

Like when he's at CHB and goes to the lake while Leo builds the Argo II and just. FREAKS THE FREAK OUT 

PTSD ATTACK RIGHT THERE 

[azertyrobaz]

I decided to innovate a bit and write something different than usual for Day 2. I've been completely taken by The Wild Robot lately, so here's a small story about Fink and Brightbill.

As always, prompts are here if you want to have a look! I will also be creating a collection on ao3 as soon as possible for everyone to use if they want. :)

************

“Can we go say hi to Paddler?”

Fink’s day was ruined. Ruined. He’d intended to go hunt for some tasty eggs away from prying impressionable eyes and nagging robotic voices, but he’d just been relegated to babysitting duties. For 4 hours. FOUR HOURS. This was the ridiculous amount of time Roz needed to recharge her batteries. The sun had just appeared in the sky after several long grey and rainy days during which the robot had drained all her power.

“Nothing a goose expert shouldn’t be able to handle,” she had said. And was that sarcasm he’d heard in her usually no-nonsense voice? The robot was clearly spending far too much time around him. But he had detected something else in her tone – worry. And not just because her lack of resources meant her voice had started to sound wobbly and faint. Fink knew very well she had no one else to ask. Sure, Pinktail would have been a smarter choice – a saner choice – but with 7 kids of her own and an understandable knack for forgetting their names and current locations, Roz had rejected the idea.

Which meant she’d chosen him. Deliberately. Consciously. No one ever chose Fink. For anything. Least of all to protect another life. And yet…

“Yes, let’s go see Paddler,” he replied, and the still incredibly small gosling jumped on his back with a happy tweet. And so they went to see Paddler and agreed that yes, that giant tree wasn’t going to fall today. Or tomorrow. Or probably even this century. After that, the kid wanted to go say hi to the rabbits. The mice. The bloody raccoons. Those damn squirrels.

“Bonjour! Guten Tag! Hujambo! Hola!”

He never tired of saying it – he greeted everyone they came across. And at first he never seemed to grow sad when he barely received any reply. He was the monster’s son after all, and Fink was just…well, Fink. The fox did grow restless and snarled a couple of times, ready to pounce on anyone who would dare not show a modicum of kindness to that sweet though deluded kid. But Roz had entrusted said kid’s wellbeing to him. As much as he wanted to bite and punch and yell at those thoughtless invertebrates, he couldn’t lose his cool. Not yet, at least. Nothing was stopping him from returning later to get his revenge.

This was made especially clear when Brightbill sighed deeply and mumbled “Why does no one want to be my friend?”

“They’re morons,” Fink replied automatically, which earned him a small smile.

“That’s a bad word, mom says bad words should be avoided.”

“Well, your mom isn’t here, and this one can’t be avoided. They are morons.”

Brightbill laughed whole heartedly this time.

“Can we go see if there are some fresh berries behind the old oak?” he asked, and Fink agreed.

Funny, saying yes to everything was proving easy. Telling the truth, too. Which went against everything in his nature. His programming, Roz would say, and he realized he was missing the robot a little. More than a little. Surely she would be recharged soon.

“What is your mommy like? Is she like Roz?”

“Is she a robot, you mean?” he replied quickly, deflecting. Perhaps telling the truth wasn’t actually always so easy or so wise. There were things Brightbill didn’t need to hear.

“No,” the gosling chuckled, “but she must have been good at telling stories, you tell good stories.”

Fink paused in his foraging. They had found so very tasty raspberries.

“They’re better than mom’s, but don’t tell her!” the child added.

“My mother wasn’t very nice,” Fink eventually admitted, because for once he didn’t feel like lying so much. “And my siblings bickered a lot and didn’t really like me either.”

“Oh,” Brightbill said in a small voice, and looked up at him with those big sad eyes that always managed to unravel something deep inside of him. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch. Ever.

“But it meant I got very good at other things,” he went on with more assurance. “Like reading people and knowing how they will react in any given situation.”

“Which made you good at telling stories!” the kid concluded, and he certainly wasn’t wrong there, even if Fink had never looked at things that way.

“Exactly,” he agreed, because why not.

“And good at finding the best spots on the island for berries.”

“That, too.”

Brightbill went back to eating, and Fink took a deep breath in – this had gone much better than he had expected. And that uneasy feeling inside him had morphed into something much nicer. Much warmer.

“Can we go see if mom is awake now?”

“Yes, let’s go,” Fink agreed immediately.

[bonefall]

Are you going to keep Goosefeather's curse? If so are you going to change anything about it? From my memory the book was... depressing.

It will probably get rolled into Pinestar's Crusade, building it up into an SE rather than just a novella. There's actually a lot going on in that specific moment, and it makes sense to go over it all at once.

So to answer your question, yes, most of Goosefeather's Curse is staying. Most of the Crusade Generation have depressing stories to tell. If the Thistle Period is defined by the fact that Thistle Law metastasized and went terminal, and if the Campaign Era was when it was newly born, then the Crusade Era was when it was first conceived.

I've been thinking about Pinestar's Crusade idly and mentioned it a few times, but here's my fragments so far;

PINESTAR'S CRUSADE (Fuses Pinestar's Choice and Goosefeather's Curse)

We start in the Crusade Era; there is now more focus on 3 major characters, though it's still built around Pinestar as the POV

Pinestar, Goosefeather, and eventually Pinepaw's apprentice Speckletail.

Pinepaw is born into the start of the Crusades, a bloody period where the Clans are invading Chelford and brutalizing cats in the hopes of appeasing StarClan. He only begins to learn the full story of what happened in Darkstar's Commandment once he begins going to Gatherings as a warrior

The truth being that Oakstar came up with this idea because he couldn't take an L

But even as an apprentice, it becomes quickly apparent to him that what they're doing is evil. They were brutalizing kittypets who aren't trained to fight back.

During his first raid as an apprentice, he allows a ginger-and-white mother and her kittens to escape

This came back years later, when that queen, Crystal, forms BloodClan in response to the Crusades.

Pineheart watches Oakstar die barely a year later to the queen he saved, using early claw extenders to cut right through him. Even if he hadn't been on his last life, it would have ended him.

But, Crystal lets Pineheart go, recognizing the Clan cat who had saved her life.

Watching his dad die along with several friends, and countless more innocent Chelford, plus being released by Crystal, is a Formative Moment.

Doestar continues the Crusades in the name of revenge for Oakstar, but now that BloodClan exists and is ARMED, the easy raids become bloodbaths.

They slowly peter out, not with a bang but with a whimper. She never announces an official end, eventually she just stops organizing them. No one gets closure, especially not Pineheart.

But the 'peace' doesn't last. Just before Heatherstar takes power from Smallstar and begins the Campaign to take the Mothermouth Moorland, ThunderClan deals with the Great Hunger

Pineheart and Goosefeather become very good friends, part of a little buddy group that also included Tawnyspots and Pheasantfeather (who will become One-eye later)

Pineheart was given his first apprentice, a rowdy little one and the niece of Doestar, Specklepaw. He's tasked with helping her fill the pawsteps of greatness she's destined to walk in.

Just like canon, Goose predicts the Great Hunger... though, he is an adult this time around because of some timeline changes.

And, like canon, it fails. They couldn't stockpile enough food to last an entire year of famine, a scorching summer and a frozen winter, they end up losing a huge stock of their food as if it was destiny.

Goosefeather was forced into a role he hates, given horrible visions of the future, and argues ferociously with Pineheart; if they hadn't tried to stockpile, they wouldn't have lost all that food to begin with.

It is in this moment, he comes to realize that every time he's fought back and used his visions like a warning, it's backfired.

So, perhaps, they are instruction.

But, meanwhile, Pineheart can't loose his apprentice or his friends. While others were hunting desperately, he was keeping cats alive through scouting for grubs, foraying into other territories, and...

Every bite of kittypet food he took for himself was a morsel in someone else's mouth. But this... this he kept quiet.

It started a "bad habit" he could never break.

Having lost the previous deputy to starvation and on her deathbed, Doestar nominates Pineheart to the position. He was shocked and upset by this, but he was the obvious choice.

Son of Oakstar, Hero of the Hunger, the cat who had kept Specklepaw alive when all the other kits and apprentices starved.

But, Pinestar took the helm to extreme controversy.

Everything Pinestar's ever done that worked was nonviolent. He's never seen battle do anything but bring harm, and the thought of leading people into war... it makes him feel sick.

But the rest of the Clan can't see what he sees. They yearn for the glory days (even though they were not glorious at all), itch to die for a cause, and leave this old, disgusting subsistence survival behind them. ThunderClan wants blood and Pinestar just wants peace.

Taking back Sunningrocks is an example of this. To avoid losing Clanmates, he proposed to Hailstar that they would have a Joust, instead.

ThunderClan's strongest against RiverClan's strongest. Adderfang vs Mudfur.

It didn't go well.

The problem with those sorts of situations is you have to abide by the deal. RiverClan took Sunningrocks for 6 months. It was humiliating for ThunderClan.

Even the cats he'd saved from the famine were furious with him

The only things that DID seem to please the Clan was when he would throw them fully into battle. Such as Goosefeather's prophecy that WindClan's herbs needed to be destroyed...

Every time a situation like that happened, where Goosefeather would phrase things as a Holy Struggle, Pinestar was thrown right back to the Crusades

Terrified eyes, screeching, cats begging for mercy, his father dead at his paws and feeling horror and relief swirling

Sitting vigil for old friends killed in these horrible fights, like Moonflower, it made him feel like how he felt the day he buried Oakstar.

And the bile rose in his throat, remembering that Oakstar was not there at his Leadership Ceremony, damned to the Dark Forest.

A thought was born, here. What does StarClan truly want? What do they expect of him? If they will send the architect of the Crusades there...

What of a cat who stayed fed on human food and fed grubs to his Clanmates? Or a leader who never knows the right thing to do?

When Mumblefoot retired and Sunfall became deputy, the Clan seemed to love him more than Pinestar. He found himself just... sitting back, and allowing Sunfall to call the shots.

It was towards the end, when Leopardfoot proposed an Honor Siring. He was from a glorious legacy, she wanted kits... and on his end, he wanted the peace that raising kittens could bring.

The warmth of human dens was calling him, but perhaps the warmth of love for children could keep him home.

UNLIKE CANON; Nothing about Tigerkit was born evil.

There was no StarClan vision of Tigerstar; Goosefeather knew full well that Thistlestar was the Leader of Prophecy.

But Pinestar would never give Thistleclaw an apprentice in time. Nor would he ever give his own little son to a cat as vicious as him.

