#only a very muddy woodland

[starry-eyes-love]

Chapter 5: Woodland Fun

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader (18+, Minors DNI), Post-outbreak

Summary | Joel Miller thinks you are a complicated, irritating, and frustrating woman. You're the reason he can't sleep, can't work, and can't do anything without thinking about you. So for once, he gives in to his own urges and lets himself have you in his mind. What he didn't expect was for you to come storming into his personal space yet again. This time though he doesn't think he can stop himself from having you, but he's going to try.

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI. Smut (a lot), language, male and female masturbation, mutual masturbation with each other, dry humping, fingering (male & female), edging, daddy kink, fluff (if you squint), major argument with angst, yelling, a lot of dirty talk, pet names (little girl, baby, honey, old man, etc.), kissing, body description without being too specific, referencing past trauma, referencing sex with his ex-wife, referencing pregnancy with ex-wife (if you squint), infidelity reference, fertility issues reference (if you squint). Don't know how this happened but this is mostly smut/porn of one version or another (sorry, not sorry). Just know, you have been warned. Enjoy :)

Word Count: 10.3 K (not sorry)

Joel needed to let off some major steam, he needed to give in to this urge in his mind to have you the way he needed to. Just this once, he thought, just this once I get her the way I want her. Then that's it. As he slowly took himself in his hand he felt himself throb painfully. To try to curb his arousal a bit, he gently squeezed the base

Over the next month life seemed to slowly settle into somewhat of a comfortable domestic routine between the three of you.  Ellie and you continued to go through storage areas; collecting clothes, games, and supplies. You also worked on trying to start growing seeds in the house, which proved to be very difficult in the beginning of winter. Periodically you would collect and chop firewood also.  Joel would set and check traps, scout the area, fix the roof and the siding, help chop firewood, and hunt for food.  At night the three of you would sit around the fireplace and talk, play board games that either you or Ellie found, or read in silence.  Joel and you still maintained separate bedrooms when it came to the sleeping arrangements. He said sleeping together right away would just muddy the waters of a relationship.  Basically, everything continued to be the same with Joel as before. The only difference was that once in a while he’d give you a quick peck on the lips when Ellie wasn’t looking.  Nothing ever transpired besides that, and if you were being honest, it was incredibly frustrating.  You understood why Joel didn’t want to have sex right away, but you wanted and needed something more from him.  A hand hold, the ability to cuddle; heck even for him to check you out, something.  You were beginning to believe that Joel Miller was a man of all talk, and very little do.

“Hey dude, like I think that dish is clean,” Ellie said while you were washing the dishes.

“Oh yeah, sorry" you stated. "I was just lost in thought.”

“You were like lost in thought for 10 minutes cleaning that same dish, what gives?" she teased. "Are there problems in the love department again?"

“Love department? Again? Ellie, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to say without giving your voice away.

“Pleeease. I may be younger than you, but I ain’t stupid” she told you.  “I know you have a thing for Joel, and honestly he has a huge thing for you. But ever since the two of you have decided to do this dating shit, which by the way is soooo stupid. You both haven’t been the same, and it’s annoying really.”

“Ellie, I don’t know what you’re…wait. Who said we were dating?” you asked her with a puzzled expression.

“Oh come on, I heard the two of you the night Joel woke up moaning in bed. He woke the whole damn house up with all of that moaning that he was doing. I honestly laid in my bed feeling sorry for him, thinking that he was, you know, thinking about his daughter or somethin’. But then I heard ya and what he told you," Ellie said with a shake to her head.  "Then I finally thought that the two of you were gonna give in to that animal heat phase thing or somethin’, and ya know- maybe fuck it out. But nope, dry as the desert'' Ellie said while laughing out loud shaking her head more.

“Well, it’s not from a lack of trying on my end," you quipped to her in defense.

“Oh I know" she said, tapping your shoulder a few times. "I gave Joel advice about it 2 weeks ago, of how to go about dating cause it’s been awhile for him. Kinda pathetic really, if you ask me.” Ellie said while huffing out a sigh. “Apparently he didn’t listen to a damn thing that I told him,” she states, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What did you tell him?” you ask nervously.

“That he shouldn’t think about it. That he just needs to talk to you, spend some time with you. Teach you something and then just, I don’t know. Give in to what his body is trying to tell him, and then just ya know, do it” she said.

After a moment of standing there and processing the information you couldn’t help but get frustrated.  You thought that Joel was trying to hide things from Ellie. But in reality he was asking her for advice on how to get to know you, when he could just ask you instead.  Not that a teenager couldn’t give him advice, but goddamnit, you were right here.  You could tell him what you liked, because after all, you knew yourself better than anyone else.

Ellie could sense your frustration and anger rising to the surface. She went to try to defuse the situation fast, because honestly, she didn’t like it when your temper got the better of you.  “Look, y/n. Try doing something that teases him, ya know. Like try coaxing that stubborn man out of his shell by forcing his brain into rut season like a deer or somethin,'” she said softly, trying to encourage you.

“Rut season like a deer? Wow, that’s a new one Ellie, Jesus” you said while shaking your head laughing. 

“Yeah I know, thought of it myself” Ellie commented while giving you her typical big Ellie grin. “But no seriously y/n, do something that turns him on. Or at least gets him to look at you. Go out and chop firewood.  He told me that your ass looks nice doin’ it.”

“He told you my ass looks nice chopping firewood?” you say, somewhat puzzled of why a 50+ year old man would say that to a teenage girl.

“Well no, he didn’t exactly say it directly to me,” Ellie reassured you.  “He was looking at you chopping firewood about 2 weeks ago and said to himself ‘damn it woman, you’re gonna be the death of me with those tight pants on that nice ass of yours,'” Ellie said trying to mimic Joel’s scowl that he does.  

