#war horse fanfic

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain, Chapter One

Fandom: War Horse

Pairing: Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader

Summary: It is 1912. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise

Warnings: A horse ALMOST gets shot but lives. Landlords being landlords. Period Typical Attitudes. But very fluffy with cottagecore vibes and a meet-cute with the captain.

A/N: You can decide if you want to be a member of the family by birth or adoption. I try to make Reader fics as neutral in appearance as I humanly can. I hope you like this! It won't get too super sad or angsty and will have a very happy ending- so enjoy! Comments, asks, reblogs, and messages about my works are always appreciated!

“If the rent’s not paid by October, the farm is foreclosed. And I take the horse, too!” the Landlord had threatened in your kitchen, finishing his tea.

Gritting your teeth, you let your arms fall to the sides. Your mum cleared his cup and saucer. Then she met you where you stood, a frown on her face. You tried to slip your hand in hers. Your younger brother, Albert, was slowly heaving beneath his flannel shirt and overalls.  And your dad only sat at the table, his fingers twitching to get the flask you knew was in his pocket. But even his white whiskers couldn’t hide his own frown.

Those words made stiff and haunted you- all of you.  Just as the Bible verses in embroidery decorated about the house, those words were about you. Staring at you.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

You decided to get a job as a shop girl in the town nearby. Dad and Albert had to work the fields constantly. Too much to mend and do for any other occupation. Mum ran the house with an iron fist. She’d say she’d have to stay at home. She’d say the place needed at least one woman. Not two, you noted-one. You were available. You could do it.

The day you announced you got the job, and that the paychecks would help go to rent, your mum wiped happy tears.  She kissed you.

“All of it’s going to the rent,” you promised her.

“No-keep a little!” she shook her dark head. Strands kept falling form her bun- she was an active woman, always thinking, always working. Even her own hair would not stay still.

“No- all! We all need it!” you refused.

It would be a sacrifice. But a sacrifice that would keep a roof over your heads. Hopefully.

“Whatever you pick- it’s your choice. I’m proud of you, my girl. All of us are…” she said before sweeping you into a hug.

After all, It was what you could do to bring money in. To keep that word from ringing in your head.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

That was the word that motivated you to get up from bed in the morning. You shivered from the chill in your little room. Not that you were unused to getting up early. You lived with your family on a farm after all.

Besides, you loved the farm you lived on. It was a beautiful place. You and your family stayed in a stone house, two stories, thatched with a roof. The rolling green and brown hills could be seen from your bedroom window. You loved watching the sun rise and shine past your lacy white curtains. Stone gates trailed all over the place separating the gardens, shed, laundry area, crop fields, chicken coop, and backyard.

And there was no shame in being farmers, as dad would say. Farmers kept the country going and would for all eternity.

 As you looked up, the morning was shining pink. Peeking down, you could see Dad and Albert, going about distributing hay and making sure the animals were fed. Dad had some hay while Albert was filling his bucket with oats.

After washing yourself with a cloth and hot water, you dressed into socks, corset, shoes, petticoats, skirt, and blouse. You double checked to make sure there were no mud stains on your checked, white and blue blouse and blue skirt. You had to look presentable.

That morning, you sat at the table. Mum ate fast and ran off to begin a mountain of laundry. You were eating breakfast and drinking coffee from a beautiful porcelain cup with a painted flower on it.  Enjoying a moment of peace before your shift began.  There was the sonatas of birds and the rooster outside of a country morning. Accompanied by the clucking of chickens that wandered about the stone pathways on the grass. Albert walked in from outside, wiping off his hands on his pants.

“Y/N! Morning” he cheered. Already his cheeks were ruddy from the exercise and air.

“Albie! Good morning! How’s all the creatures?” you asked.

“All well-all well. Wish us luck- gonna start training Joey today! Gonna put the plow on him. If anyone can, it’s me!” he announced.

He sat down, slabbed a slice of bread with butter, and stuffed it in his face.

It was always dark inside the house. The stone blocked the sunlight except for the windows. Pots were on the ceiling over your head. Your embroidery was decorated over the walls. Over the crackling fireplace was a bookshelf with a book and a tiny clock. You kept peeking at it to make sure you weren’t going to be late for the nine am shift. fireplace. Little potted plants and flowers sat everywhere- inside the house on tables and counters and outside on windowsills. You and mum did you best to make sure the place was cozy. Pretty even. She taught you how to garden and put flowers into little clay pots. You both spent that early spring down on your skirts. Patting the dark dirt over the seeds and watering them.

Albert went to the corner of the kitchen section of the room. On the counter, right before the window overlooking the garden, was a bowl of fresh fruit. He grabbed an apple, shined it on his vest, and bit into it. Then he peeked outside and gasped.

“Y/N-come! Look at the garden! Your flowers!” he cried.

It was a lovely spring day. Looking about, you were glad to see the crocuses you had planted were in bloom. So much beauty even amidst the great stress. You kept only ten percent of the wages and decided to use it on crocus seeds to put in the flower section of the garden. Now it was speckled with the pretty flowers across the grass, nearby the carrots and tomatoes.  

Albert pointed to the window. You got up and your eyes followed his finger.

A little brown rabbit was in the flower garden. It went to one blossom and was chewing away.

“Hmm, should we stop him?” you teased.

Albert shook his brown head. Part of you predicted he would answer this- bless Albert! His soft heart for animals was his best quality!

“No! Don’t!” he cried.

“Well good thing I agree! He looks quite content- cute little fellow!” you commented.

Looking more carefully, it was quite small. Perhaps still a baby. Both you and Albert paused to admire the adorable intruder.

“What should we name should we give him?” you asked.

The rabbit finished the bloom of one crocus. It then hopped forward and began chewing on another. His miniscule mouth nibbling on the leaf of the stem.

“His name should be Peter- just like the old stories!” Albert decided.

“That’s a wonderful name! You always have the best names for the animals, Albie! But… if it’s a girl?” you pointed out.

“Then let’s call her after one of the sisters- let’s call her Mopsy!” Albert said.

“Good idea! That fits the theme!” you laughed in agreement.

Besides,  you were glad the rabbit ate the flowers. Glad it wasn’t one of the crops that would serve as both income and supper. Mum would have had a fit. Dad might have shot it for lunch.