Goosefeather never hurt anyone... but Pinestar just needed a push.

Pinestar was already anxious, unhappy, clinging to the goodness that was his little kits. Even as two of them were lost to minor illnesses, shortly after receiving their names.

It wasn't a lie. It was just half of the truth.

"Pinestar... you have a choice to make. StarClan has given me a vision of blood and war, and Tigerkit will have a role to play in it."

He DID have a vision... of Thistlestar. Not Tigerkit. But that was enough for Pinestar, his fear and trauma took the helm from there.

He'd seen his friends, his apprentice, the kits who had been born and died in his rule, all of them turn into the monsters Clan Culture demanded

Nothing he did ever seemed to work, why would THIS moment be different?

How could he prevent Tigerkit from becoming like that too?! Was StarClan telling him to KILL his son??

Pinestar's never had a vision from StarClan. He doesn't have the aptitude like a Cleric... what he has is a nightmare, of Tigerkit growing so large he crushes the whole camp under his claws

After a week of agony, Pinestar unknowingly creates a prophecy of his own,

"Can only the death of a child break fate?"

Sensing he was close to victory, Goosefeather dipped his head, not denying his question.

And it's the last straw.

And that is the climax of Pinestar's Crusade. Broken from his experiences, every turn taken for peace causing him more pain, the idea that he might have to hurt his own son plaguing his mind, he makes the choice to leave.

It wasn't hard, he'd still had that old bad habit of taking bites of kittypet food, a couple friends on the other side. But what he doesn't know is that by leaving with his life... he prevents Sunstar from acquiring his own.

Sunstar had ONE single life, StarClan was not able to give him more with the previous leader still alive. For leaving his Clan, for unknowingly preventing the transfer of power, and for dismissing the Warrior Code, Pinestar is sent to the Dark Forest after his death.

He can choose to walk there, or spend time in the mortal plane as just a spirit, but StarClan offers him no place in the cosmos.

[topgun-imagines]

Day 19: Bottom Of The Bottle

Pairings: Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x fem!reader

Synopsis: You being to question yours and Maverick relationship when he develops a drinking problem.

Warnings: alcoholism, break-ups, mentions of hospitals, family issues, alcohol abuse, arguments & relationship issues.

Word count: 1.2k

Maverick was the love of your life. You believed that with every fibre of your being. The two of you were a match made in heaven. Everyone around you was convinced that there was never a more perfect pair than you and the pilot. He was your soulmate. Even through all the trials and tribulations that you had been through, the two of you remained as close as ever. However, you knew there were parts of his past that he wasn’t sharing with you.

Occasionally, Maverick would become distant. And while logically you knew that he had a good reason, your mind couldn’t help but play tricks on you. You rarely discussed issues from Maverick’s past. Any time you would try to bring it up, he would change the subject almost immediately. It wasn’t until two and a half years into your relationship that you noticed his frightening coping mechanisms.

At first, you thought that it was just an occasional drink after work. Soon enough, it turned into something so much worse than you ever could have imagined. All that you knew about the situation was that something was going on with Maverick’s mother. You knew very little about the woman, only hearing bits and pieces from Goose and Carole every once in a while. While you respected the fact that your boyfriend liked to keep some things a secret, part of you wished that he would open up to you more.

When his drinking had reached the point that it was severely concerning, you went to the first person you thought of; Goose. The RIO had told you everything that he knew which, albeit, wasn’t very much. All he knew was that his mother was in the hospital again. For what exactly, he couldn’t tell you.

You accepted that as reason enough for Maverick’s recent changes. That was until one drink after work became three. Then three became more than you could count. He would show up on your porch in the middle of the night, blabbering about something you couldn’t understand. In the morning, the pilot would act as if nothing ever happened; waking before sunrise and walking back to the bar to pick up his bike. After about a week of this new coping mechanism, you decided that enough was enough.

After talking to Goose, you decided that it was time to confront Maverick. At first, the pilot had tried to pretend that there was nothing wrong with him. Things had gotten ugly fast when you accused him of not being able to see the truth. When you mentioned what Goose had told you, Maverick was pissed. He was seeing red at the thought of his best friend betraying him like that. That night had ended with him storming out of your shared home.

Things only got worse from there. It took almost two weeks for Maverick to return to staying at your shared home. Even when he returned home, however, he was still distancing himself from you. You could tell that he still hadn’t forgiven you for things that had been said during that argument. Even though he was home now, it still felt like he was living miles away from you. There were no more shared dinners, no more rides to work together, and no more sweet words. Only harsh glares and cold silence.

The argument worked, at least for a while. As far as you knew, Maverick was no longer drinking to the point where he couldn’t remember anything the following day. According to Goose, he hadn’t even been to the bar in the past two weeks. Everything slowly seemed to be returning to normal. All except for the fact that your boyfriend was ignoring your existence.

Maverick’s break from drinking only lasted a few weeks. Before you knew it, he was back in the bar. This time, however, an argument wasn’t going to cut it. You hated the fact that you had no idea what was going on in your boyfriend’s life anymore. When it first began, you could tolerate it, hoping that it would blow over soon enough. But when it never blew over, you began to question if it was still worth it.

Of course, you loved Maverick with all your heart. But was this relationship really worth it? When you were younger, you had always pictured being with the love of your life. The sweet things he would do and the lovely connection that the two of you would have. That’s what you and Maverick were in the beginning. Now, the two of you weren’t even a semblance of the people you once were.

So, you decided that enough was enough. You knew what you wanted for your life and even if you didn’t want to admit it, deep down you knew that Maverick wasn’t the person for you anymore. If you were being honest with yourself, you had known that ever since his drinking problem began. You just didn’t want to leave him when you knew that he needed a support system. Now, you just couldn’t be that support system anymore.

These days, if Maverick wasn’t at the bar, he was crashing at Goose’s house. So, that was where you went. You found the pair sitting in the backyard, both nursing a beer. While Goose didn’t encourage Maverick’s drinking problem, he sure didn’t look like he was actively trying to help the situation either. Standing in the door frame, you called your boyfriend’s name firmly.

With a slight roll of his eyes, Maverick followed you into Goose’s house. The RIO remained in the backyard, ready to tune out the sound of your screams. At this point, Nick wouldn’t even blame you for leaving Maverick. He would still be there for the pilot. You needed to do what was best for you.

“Alright,” You started, voice firm as you tried to stop it from wavering. “You need to talk to me.” Sure, you were understanding about the fact that Maverick needed his space. But it was well past time for that. Maverick needed to tell you what was going on. It was now or never.

The only response you received from the pilot was a steady shake of his head. “No.” His tone left nearly no room for argument. But at this point, you didn’t care if he wanted an argument or not.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Regardless of how much you loved him, you couldn’t stay if it was going to be like this. “You’re either going to tell me what the fuck is going on,” You paused, hoping the message would sink in for him. “Or I’m going to walk out that door.”

Maverick remained silent. No matter how much you prepared yourself for actually having to walk away from him, you weren’t at all ready for him to let you go. When he didn’t say anything and didn’t even try to stop you when you turned around, you knew you had to leave. So that was what you did. Your stomach had dropped at the realization that you and Maverick were over. Weeks ago. You had been convinced that he was the love of your life. Now, you didn’t even recognize him.

The slam of the heavy door behind you plunged the dark house into silence.

a/n: hope you enjoyed! Join the taglist!

Tagging: @ohtobeleah @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @els-marvelvsp @kmc1989 @nyx2021 @mploopssek @callsignharper @seitmai @scarletmeii @inkandarsenic @alexandra-001 @plaguedzombie

[antikate]

Blankets (the truth is out there)

I used to sleep under old woollen army blankets in the winter. I don’t know where they came from, but they’d appear sometime after Easter, brown with a grey stripe, and so damn heavy; heavy as lead, heavy as grave-dirt. Despite their weight, one of these blankets wasn’t quite warm enough, nor was two even, and when it was very cold my mother would pile up three or four of them until I could barely move my childish limbs beneath the weight. I liked the way they pressed me down into my old mattress, except for my feet. The arches ached, sometimes, from the pressure of the pile of woollen army blankets.

Sometimes I stuck my feet out over the side of the bed, but then I was afraid something — probably an alien — would grab my feet, so I suffered through the discomfort of the weight on my feet as best I could. Sore feet beat being abducted by grey-faced, black-eyed aliens.

I was very afraid of aliens, after accidentally watching a tv show about abductees.

I spent hours in the mirror checking my skin for signs that I’d been abducted and experimented on. Strange birthmarks, new injuries, odd lumps.

I never found anything beyond a few moles and mundane scars. I never lost time, although now there’s whole stretches of those years I barely recall at all. Not because they were bad, exactly, just that childhood goes like that. It slips away.

I was so scared of being abducted by aliens. But I also always wanted it to happen.

(If I was abducted by aliens, maybe it would explain what was wrong with me.)

The texture of the woolllen army blankets was unbearable—more like sandpaper than a blanket should be. Like sleeping under a sheep lost in the bush for a few years, all burr-snarled and fly-blown. That was what love was like in my family. The intent was there, but it was too heavy and not heavy enough. Rough, but you had to be grateful for what you got. Some people had no blankets at all.

I folded the sheet down over the top-most woollen blanket to keep it from touching any part of my skin. But touching was inevitable, and always distressing.

The worst thing about the blankets, though, was the smell of moth-balls.

The smell was awful, chemical and pungent. Like my Nan’s closet. Like the op-shop. And it heralded the coming of asthma season, when I caught every cold and flu going around, when my lungs collapsed and constricted, and every inhale I made sounded like a rusty old gate swinging in a feeble wind.

(When I was sick, my father would get out a green Tupperware bowl and fill it with boiling water and eucalyptus oil, and force me to hold my head over the steam while I cried, because I hated the smell and it never made me feel better.

Once, I threw up in the bowl. I don’t think he made me do it again.)

As an adult I learned that moth balls were made from naphthalene, and naphthalene is known to trigger asthma, among other health issues. They’re probably carcinogenic. By then the old woollen army blankets had become a feast for carpet moths anyway, more hole than wool by the end. And we don’t use much wool any more — everything is made of plastic now, and the moths starve.

I am trying to explain to you now that I feel like this.

I feel threadbare and abrasive, that I carry with me the smell of mothballs, that I’m too thin but too heavy. I feel like an old woollen army blanket, I think, as I stuff the washing machine with goose-down duvets I spent too much money on. They’re so light they barely feel like you’re sleeping under anything at all.

I feel like I’m more hole than wool, some days.