After a moment of silence where you kept fiddling with your hands, Ellie approached you and said, “Y/N, go and chop firewood for Papa Bear. He’s tense and needs something to unwind with. So give that old man a show, just don't give him a heart attack.”  She said laughing while walking away down the hall.

You decided to finish washing the dishes first, while mulling over everything that Ellie had told you.  You knew from previous interactions with Joel that he does love it when you give him a little sass, and when you help him with some of the heavy lifting. Sure, he calls you a smartass while you're doing it, and tells you to stop being so difficult. But nevertheless, you do know that he appreciates your help.  

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go and chop some firewood for awhile" you yell down the hall at Ellie after you finish the dishes. "We’re getting kinda low in here.” As you exit the cabin you grab the axe that was sitting outside and glance over to the area where Joel usually has firewood pieces to chop up.  When you noticed that there weren’t any pieces to chop, you decided to go out into the woods and chop down a tree.  You’ve never chopped down a tree before, and honestly you had no idea what you were doing. But you figured that you’d have to learn sometime.  It can't be that hard, you thought to yourself. 

As you approached the woods you glanced back towards the house to see if you could spot Joel working outside. When you didn’t see him, you figured he must have be checking traps, or hunting for food. After traveling into the woods, you found a tree that you believed you could chop down easily. As you approached the tree you said out loud to yourself, "Ellie, you better be right about him loving my ass as I do this." As you started to pull back the axe you said to yourself "well here goes nothing," and just before you moved to hit the tree you heard a Southern drawl behind you speak up.  

Joel had been out scouting and checking traps all day. He had gotten up early and left the cabin by himself, wanting to have some alone time. This domestic dating life shit was getting on his nerves. Not that he didn't like being with you, that was never the problem. The problem was he desperately wanted to fuck you all the time, and he couldn't do that with Ellie always being around. He also didn't know if you were just looking for a one-time quick lay, or if you truly were serious about a relationship. 

As Joel walked around and checked the traps he kept thinking about you and the interactions the two of you have had. He couldn't stop thinking about how soft you had felt underneath him, or the first time the two of you had sex. He internally hated himself for how desperate he was, and how he didn't give you any proper attention before he fucked you. Joel also knew that you were the reason for his constant worry, his lack of sleep, tense muscles, and a deep ache that he couldn't relieve. He knew he felt something for you, but he didn't know if it was true love, or just infatuation. 

Joel thought that if he was a better man, he would tell you that he was too old for you, that he couldn't be with you, that he'd stop and leave you alone. But Joel wasn't a good man. He pined after you, had a deep urge to be with you, not just physically. He knew he couldn’t stay away from you or stifle his feelings for you much longer. At the end of the day, Joel wanted you. He had a deep urge to have you, to claim you as his, and to ruin you for every goddamn man in the future that thought they could have you. His need to claim you grew stronger with each passing day, and it was getting harder for him to ignore.

Joel noticed that he was almost back to the cabin. He was in a small pine grove near the edge of the woods, close to where the yard would start. Joel knew these woods here like the back of his hand, wanting to know how the land changed just in case trouble came around. He always had a need to keep both you and Ellie safe, so each day he’d hike around and get to know the terrain. Today was quiet and peaceful in the woods, something that was a rarity. Joel, desperately needing to sit down and take a break for himself, wandered over to a pine tree and sat down. As he sat against the pine tree, his thoughts kept drifting to you, and he felt himself slowly harden inside his pants. "I'm old enough to be her damn father, she's too young for me", he said sternly to himself, which did nothing to curb the slow throb that came from his hardening cock. He sat back and closed his eyes as he slowly palmed himself in the front of his jeans. He tried to think of anything else or anyone else besides you. But the truth was, he didn't want anyone else. He only wanted you, laid underneath him and willing for him to do what he wanted. He wondered how you’d taste. Would you be sweet like honey, or a tangy citrus flavor? Would you beg for his cock or beg for him to come inside your tight little pussy, or inside your mouth? 

No. She’s irritating, aggravating, and a pain in my ass, he thought to himself, trying to will away his erection. But even then, when he focused on your sassy attitude and your confidence, it turned him on even more.  He didn't want to admit it, but he loved your demeanor. He loved your challenging behavior, that you weren't afraid to stand up to him. He saw that you had a fire in your soul, and that fire called to him like a siren that had found her next victim. He wasn't stupid, he knew you'd be the death of him. That if he got too close, he'd never be able to escape. 

The more Joel sat there thinking about you: the curve of your ass, the shape of your breasts, and the feel of your mouth against his; the harder he got. All of these thoughts set a fire in his veins and sent a bolt of electricity to his cock. With a sigh he said, "Just this once I’m gonna do this to blow off some steam thinkin’ about her." As Joel took out his aching and throbbing member he saw that he was already leaking precum from his slit. "Fuck" he groaned to himself at how worked up he already was with just thinking about you. He hadn't even touched himself yet. "This ain't gonna last long," he said with a small shake to his head. 

Joel needed to let off some major steam, he needed to give in to this urge in his mind to fuck you the way he needed to. Just this once, he thought, just this once I get her the way I want to fuck her. Then that's it. As he slowly took himself in his hand he felt himself throb painfully. To try to curb his arousal a bit, he gently squeezed the base of his cock. As he did, he heard himself let out a long groan and he felt himself pulse within his hand. After taking another moment to settle himself, he found himself spitting into his hand and slowly sliding it up and down his shaft. He lightly ran his thumb over the swollen tip where he saw precum collecting and as he did he heard himself hiss at the sensation. “Fuck man, you gotta get this under control or you ain't gonna last long,” he said out loud continuing to slowly stroke himself. After a few more pumps he reached down with his other hand and gently cupped and massaged his balls, fantasizing that it was you doing it. 