But both of you smiled as you watched the creature breakfast along with the two of you. The little bunny finished his stolen meal and hopped off. It easily squeezed through the wooden gate and escaped.

“I should plant more- give it a whole salad bowl!” you suggested.

“I wouldn’t complain if you did- invite all the rabbit sisters and the mum too!” Albert added on.

It was a lovely day. The air was cool, the sun was out, the sky was blue, and the field was green. All this beauty even amidst such fear. Such stress. Some even whispered of a war. Didn’t the landlord say something about a war? No, that was too much. That must have been your imagination.

“Don’t be late- Y/N! Good luck! Maybe this might be the day you meet a handsome stranger at work!” Albert teased, he wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, the only strangers I meet nowadays are customers! And the men aren’t handsome-I’ll tell you that! And Albie-does he like carrots?”

He nodded, handing you a leftover carrot.

“One tip- offer it to him by turning backwards!” he added.

“Put it in my basket-I’ll see you later,” you said.  

After putting a carrot into your lunch basket, Albert returned to the table. He scooped up more of breakfast and ate a second helping. As you walked out to the stone pathway through the ground, there was a sudden honk from below.

The proud goose, more intent on making mischief than productivity, strutted your way. He blocked your path. He raised his head and flapped your wings as if he was the king of England. He ran- flipper before your feet.

“Oh, please! Let me through! Shoo!” you scolded.

He had to chase anyone and everyone on the farm. And that didn’t stop at the residents. Last week, he charged the landlord and his posse as they left. They fled to their motorcar like he was a giant bull and not a little goose. Both you and Albert tightened your lips at the sight and then laughed about it later.

You, however, were used to Goose’s antics. No other name fit him, according to Albert. He was what he was-Goose. You let him take his beak to nip a bit of your skirt and shake it with his flexible, goosey neck. Then you gave a light tug, and he relented and released. He then flapped his wings again around you. He began honking out again as if urging you to work.

“I have five minutes before I need to get walking! But I’m going to say goodbye to Joey first!” you replied to the gander.

As you made your path to the backyard you heard him honk behind you. Intent on nipping more of your petticoats per his own Goose ritual. But as you got closer, there was the sound of a whinny and the clutter of hooves in the back yard.  The goose gave a goodbye honk in surprise and eyeing the much bigger creature in the backyard, fled.

It was the newest addition. Joey. A beautiful young colt. On his way to growing into a magnificent stallion.  Joey was brown as a rich tree trunk with the white diamond on his snout. Every time you went out to see the young horse, he would neigh loudly and break into a run. It made you back off every time, your hands up as if to calm him. Throughout the day, you and your parents often had to jump back to avoid getting run over as Joey dashed through the yard. Albert insisted he was spirited, but good.

Joey was an Irish Hunter- not the usual breed for farms. Your dad noticed his strength and energy at an auction and bought it, claiming he would become a  plow horse. And how did he buy it? With Rent money. And Joey by now had become the apple of Albert’s eye. The house was at stake based on if Joey could be trained to plow. That is if your own shopgirl wages could not save the farm from foreclosure.

  Dad tried to put a plough over Joey and the horse bucked away. You cried when Dad got his gun to kill the beautiful animal. You, Mum, and Albert all yelled at him to keep him from shooting it that day. You tried to physically hold him back by hugging him, tugging the trigger out of target. Mum let out a scream when Albert got between. Thankfully, he gave in when Albert announced he would train the horse. He was the one Joey would listen to the most.

It cheered you to see Joey alive this morning. Galloping about freely. You knew how happy he made Albert. You wondered if such a wild, free creature would even shine to you. From your basket, you got out the carrot. You leaned your arm over the gate and clicked your tongue to get his attention.

“Here, Joey…how about a treat?” you offered.

Joey clopped forward.

“Here, Joey, come on! Come on, love!” you urged.

He went, but then backed off, shaking his head and long, black mane with a brush of his lips. You let out a sigh. Then you turned around, leaning your hand backward.

“Come on, Joey- you’re going to learn to plow today. You’ll need a little extra strength! I’m not dad-I’m your friend!” you urged.

If you made no sudden movements, it wouldn’t scare him to raise his front hooves and kick your head You heard his feet trotting close to you. Then you felt his wet mouth open and accept the carrot. As you turned around to see him eat it, you smiled.

“Oh-you took it for once!  Good boy! Good boy! And keep being a good boy today- I got to work today… and so do you. But between us, we can help keep the farm afloat- can we?” you wondered out loud.

The horse blinked in response. To think there was something in common you shared with the colt. You gently reached out a hand, and he let you pet his nuzzle.

“See-even letting me pet you for once! Every day you’re improving! You better do what Albert says-I’ll see you later, goodbye Joey!” you wished.

As you walked up the tiny slope to leave, you picked up your petticoat and tiptoed around the mud. You had to look as presentable as you could for a farm girl. Opening the wooden gate, you made your way to town.

You walked down into town, keeping to the sidewalks away from the motorcars. People busied about you, ready to begin their own jobs. You walked right to the shop. Even before opening there were already customers waiting to buy things just outside. Their noses touched the front windows. You went inside to the counter, tied an apron around your skirt, and switched the sign on the window to “OPEN.”

So began another day. Today, you made sure there were catalogues displaying a new selection of dresses for women. It was hard not to drool over them from the corner of your eye. Not to envy the daughters of lords of the land who had the surplus allowances to order them here. You sometimes saw them enter the shop with their maids by their sides.

How you wished you could be a lady! They couldn’t come from a farming family. And even more importantly, they didn’t work. You heard all about them. How you daydreamed about it night and day.

You could live in a giant manor house. You’d have a maid to do your hair and drape you in dresses and pretty jewels. So would mum! And how handsome both dad and Albert would look in tuxedoes at dinner! Mum would have to present you at court. You would come out and get to briefly meet the king and queen themselves! Then you’d go to fancy balls. There would be handsome suitors who would wait in lines outside your door to kiss your gloved hand with their unworthy lips. You would have no concerns except for which pair of gloves to wear. And which eligible bachelor to marry. Then he’d ask for your hand and there would be a giant wedding full of pomp and splendor. Then you’d move into another manor and eat breakfast in bed every day! You would relax and not have to do a minute of work!