(And I’m still half scared and half hopeful that I’m going to be abducted by aliens. Maybe then I’ll know what’s wrong with me.)

[profoundbondfanfic]

Born to be yours by zation [Explicit, 72k words]

Castiel finds a curious creature in his backyard. Or, The one where Dean wanted an apple but found himself a human instead (and also an apple).

Breathing Into You by casblackfeathers [Explicit, 110k words]

‘Beware the deep sea, that’s where the monsters come from.’ Dean had heard these words since birth, his father’s warnings shaping him into the man he is today. That’s not the root of Dean’s hatred for merpeople, though. Twenty years after the day tragedy had touched the Winchesters��� lives forever as well as the end of the Great War between humans and mer, Dean is still haunted by that moment. But loving the sea is just as much a part of him as the dread for the merfolk, so when he isn’t working at the local bar, he is there, underwater, immersed in the vast blue his mother used to speak of in her bedtime stories. Dean knows, however, that the sea can be as ruthless as it is soothing. When he is caught in the middle of a storm and faces the anger of the waves, the mysterious appearance of a stranger with blue eyes as clear as the waters Dean loves losing himself in forces Dean to question the truth behind his father’s old mantra.

carving deep blue ripples by dothraki_shieldmaiden [Mature, 85k words]

With his little brother at Stanford and his father searching out leads on the monster that killed his mother, Dean Winchester is left to hunt alone. It's fun, except in the ways that it really blows. Things start to turn around when he meets Castiel Novak, another hunter. Castiel is aloof and maybe a little too sarcastic, but he's good backup (and pretty easy on the eyes. Not that Dean's looking or anything). After a few hunts, Dean is willing to make his and Castiel's partnership permanent (and he's not exactly averse to adding another component to their partnership either. After all, he's caught Castiel looking at him just as many times as Castiel's caught him looking). But Castiel is hiding a secret, and it's so explosive that it threatens to not only tear them apart, but also tear apart everything Dean believes in.

Convenient Husbands by Annie D (scaramouche) [Explicit, 39k words]

"It's only temporary, right?" Dean says. "Just until you're healed up, and then we'll never have to see each other again. So what do you say, Castiel, do you want to marry me or not?"

Dragon Hunt by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) [Explicit, 171k words]

What is a former knight fallen from grace supposed to do when one day, after almost a decade of scouring the outskirts of the kingdom for his missing brother, he finds himself confronted with a powerful, terrifying and also ridiculously weird dragon? Yes, exactly: team up with the guy and scam oblivious people out of their money! Easy as that, right? (In which Dean ends up stumbling upon a strange, blue-eyed dragon and before he even knows what's happening he is in way too deep to get out again.)

It's a Small World (aka the Worst Ride at Disneyland) by ireadhpinenochian [Mature, 45k words]

Dean's life didn't start out great. With his mom dying and his father taking him and Sam on wild goose chase after wilder goose chase to track down her killer until Sam couldn't take it anymore and ran off, it pretty much sucked. But now he has Cas. And Cas is great--perfect, even--definitely the best thing that's ever happened to him, even if he isn't quite human. He's been living so long in domestic bliss that he completely forgot to be worried about waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which is, of course, when his giant of a brother strolls back into his life sending Dean into a panic that he and Cas will have to uproot their perfect apple pie life if Sam finds out Cas' big secret.

Like Lightning Under Your Skin by A_Diamond [Explicit, 24k words]

Desperate for a way to save his brother from a demon’s clutches, hunter Dean does the unthinkable and seeks out a supernatural creature for help: a powerful lightning elemental, the kind he and his family should be killing. When his attempt to bind the elemental goes awry, he finds himself psychically connected to it instead. The creature’s emotions bleed into his; its pain echoes into him. Rather than finding the solution to saving Sam, Dean’s given himself a new and even more time-sensitive problem. He has to find a way to master the bond before the rest of the hunters decide he’s too far gone and put him down. The trouble is that the more time he spends connected to the elemental’s thoughts, the more he starts to wonder if they don’t have it all wrong. Maybe the creature, which calls itself Castiel, doesn’t deserve to be slaughtered; maybe the rest of its kind hadn’t deserved that, either. Or maybe that’s just Castiel’s voice in his head.

Man in the Wilderness by OneHundredSuns [Explicit, 68k words]

Dean Winchester is fresh out of Purgatory along with every other Tom, Dick and Wendigo that called the cesspool home. As the monsters lay waste to the Earth and eat anything they can get their hands on, Dean sets out to find his only remaining family so that they can hunker down and fight the assholes head on. He doesn’t mean to stumble upon Castiel Novak and his adorable twins in the middle of the apocalypse and he sure as hell doesn’t mean to offer them a ride to wherever they are trying to get to. But the world is a dangerous place now and he’s always been a sucker for blue eyes and cute kids. So he’ll help them out and just hope it doesn’t get him or them killed in the process.

Miasma by ValandraWrites [Explicit, 13k words]

Dean's grown up with a monster under his bed. They kind of became friends. Then they kind of became more than friends.

The Graveyard Shift by PurgatoryJar, riseofthefallenone [Explicit, 620k words]

Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

[endereies]

FUCK IT - MATT STURNIOLO - PART 5

Spotify Playlist:

Pairing: Matt x Oc

Contains: Growing up with parents who make her feel isolated, what happens when she meets Matt. A person who introduces her to new people, new experiences and new feelings.

Requested?: no

Author's notes: I was giggling a little too much writing this to be brutally honest

Word Count: 3043

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

“Is this something we are meant to do?”

“Fuck it.”

I didn’t sleep well that night, it wasn’t that I was too hot or uncomfortable because that was far from the truth. I was simply awake with my thoughts, about the people I had met the previous evening, my mother who was expecting me to be home the next morning even if I can never expect her to be home herself. It bothered me that she always wanted me home for whenever she arrived and the one time, I leave the house I have one of the best nights I’ve had in a while. I finally got properly introduced to Chris and Nick, Nate and Madi were funny and so sweet to me even if they had only known me a few hours. I wasn’t going to sit in my home and rot while doing nothing but school work. I wanted to live the end of my teenage years, freely and not waiting for another disappointment when my family doesn’t show up.

It was about 5am when I had truly given up on getting a full night’s sleep, only having 3 hours altogether. I had tried things to stop my overthinking but my methods grew more useless the more I attempted to use them. I shove the duvet off of my body and shift across the matrass so my legs dangle off the edge of the bed. I stare out my cracked open door into the darkness and I hear faint, soft breathing from what I assume is Matt in the room opposite me. My eyes try to adjust to the darkness and I notice the white case of my headphones by the edge of the nightstand, a sigh escapes my lips as I reach other to it, simultaneously picking up my phone from beneath it. My screen lights up and I quickly deter it from my eye sight and turning down the brightness with them closed, having done it so many times before.

5:17am.

“Damn…” I whisper to myself, resting my phone back between my palm and my duvet. A cold breeze brushes past me, causing goose bumps to arise on my skin which I sooth with the warmth of my palm. I glance around my room and through a slightly ajar window, a street light glows onto the pavement below. I press my palms into the bed and push my myself up and approach the window, grabbing the handle and dragging it closer to me. The suction between each pane makes it easier to close it in my still tired state, immediately feeling warmer once I do.

The kitchen wasn’t much warmer than the guest room back upstairs, even if all the windows were now shut. By now, I figured I was far away enough from everyone else that I could turn on a light rather than walking blind in a house I was yet to recognise. My eyes closed anticipation the beams of light whilst my hands scaled the wall, stopping by a panel that stuck out the wall. I traced my fingers across the edge before finding the main switch and pushing with my index finger. My eyelids flicker slightly subconsciously, adjusting slowly to the brightness of the light before opening my eyes weakly.

I hated not knowing where anything was, having to scan the cupboards repeaedtly, hoping to find any sort of glass for some water. I had left doors creaked open as a placeholder for where I had already looked once.

Of course it’s the last place I check.

I sigh, half with relief, the other with anger and reach for a rounded glass directly placed before me. I drag it across the shelf, tightening my grip once half of it is off of it. I place the majority of my weight on the drying board next to sink and hold the glass underneath the faucet. Water steadily streams out of it, dripping down the edge of the glass purposefully as to lessen the sound I create. A small squeak echoes from between my hand and the glass due to my hands grip becoming ineffective.

My body turns and leans against the counter top, pressed firmly into my spine, my lack of concern of the pain reminded me of my tiredness. My elbows lay on the side allowing me to support myself for just a moment. The weight lifted off of my feet allowed me to just exist and dragged myself away from the thoughts I had earlier.

Every attempt to shrug off the tired feeling resulted in failure, grasping my surroundings fully grew harder as time went on. My eyes were narrowing and I had to place my drink down on the side so that I wouldn’t drop it. I had barely drunk any of it however, the only signs of use being the copious amounts of finger prints that outline it.

I was getting overwhelmed and I knew that, the weight of my body, returned much stronger than before.

So did the thoughts.

My mother, constantly needing me even if I needed her. The isolation I’ve had most my life and how one night made me entire mindset crumble. I always enjoyed being alone and in my own silence but since I met Matt all it has done has suffocated me. I dreaded having to leave practice in the mornings when Chris or Nick came along. I couldn’t play my guitar as often at home anymore. Without any drums it felt wrong.

Maybe it was the tiredness or stress but everything came flooding in a sudden moment.

I was tired, just tired. Some rest would calm me down.

“Alyia?” My jolt my head upwards and face where the voice came from, almost panicked. My body, no longer connected to the counter feels the cold air wrap around my back, making me shiver.

“Alyia, what are you doing up.”

“Matt. I’m sorry I couldn’t sleep and I got some water and the light must’ve woken you up.” I spit out words at him, rambling. My hands demonstrate my actions with the remnants of a few cupboards which stayed open.

“It wasn’t you; it was the thunder. I’m a light sleeper so I’m used to it by now.” His fingers pointing to an uncovered window which projects flashes of lights and spits of rainfall.

“Thunder...?”

“Yeah? Its quite loud?” He approaches me and notices my tense state quite quickly. No matter how tired he is, he is always so observant.

“Everything okay?”

“Y-Yeah all fine..why?”

“Really? You are so tense, you’re jumpy at everything. You’ve obviously zoned out for a while if you haven’t even noticed the fucking thunder outside and finally. You haven’t slept. Even If you hadn’t told me, your eyes are red and you are so dazed.”

Wow.

I stand in silence, avoiding any form of eye contact so he couldn’t point anything else out to me. I didn’t need him telling me what I already knew.