As he continued to stroke himself, he thought about your mouth and how good it would feel for you to suck him off. Would he be able to deep throat you, and would you love it? He also thought about your hands and how good they would feel stroking his cock. He wondered how many other men you had been with, was he the biggest? Finally, he thought about your tight little hole. God he wanted to lap at it, suck it, and tongue fuck it. He knew from the first time he fucked you how tight you were. But this time he wanted to really take his time to explore you with his tongue, his fingers, and then with his rock hard throbbing cock.

"Fuck", Joel said to himself. "God baby, I need your pussy so badly” he moaned out loud to himself as he stroked himself faster and faster at the thought of you. “Yeah, come on baby girl. Just like that. Come on, baby. Fuck daddy just like that," Joel said while pumping his hand faster and faster. He was imagining fucking up into you the way he needed, with your legs wrapped around him, riding him hard and fast. He was thrusting so hard up into his hand, moaning and grunting to himself at the image of you fucking him that he knew that he was almost there, right on the edge chasing his high, a few more pumps before finally being able to blow his load the way he needed to. “Fuck y/n. Come on, mama. That’s right, fuck me” he said moaning hard as he continued.  “God damn it y/n, I want you so fucking bad right now. Please be a good girl and just fuck my cock, please baby” he panted, wanting you to be in front of him right now so bad, for you to fuck him hard. He wanted to hold on your hips and help you move your hips back and forth as he fucked you deep.  

“Yes, yes, yes” he panted, and just before he finally tipped over the edge he heard a loud “snap” of a tree branch.  Immediately Joel froze, looking through the trees to see who it was as his dick throbbed hard in his hand.  When he didn’t hear it again after a bit, he turned back to slowly give himself a few more pumps, thinking to himself “fuck man, ya gotta make this quick.”  As he started pumping his fist faster, he felt that same heat build up in his spine.  God, he was edging himself too much today, but he didn’t care, he needed release.  He hadn’t touched himself or let himself have an orgasm since the last time he fucked you.  He was desperate for release again. As Joel continued he thought of you again, and he felt himself get right on the edge once again before he heard another “snap” of a branch.  This time when Joel looked through the trees he saw someone walking through the woods, and he instantly froze thinking, who the fuck is that?

He sat there quiet, slowly tucking himself back in his pants and slowly reaching for his rifle as he watched the person walk closer to him. When you came into view and he saw that it was you, he became incredibly frustrated and said "Are ya fucking kidding me? The universe must be run by a goddamn woman, and that bitch must fucking hate me, cause she won't ever let me come." 

Frustrated Joel focused himself on taking a few slow and steady breaths. “Later, I'll finish this later" he told himself under protest. He tried to force himself to calm down the rest of the way before he was going to speak with you, because right now he didn’t think he could stop himself from stripping your clothes off and fucking you the way he was just fantizing about doing moments ago.

As Joel sat there watching you approach, he heard you mumbling to yourself. When you made the comment about Joel liking your ass with chopping firewood, it honestly piqued his interest. You weren't wrong per se, Joel did find your ass very attractive. However, he didn't need an excuse like chopping firewood to admire it. As Joel sat back observing you, he noticed that you were so focused and lost in your own head that you never saw him sitting there on the ground while you walked past. You continued to mumble to yourself about how much of a jackass Joel was, with that comment Joel shook his head thinking smartass. You also complained out loud that you too had needs that he wasn't fulfilling. He heard your comments about how unsatisfied that you were as a woman, and how you wanted him to touch you. You also voiced to yourself how frustrated you were with him that he wasn’t fulfilling all of your needs either. As Joel heard your statements, he quietly whispered to himself, “same thing here darlin', I'm just as fucking frustrated.”

When Joel heard you admit that you had no idea how to chop down a tree, he smiled to himself. He thought it was cute that you admitted out loud to yourself that you didn’t know what the hell you were doing, but you wanted to impress your man, a man named Joel. When Joel heard that, he felt a rush of blood go to his ego, and go someplace else too. So with a smirk on his face, he welcomed the show that he was sure you were about to give him with your ass, especially when they were placed in those tight pants. "Alright, baby. Show daddy what ya got" he whispered.

The longer you mumbled to yourself, the more he saw you move your weight back and forth between your feet. Those tight pants fit you nicely around your ass, and accentuated every curve you had. Joel wasn't a religious man, but today he was thanking God for being able to stay hidden in the shadows to just enjoy the show you were giving him. The longer you bent over and stood up repeatedly, the harder it was for Joel to get control of his ragging hormones and the strong urge to fuck you right here in the woods. He knew he couldn't act on it, but the urge to hold you, bend you over, and claim you as his was strong within him. He quietly adjusted his pants, reminding himself that he didn't have a claim like that over you. He took a few steadying breaths, but when he saw you bring the axe back, he knew you weren't going to hit shit with that stance. So with a smirk on his face he decided to speak and teach you a lesson. If you were going to be the fantasy of his dreams tonight, you might as well do it right, and not hurt yourself.

Right before you swung the axe you heard Joel say, “Darlin', I don’t think that’s the wisest idea there. Ya might wanna rethink what you’re tryin' to do.” You hadn’t known that Joel was sitting in the shadows behind you. You were so stuck in your own head that you never really looked around to view your surroundings to see who or what was present. You didn’t dare admit that to Joel, as you didn't want to start another argument with him. So sarcastically you said out loud, “yeah well, why is that Joel?”