Perhaps…you would meet someone if you moved out…or if by a miracle, you got a scholarship to a university or lived in another town, far from Devon…

You knew you did not have enough to move out on your own. Besides, even if you did- how could you? How could you abandon your family when they needed you? When they needed help? Especially since dad had a weakness for wasting money on booze until he drunkenly stumbled to bed in the wee morning hours. The landlord would sigh and remind all of you he ran a business, not a charity. Every time.

But sadly, you had to go back to reality.  You could only fantasize in catalogues and magazines showing off the latest overpriced fashions from London. You did grab an issue to look at during your minutes off. You went down for the post-lunch break. You began to sip on tea, look at the catalogue, and rest your weary feet from hours of standing.

But after you returned the shopkeeper, Mrs. Snow, went up to you in a hurry. And the shop was filled with eager people eyeing all the half-off sales.

“Oh, Miss Narracott! Look what I found!” she cried.

She brought forth a little black book.

“A gentleman was just here-I saw him with it! He placed it down on the table and left without it! He should be right outside- And it’s so busy now- could you please run off and get it to him?” she instructed.

“How will I know it’s him?” you asked.

“You’ll see him in a uniform- like a sore thumb! Please return it to him!” she pleaded.

“What kind of uniform?” you asked.

Immediately, a lady was at the counter with five spools of ribbons. She was frowning and tapping her gloved hand on the wooden surface.

“Just go! Go, girl!” Mrs. Snow urged. She pushed the book into your hands.

You nodded and hurried outside. But you looked around and noticed the people outside. Bowler hats and blouses blended in around you. None of the men seemed concerned about anything. They only got out the pocket watches from their waistcoats to check the time.  

What uniform- a university uniform? A police officer uniform? A chef’s uniform, even? You saw none of those as you looked about.

Curiosity hit you- what was in this book? Maybe he would return. And you could steal a little bit of time to rest your mind from work again.

The book was thin, so it couldn’t be a novel. Perhaps it was a short story? A photo album?

You opened it and saw a pencil drawing of a woman at a piano-it was a sketchbook. But her hair, her dress, and the doily over the instrument was perfection in its attention to detail.

They were some of the most realistic drawings you had ever seen. You flipped past one to find another more beautiful than the last. You saw one of a willow tree- it was as if the tree the were drawn merely shrunk in size. When you saw an old man’s face, each wrinkled line was as if he jumped into the drawing or was in frtont of you. They were nearly perfect. Why weren’t these already in a museum?  You flipped another page-the most impressive of all. It was the drawing of a large stallion,  colored to be a rich black. He was on his back hooves, raising his might front legs into the air.  He was like a mythological beast rather than some common horse. And at the bottom, was some writing.

“TOPTHORN- CPN J. N.”

You were so invested in admiring it, a baritone voice had to break you out.

“Excuse me miss-“

Jumping at the sound, your head went up.

You saw a gentleman. A tall gentleman. And yes- an astonishingly handsome gentleman. He took off his hat, perhaps to show respect in the presence of a lady. His eyes were absolutely piercing in their blueness, as if he could see right through you to your guts. But they were soft, like two sapphires on his lovely ivory face. He had a uniform on- a soldier’s uniform.

“Miss…what is your name?” he asked.

“Y/N Naracott. And you are?” you replied.

“Nicholls. Captain James Nicholls.” He answered.

“Is the sketchbook yours? Left in that shop?” you asked, holding up the book.

“Yes, it is,” he answered.

“I’m so sorry- I work for the shop and was intent on returning it. But I got curious and peeked inside,” you blurted.

With his gaze on you, you felt warm. Suddenly aware of every bit of your appearance and movements. It was everything in your to not go into a giddy panic and flee from bashfulness. You forced your feet still.

“Don’t be, you did nothing wrong…” he said.

Turning to the page with the black horse, you lightly traced it’s outline.

 “The drawings they’re…they’re beautiful! Was it a gift?” you questioned.

“It’s mine. My drawings…” he explained.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I should have guessed!” you babbled out.

“No, don’t be at all!” he replied. He grinned at you.

Smoothing your skirt, tucking in the blouse, you felt the wind knock out of you at his smile.

“I just thought they were…they were beautiful! My favorite’s the horse here! Horses are so hard to draw- but the way you got his shape, his legs, his body-he’s so lifelike! I thought a real artist must have them- not a soldier!” you added on.

“That’s Topthorn. He’s my Major’s horse. An impressive beast- I had to capture him,” he explained.

He took a step closer. Goodness, the uniform really did make him even more attractive! It made you dizzy. Your mouth moved faster than your brain.

“You should meet my brother. He’d love the horse drawing. We have a new horse and he’s obsessed with-“

 The same lady walked out with a bag of her purchased ribbons from the corner of your eye. It shut you up. Captain Nicholl’s turned to glance at her, and then back at you.

“I don’t wish to keep you from working, Miss Narracott, here- I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

It was not a very long distance at all. But you were grateful. There were worse things than being accompanied by a pleasant, gallant, handsome young captain.

“Are you new in town?” you asked him at the door.

“Just stationed. Staying here for the moment.” he explained.

“Then, welcome to Devon! I hope you like it,’ you greeted.

He nodded his head. He opened the door for you to walk inside.

“I already do,” he replied.

There was a whistle. Captain Nicholls turned his head to the outside. There was another group of men in army uniform nearby. One tall gentleman with a mustache called out.

“Hey! Jim! Stop flirting with the girl and get back!”

You flinched and saw his cheeks turn a little pink. You dipped your head down. Would that phrase cause a scandal- even a small one? On one hand, flirting was completely discouraged between men and women. There was no flirting until you were engaged. Then one could be absolutely sure a gentleman had pure intentions. You could be sure a gentleman wasn’t a skirt chaser and seducer.

But on the other hand- you both weren’t a duke and debutante at a ball. Just two village people having a chat. And flirting…maybe…maybe he did already…notice you…liked you…

“Well, I’ll see you around, Captain,” you said.

“And I you, Miss Narracott. Thank you again for returning the book,” he replied.

He dipped his head, put his hat back on, and left.

“Bless you, girl! Took you ages to find him! But you did! Now- it’s time to get back!” Mrs. Snow urged from the shop counter.

The busy crowd kept you on your feet, but you felt ready. The hours flew until closing. You could deal with even the most demanding customers with a smile on your face. As you flipped the sign to close and returned home, you found yourself looking forward to tomorrow.  Besides, maybe the new captain might return for a visit.  