“Is this to do with the phone call from your mother last night.” He speaks so bluntly, not trying to avoid any confrontation. Yet, that’s all I wanted to avoid and I think he knew that.

“Alyia.”

“Partially. I don’t know Matt, I’m not in the mood for this, especially with you.”

Shit

“Why not with me…?” He automatically creates a larger distance between us for a moment and dims his voice making it barely audible.

“C’mon. I mean… we hardly know each other, rig-”

“I want to know you.”

I practically freeze in my spot and he rubs his neck softly and drags his palm up and down his arm lightly.

“You do?”

“You doubted that?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that, I stay to practise with you when I can, I make extra meetings for the English project simply because they typically end with us hanging out over a movie or something.” He starts to walk closer. “I want to be your friend Alyia. Besides you are one of the only friends I have that Nick hasn’t shit talked right away and that Chris feels comfortable being himself around.”

“I am?”

“You are. And frankly you are fucking awesome at guitar, don’t think those mornings are gonna stop any time soon.”

“I want to be your friend Alyia.” He gives me a genuine smile but I give him a tight-lipped weak one back.

“If you don’t want to talk, I get it, but you don’t have to restrict yourself, okay?” I can only nod in response but he only repeats himself. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He gives a quiet hum and looks at me, his stare lingering slightly. His body turns and he walks back towards the door frame. I watch him as he quickly spins back to face me, leaning against the door frame, his elbow propped against it and his hand dangling just above his hair which is a little more fluffy than normal. His hips swivel slightly and show of a slight v-line when his shirt lifts ever so slightly.

I quickly look away before my body can react.

“Alyia? Promise me you’ll try and sleep later?” I give a small nod, knowing I won’t be able to keep that promise later on.

“Thanks sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. That’s fucking new…

He just nods his head and walks around the corner, letting his touch cling to the doorframe as long as possible. He left me in the same place I started in but this time I felt so much more comforted.

He wanted me around, and I could not stop smiling about it.

He saw me in the way I wanted to be seem by anyone for years. Other than Jenny, I had no one else in my life and it felt nice being able to rely on someone else for once.

The drums were a bonus.

-

Following through with Matt’s promise didn’t exactly fulfil itself since I stayed up the remainder of the night. The sun had started to rise not even an hour later and after that, it was a lost cause. While the rays of light that etched through the window helped the tiredness to go away, it lingered for the next few hours, making yawning a common occurrence.

I had returned to the kitchen at about 9am and was greeted by Nick eating some cereal with his back turned to me. It no longer felt as negative as it did a few hours ago but the glass that stayed on the side nearly reminded me of why I went downstairs in the first place.

Suddenly two hands place at my shoulders and squeeze them slightly before speaking loudly into my ear.

“Alyia! Morning.” Chris’s voice wasn’t hard to recognise with it being much louder than the others.

“Hey Chris.” I giggle at his enthusiasm and step to the side allowing him to walk past and immediately run to get a Pepsi replacing the silence with a crack of the can.

Chris’s hands are quickly replaced by Matt’s, his touch feeling gentler than Chris’s.

“Good morning, Alyia…sleep well?” I quietly shake my head I response, brushing a loose strand behind my ear.

His fingers trace down my arm as he walks past me casually to greet Nick and Chris.

I rub my eyes and follow Matt’s actions. The counter top didn’t feel as protruding when I leant on it again but my hand trembled a little when I picked up the glass, the water still cold. I take a deep breath and try and calm down until I remember I had to be back home as soon as possible for my mother.

“Shit…” I mutter under my breath but I get eyes from Nick and Matt, Chris being oblivious as always.

“You alright over there?” Nick placed his spoon back in his bowl and spun the chair to face me.

“Huh? Oh yeah don’t worry, I just need to get back soon for my mother.”

“Does it have to be this soon?” Nick presses the question a little but Matt quickly shuts it down, recalling parts of the phone call from last night.

“Ill drop you back, let me get changed.” He places his root beer by the sink and walks quickly out the room and I hear his footsteps fade.

“You don’t have to- “

“I wouldn’t try that kid, Matt is stubborn, I’d just recommend getting changed too before he drags you out the house like that”. I grimace a little at that but follow Chris’s words none-the-less.

I swiftly grab the clothes from the day before and exchange them, only taking when putting my hair back into its claw clip. I shimmy my skirt down on my hips and tuck my jumper into the front half of it. I gather up the clothes I swapped and fold them roughly and place them on the bed and pull the duvet back to make it as tidy as I could. I go to leave the room and bump into Matt leaving his.

An ordinary black shirt which left his tattoos on show and camo cargos which sagged at his hips causing them to gather at his ankles.

“Oh hi, you ready?”

“Matt, I can take the bu-“

“Awesome, I’ll get my keys” A smile plastered on his face as he ignores my back talk and runs down the stairs like an excitable child.

I just sigh and follow him to gather the small things I took out my backpack last night like my headphones and charger.

I walk past the kitchen almost losing track of Matt in the process, only roughly mapping out the house as I do so.

“Matt you really don’t have to at al-“ I get cut off again by him grabbing my wrist and walking me out the house only allowing me to quickly yell out a goodbye aimed at Nick and Chris.

“I’m not having you protest this, alright kid?” I mutter something dull but reluctantly agree and get into the passenger side of the minivan.

My backpack rested upon my feet and I kick it off to prevent my leg going numb. Although halfway through the drive I had started to hope that I left it on to give me something else to think about other than the silence. It had been 10 minutes and he hadn’t said a single word. All he had done was send me looks that I could feel burning into my skull.

“What?”

“What, what exactly?” He turns his face away from me and grips the steering wheel.

“Don’t play dumb Matt. You keep looking over and haven’t said a thing to me.”

“You didn’t ask to talk to me.”

“We both know that doesn’t stop you. So what is it.”

“Last night… you seemed so off and now suddenly you seem perfectly okay again, makes me curious is all.” His hands fall from the wheel when we approach a red light but I turn away from his gaze to face out my window.

“Stay curious.”

“I know, I know…you don’t wanna tell me. Doesn’t mean I cant wonder about it.”

“I guess…” my voice begins to mumble again.

“Sorry I just…don’t wanna talk about last night, or even think about it.”

“Even what I said to you?” Matt finally points his gaze back onto me again for a moment and I freeze under his words.

“Okay fine, most of last night.” I feel his grin through his words.

“Good, don’t forget that, alright.”

“You can pull over here…” The subject change seemed to change Matt’s attitude quickly as he pulled into the side of the road slowly, the car titling when it hit the curb.

“Thank you for dropping me off” I pull my backpack up to meet my lap.

“Never a problem, call me if you need anything, yeah?” His words subtly pointing to the memories of last night.

Of course I will.

“Where have you been, I’ve been worried sick.” I had just shut the door and already had her voice ringing in my ears.

“Good morning to you too, mother.” I give her a blank stare, holding eye contact as my bag falls off my shoulder and slamming to the floor.

“Now, explain what was more important than seeing your mother after a week of work.”

“I didn’t know you would be home today, you had sai-.”

“I left a voicemail, well your father did.” I tuned out her words after that and pulled my phone out my pocket to check voice mails.

*you have one new message*

“Good morning Ally, your mother and I got held behind in a meeting and missed our flight but we are getting the next one and should be home tomorrow night. We’ll see you then darling. Love you.”

Oh.

“I did tell you Ally, I don’t want to argue.” I pathetically roll my eyes causing her to grimace.

“Alyia, our work is what pays for you to go to that school and we try and be here as much as we ca-“

“So where is father.”

“Alyia. It is rude to interrupt.” She pinches the bridge of her nose before staring at me.

“Where is father.”

“He is doing some small errands, and im going to join him and go shopping, I want you to make sure your homework is done, alright?”

“Yes, mother.” I drag my backpack across the floor as I start to walk up to my bedroom which I slam the door to.

I slump down on my bed and run my fingers through my hair, not caring about the pain that knots in it create. I was never one to enjoy confrontations with my mother, she was just so intense all the time and being blunt to a tired child was never a good combination. We both knew that. My eyes lightly pricked with tears and I felt pathetic for feeling that way.

I saw my over-ear headphones that I had left on charge on my desk and I snatched them from the cable. I turned on my phone again and went on to Spotify and connected my headphones.

The first song that blasted was dark red – Steve lacy

Of fucking course.

© ENDEREIES 2024

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @sturniolosmind @worldlxvlys @patscorner @breeloveschris @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07

[scorchieart]

Double Deflection

Genre: Slice of Life, Comedy

Characters: Maron, White Horse, Licht Klein, Chevalier Michel

Wordcount: ~6400

Prompts: Blue: Loyalty, Yellow: Friendship

Summary: A late-night chat between horses and humans. Each has the potential to offer something, but gestures and facial expressions and mind reading aren't enough to tell when someone is asking for help.

A/N: My entry for the Wish Upon an Aide CC hosted by @lorei-writes and @wordycheeseblob. This story may borderline crack with its execution, but I hope it's an enjoyable read regardless.

If you were to ask Maron what he most wanted in the entire world he might respond with an enthused neigh, throwing back his mane, and a clop clop from his front-right hoof. If Maron could speak, he could say it was to eat carrots fresh from harvest, or to race through the fields outside the palace with the other horses, or to snooze indoors on a rainy afternoon while his rider Licht sang him a lullaby. Or something along those lines. In truth, it is difficult to say. The intricacies of horse communication cannot be covered comprehensively through text alone—tail swishing and muzzle twitching can easily get lost in translation, you see—but an attempt will be made to relay the events of this particular evening from both the equine and human perspectives to most accurately depict the story from all participating views.

Now, as we were saying, Maron, much like yourself and I, often finds it difficult to express his desires when asked on the spot. Any manner of things could affect the answer, from the place to the weather to even the time of day. Indeed, a much simpler question to ask (man and horse) is what he dislikes the most. And in the palace stables on that muggy summer’s eve, Maron was confident he was experiencing the absolute most dislikable thing imaginable.

“By the way, the kitchens were out of carrots.” 

Licht ducked his head in time before Maron whipped his tail.

“There’s no use taking it out on me,” Licht said, straightening up and resuming brushing Maron’s flank. “Believe me, you do me a favor eating them. But I swear this time they were gone before I could get to them.”

Maron snorted once and rubbed at his muzzle in what one would believe to be a contradictory manner.

“I doubt it. You should’ve seen the way Yves’s eyes lit up when he read about that new carrot cake recipe from Jade. He ordered double the monthly stock of carrots. And Leon approved it without even batting an eye.” At this, Licht covered his mouth and let out a small groan that on the surface appeared as though he was repressing a gag. Maron wiggled his nose in circular motions in response, which I am told is the horse-equivalent of scoffing and rolling one’s eyes.