When you didn’t hear him answer you right away, you turned around slowly to see where he was. With your senses heightened, you were trying to determine why he didn’t respond to you right away. All you hoped for was that he hadn't been bitten. When your eyes met his and you saw him sitting relaxed up against a tree, you were deeply surprised. He was looking at you with a shitty smirk on his face, like he was enjoying the show you were about to give him. Truly he looked relaxed and you had no idea why. As you glared at him with frustration at his easy posture, you noticed that he was slowly looking you up and down. When you caught him staring at your ass, you cocked your head and raised one eyebrow saying “I asked you a question Miller, don’t make me ask you again.”

Joel narrowed his eyes at the sass that you just gave him out of your mouth. God that mouth, he thought, what I’d love to do to that filthy mouth.  Joel felt his pants tighten once again at the thought about him fucking your mouth. He hadn’t had a woman’s mouth on him in so long that the mere thought of you doing it made him hard and weeping precum yet again. He knew he had to calm down before he lost all rational thought with you, and force you on your knees to suck him off.

As Joel stood up, he brushed the snow off from his pants, checked his rifle, and then turned away to re-adjust the front of him.  When he turned back around he saw that you were staring at his half hardened bulge still prominent in his jeans. He took in a long inhale, and as he exhaled he said “nothin' good ever comes from that darlin.’”

You were so lost in thought staring at the man in front of you that you never heard what he said. You were too focused on admiring Joel's manly features. Joel Miller was truly an amazing specimen. He had thick biceps that his jacket hugged nicely. He had powerful thighs that you knew could hold a woman up and fuck her properly. His hips and ass were perfect, sculpted by the Gods. He also had beautiful eyes. God you could get lost in those dark chocolate brown eyes. His lips, you already knew, felt amazing against your body. And his tongue, one you hoped would break you into submission again real soon.  

The longer you looked at Joel, the more you felt your body crave the man that was standing here before you. You knew Joel had said something to you, but honestly you were so lost in your own fantasy that you never heard what he said. As you came back down to Earth you shook your head saying “what?” with somewhat of a puzzled expression on your face.

Joel noticed your staring, and he didn’t care because he was doing his own staring too. Your slightly rosey cheeks, mouth slightly parted as you licked your plump soft lips, eyes fixed at the bulge in his pants. If he wanted to he could just walk over there and grab you by the- Fuck man, get it together and stop this shit right now, he thought to himself as he shook his head trying to clear his own mind.  After closing his eyes and taking a few breaths to steady himself he said while clearing his throat, “you’re gonna hurt yourself if ya continue." When you furrowed your brows further Joel added, “your form darlin’, your form is off. If ya hit that tree with that axe the way you’re holding it, you’re gonna hurt your shoulder and your back.”

You looked down at the axe that you were holding somewhat puzzled, and you realized that you were in way over your head. You felt embarrassed that you weren’t holding it right.  Here you were trying to impress the man in front of you, and you didn’t even think to ask Ellie if there was a technique required to do any of this.  You thought you could just grab the axe, swing it, and it’d work. While looking at the axe you felt stupid, and you felt that Ellie had set you up for where you were the butt of a funny joke yet again. Ellie knew how to chop down a tree because Joel showed her.  She also knew that it was a skill you had never learned before. So here you were, trying to make Joel think of you as a sexy, strong, and capable woman who could pull her own weight, when all you were doing was making a fool out of yourself.

You began to shuffle nervously on your feet, looking down and away from Joel when you said “I-I didn’t know. Um- I just thought-”

Joel could tell that you were upset, and turning slightly inward at the realization that you didn’t know what you were doing.  He hated when you turned inward like this because you weren’t completely wrong in what you were doing, just your form was a little messy.  As Joel approached you, he watched you back up slowly looking down. He felt anger rise into the pit of his stomach at your reaction.  He has never hurt you, nor treated you like shit in moments of teaching. He hated the fact that David did this to you. David was a piece of shit who had ruined what could have been an amazing moment with you. If that asshole was still alive today, Joel thought, I’d kill him again.   

Joel had realized that his anger was starting to boil to the surface, and that was something that he didn’t want.  He knew you'd take it that he was mad at you, but that wasn't the case.  He hated the circumstances of people hurting you. So he took a deep breath to calm himself while stepping forward to gently grab the axe from you while saying “Here honey, let me show you.” After he took the axe he showed you how to choke up on it before swinging it. He also showed you how to move your hand as you swung it to chop. When he was finished he gave it back to you and told you to try those hand movements. 

With a nod you grabbed the axe back from him. And as soon as you started to go to swing the axe to chop down the tree again you heard Joel say, “darlin’ are you trying to hurt yourself?”

“What Joel, what?” you bit back frustrated at him as you turned to face him. “I’m doing it just like you showed me, so what the hell is wrong now?”

Joel shook his head at your sass.  He was both turned on by it and completely annoyed and irritated by it. “Listen here little girl” he said with a little bite to his voice. “Don’t bite my goddamn head off when I’m tryin’ to help ya. You wanna know what’s wrong, it’s your stance. Your stance is wrong and I’m tryin’ to show ya how to do it right so you don’t go and hurt yourself.”  He stepped towards you and said “ now turn around and position yourself like you are going to swing the axe.”  When you didn’t move right away, he whispered in your ear, “come on darlin’, what are you afraid of?”

“You,” you answered without even thinking. “I’m afraid you’re going to-”

“Hurt ya? No darlin’ I ain’t gonna hurt ya” he said feeling the anger slowly boil underneath the surface yet again.  “I’m not like that piece of shit David. I’m. I’m just trying to help you, ok?” he said with a sigh. “Honey, I may not always be around and I want you to be able to do this right on your own. Ok? Now come on honey, show me”  he said while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and nudging you forward.