[xxvalkyriesxx]

But hear me out:

Nesta is a decorated equestrian, one of the best in the world. She's on top of her game, going to international events and even making the Olympic team earning medals and bringing pride for her country. Being sponsored and making content. Becoming the IT girl in equestrian.

Until she's not.

A major accident happens at a competition, where Nesta is rushed to the hospital waking up nearly a week later to find out her horse didn't survive the fall. Her glimmer of hope dissolves. Spiraling into depression as she drinks, goes to rehab, rinse and repeat.

Her sisters are all that she has left in this world and watch this unfold until they couldn't anymore. Feyre needs to save her big sister before she loses Nesta for good.

In comes the big guns.

Nesta was charged for public intoxication with a possible sentencing but luckily enough her lawyer was able to snag her a better deal. She must complete over 350 hours of community service and the judge so happens to send Nesta to the House of Wind, a non-profit horse ranch offering therapeutic programs for adults.

And the owner of the ranch? Cassian Valyrian. A decorated war hero who has put all of his energy into helping others has met his match as Nesta Archeon is ordered to stay with him until her probation is lifted.

[itstokkii]

I've been thinking about how someone recently called the cold war "a war of edging" and its like. why is this still a sentiment across rusame spaces on tumblr. frankly I don't care if it was a joke because it's ill-intentioned at best and blatantly disrespectful at worst.

(here's the part where I emphasize that I'm not telling you not to ship rusame. i'm saying that BEFORE you make statements like this and gloss over the warcrimes of the us and russia at the time, think about the people who suffered at their hands at the very least, and write about them responsibly.)

families weren't forced apart and jejuans weren't massacred in korea for you to call it "a war of edging."

uzbek muslims weren't tortured and arbitrarily arrested for you to call it "a war of edging."

people in vietnam weren't killed by napalm and massacred regularly by us soldiers for you to call it that.

kindly shut up. i'm exhausted from having to regularly tell this fandom, especially the rusame shippers, that the cold war was in fact a real thing that happened between Imperialist 1 and Imperialist 2 and destroyed culture, families, and whole people from the global south and not something that solely exists in your spicy fanfics.

because you're so disconnected from the global south that you simply factor them out of your head in conversations about the cold war.

[averagecontentenjoyer121]

This is the first chapter of my take on the Epic Musical story :D The main idea of a banished Athena story being inspired by Coqeuxari.

I hope whoever reads this enjoys it as this is really the first narrative writing I’ve done for myself, so I can put all my writing effort into it.

Feel free to talk about in the comments whether you liked it or not and why that is. Also I have ideas for the entire story I just have to flesh it out so if you want to ask anything about the story go ahead and I’ll try answer unless if it’ll spoil any surprises I want to add

Decided to post this directly here for right now as I had a AO3 account but forgot the password so I have to make a new one.

Anyways

One war

One decision

One Man’s desire

Chapter 1: Troy

During the late hours following the Greeks retreat from Troy its citizen came forth. Stepping out of gates for the first time in ten years was a strange feeling to these men and women. As they exited a strange sight lay before them. A construct of grandeur, of worship, of deceit. They gazed upon the giant brutian horse at its feet resided a being in a drunken stupor. Sinon proclaims the being as its consciousness breaches the blockade of alcohol surrounding his brain. He slurs his words into a barely understandable statement, “Da rest ov a men eft me ear o ells yeahs dis orse is to orgive oos for da estruction of yeas atue ta atena.”

“Good sir care to repeat what you’ve said.”

“Ifa’s ant oondand meh den ja shupid.’

“Appears the god of wine kissed his lips sir.”

“Clearly, perhaps whatever he’s said could be true?”

“I dunno sir, we’s can’t understand a word he’s said.”

“Get the prophet. If he can read the stars then surely he can read the contorted mouth of this man.” A man is usher forward by the crowd. Still bitter from the death of his child by the Greeks, he begrudgingly kneels before the man who’s liver had been battered as if punctured by acid. “A izah guy dat Ager megnom iled ah kyled ov. Erphaps oos ain’t ain amaged,” the man repeated the phrases that he told the other men in the crowd through breath that suggested his insides smelt only of fermented grapes. “ The Greeks have left this equine as a peace offering. It is meant to replace the statue of Athena they’ve decimated.” The crowd of men responds with an inconsistent mermer of, “ I knew that’s what he was saying.”

As the victors drudge the pine stallion inside their walls that repelled all attacks the Greek threw will now be the prison of 4000 men, women, and children. As twilight encroached upon the land the noise of praise, feast, dance, and victory filled the coffin. Inside the horse sat the Greeks finest executioners. The 10 year drag left them desperate enough to sit within the humid and damp body of the wooden structure in a ploy to inter the city and break out allowing for a festive slaughter. This disparate act was conjured by the very goddess whom claimed to value the Trojan no more than 12 hours ago.

However atop to mount in the throne room of the great olympians a pitiful scene unfolded. “Father!” Roared Ares whilst clutching his bleeding side as golden droplets fell to the floor, “Can’t you see? That pompous child of a step sister whom I share dominion with has caused a mortal to injure me! By her hand through his, she punctured my flesh! She must be cast down for overstepping your declarations! No god is to have involvement within this war, is that not what you’ve said!” Ares lashed about whilst spitting and hissing these words.

“Correct my adulterine brother,” snarled Athena through her beaked lips, “how strange, you enter the palace exclaiming woes of which you blame me. Yet you’ve overlooked the shortcomings within your plea. For how could you have been injured by a mortal partaking in the war without being a part of it as well, or perhaps you were,” said Athena as a snide smirk etched itself upon her face. “ How dare you! I wouldn’t have had to fight your lousy champion if he hadn’t speared my dears hand as she attempted to save our child-“

“There you go again speaking without thought. You’ve now admitted to your wife having been part of the war too, uxoricide through stupidity-“

“How dare you feathered lout proclaim that I’ve harmed my dearest!” Ares shouted as if it were a war cry.

“Perhaps I could get you to come forth with the names of the rest of your posse. Would save me time having to present evidence,” laughed Athena. Ares stood his armor rattling with a rage encased within his godly flesh. The rage of all the fallen in hades. A rage that if released on a mortal or army would be more devastating than any split atom. He stood there in silence as Aphrodite rushed to him having sensed his peril of which she had never felt before. “ My great boar what ales you! What’ve you done you unrequited orinth,” hissed Aphrodite. “ Why not ask your doltish pig, of whom I’m sadly related.”