“Don’t give me that. I said I’m fine,” said Licht, but both he and Maron knew he wasn’t. 

It is at this point I must confess that while I myself am not proficient at human-horse translations, my ineptitude is not a universal ailment. If you were so far unaware, there exist in our world a gifted few interspecial interpreters across the ages. Perhaps you have seen a dog warmly protecting a flock of chicks while the hen takes a bath? Or maybe you witnessed a squirrel rushing to call a goose to save a kitten from drowning in a lake? Sometimes this communication is as implicitly universal as a mother cares for her young, while in more curious cases gesture and sound bind common souls together. On exceedingly rare occasions, such a bond can manifest from one source to multiple different species with zero previous contact, as is the case with the Eighth Prince of Rhodolite. But just as special can be the connection built upon years of collaboration and struggle and trust, and Licht and Maron checked all these boxes multiple times over. Why, when Licht wraps the reins twice around his hands, Maron understands to hurry home because Yves is baking something special. And when Maron bonks his jaw against Licht’s head, Licht knows he’s being chastised. And whenever Licht says “I’m fine,” Maron learned it always to be a lie.

“Really, I am,” insisted Licht. “Let’s go for a ride in the morning. You’ll see.”

Not in the mood for an argument (they always ended up with them going in circles), Maron turned to look out the window and the two resumed their brushing routine without communication. The dewy night air hung thick and silent around them, and several times more Licht had to cover his mouth and cough as he worked. Maron’s ears twitched at the sound, but he never commented further. 

Just allergies, Licht told himself. Horse doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

And the night would have continued on unyieldingly so, as it always did when they disagreed in private, were it not for an unexpected development. The hairs on their limbs shot straight up as a cold, prickly sensation overtook the summer warmth, and Licht and Maron spun their heads towards each other in unison. Someone was entering the stables. 

Stubbornness forgotten, Maron slowly lifted his head and peered over the high walls. His stall was located in the back corner of the stable, but even through the darkness he could make out the tall cloaked figure leading a horse by hand through the entryway. 

Licht tapped his knuckles against Maron’s neck. What do you see?

Maron raised a hoof up and down twice. One human and one horse. Both look male.

Got it. Stay low. Licht quietly reached for the sword he lay on the ground beside Maron’s grooming tools. A prince wouldn’t be so foolish as to wander the palace unarmed, and Licht knew better than most how easy it was to sneak past the grounds undetected through the stables.

Be careful. Maron gently rubbed his muzzle against Licht’s back and ducked low behind the wall. What was meant to be encouragement consequently had the opposite effect on Licht. Maron, like all who lived at the palace, knew of his rider’s unparalleled mastery of the sword. It is said that his skills were only rivaled by two, but Prince Leon was presently knocked out on his couch after a full day tidying up the faction office, and to even consider Prince Chevalier to sneak around at night like some common hoodlum was simply unthinkable. So Maron’s warning made Licht grip his sword more forcefully as he took a defensive stance by the door. 

What need would a talented fighter have to visit the stables at this hour? Licht pondered the question as the foot-and-hoofsteps steadily approached their stall. Was it a spy fleeing into the night to relay royal secrets back to his master? A horse appraiser here to kidnap (horsenap) a prized palace stallion to sell off for exuberant riches? An enemy of the royal family who knew the swordsman Sixth Prince was an equine enthusiast and would therefore hesitate to fight back with a defenseless horse on the battlefield?

The truth, as I am sure you have already deduced, was none of the above. Unfortunately, the only living thing in the vicinity that could steer Licht’s thoughts away from the bizarre was currently pondering whether he could fight with a flat brush between his teeth if things became too dicey. And with the intruders now only a couple of stalls away, Licht did not have the agency to think rationally and burst out from his stall ready to swing.

What followed was a short, anticlimactic confrontation that I am sure Licht would prefer never to see the light of day. Unfortunately for him, Maron found the whole affair rather amusing, so I shall provide an abridged account.

No sooner than Licht exited the stall did an overwhelming cough threaten to overtake him. Midway through winding his arm for an attack, he had few options to steady himself from the conflicting forces of his limbs propelling him forward and his lungs pushing him back, and in the heat of the moment he elected to toss his sword upward into the air and simultaneously tackle the mystery man. He had hoped the shock of it all would stun his opponent long enough for him to recover and strike again, but this plan came to an early stop when his midsection was caught by a pair of taut arms and he found himself flipped, lifted, and staring upward into the displeased face of Prince Chevalier.

If you have ever been caught by your elders for sneaking out of your room past your bedtime, you would understand only a fraction of the dread coursing through Licht’s nerves in that moment. Aside from the obvious fact that he ambushed (with the intent to at the very least incapacitate) the Second Prince of Rhodolite, Licht was physically in a state he would best describe as Yves’s Fashion Nightmare™. His eyes were redder and less alert than usual, his frown curved down farther than it had in years, and his typical restless bedhead stuck out at wild angles, not in the least bit aided by the fact that he was currently suspended upside down. But oh, the worst offense of it all was his wardrobe! When the coughing fits had extinguished any hope of getting sleep, Licht slipped into the muckiest boots in his closet, tossed on a tattered old coat from his teenage years, picked up his sword, and headed straight for the stables. He could only pray Chevalier was too distracted by his annoyance to notice the wrinkly, hay-infested, cough-stained mess of his nightclothes. 

Chevalier’s stern gaze followed Licht’s to his outfit. Whoops… I forgot to mention Chevalier could read minds as well as narrations. 

“Please put me down,” said Licht, his voice barely masking: and spare me some dignity. Behind them Maron let out a sound almost like a chuckle, and Licht shot him a warning look he was sure lost all credibility of appearing threatening.

“What purpose have you here at this hour?” asked Chevalier, still holding on. It took a great deal of fortitude for Licht to not give in to his embarrassment and wiggle his way out of Chevalier’s clutches like a worm, but in the end he swallowed his discomfort and strained his neck to look back up.

“I could ask you the same,” Licht replied, and instantly regretted it. The blood flow to his brain must already be making him hysterical. Is that how blood worked? How long was he upside down for, anyway? 

Chevalier’s expression twisted into a deeper frown that easily topped any of Licht’s personal records. “Employ deflection at your own risk, mime,” he warned. But just as Licht was calculating the combined punishment for assaulting and backtalking Chevalier, a sudden gallop echoed across the hall, the pressure on his stomach lifted, and Licht fell head-first onto the mucky stable floor. 

Once the pain and shame faded enough, Licht opened his eyes and sat up expecting to find Chevalier towering over him. When all he saw was Maron merrily rolling on the floor whinnying, apparently now fully recovered from the intruder fiasco, Licht wondered if it was all just a sick-induced hallucination. The figures cloaked in night, the galloping, this headache; surely it was all in his mind and he merely tripped and fell from exhaustion. Bothered and bitter, he buttoned his coat and rubbed his bruising head, wondering if anything like this had happened recently, when Chevalier appeared once more in the entryway patiently guiding White Horse back inside.

“You frightened him,” he said when they reached the back stall. 

“Me?” said Licht, forgetting his headache and rising to face the pair. In all the years he’d known him, White Horse proved a stallion who did not know fear. Chevalier selected him to be his trusted steed from among all the foals—even passing up baby Maron and his adorable wobbly knees—because he was the first to fully stand on his own and the quickest to wean off from his mother. As the years passed, he only grew more magnificent and intimidating among his peers, heading fleets into battle like the gleaming helmet of the army. White Horse admitting he was afraid seemed the equivalent of Chevalier admitting defeat.

“Indeed. He was shocked to see you bursting out of the stall like a lunatic,” said Chevalier.

Licht felt his eye twitch, and not from the returning pain. “He’s a war horse. He’s seen far worse than that,” he said.

“True,” said Chevalier, “but you have never appeared before him looking so disheveled.”

A knot swelled in Licht’s throat. Was Maron right? Surely he hadn’t neglected his condition so carelessly that he let his appearance grow abominable enough to scare White Horse of all creatures. Yves, perhaps, but that was exactly why Licht had been avoiding his brother like the plague. 

“You do have some manner of plague,” said Chevalier.

“It’s only allergies,” Licht countered, muffling a cough into his arm.

“Strange how the clown never developed the same.” 

It was only then that Licht noticed Chevalier carried a bag across his shoulders when he pulled something out and tossed it. Licht caught it and looked it over; it was a newly washed towel, like the type soldiers used during training, but the stench it gave off was far more repugnant than even a shirtless, sweaty Prince Jin in the height of July. An earthy smell that lay buried deep in the back of his mind, but Chevalier was not intent on giving him the time to dig it out.

“Clean your face, it is offensive,” he said, then moved past Licht to look in the stall. Maron instantly sobered and stood. “And you, get out.”

“What for?” Licht asked. He held his breath and quickly wiped the sweat and grime from his face.

“This is White Horse’s preferred stall.”

“We were here first.”

“And I asked you first what you were doing here, and you have yet to answer me,” snapped Chevalier. “Our needs supersede yours unless you can prove otherwise.”

Licht and Maron each glared back at him, simmering in place. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have their reasons for choosing that particular stall; Maron enjoyed the bit of extra leg room the corner stall provided while Licht favored it for its distance from the entrance and ease to hide away in. But the other corner stall on the opposite side of the hall provided the same advantages, and Licht and Maron wondered why Chevalier and White Horse couldn’t simply occupy that one.

Normally, Licht would either frame his suggestion of the other corner this way or simply agree to move out to avoid confrontation, but he was ill-feeling courteous tonight after Chevalier banged his head like a boiled egg.

“What’s so special about this one that the others don’t have?” Licht asked. If by now you’re thinking Licht was playing his luck talking back yet again to Chevalier, you’d be right. But ever the megalomaniac (as Prince Clavis would insist), Chevalier acknowledged an informative rebuttal to his authority as a worthy challenge and allowed the conversation to continue for just a little longer.

Chevalier rolled his eyes at this insinuation. “The window,” he responded.

“They all have windows,” said Licht.

“This one provides the best view of town,” said Chevalier, then he huffed. “I grow tired of this chatter. Vacate yourselves before I do it myself.”

Licht was not satisfied, but he knew better than to argue with Chevalier once a discussion was deemed concluded. Though Maron would take some more convincing to leave. They were still midway through grooming and all the tools were laid out and ready after all, but to Licht’s surprise the horse walked out without any prompting, passed Chevalier, and lowered his head to sniff the towel in Licht’s hand.