When you didn’t move he said “Baby, come on. Please show me,” while coaxing you to continue.  You felt your heart race with how close this man was to you. It didn’t help that your head was swimming with what Ellie had said to you earlier.  You were flustered and Joel could sense it as you heard him laugh while saying “come on darlin’, show me.”

After a moment you finally found the courage to begin again.  You started to pull back on the axe once again like he showed you, but this time you felt him grab the axe to stop you from swinging it. Joel softly spoke in your ear saying “your legs are wrong baby, spread ‘em for me.”

You felt heat rise up from your spine and spread across your back and neck. Your also felt your face heat up where you could feel sweat starting to form on your brow. You also started breathing harder, almost panting for him.  You felt your underwear become slick, especially when he got closer and you could feel his chest touching your back softly.  He leaned into you closer, and you felt something hard brush up against your backside as he whispered softly into your ear asking you to spread ‘em. He was so soft and yet so commanding with you, and you loved it. You loved his roughness that he could show. God, you were so turned on by him right now but you didn’t think he meant what you thought he meant, so with a shaky breath you said “Wh-what?” 

Joel could tell how turned on you were by him and it gave him a little bit of an ego boost.  He wasn’t intending on playing this type of game with you, but he realized how his words and actions could have been misinterpreted to mean something more. But the fact that you were so flustered for him he wondered how long it had been since you gave yourself any proper attention. By the way your body responded with a simple phrase, he figured it must have been a long time.  And that was something that he needed to rectify with you soon, but not right now.  

But the longer the moment stretched on, and the more he saw your body respond to him, the more turned on Joel was even getting. God he was still so horny, not able to relieve himself fully so the thought of you getting flustered for him sent him into an animalistic nature. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he leaned in and said with a low growl, “You heard me darlin’. I said spread those fucking legs” And with that Joel put his foot in between your legs and forcibly spread your legs further apart, which caused you to almost lose balance. In an attempt to steady yourself you adjusted your hips and happened to press them hard against the front of Joel and that’s when you felt it, the full outline of his cock in his pants. At that moment instinct took ahold of you and you lightly rolled your hips against his hard bulge. 

You heard him give out a low feral growl again as he grabbed your hips while mimicking the same hip roll back into you. Pretty soon you both were panting as Joel started to dry hump you.  You knew he was turned on, begging for relief. God, he’s so fucking hard, what was he doing out here? You thought to yourself.  You started rubbing your ass harder up and down hard into his crotch, trying to give him some relief while working yourself up too.

“Yeah baby, just like that” you heard Joel say behind you.  He grabbed the axe and threw it to the ground.  He then reached around the front of you and pulled you further back into him. He immediately went to the front of your jeans and opened them up and then plunged his fingers, as soon as he felt how wet you were for him you heard him tsk behind you saying “fuck mama, this all for me?”

When you nodded your head frantically he whispered into your ear in a low growl, “good girl, now show me how you can fuck” as he slammed 2 thick fingers into your hot, wet, and throbbing pussy.  As soon as he did that you let out a low moan and frantically started humping his fingers. You felt Joel bite your neck while saying “come on baby, don’t forget to give daddy some attention.”  He angled your hips back again against his hard bulge and helped you get into a rhythm. You continued to hump his fingers while still giving him some much needed friction. “Come on princess, that’s it. Yeah, fuck me” he said while moaning against you as you both where humping each other.  

When your knees started to give out, he lowered you to the ground on all fours as he yanked down your pants further.  The next thing you knew Joel was humping you hard from behind saying “ya know, I saw two wolves the other day fuck like this and I couldn’t stop thinking about doing this to you” he said humping you hard like you both were animal’s in heat. 

“God, put your cock in Joel, fuck” you said rubbing harder against his ass.

“No, only good girls get daddy’s cock, you robbed me of another orgasm sweetheart.  I was a few more pumps from blowing my sweet fucking load before you interrupted me yet again” he said biting hard on the back of your neck. “I haven’t been able to fucking come since I fucked you in that sleeping bag” he admitted finding that the angle wasn’t giving him enough friction that he wanted.  So he quickly grabbed you and yanked your pants the rest of the way off while sitting back down against the tree.  “Well go on, if you wanna fuck so bad, go ahead. Fuck me” he said with blown out pupils.

You stilled and looked at him and said, “huh Joel, baby you need to-”

“Shut up and just do it,” he growled moving your hips back and forth over his hard bulge that was still prominent and fully clothed in his pants.  After the two of you were grinding hard back and forth, you both needed more friction. Joel quickly unbuckled his belt and freed his cock. You watched him slowly start to stroke himself while looking at you in your eyes saying, “fuck baby, what the hell are ya doing t’me? I’m so fucking horny for you that I ain’t thinkin’ clearly anymore baby.”

You watched as Joel slowly stroked his throbbing cock. You knew Joel was trying to figure out how he could stop what was happening, but knowing that he was too worked up to put an end to this.  It looked like it hurt him bad at how much he throbbed and how much precum was leaking from him. You didn’t want an argument so you scooted down his legs and then leaned back and spread your legs to him while slowly running a finger through your wet slick folds says “Joel, I’m just as fucking worked up. And I know you ain’t wanting to fuck, I’d gladly do it though if you wanted.”

When you saw Joel slowly shake his head no while still continuing to slowly stroke himself you said “yeah I didn’t think so.”

You found yourself slowly sticking a finger in your dripping pussy and moaning at the sensation as your eyes rolled back in your head. God, it had been so long since you had a proper orgasm.  When you opened your eyes again you saw Joel looking at you like he was a wolf wanting to devour his meal that was in front of him.  This gave you a boost of self esteem so you said “Joel, I’m so fucking horny, so how about we both do this a bit.  You touch yourself, and I touch myself, and we both give in to the orgasm that we both know we need.”