One word was spoken. One word with range like thunder. One word which held the force of the greatest storm. One word which was spoken from the one that the trio was annoying, “SILENCE!” Zeus thundered, “Daughter, who might the rest of the guilty be?”

“The children Leto father,” chirped Athena. “Thank you, I’ve heard enough of your insolent bickering. It was giving a headache equivalent to the one that birthed you,” said the now tired and defeated sounding Zeus, “ You all have crossed a line I clearly set. Of which the punishment Ares suggests is fitting until you’ve each proven that you deserve to reside within this palace, as currently I see three pups arguing over the corpse of a rat.” The trio stands there in silence as they accept what will happen to them next. “Hermes!”

“Yeah pops?”

“Inform the twins of Leto of my decree so that they don’t question why they’ve been stripped of divine power.”

“Alrighty,” Hermes exclaims cheerfully, seeing this only for its hilarity. He then zips through the archway leading into Olympus. Following soon after a bright golden light fills the throne room. Once the light fades only Athena remains, “why have you left me father?”

“I expected better from you Athena. You are my most prized offspring, and yet you’ve fallen to the same height as mortals. Perhaps if I gave a visit to your favorite human you’ll understand that we’re not like them.”

“ Father WAI-,” the same light surrounds Athena as she is cast from Olympus to the base of the former Greek camp.

(Now watch Horse and the Infant then just a man)

Odysseus approaches the camp ground he slept at two days ago before tonight, as he heads towards where Eurylochus had landed his ship. As he passes through the charred ground he can’t help but think back to what he’s done. Then suddenly a hand jets towards him. He unsheathes his blade and readies it to strike whoever was foolish enough to sneak up on him. Right before he strikes he sees the face of his mentor. Before he can stop Athena throws him over her shoulder out of reaction. Odysseus now puzzled and with a dirt covered cape asks Athena what she’s doing here. He then realizes that she looks different. Less feathers, and lacking her distinct beaked lips. Also, she’s now missing her giant owl wings. He moves to speak when Athena reaches out for his shoulder. As her hand makes contact he’s shocked to feel its warmth, its weight, its mortality. He shutters as he croaks on his words. Athena explains her situation to him after which Odysseus wraps an arm around her shoulders which are a head taller than him and says, “ You can ride with me and crew back to Ithaca! It’s the only right thing to do when your life long goddess friend is now mortal and now requires the same as me,” he smiles with the dorkish grin he wore when she first met him all those decades ago.

“ I. . . Uh saw what my father had made you do from here, do you wish to speak of it or. . .”

“Nope I’d rather move past that as soon as possible.”

“Alright little man,” she says while staring down at Odysseus who’s 3 feet shorter than she is.

“Aight Atty,” Odysseus says through a smile of a kid annoying his mother.

“I thought you agreed never to say that again,” she says, scowling at him.

“And clearly I’m no little man anymore.”

“Hard to tell from up here,” she says smiling as they approach the bow of Odysseus’ ship.

Odysseus boards the ship followed by the giantess which caused confusion among the men on the ships until Odysseus interjected that she was an Amazonian warrior who he’d been friends with for years now. Eurylochus Examined her, unsure of her presence being Odysseus’ right hand. Polities ran up to Athena grasping her hand and eagerly shaking it, “ I’m so happy to meet you, any friend of my best buddy Odysseus is a friend to me,” polities said with a somehow even more dorkish smile surrounded by the stubble of a beard, as his head band covered his forehead.

POV: how it feels to post 1500 words of a fan story

[capsicle13]

I love this story!!!! This update totally made my crappy day so much better! How can you not love western stony and some civil war drama!

@snazzyerin Save a horse ride a cowboy 🤠

[agentlothcat]

I know it has been a while, but I don’t often have time to write for fun. Anyway, here is the next installment of my summer horse camp 1992 AU Star Wars Rebels Kalluzeb fic. At least I can reward you with over 20 pages and an over 10k word count 🥰 I have started on the next chapter and will continue to plug away with the hope that I don’t have such a long time span between posting chapters.

This fic has an explicit rating (minors NO clicky!), although it’s such a slow burn that nothing steamy has happened yet 🤣 



[koisdumbassstarwarsblog]

i want to make a rodeo au for a star wars ship. The basic premise is character a is a bronc rider and character b is a barrel racer and they get together for team roping and fall in love. and sprinkle in some swag tropes here and there.

this idea was sparked by the fact that I want a fic that is correct when it comes to horse terms and I just like rodeos :)

[000marie198]

I find it interesting how the short movies such as GotNF, Book of Dragon, Legend of the Boneknapper Dragon and Dawn of the Dragon Racers all perfectly adjust in with the cartoon series and keep the characterizations accordingly intact as if they are part of this ongoing continuity but the main movies later on don't do the same. I mean, the 2nd one does but not THW. It doesn't line up with anything that happened in the series, not the events, not the themes or characters or character developments or characters' experience etc. With the second movie, not including those side characters didn't make much of a difference because whatever was going on and the plot and action and storyline didn't go towards that, it wasn't necessary and the movie was great either way. It didn't even ruin the characterizations of side characters that much even with what they were doing.

But THW just... (What was the word? Can't remember) removed everything that happened in rob/dob and RTTE and it didn't make sense with the storyline. Like, what happened to the rest of the vast archipelago? The edge? The VARIOUS habitats of VARIOUS species, so many allies, so many islands, so many characters, so many gained experiences after dealing with villains far more dangerous and smarter than whoever that guy was I don't even remember the name of, what happened to that all of a sudden? It just makes zero sense and the plot was all over the place. No offense to THW fans but, there were just a few good things in the movie but a lot more nonsensical events and solutions which were absolutely ridiculous what with already established canon throughout the rest of the franchise

[eponastory]

First fanfiction you ever wrote and when?

I was 11, and it was for Anna Sewells 'Black Beauty' being that I was and always will be a 'horse girl'.

So the year 2000.