“Don’t lick that, Maron. It’s dirty,” said Licht, pushing him away. But Maron pressed his nose to the towel and began chewing at its edge. “It’s not food. Stop!” Licht grabbed the other end and pulled and pulled, but Maron’s chomp was firm and refusing to yield.

“Haybrain,” Licht said, tugging harder. “You’d think you were munching on a bunch of—” And then the pain in his head nearly completely vanished as a wave of realization surged through him. Sometimes it takes a little longer for Maron’s messages to reach Licht.

Still maintaining his grip, Licht steadied his stance and asked, “Prince Chevalier, what else is in your bag?”

Chevalier, who had been leading White Horse into the newly emptied stall and therefore took little notice of the tug-of-war behind him, curled his hand around the straps on his shoulder at the sound of his name. “Has your condition also turned you excessively chatty?” he said. “Perhaps some rest will restore your quietude, mime.”

Licht and Maron exchanged a glance across the towel and nodded. “Employ deflection at your own risk. Now!” yelled Licht, and the two charged towards the stall. 

If you have been at all paying attention to this unwieldy tale, you may recall the last time Licht attempted to ambush Chevalier earned him an unsavory bump on both his pride and his forehead, and you are probably wondering what on Earth would lead him to believe a second attempt would fare any better. You may also remember in that little skirmish Licht threw his sword up in the air and have probably been questioning this story for the past few pages about where it landed. Rest assured, these inconsistencies shall be answered in due course. But first we must discuss strategy.

In addition to being a gifted swordsman, Licht was also a budding tactician. And while his brothers agreed his open-fighting battleplans leaned excessively self-destructive, no one could deny Licht’s acumen for sneak attacks. Even Maron trusted Licht on this front, which is why he made sure to match Licht’s speed in their charge even though his trajectory would knock him into White Horse. As soon as Chevalier noticed their approach, he whipped around, grabbed the towel with both hands, and ripped the fabric in midair. 

The force of the rip wobbled the two off guard, and while Maron quickly managed to steady himself to a reasonable halt before colliding with White Horse, Licht surged forward and knocked his side into a pillar separating two adjacent stalls. But before his fall, he made sure to wrap his remaining half of the towel around Chevalier’s wrist and drag the man down with him. The impact of the hit shook the entire building, causing a certain misplaced sword that was previously precariously balanced just above the princes to slip out of its place and fall. Chevalier, still stuck in the hand trap, roughly shoved his and Licht’s bodies out of the line of descent and replaced them with his bag. The bag cushioned the fall and prevented the sword from ricocheting into anyone, but not without sacrificing itself to the cause as the blade cleanly cut through the linen and deposited the contents within. Dozens of bright orange carrots, of different sizes and thicknesses by the bushel, spilled out from the tear and rolled across the stable floor.

This narrator now takes this chance to inform the audience (and Prince Chevalier) that Licht is also very skilled in deflection. And in humility.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do,” Licht offered once the two managed to pry as many carrots as they could away from the hungry horses’ mouths. They piled the saved carrots into the bag and lifted it together to keep them out of the horses’ reach and from spilling again.

“The information I have on your condition is far more significant than a simple carrot heist,” said Chevalier, unperturbed by the turn of events.

It was the truth. Licht nabbed carrots from the kitchens loads of times before, and the response from the cooks never extended beyond an angry rant to the domestic faction office about coordinating supply every few months or so. Jin always claimed it was probably a herd of hungry rabbits sneaking into the kitchens at night, and that was enough to placate the masses. Missing carrots didn’t spell the end of the world, after all. Surely they would treat this incident in the same way. On the other hand, Chevalier still lorded Licht’s illness over his head like a carrot on a stick (which in Licht’s circumstance meant the exact opposite of that saying). Any moment now he could decide to leave the stables and tell Sariel about Licht’s total lack of self-care. Or worse, he could tell Yves.

No, Licht had to gain some leverage over Chevalier right there and now. If only he could figure out why he was there in the first place.

The bag seemed to increase in weight with each passing moment, and the orange poking out from the rip goaded Licht like a heckler in the audience. He shut his eyes and breathed through his mouth to stave them off. Just their presence muddied his mind—why did there have to be so many carrots? 

The best he could do for now was to keep up the deflecting. Even if that meant he had to keep up the talking.

“If White Horse eats this many, he’ll have an upset stomach in the morning,” he said.

“They were not all meant for him, obviously,” Chevalier explained. “When dealing with animals, extra precautions must be taken to guarantee a successful transaction should any anomalies arise.”

Licht pondered over those words. Couldn’t Chevalier ever say what he meant directly? (“No,” said Chevalier.)

“You’re saying you needed hush money—er, food in case other horses saw you two? Were you expecting to wake up the entire herd?” asked Licht.

“Precautions taken for the worst-case scenario naturally account for any hypothetical.”

“Except for my being here, apparently.”

“No, I had accounted for this as well. Though I had expected you to have fled from the vicinity of all these carrots by now.”

The tear gaped slightly as Licht’s hold tensed. Did Chevalier view him as a child who still couldn’t look foods he disliked straight on? Was Chevalier basing his reactions on tests he performed on Nokto, he wondered? He recalled a time years ago when Nokto returned from a diplomatic trip to Benitoite complaining about how their boasting of their recent super successful carrot harvest forced him to cut the trip short. It was the first time in ages Licht felt so strong an urge to console his twin when he heard the news, but what if Chevalier had a different reaction? Something seemed off about it all.

He decided to test his theory. “You’d need a boat-load of carrots to do that. And strand me on a deserted island first,” he said.

“I shall keep that in mind for the next order and charter a vessel from the Jangler,” said Chevalier.

“Nokto already asked us to halt carrot orders to the palace once. Leon told him to submit a lengthy request form with evidence and justifications and we still voted against it, three-to-one. Unfortunately.”

“My word supersedes the clown’s, as well as it does yours.”

“I wasn’t implying otherwise. Only that palace supply orders are under our faction’s scope, not yours,” said Licht. This time the rip tore larger from Chevalier’s end.

Licht really was only speaking fluff at first, but now he felt he was on the verge of uncovering something scandalous.

“In fact, food orders are specifically handled by one of us four princes to prevent showing favoritism to any one noble or grower. And we keep the records of all orders locked in our office,” he continued. “Strange how you were able to run your worst-case scenario calculations when supply was different this month. Was it just a happy coincidence?”

“Enough stalling,” said Chevalier. “Speak your mind directly.”

“Prince Chevalier.” Licht paused and inhaled. “Have you been illicitly influencing the domestic faction’s operations behind the scenes?”

The stables went eerily quiet. Even the horses, who stopped following the conversation ever since the carrots came into view, could tell an intense weight had dropped, and this time Chevalier was on the receiving end. Maron silently cheered for Licht, while White Horse ground his teeth impatiently.

Slowly, purposefully, Chevalier’s mouth widened to a grin. One that simultaneously filled Licht with a sense of victory and unease. “You speak it as though it was a laborious effort, when in truth it does not take much to influence you buffoons. A cursory inspection of your office is proof enough of your dullwittedness, which made it exceedingly simple to send the clown over on his futile carrot prohibition request to peer pressure your lot into establishing a cleaning routine. Even simpler was it to determine which days were Black’s, considering he wakes with an obvious imprint of his couch’s pillow embroidery plastered across his cheek. But simplest of all was slipping the latest edition of Jade’s Renowned Recipes onto the showoff’s desk the morning after one of Black’s cleaning days.” 

The only thing preventing Licht from completely tearing up the bag was the understanding that it would drown him in those awful carrots, and that would only make him more upset. “There’s no way Nokto would agree to that,” he said to release some of the anger. “Your plan ended up with double the order of carrots in the end.”

“I never deigned to have co-conspirators,” said Chevalier.

It didn’t make sense, and yet with Chevalier it could. But it took such precise managing and calculating of everyone’s opinions and behaviors to have carried out so perfectly.

“But… but you still miscalculated,” Licht said in a small voice. “With me.”

“An unfortunate side effect of your seclusiveness. Lack of data points skews the probability of success. But this defect is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things,” said Chevalier, dropping his face to a frown once more. “Very well, we shall agree to never speak of this encounter beyond this night.”

A victory? Against Chevalier? On a mental battlefield? By all accounts, Licht should have been thrilled, even if this arrangement meant no one would ever know of his triumph. But a hollowness still dominated inside, different from the betrayal he felt from Chevalier’s reveal. He looked to Maron for support, and even his horsey smile wasn’t enough to satisfy his troubled thoughts.

“You still admitted political subterfuge, even if this is an admittedly minor instance of it. How can we guarantee you haven’t done it in the past, or won’t do it again?” asked Licht.

“You have my word that I have not nor shall I ever plot such an endeavor again without the knowledge and approval of the eight,” said Chevalier.

That should have sufficed, but Licht shook his head. “I’ll need some collateral to prove your sincerity.”

Chevalier narrowed his eyes. “What do you require?”

“Half your remaining carrots,” he said. “And tell me why you did it.” Maron perked up and licked his lips greedily while White Horse snorted and rushed beside Chevalier.

“White Horse says one-fourth and no more,” said Chevalier.

“Half,” Licht demanded. “Yves never would have put the double order if he wasn’t so intent on baking the carrot cake for me.”

Chevalier and White Horse stared intently at each other. You may have guessed correctly that these two make up another human-horse bonded pair, but unlike Licht and Maron, they mainly communicated through staring contests to determine the other’s thoughts and feelings. To the onlooker it is a curious sight, and Licht and Maron watched the pair mentally debate like statues for several awkward minutes until at last they broke apart.

“Agreed. But tonight you must vacate this stall and share your grooming tools,” said Chevalier.

“Fine, you can use them after we finish our routine,” said Licht, and the princes set out dividing the carrots equally among themselves and leading their respective horses into opposite stalls. Maron happily gobbled up his share before Licht could finish setting his tools up again in the new stall, and White Horse solemnly poked his head out of the window as Chevalier passed him carrots at regular intervals. A complacent tranquility settled in as the sounds of horse munching, hair brushing, and the late night summer breeze whooshed through the stables, calming its occupants and warming their hearts. While these two princes were inclined to introversion, the silent acknowledgement of horse care they shared bonded them on that night closer than they ever knew in the past.

Once the grooming session was completed, Maron shook his head satisfied as Licht patted his neck. Licht packed his tools neatly in their kit and crossed over to the other stall, ready to hear Chevalier’s story, when he saw his brother holding two long strips of ribbon, one bright yellow and the other bright blue, up to White Horse’s pearly mane.