“I can’t darlin’, you ain’t gonna play fair if we do any more” he said while stilling his hand and closing his eyes.

“Hey, look at me,” you said gently while touching his cheek.  When he opened his eyes you continued saying “I promise we’ll just do this. No touching for either of us to the other person or we both know how it ends. I know you’re not ready for that yet. But Joel, baby, I fucking need to cum so bad right now that it hurts, so please touch yourself.”  After a few more strokes of yourself you slip your slick coated finger into his mouth so he can taste how worked up you were. 

Joel moaned when he tasted how good you were. He wanted to lap at you right now but if he did, he knew he’d forget all self restraint and fuck you hard. “Your shit to my self control love, ya know that? And ya don’t fucking play fair” Joel said after he pulled your finger out of his mouth with a pop. 

“Who said about playing fair Joel? Here I have my boyfriend, supposedly, who doesn’t want to ever do anything sexually.  First relationship I’ve ever had where he’s someone who’s all talk and no do” you say slowly teasing your clit at your words.

“Watch your mouth there smartass, or you may not like what you’ll get baby” Joel says as a warning.

“Fuck your self control Joel, and your good fucking attitude” you say while sinking 2 fingers knuckle deep within you. “I just want to fuck my boyfriend’s cock, is that so bad?” you say while moaning and pumping your fingers in and out of your tight dripping hole.

Joel watched you give yourself over to pleasure and he couldn’t help himself, he had to indulge in his own pleasure.  So he spit in his hand and then slowly started stroking himself in time with your fingers. God this is fucking hot, he thought to himself.  “Fuck baby, take my cock good like that. And for the record, your boyfriend does wanna fuck you bad” he said as he continued to stroke himself at the speed of your fingers.

When you opened your eyes you noticed Joel was matching you thrust for thrust.  To tease him a little bit you decided to slow down the strokes of your fingers while saying, “come on daddy, you know you can do better than that.”

“Fuck woman, don’t tease,” he growled at you while slowing his strokes down to match you.

“Why Joel, doesn’t it feel good?” you say, dragging out your pleasure just a little longer.

“Fuuuck” he groaned while slamming his head back against the tree, watching you slowly fuck yourself with your fingers as Joel kept edging himself in time with you.  

After a few more slow pumps of your fingers, you felt that familiar feeling of your walls fluttering around yourself.  You knew you were not going to last for very much longer. So you sped up your fingers to start to fuck yourself fast, panting and moaning for Joel.  You looked over and saw Joel panting just as hard, cursing under his breath, fucking himself hard and fast up into his hand.

“Joel baby, I want you” you say panting.

“I know baby, I know. Don’t stop Angel, fuck, don’t stop.” he said in a strained voice.

“Pleeease Joel, I need more” you say begging him, for what you didn’t know.

“I know Angel, I know. But we can’t, we can’t, fuuck” he says watching you desperately chase your high, not quite getting deep enough with your fingers that he knows that you need.  He watched you get frustrated, begging for him to help you, and him telling you no.  Finally after a bit Joel saw you slow down your fingers, pulling them out, knowing that you never came. It’s in that moment he sees your true frustration, you haven’t been able to come since he had sex with you last, not that you hadn’t wanted to, but you couldn’t.  God Joel felt like a complete asshole at this moment.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” he said as he watched you get up and put your pants back on. “Come on honey, don’t do this” he said pleading with you to not shut down.

As soon as you opened your mouth you pulled away saying “I can’t. We-we need to focus.” 

“Why? Why did you stop” he asked you as he also quickly stood up putting himself back together and zipping himself up. 

As you turned around to face him you said, “Joel, I just- I don’t know- tell me what I have to do to-”

It was then that he realized where you were going and all Joel could say shaking his head was “Don’t, don’t go there.”

“Don’t go there, seriously Joel?” you said with a bite to your voice. “No. No Joel, I want to go there. I want to know why. Why is it everytime we get alone and stuff like this happens you say no? Fuck Joel, I can feel you’re turned on, damnit I can see it still right now. We were- we-” you say while trying to put to words what the two of you were doing, because it felt like it was more than just mutual masterbation. Frustrated you said, “fuck Joel, I’m turned on. So why do you resist it, why can’t you just give in and-”

“And fuck you?” he said sarcastically. 

“Yes Joel, why? Why can’t you fuck me?” you snapped.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for darlin,’” he said while shaking his head and looking off into the distance.

You were so frustrated with this man. For the lack of any intimacy, for the lack of communication with you, and for the lack of honesty.  You knew he side-stepped conversations that meant something to him, or brought up strong emotions to the surface. He was a big old broody man, a man that you truly loved, but damnit, you didn’t care in this moment if he was comfortable or not. Everytime you have listened and dropped the topic of discussion, no resolution ever came later on. He’d forget it and move on, treating you as if the topic never got brought up. But not today, today you weren’t going to let him get off so easily. This man in front of you made you question why the hell you were even here in the first place.  For your own sanity, you needed to know. You had enough of the games the two of you played, this time you were going to get to the heart of this and find a solution no matter what the solution was. If not, then you were going to leave permanently.  

So with a deep breath, and nerves shaking you all over, you said “You know, for someone who says he cares and wants me as his girlfriend, you do have a funny way of showing affection. No wonder why Sarah’s mom and Tess-”

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking finish that goddamn sentence little girl, I’m warning you. Don’t.” Joel sneered at you, anger boiling fast to the surface. Who the hell gave you the right to even speak about his past relationships, something you knew nothing about, he thought to himself. 

“Why Joel, cause it’s the truth?” you say getting more and more angry.  “Why could you fuck them and not me?” you snap feeling the tightening in your throat coming on. You knew you were hitting his emotional button with anger, but he was hitting yours where you didn’t feel worthy of love.  Something you didn’t want to admit to him or even to yourself.