Then Lord of the Rings came out. I was writing Legolas fanfiction. I was also going around telling people I was related to Orlando Bloom at the time... but I was a kid looking to make friends (didn't have many because I was 'not normal') and I lied a lot. I was very lonely and bullied. It was a tough time. But yeah... my fanfiction writing was an outlet for me then just as much as it is now. This was also when FF.Net came around for me after doing those hilarious fanfiction chain posts on forums.

Also 2001 is when I played Devil May Cry for the first time... I've been hooked ever since. Didn't start writing fanfic for that until... 2016 ish.

Cut to when I'm 15-16 and AtLA debuts on Nick once a week for three almost four years, and I'm hooked to Zutara. Still hooked on it.

Wrote a ton of FF7 stories when Advent Children came around. I had written some before, but I really didn't get super into it until it was brought up from the depths.

Assassin's Creed didn't really pop up on me until after I was out of HS. By that time I was working on the racetrack and training horses so kinda had to put writing on the back burner. Then I started competing in hunter/jumper and that took over most of my life. (I was working on my original works then)

But yeah... first fanfic was horse related.

Which means I've been writing for... a long time.

[psych---ologically-deranged]

Someone needs to write me a transfem lassie. Tell me about the misogyny & the repression & the confusion with <strike>his</strike> her butch interests & traditional masculinity, someone tell <strike>him</strike> her that it's ok to be a trans girl who likes fishing & guns, it's ok to be butch. Bonus points if <strike>he</strike> she is with marlowe or another woman. Trans butch lesbian* lassie, someone please!

(*pan, in a lesbian relationship)

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain- Chapter Eight Finale (!)

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sex, death, and violence but nothing brutal other than one brief mention that gets a bit vivid. But LOTS of fluff and emotions and crying and hugging. A Happy Ending.

Chapter Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: It is 1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story for a character who we saw only briefly but deserved much more <3!! I hope you enjoy the finale!!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510 @meowmeow-motherfucker

November, 1918

It was another long day at the hospital. Not another overnight, but still long. You had an hour to go for your time, as you checked the clock. You headed over to make sure there was a glass of water on each bedside table.

It was simple training. It didn’t take long to get a First Aid and Home Nursing certification. They gave you a uniform of a white cap, a dark dress, and a white apron with a red cross stitched over the chest. Your first days as a VAD were full of fixing cups of tea and changing sheets.

But by now you had sewn flesh together. You had seen men die with their eyes open. You had seen infections that made you feel queasy to look at. Once, you were asked to hold down a man’s leg as it was amputated. You never forgot his screams. They rung in your nightmares for a week. Compared to that, sewing together flesh was easy. Many of the other volunteers were women from families who were not accustomed to hard work. They were in for a large shock and were forced to adaptation. Only a few came from labor or farms, as you did,and could tolerate work for long hours. But it was as if the sight of death had bonded and toughened you all.

With the young men in town away to fight, it was mostly women you ran into. They were glad and grateful friends. Your weekly knitting club for the troops led to much baked goods, playful gossip, released sobs, and vulnerable confessions. You valued the women you met and befriended in your circles, your fellow VAD’s, and neighbors and new in-laws.

But none of them could replace James, of course. James with his occasional visits when he was discharged- visits that ended too soon every time. James with his constant, beautiful letters filled with sketches. Just the last one read.

“My dear Mrs. Nicholls,

Joey is doing well. He’s as fit and stubborn and spirited as can be, no wonder he’s lasted so long. He’s racing alongside Topthorn-not that I’m too surprised about the speed of his gallop. Jaimie sends you his love and good wishes as well.

 I’ve been thinking of you in Somerset. Of the reward to come-to come back to my wife, to come back to you. I hope you recall the Teddy Bear I sent you for your birthday. Yes, it is a children’s toy, but when you miss me, you may embrace him as you would me and kiss him on his head as you would me.  It is a bit of love I send back to you to console you. At least until I can return to your arms and kisses for real.

Do not think of me as less of a man, but I confess, that is what moves me- a future of ours. A house of our own.  Children of our own playing around the living room and getting into trouble. We can play music on the phonograph all we want without the cacophony of guns around us. We will laugh and talk over any silly old thing over every meal. Then we’ll go to bed, and I’ll take you as I did in the grass and we’ll make love without any fear or shame, only how much we adore each other…”

But now it was not only James and Joey you had to worry about. That first year, Albert ran off to join the army. When you found out, you ran to your parents and sobbed as you hugged them. Only sometimes you got a letter from him and you would press your parents for updates.

It only pushed you to work harder as a VAD and take it seriously. Knowing these soldiers groaning in their beds were someone else’s James or Albie. That someone was going to lose their husband or brother or son. And if you hurried and focused on the tasks at hand, you could help save someone’s life. That was what was on your mind when one of the doctors walked into the room.

“Everyone, there is an announcement- all staff must hurry into the lobby,” he declared.

Finishing pouring the last glass of water, you set the pitcher on a table and hurried there. All of you gathered in your uniforms, heads turning with whispers of what it could be. The head of the hospital stood there in the center of the room with a newspaper, he took off his spectacles to face you all. There were tears in his brown eyes.

“Everyone…England is going to sign an armistice this month with Germany and the other countries on the eleventh of this month. It will be the last day of fighting. In short, the war is about to end.”

There was silence. You could hear a few gasps. Every bit of you was vibrating and the breath in your lungs stopped. Finally, there was a cheer and an applause that broke out. Your colleagues wrapped their arms around you and hugged you and you hugged back.

You couldn’t believe it. Had it all been so fast? Yet so slow? It’s over…it’s over…the war is finally over!

But, from that last letter…James sent it just last month. Things could have changed. He still could have been killed! Or Albert too! All you had to do was wait for a final letter or telegram. One last one and it would confirm if James and Albert survived. Or not. In your heart, the war was not yet done. Just a few more days of fear…then it would be settled.

November 11th arrived, and the bells of the church rang louder than any Christmas you had seen. People danced in the streets, threw confetti, and cheered. There was no telegram. But no letter either.  You shook every time the mail was delivered that month. But nothing crucial so far. 

You were enjoying one of your free days eating luncheon with Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls. There was a knock on the door that made you jump.

“This isn’t when the postman arrives- it’s two hours early. Are we expecting visitors?” asked Mr. Nicholls.

“No, Mrs. Hayter isn’t arriving until tomorrow…” Mrs. Nicholls answered.

“I’ll get it,” you offered, getting out of your chair.