“They’d both look nice on him,” Licht said as he entered the stall. He extracted a fine brush from the kit and began working out the knots in White Horse’s mane.

Chevalier watched intently, holding the ribbons closer so Licht could see. “But which will look nicer?” he asked.

Another ripple of warmth began to swell in Licht's cheeks, but a breeze hadn’t blown in a while. Did Chevalier actually value Licht’s opinion?

“Well, maybe the blue will look better in the daytime and the yellow at night,” Licht replied. Chevalier hmmed and took the ribbons back, tying them into different intricately shaped bows on his fingers. No doubt Yves would find them charming, and a small smile involuntarily crept onto Licht’s face as he pictured the three of them dressing up White Horse in tiny bows. 

What a ridiculous idea! As if Chevalier would ever agree to that! But still, even though Licht always spent time in the stables alone, the thought of inviting others once in a while wasn’t too indigestible. Is this what it was like to share hobbies? Could this be how Licht could cure his—as Chevalier called it—seclusiveness? They could have been friends all along?

The moment seemed right. He decided to shoot his shot. “Yves has lots more ribbon. And lace, too. Maybe we could all make bows for Maron and White Horse someday?”

“Perhaps,” said Chevalier, all ten of his fingers now bound by bows. “Tell me, do you think White Horse is attractive?”

Or maybe they were never meant to be friends after all.

“Er—” Licht stumbled. “He’s a healthy and well-kept stallion. I could ask for nothing more from him.”

“Not to you. A female.”

“Uhm… You could probably ask Nokto to grab a maid’s opinion?”

Chevalier clenched his fists, crushing the tiny bows. “A female horse,” he hissed.

“Oh!” Licht accidentally pulled too hard on a knot. White Horse turned to him and snorted sharply, dousing his face in chewed-up carrot. Yes, that tranquil moment had definitely passed.

Licht quickly unbuttoned his coat and wiped his face with the hem of his shirt. The very next morning, that shirt would be burning in the back of his fireplace. 

“Is White Horse trying to impress a mare?” he asked in an attempt to salvage the conversation. 

“We only agreed I reveal my intention for the carrot theft,” said Chevalier.

“Political subterfuge,” Licht corrected.

“Shall I send you to dreamland instead?” said Chevalier.

“I’ll be sure to ask for the story in the morning then,” said Licht.

Chevalier leaned against the wall and began undoing the bows as he spoke. “Do not interrupt. It began on a trip west last fall. Clavis and I were inspecting numerous citadels along the border, and as luck would have it I received word that the newest volume of a series I was following was set to release the day before our scheduled return to the palace.”

Licht swapped his brush for a flat bristled one and started on White Horse’s neck as he listened. He recalled Chevalier’s trip very clearly. Clavis had made a point to leave behind a timed-trap in his absence. On the morning of the twins’ birthday, hundreds of colorful paper airplanes were released in the roundtable room, each bearing a handwritten message like: “Thinking of you from so far away!” and “Big brother will bring home a bigger gift, just you wait!” and “Say your prayers, Sariel!” Licht occasionally still felt the ghosts of those paper cuts stinging his skin.

Unfazed by Licht’s cringing expression, Chevalier continued. “Despite Clavis’s bemoaning protests, we managed to reach the final location of our tour and complete the inspection with time to spare, albeit at the sacrifice of several nights’ rest. Our fool of a brother was at his wit’s end, but aside from his sanity we arrived back in town with zero casualties. He agreed to retrieve the book before returning to the palace as an excuse to finally be out of my sight, so he broke off from our party as we rode up. And seeing as White Horse knows the way to the gates I saw no imminent danger requiring my remaining alert and allowed myself to rest my eyes.”

Licht tried to remember the exact day of their return and if anything remarkable occurred, but his mind kept coming up with blanks. (He wasn’t allowed to interrupt, but the narrator can. Chevalier said he fell asleep.)

Chevalier finished removing the yellow ribbon from his fingers and crumpled it in his fist. “While resting my eyes, I could still sense the passage of time, and after an appropriate amount of time until when I knew we should have reached the palace had passed I opened them again but found we were in an unfamiliar area I had never visited before. We were near the outskirts of town where the cattle graze. Seventeen houses in total, each unremarkable in size and structure, yet White Horse perched at the fence of the red brick house watching a jet black mare race across the yard. Never before had I seen him so fixated on one task, even when we are in battle. I called his name and pulled his reins but he completely ignored me. I was about alight from his back to admonish him when the woman of the household spotted us from her window, and she let out a piercing scream that would have woken the entire town had it been dark. It was enough to startle White Horse, at any rate. More than seeing you tonight.”

At this, Licht instantly remembered the day. Everyone at the palace heard the scream, and the subsequent chill emanating from Clavis’s smile when he suggested Licht join him to wait by the gates could only be bested by Chevalier’s cold stare. Never before nor since was Licht so grateful for it to be his turn to clean the domestic faction office than on that day. Maron remembered the day because it was the only time Chevalier returned wearing robes stained not in red, but brown. And Chevalier remembered the day because there did not yet exist enough scientific literature in Rhodolite on lobotomy.

Recounting is all well and good, but White Horse preferred matters tending to the future. And while he was used to his master and his soft-spoken brother’s tendencies towards silence, this silence stretching on in their conversation soon bored the stallion. When at last it became too much to bear, White Horse sucked in breath through his teeth, pressed his nose against Chevalier’s head, and released a mighty sneeze that nearly shook the princes off balance. From across the hall, Maron whinnied at White Horse in disapproval, and Licht quickly steadied himself then began patting the horse’s white neck. This served two purposes: calming White Horse’s fury, and giving Licht an excuse to turn away as Chevalier picked globules of horse mucus out of his hair.

It seemed acceptable for Licht to speak now. “So White Horse likes Verona?”

“Who?” Chevalier raked the last of the snot out with the blue ribbon and tossed it onto the remains of the ripped bag.

“The mare. That’s her name,” said Licht.

“Don’t be ridiculous, they have never once interacted for White Horse to develop any feelings of ‘liking’.”

“Fine. He fancies her.”

“Such a useless emotion. Enough of it to lose his head at the screams of her owner,” scoffed Chevalier.

“He’s alright though, isn’t he?” said Licht.

“Only because I had the sense to steady us in time,” said Chevalier. What he conveniently neglected to mention was how after steadying White Horse, the woman raced out of the house waving a broomstick in the air because she didn’t recognize the Second Prince and assumed he was there to horsenap Verona. Before Chevalier could diffuse the situation, White Horse jumped at her advance and fell backwards, landing both himself and his rider in a puddle of mud. Prince Clavis was the only person standing at the gates to witness their soiled return, and he keeps the memory fresh in his mind for days when he feels blue. But there was no reason for Licht to know about it, so Chevalier said, “I have upheld my end of the deal. Pass me a brush.”

“But you didn’t explain the carrots,” said Licht. 

“Do not ask for a story if you are too bleary-eyed to follow along,” said Chevalier. He swiped the brush out of Licht’s hand and began grooming White Horse’s other side. White Horse neighed softly and went back to staring longingly out of the window. 

Rays of false dawn shone from the horizon, layering the first brush stroke of saturation on town. Licht followed White Horse’s gaze out the window towards the pasty colors of the pasture in the distance, just as the signs of a red house came into view.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion truly catching up to him, but Licht didn’t notice Maron trotting up to him until he felt his warm muzzle pressed against the small of his back. Even without facing him, he knew what Maron wanted to say.

“Maron’s friends with Verona,” said Licht. “We visit the horses there every month for a stretch. We could introduce White Horse next time we go, if you want.”

Perhaps the exhaustion caught up to Chevalier as well, because the small part of him that planned to find Licht in the stables tonight tingled with vindication. “What do you require?” he asked.

“I don’t need anything,” said Licht.

“And I do not desire to remain in your debt. Name your price,” said Chevalier.

It is a curious state to find oneself able to demand anything from Prince Chevalier. I can think of several princes who would jump at the opportunity and ask from him all manner of favors. But Licht was a simple secluded sword master equine enthusiast who when asked what he wanted most in the world would probably reply with the most seemingly mundane thing. And yet, it would still make him smile.

“Help me get rid of this cough. That way I can help disrupt the carrot supply chain next time.”

I once wrote a fic in the past when I thought Maron was a mare. If anyone else mistakenly thought he was a lady horse because of that fic, I take full responsibility, that's my bad.

With this fic I tried out a new narrative style. It was out of my comfort zone, but a fun experiment. If anyone has any constructive feedback about it (positive or negative, I want to learn) feel free to leave a comment or an ask. Did it engage you more in the story, did it slow it down, did it make you laugh, did it bore you... whatever you feel like sharing :) Otherwise, thanks for reading.

[ereardon]

That Summer || Part Six [Bradley Bradshaw x Reader]

A Bradley Bradshaw AU

Synopsis: One night during the summer you turned eighteen, you woke up to a surprise. Your father, a retired Navy Admiral, had posted bail for the son of a former colleague who was now orphaned and had gotten himself mixed up with the law. Instead of letting him get lost in the judicial system, your father signed himself up as Bradley Bradshaw’s guardian to prevent him from going to juvie. You were explicitly told to stay away from the boy in the attic room. But as the summer went on, you and Bradley struck up an unlikely friendship that turned into a forbidden relationship. Bradley tipped your world upside down, challenging everything you had once thought you knew. How could the two of you think it would end any differently than it did when your father called the cops the night he found the two of you in bed together?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, angst, deceased parents

Chapter summary: Y/N convinces her dad to let Bradley be her date to the debutante ball — with the caveat that her mother approves also; Louise the maid spots Y/N and Bradley in a suggestive position; Bradley reveals he's known about Y/N longer than she realizes

Wordcount: 1.8K

Series masterlist here; Part Five here

Bradley had heard about you growing up. His parents and your parents had been close when Goose was still alive. His mother had rattled on about you as a baby for years, saying how good you were, how quiet, how small and adorable. She had joked that you were destined to be Bradley’s future wife, that she and your mother had even once thrown a fake wedding when the two of you were only infants. 

It was years before Bradley heard the truth. That his mother and your father had dated before his parents were married. That they had kept it a secret and when your mother found out she stopped speaking to the Bradshaws. That something else had happened, but Carole wouldn’t divulge. That she and your father kept in contact, in secret, until she died. 

Bradley knew about you his entire life. You hadn’t heard about him until he was standing on your doorstep, with nowhere to go and no one in his corner. You hadn’t known that the man your mother had once wanted you to marry was the same one who slept in the tower room night after night, only a few hundred feet away. 