“If ya recall darlin,’” he said with a bite to his voice, “I did fuck you.” 

“Yeah one time Joel, one time. And I get it why you didn’t want to after that, that you wanted to date me or whatever. But shit Joel, we don’t kiss, we don’t hug, we don’t-”

“What the fuck were we just doing then y/n, huh? Cause it looked to me that we were definitely doing something” Joel snapped back.

“Yeah, until you would have came and then it would have been done, nevermind that I needed more” you say throwing your arms up in the air. “Jesus Christ Joel, what the fuck do I gotta do to get you to give a shit about me?” you snap back feeling the sting starting to burn hot in the back of your throat.

“I do care. I do give a shit y/n. Fuck, why do you think I’m even out here with you?” he snapped. He didn’t want to have this conversation, the one where he knew you backed him into the corner on having. The one where he had to admit his fault to you, the reason why he has held back for all of these years, even before the outbreak with other women. He knew he needed to turn and walk away before it went any further, but he couldn’t. He wanted to, but he could see you were breaking in front of him. You had an idea that he didn’t care and that was not the reason for this problem.  So he stayed and gave into your and his frustration, and stood there having the one argument with you that he never wanted to have. 

You were so lost in your own anger and frustration that you never saw Joel wince at your outburst, or look at you pleading with his eyes to stop, asking you not to push him any further.  You were so lost in your own emotions that nothing registered in your brain at what you were seeing before you.  You shouted at him saying, “I don’t know Joel, why are you out here? You haven’t hardly been alone with me for 5 seconds for the past month and-”

“For good fucking reason, y/n. I haven’t been alone with you for a good fucking reason. Jesus” he said throwing his hands up in the air out of frustration.

“Then tell me,” you yelled back with tears stinging your eyes and starting to slide down your cheeks. “Tell me why I’m not good enough, Joel. Why did you fucking save my life when you clearly didn’t want to. Why didn’t you just let Dave kill me, when you clearly don’t care. Tell me Joel, why? Why am I in love with a man that doesn’t fucking love me back? What do I have to do to get you to fucking se-see me?” you say as the sob escapes your lips at the admittance of your feelings for the one man standing before you.

It was in that moment that Joel hated himself. He knew you were struggling with those emotions, he knew you loved him but fuck, this was not how he wanted you to say it to him. He knew he wasn’t the guy that liked to communicate his feelings.  Tommy always said while growing up that Joel’s biggest fault was his lack of communicating how he felt. He knew that was the reason why Sarah’s mom did what she did and left, and of why Tess never fully gave herself to him. He hated talking about his emotions and feelings, but he knew that you needed to hear the reason why, because he didn’t want to lose the one person he fucking loved more than anything in this world right now, and that person was you.  Ellie was the other person he loved so much, but he loved her like his own daughter. Where he loved you like his wife, his soulmate. 

When he didn’t respond right away you shook your head and said “maybe I should just-”

“No,” Joel said interrupting you. “Please baby, don’t leave” he said looking up at you with bloodshot eyes. You saw how tears were forming in his eyes and you didn’t understand why. Why would a man who was so closed off with you, who always hated things you did really care if you stuck around. 

“Why Joel, why?” you asked feeling broken. “Please.”  

When he didn’t respond again and looked away, you decided to go pack up a few things to leave. Ellie was wrong, you thought to yourself, I was wrong, he never wanted me. You didn't want to chop down a tree anymore. You just wanted to leave, to stop this pain and to just, I don't know, figure your own life out alone. You turned and had only taken about 4 steps away when you heard Joel speak. 

“I used to do contracting work before the outbreak, I owned a business called Miller Contracting” he said.  You paused and looked over at him and waited. Honestly, you were a little baffled as to why he’d bring that up now. “That sounds pretty cool Joel, you must have done a good job” is all that you could say. 

Joel just shook his head and snorted at your comment.  After a moment he continued saying “Sarah was about 2 years old at the time. Teesh, my wife, short for Theresa, was a stay-at-home mom at the time. We had only known each other, dated for about 5 months before she got pregnant with Sarah. She was young, barely 19 when she got pregnant with Sarah and I, being in my early 20s fucking knew better. One night after a date she was so hot, wanting me so bad. It was raining outside and we were on our way back from the movies.  We had gotten into a horrible fight on our way back and she started to cry. She said that I didn’t love her. But fuck, if that woman really knew how I felt about her we wouldn’t have gotten into that argument.”

“Anyways,” Joel said while switching sides with his rifle and slowly walking up to you. “She said I didn’t care and the next thing I knew we were parked on the side of the road and she was on my lap and- well, let’s just say that Sarah was created in my truck that night. I didn’t have anything for protection and she pleaded with me to not pull out. I was so swept up in the moment that I didn’t think that she may have been ovulating” he said with a smirk.

After a moment of silence you said “Joel, I’m sorry that happened, but what does that have to do with-”

“Just give me a minute here baby, please” Joel said while wiping a tear off his face. Finally after a few moments of Joel lost in thought you heard him continue.  “Sarah was born 9 months later and Teesh and I were married when she was 5 months pregnant. Teesh and I didn’t get along much, but we put a great effort in. Well when Sarah was about a year old I started my own business, Miller Contracting, and Teesh was my biggest supporter at the time, or so I thought. I busted my ass for my family. We moved out of this shitty 1 bedroom apartment into a house that I had built for her and Sarah. Sarah was about 2 years old and Teesh said she wanted another baby. After a few discussions I had agreed and we tried, fuck baby we tried so goddamn hard to do it. But when you’re working 60 hours a week, hardly home in the summer, it makes baby making a little harder.”