As you took a few steps closer to the door, you heard a sound.

A whinny. A horse’s whinny. A very familiar horse’s whinny. A whinny you had not heard since…since…

Your steps to the door became a run. You threw it open and let out a scream at the sight.

It was James in his now dirtied green uniform. He was standing outside leading Joey by the leash and giving you a salute. Without another word, you ran towards him, almost tackling him into a hug.

“James…James…is it you? Please tell me if this is real! Please-please tell me it’s you!” you begged, your voice breaking into tears.

You felt a hand reach your back. You could smell him, feel him, and hear that voice you loved so much.

“Yes, my darling…it’s me…and I’m not leaving anywhere, I’m staying with you for a very long time…” he answered.

There were footsteps and a shout from his parents behind you. You grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He smelt of wind and the smoke of travel as well as the horse and could feel his hands wrap around your back. You hugged him again and began to sob into his uniform, not caring anymore if it stained. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back so tight. Then he let go and greeted his parents, taking off his cap. Mrs. Nicholls kissed her son’s face a dozen times. Mr. Nicholls was weeping so badly his back shook as he hugged his son, James let him cry and rocked him as he stood. Assuring him, “it’s alright, father-I’m here. I’m back…”

You then turned to Joey and hugged his muzzle. The younger colt in the Narracott farm would have run away the second his leash was freed. But Joey, now a beautiful stallion in his own right, stood still. He accepted you just as he did the last day you saw him.

“I missed you, old boy. I missed you so much! I’m glad you made it- I’m so glad! Albie’s missed you most of all-he’ll be beside himself!”  you whispered to the horse.

You kissed his long snout with its white diamond. He leaned back into you as if to hug you back.

To think, James was back home. Every single neighbor visited to see him all afternoon.  Already at dinner, he was here to eat and compliment the cook. He finished his plate, cupping his wine in his large hand with one palm.

 “Good God, I’ve missed all of you so much…the things I’ve seen…things I’ve heard…I don’t know if I can be in another war after this…” he said.

“This one is over…it’s all bad memories, James…you can rest now…” Mrs. Nicholls said.

“And how is the prettiest volunteer in England? I hope she can rest as well?” James asked, turning to you.

“I was thinking…I do like being a part of the VAD…if they still need help, I’ll volunteer…”

“Oh, of course you can, Mrs. Nicholls,” he replied with a smile.

“You can always tell us what you saw…what was it like-fighting?” your mother-in-law questioned.

James became still and his face was white.

“I saw everything ….my first battle, I saw a man blasted to pieces-his guts flying from the shot of a machine gun…”

He opened up as much as he could. The horrors and violence he had seen. The deaths too many to name. A friend one day was a corpse the next hour. All of you were silent as he recounted.

Both of you planned to return Joey to the Devon farm tomorrow. You both laid in bed after dinner. Too tired for anything more than simply holding each other. You put your fingers through his blonde-red hair. Traced each feature of his to memorize it.

“You didn’t fool around with some French girl, I hope!” you huffed.

His voice was earnest.

“I swear on my grandfather’s grave, there were no girls from any country anywhere near me all that time! Jaimie will tell you likewise…Y/N…may I confide something to you?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“I remembered the promise I made you when I left. When it started…”

“Yes, I recall, my dear…”

He turned over to you. Adjusting himself on the pillow so he lay right in front of you. You retreated your hands.

“I kept it. I talked to my superiors. Told them we needed to consider the German’s weaponry and plan accordingly. At first, they said no. I asked them again. They said no again. Then another major came in. He agreed. Then the more they talked to, the more it was agreed. Like common sense. They got permission. They sent spies. We fought with guns when we knew there’d be guns…no surprise attacks. Nothing without strict preparation and knowledge…”

“Did you ever charge your calvary?” you asked. You shifted to be in the blankets from the cold November night.

“Only a few times. But, Y/N, I remembered…I remembered you. And I did my best to survive without disobeying orders. Somehow…well, to be honest, I never went against major orders and even then, I don’t think I was ever caught to be killed as a traitor! But I survived. I thought of you…of how sad you were and how you told me you didn’t want to spend your life a widow. I wanted to keep my word…”

He swallowed. You saw one tear in the duct of his eye.

“You did, James, you did…”

He took both of your hands. He smiled down, seeing you both still wore your wedding bands. Then he placed a kiss on them.

“I wanted to thank you, Y/N…if it wasn’t for that…for you, your promise-if I never met you, never loved you, never married you…I don’t know if I’d be here…” he confided.

You gave him a kiss on the lips. It was probably your fiftieth of the day. But after four years of deprivation, you were glad to be caught up. You positioned him to rest against your chest, wrapping your arms around him.

“My parent’s will cry when they see you tomorrow…when they see Joey, too. We’ll have to ask them if they heard any word on Albie…I can only pray he’s alive now,” you said.

“He’s a natural soldier. There’s a chance he did…” James mused.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The house creaked with the nighttime settling over it.

“To think, James, we have one part of our lives ending. Now there’s a new one. No guns, no violence. A peacetime-just beginning….”

He got up from how you held him, then pulled the blankets over the both of you.

“As long as that peacetime is with you, then it will be worth it…” he said with a smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 1920. A year and almost a half later.

A new spring was born to match the new decade. Today, it was the perfect temperature of not too hot and not too cold. The tulips, daisies, and crocuses were in bloom everywhere. The field between Somerset and Devon was stunning. You noticed how it rolled on as James drove the motorcar down to visit your family. The brown rabbits hopped around the fields. The river, Innocent’s grove, was such a bright blue it seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Soon it turned to the wide, sloping streets of your hometown. You waved hello to your old shop friends- Mary, Ida, and Alice all had found loves, marriages, or occupations of their own and were smiling. Of course, you made a quick stop to admire the painting of your husband in the town hall. On one corner, you could read its inscription.

’Joey’- Cpn. Nicholls, Fall, 1918.

All of you then finished the drive to the Narracott farm for a picnic.

Your family, along with a much alive Albert, welcomed you each. You, your husband, and baby sitting up in your arms. She thankfully didn’t make one cry the whole trip!

Dressed in her little white frock and little tufts of hair that looked just like yours, Little Rose Nicholls was the picture of infant health. Named after her grandmother, your mother.