You had no idea the history that your two families held. 

Or how bitter the rivalry was. And it had only just begun.

***

“Pumpkin.” Your dad’s voice floated out of his study and you turned with a smile. “How about you and I get dinner tonight, just us?” 

You frowned. “What about mom and Bradley?” 

“Your mother has a Junior League function tonight,” he said. “And I’ve already asked Louise to cook something up for Bradley in our absence.” 

“OK,” you said, unsure. “What should I wear?” 

“Let’s do The Steakhouse,” he said. “Leave here at seven.” 

You nodded, closing the door behind you and disappearing down the hall. The house was empty, with your mother out and your father tucked away in his study. 

From the kitchen, you could see Bradley standing on the edge of the deck, looking out at the water. You slid open the door, joining him at the wooden railing. 

“Hi.” 

Bradley turned to you and it was like he hadn’t even noticed you were approaching. He smiled softly. “Hi back.” 

“So my father wants to get dinner tonight,” you said. “Just the two of us. That can’t be good.” 

“Why not?” 

“He has an ulterior motive,” you replied. “Always does.” 

“Maybe he’s just trying to be your dad. No games.” 

You frowned. “Games are all the Sullivans know how to do.” 

Bradley was quiet for a moment. Then, “I know he’s not perfect, but I think he’s a good guy overall. He took me in, he didn’t have to do that. And he’s your dad. Be thankful you have someone in your life to watch over you.” 

Guilt flooded every crevice of your body. You stretched out one hand, letting your pinky rest on top of Bradley’s. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “That was dumb of me. You’re right, I’m lucky to have him. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“It’s OK,” Bradley said. “I just miss my dad, even if I didn’t really know him.” 

“He knew you,” you said. “And your mom sounds like she was lovely.” 

“She was.” He nodded. “Listen, about tonight.” 

“What about tonight?” 

“Maybe we should back off,” he whispered. “I don’t want there to be any suspicion.” He didn't say what you were both thinking. What if you got caught? 

“No,” you said and it came out louder than you expected. Bradley turned to you. “I mean, we’re not raising any suspicion.” You sighed. “Please?” It came out as a beg. You needed Bradley. It wasn’t about sex, although the thought of having sex with Bradley had been on your mind constantly, ever since you had tasted him on your tongue and heard those delicious moans fall from his mouth. A part of you needed Bradley the way you needed air. He was part of your routine. He was critical to how you functioned. He was a piece of you, embedded so deep that you weren't sure you'd ever be able to remove him from your life. “I need you,” you confessed. 

“OK,” Bradley said and it came out wary, cautious. “I’ll see you after dinner.” 

You pulled your hand away. “See you tonight.” 

And then you were retreating back into the house, scrambling up the stairs to your bedroom. 

Neither of you saw Louise, the maid, standing at the kitchen window, her eyes trained on the two of you standing on the deck. 

***

You pushed around a piece of asparagus on your plate as your father tipped wine into his glass. He held out the bottle. “More?” 

You shook your head. The one glass of pinot noir had gone to your head. Despite the fact that you were seventeen — eighteen in a few weeks — no one batted an eye at your father ordering a bottle of wine for you two to split. He had a sort of silent power in town. He was formidable. He was daunting. You reached for a popover from the basket instead. “No thank you.” 

“Your mother asked me to talk to you again about this whole debutant thing,” he said, swirling his glass before setting it down on the cloth-covered table. 

You groaned. “What about it?” 

“She needs you to pick an escort or she’s going to have a breakdown.” 

He was joking, you both knew that. But not by much. Your mother had become so much more uptight since moving back to Texas. You sighed. “Well, I did pick someone.” 

“Really? Who?” 

“I want to take Bradley as my escort.” 

Your father looked like he was about to choke on his wine. The waiter passed at that very moment, concern written across his face. “Admiral Sullivan? Are you alright?” 

He choked out a convincing nod. “I’m fine, son, thank you.” He turned to you once the waiter retreated. “What did you just say?” 

You leaned over and pressed one hand against his tanned one where it sat on the table. “Daddy. Don’t be upset. You told me to be friendly.” 

He grimaced. “I said be cordial, Y/N, not to make him your best friend.” 

“I think it would reflect well on us,” you added. 

“How so?” 

“Taking in someone less fortunate? That just screams good neighbor, does it not?” 

He patted his mouth with a white napkin, leaving a speck of burgundy on the cloth. “You’ve been spending too much time with your mother and her friends if all you do is think about optics, Y/N.” 

“Isn’t that what a good Texas girl does, Daddy?” you asked, sitting back in your chair. “Isn’t that how y’all raised me?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “What has gotten into you?” 

“Maybe I’m tired of being mama’s pawn,” you whispered hotly. “I’m doing the debutante ball because you two want me to. So let me take Bradley. Let me at least enjoy a minute of that night and please, God, don’t force me to spend the evening with the son of some boring developer just so it’ll go in the society pages and mama can hang it on the fridge.” 

Your father locked his eyes on yours. You wanted to squirm, your natural reaction. But instead you remained steady. Calm. It was time you stood up to him, to the expectations that had been weighing on your shoulders for years. 

The two of you looked at each other as the restaurant swirled with activity around you. 

Finally, your father put his steak knife down with a loud clatter. You resisted the urge to jump. “Fine,” he said and your heart started to dance. “But you have to run it past your mother.” 

As if you would get off easy. You frowned. “Daddy,” you whispered, “you know she won’t listen to me. Can’t you talk to her?” 

His face softened. He was a lot of things, and hard was one of them. But with you, he wasn’t. With you, he wasn’t always the boss in charge, running the show. He got to show flaws, cracks. He got to be human. He nodded slowly. “Fine, I’ll talk to her. But no guarantees.” 

You squealed quietly, jumping out of your chair and tossing your arms around your father’s neck. He chuckled, hand patting your forearm. “Thank you, Daddy.” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said as you returned to your seat. 

You nodded. Both of you knew who really was in charge. And she was ten miles away, eating salmon puffs at a Junior League dinner party, blissfully unaware of the upset you were going to cause. 

***

Bradley didn’t even look surprised when you inched open the door that night, sliding into bed next to him wearing only a silky camisole and matching shorts. 

You reached over and skimmed one hand along his bare abdomen. He tipped his head to the side. “How was dinner?” 

You smiled. “Successful.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

Nodding, you added, “I told Daddy I want you to be my escort.” 

Bradley sat up in bed. “Did you tell him about us?” His voice was panicked, pinched even. 

You sat up, crossing your legs. “No, of course not. I just said he asked me to be friendly. And that it would look good, from the outside looking in.” 

He frowned. “Is that what I am to you, Birdy? A pawn in some societal game?” 

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “No! Of course not. Bradley, you know how I feel about you. How could you think that?” 

“Why do you want me, Y/N?” he asked quietly. “I can’t give you anything. What good am I to you?” 

“Who says you have to be able to give me anything more than your time and attention to be someone worth loving?” 

Bradley’s brown eyes widened under the stream of moonlight from the window. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he whispered. 

“I’m saying that I’m falling for you, Bradley Bradshaw,” you murmured. “It doesn’t matter that you don’t have a single dollar or that you’re not going to some fancy school in the fall or that you and I aren’t really supposed to be seen together. What matters is that I know you.” You reached out and pressed a hand to his bare chest, over his heart. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and you could feel the faint beating of his heart. “I know you’re the kind of man I want to be with. I know that I’m never going to forget you. I know that you’ve changed me, in just a matter of weeks. I know that nothing is ever going to be the same, from here on out.” 

He was quiet for a moment. You started to pull away your hand, but Bradley grabbed it, pulling it gently until you were cupping his face. He leaned into your touch, his fingertips shifting down along your forearm, and his eyes fluttered closed. When he opened them, you saw a sparkle of tears. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you,” he whispered. 

Bradley gathered you into his arms until you were sitting on his lap, your legs wound around his waist, one of his hands tight across your back, the other buried in your hair as he pressed his lips to yours. 

You belonged to each other. A part of you would always belong to Bradley Bradshaw. 

Tag list (or turn on notifications for my library page @ereardon):

@double-j @topguncultleader @hangmandruigandmav @blue-aconite @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @seresinhangmanjake @babyminghao @crthurston @shanimallina87

@angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @wkndwlff @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @xoxabs88xox @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @teacupsandtopgun

@rosewritesitout @atarmychick007 @khaylin27 @wittywhispers @wildlyobserving @eyesthatroll @localhockeygirl @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @teacupsandtopgun @sexytholland @djs8891 @rxmtoon @cactajuice @purplevortexx @dempy @lemur46 @louie-bug @arson-tm @valkyrja-siren-blog @avengers-fixation @fudge13 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @not-two-shrimp @abaker74 @evans-dejong

@eli2447 @ducks118 @cherrycola27 @leigh70 @hotellnights

@babyminghao @taytaylala12 @bradshawseresinbabe @theweekndhistorybook @mandylove1000

[buckybarnesss]

Thinking about the fact that Derek never got to talk about Paige even though the narrative very much gave us the impression he would talk about it. With Stiles.

Sometimes I think this show was too afraid of the implications of their own subtext to follow through with anything substantial.

listen it chaps my ass that derek never got to talk about paige and what happened. to me it's on par with how derek never gets to talk about laura. he just barely gets to talk about his mother.

claudia stilisnki and allison argent are the two characters who get the most narrative recognition despite death.

while visionary makes it pretty clear that peter isn't telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth a lot of fandom takes his word for it. for some reason. despite peter's proven track record of manipulation of the truth for his own ends.

peter telling stiles and cora the story about paige (and it was a story) and the way he told it was a clear tactic to undermine their faith and trust in derek. trying to associate blue eyes with killing an innocent is so transparent. especially when season 3 and season 5 make it clear that's not how it fucking works.

if derek and stiles actually got to talk about pretty much anything it would've proven too powerful and proven just how much these two silly gooses care about each other.

stiles was almost in tears about the whole thing. stiles is the only character we can reasonable prove that knows and understands how paige's death led to the hale the fire. like it's very sad what happened to paige but i think stile's reaction to it is more than that. he's seeing the connections and he's hurting for derek.

jeff davis's true feelings on sterek are something of a mystery to me. he wrote 41/100 episodes including visionary. hell he wrote the entire latter half of season 3a and a majority of season 3b. he wasn't and isn't unaware of his subtext because he largely is the one who put it there. i think what happened with the downplaying of the derek and stiles relationship was a combination of factors and not all of them in jeff davis's control. he committed a lot of mistakes as a show runner but even he had people he was beholden to.