There was never a happier night than when she arrived.  She was born in October of 1919. She arrived and cried her first cry when the clock struck eleven. James ran up to the room the second he was allowed, and her crying calmed down when he held the small baby in a white bundle. He teared up and kissed her forehead, never letting her go until she needed to be fed.

James told you he was glad he survived the war just for that day. He got to live to have her, to see her, to hold her in his arms, to love her.

The newly crowned Uncle Albert took her in his arms and blew a raspberry on her cheek. She turned with wide eyes.

“Can we introduce her to Joey?! I don’t think they’ve met yet!” he offered.

“Yes, of course we can!” you said.

Out all of you walked to the backyard. Harold still waddled about. The War To End All Wars came and went and Harold was still biting everyone’s legs. He did make a few threatening nips of his beak that made Rosie a little scared and she cried. But she stopped when they passed him, and you approached Joey’s field.

“Oof- she’s already getting’ heavy!” Albert commented. “She’s a big girl now!”

“Here, let me have her,” James offered.

Her father scooped her into his arms. Albert whistled like an owl as Joey trotted closer, swishing his long, black tail.

Would Joey make a sudden noise to frighten her? No. The creature seemed to know that she was young and had to approach her with gentleness. How incredible animals had a sense like that, Albert would say! Joey slowed his steps and moved his nuzzle close. Only his breath tickling her cheek.

“Here-this is a horse. His name is Joey, darling. What do you think?” James asked, holding her up and closer to the animal.

Her eyes went wide, and she made a small coo. Joey leaned forward. She reached out a grubby hand and touched his nose, petting him.

“There…there’s my girl, Rosie, you pet him like that,” James nudged.

She kept reaching for him, petting him again and again. Then Joey got out his large, pink tongue and licked her hand. Rose Nicholls smiled and began squealing in delight. Joey let her pet him with her grubby hands. And once she was done, he turned away. James carried her over to show her the farm and the animals.

“Here’s the garden mummy grew up in. She’d see rabbits eating her flowers, like the naughty rabbit eating the vegetable garden in your storybook! If you look, we might see one!”

You couldn’t help but smile. Your daughter was worth every sleepless night and disgusting diaper. James was always there by your side to help you. He knew your child needed her father as much as she needed her mother. In fact, he was already beginning to spoil her! A room in your new house dedicated to her nursery. It had the teddy bear in her cradle as well as any little cloth dolly and book and dress he would splurge on for her.

James decided to retire from being a soldier. The War to End All Wars had done too much for him to endure another. Sometimes he even awoke from a nightmare or jumped at a loud sound. He did find work as a schoolteacher. His gentle authority and calm voice of reason was one his students adored him for. And it meant you could still volunteer as a VAD on weekends. He would grade his papers next to Rosie’s cradle in the evening.

You turned around to see Albert smoothing the corners of the picnic blanket out on the grass. Your father brought over a picnic basket. He looked healthy and cheery-he told you he was going to quit drinking and was on his second month without a sip.

“Here! Foods ready! While it’s hot everyone!” Your mother announced, bringing out the savory pie, fresh from the oven.

All of you sat on the blanket. James handed you little Rosie as you sat down. You bounced her on your lap. James made you a plate and passed you yours. Savory pie, sliced bread, berries, cheese, and fresh produce and jam cake too.

Then your father lifted a glass of lemonade.

“Here-let’s have a toast, eh?”

 You all lifted a glass with your free hand.

“Here-to us. Our family!” he cried.

“To us!” all of you repeated.

James turned to you and clinked your glass again.

“And our little family as well,” he cheered.

“To the three of us,” you agreed.

You received him with a peck on the lips. Then all of you began to help yourselves. Rosie herself was beginning to enjoy the small bits of bread you gave her. She gave a laugh like music and you, and James beamed at her. You took a deep breath. Enjoying the spring weather and the picnic with both families. The one who raised you and the one you had. A family, a happy life full of peace with a living husband who loved you.  

[panther-os]

Behold my backstory for Space Jewish!Jon Antilles, complete with lesbian moms, meddling Bothans, and a stuffed horse.

[unxpctedlygreat]

Some merfolk AU...

Ichthyocentaur!Dimitri, who's war-worn and has lived through quite the number of battles, who has taken to living solitary and self-isolating himself and just roams the ocean endlessly

Merman!Felix, who is a young runaway merman who has decided he wanted to fight so he's looking for strong opponents

Eventually Felix finds Dimitri and thinks, this guy looks strong, so he tries to get him to agree to a fight, but Dimitri refuses and keeps going his unmerry way

But as we know, Felix is stubborn, so he starts following Dimitri to try and get him to agree, and ofc he's being a brat about it lmao

And thus begin the adventures of fish dimilix

Dimitri will start to open up again, Felix will learn to moderate himself because he's still immature in his way of doing things, both work through their own issues through helping the other and they fall in love along the way ✨

[capsicle13]

Now I can catch up and read! My bestie wrote this one! It’s a western spin on civil war and I already love it!!! 😍 🤠

[professorbussywinkle]

This is my hot take of the century but if your doing something you believe is moral and correct, purely so that other people around you can see how "moral" you are, purely to prove to others that you're on the bleeding edge of a community's right-think, then the thing you're actually doing is a performance of morality, which is not the same thing as being moral

You do the right thing cuz it's the right thing to do, not because doing so would grant you positive social capital from other people perceiving you as a good person

[ultfreakme]

look look I have a feeling at least 60% of this whole Dallas and Ian shipping Zukka thing is for promo. But. Truly unhinged for them to bet on Zukka because like, Kataang and Zutara are still in a war that might go as long as the 100 year war, Sokka x Suki shippers are there, Maiko, Yuekka, Kataang. Like all of them have had a lot more mainstream attention lbr. Zukka is like tumblr going unhinged in 2020 and that's it.

Who bet on this horse? Did Dallas and Ian read Zukka fanfics? Did all of the cast get notes like "okay during interviews, Zukka is our main ship, got it? Ian act like you are marrying this man, Dallas I need you to lock eyes with him for 20 seconds" If this is for promo this is a dumb move because the Zutara shippers are far more desperate for canonization and Kataang shippers are ready to slay anyone who dares tarnish the canon meanwhile every Zukka shipper I know is like "guys I think Zuko is lalalala actually though there's this generalization that Sokka is lalalalala but hear me out-"