“Well, one day I got done with work a little early, about 2 pm, and wanted to go home to surprise Teesh. Sarah was over at the babysitters house cause Teesh needed a break that day. I went and bought her some flowers, stopped and got her favorite cheesecake from the best bakery, and was gonna go home and show my wife that her man needed her.  I bought a card and wrote in the card ‘baby, I love you and need you, J’. And for me, that was a lot for sharing my emotions.”

“When I walked into the house I heard some moaning coming from the bedroom. I thought my wife was giving herself some much needed attention. God, I was so turned on by it, wanted to watch her touch herself and then help her finish. So I walked up the stairs to our bedroom and then froze with what I saw.”

You felt your heart race fast in your chest when you looked at Joel in the face. You saw a man that looked broken in this second, shattered. You watched him taking a few shaky breaths to calm himself. Finally after a moment you said softly “Joel, what did you see?”

With a shake of his head, Joel looked you straight in the eyes and said, “I saw my wife fucking my best friend. The man who was like a brother to me. He was balls deep in my wife, fucking her with no protection and she was begging him to come inside her. And she was fucking ovulating.”

“Oh my God Joel, I’m so-”

“Don’t. Let me finish” he said clearing his throat and swiping another tear away from his cheek. Finally after a few moments he said while looking off in the distance, “She said the reason why she did it was because I didn’t care about her, that she felt that I never loved her, yet I did.” Joel looked back at you and said “darlin’ I struggle communicating my feelings, as you can tell. But don’t ever think for a second baby that I don’t care about you, cause I do. I’m just scared. I’m scared of losing the people that matter the most to me. I’ve lost everyone so far that I’ve cared about deeply, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t make love to you baby, not cause I don’t want to. Fuck woman, I want you more than you god damn know. I just. I can’t risk sentencing you to death or our baby to death, because I fucking knocked ya up out here.”

Joel gently grabbed your face with both hands, and with looking into your beautiful eyes he said “I see you mama. I see you so god damn much in front of me and I- I, fuck.”  You watch a tear slip down his cheek, while shaking his head he continues saying, “I see you honey, ok. And I care about you, so damn much,” and with that he leans in and puts the softest kiss to your lips.

You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, and into him.  You don’t ask for more than what he is giving you, because this was Joel showing you that he cared. After a moment he deepens that kiss and brings you closer to him.  He skims your lips with his tongue, asking gently for access to your mouth, and you grant it to him with no resistance.  He doesn’t wrestle you with his tongue, but slowly moves it in your mouth, where both of your tongues are doing a slow dance exploring each other.  This isn’t a kiss that says ‘I want to fuck you.’  This is a kiss that says ‘I love you.’  Even though he hasn’t said it to you, you can feel it in this moment with how he is kissing you, as it is so intimate.  And you communicate the same thing to him with your slow tender kiss back.

When Joel had finished exploring your mouth, he gently pulled back and nipped your chin and jaw.  He then pulls you close into his arms and wraps his arms tenderly around you saying, “I care about you kiddo, don’t ever think differently, ok? And I promise baby, I’ll work on the affection part. But know that I care about ya, alright. I fucking care and want you more than you’ll ever know.” He gently starts swaying you side to side in his arms, caressing the back of your head and kissing you periodically on the top of your head.

“Ok, old man,” you say, and you hear him chuckle above you. “But ya gotta give me more than just the cold shoulder Joel. If you want me to believe you, and that you do care, you gotta give me more than just telling me these things baby. You gotta show me, and don’t worry, we’ll go at a pace that is comfortable for both of us, ok?” 

“Ok mama, ok.” he says and gives you the softest kiss on your lips again.  After pulling all the way back he picks up the axe that had dropped and hands it to you while saying, “ok smartass now swing that fucking axe and let me see that nice ass of yours." As you turn around he playfully slaps your ass.

You burst out laughing and say “ok Papa Bear, you better go sit down or you’re gonna have a heart attack if ya don’t watch it.”  And with that you glance back over your shoulder at him before you swing the axe towards the tree.  As you line up, you glance back to see if your form is ok. He nods once at you in a silent encouragement to keep going and you hit the tree.  As soon as the axe hit the tree you heard him say “good job baby, now do it again.” And so you follow his instructions.  Pretty soon the tree was chopped all the way down by you.  He had given you instructions and feedback along the way, encouraging you to keep going.  He had offered you to let him finish chopping the tree down for you when you got tired, which you promptly told him if he moved one muscle to grab that axe you were going to swing it at his head.  He laughed at you holding his arms up in surrender, and told you to continue then.  

Once the tree was chopped down he grabbed the axe from you and told you to go sit down to rest. He showed you how to check the tree for closer damage and how to chop some of the unhealthy branches off first. When you offered to drag the tree back to the cabin he said to you “nah baby, I got it” and then you followed him back watching him flex his muscles for you. Once you were back you immediately started sectioning off the tree into easier sections for firewood. Joel helped you chop wood, quietly glancing over at you as you both worked.  Once you saw him glance at your ass and stare at the curve of it.  You smiled and said “eyes up here cowboy” and pointed to your face.  He quickly cleared his throat and said “was looking behind you, not at ya,” as he adjusted his jacket with a red face from embarrassment that you caught him looking.  

You thought Joel being embarrassed looked cute, so you walked up to him and said with a smile “ya I know, my behind is sexy isn’t it?” Joel never answered you, but looked at you with intense eyes as he tightened his jaw.  When you walked away you heard him say under his breath “yeah baby it fucking is” and then you watched him re-adjust the front of his pants yet again.  Ellie was right, you thought to yourself, points go to the cocky teenager for being right.  You make a mental note that next time you talk with Ellie about something like this, you tell her that she was in fact right.  Papa Bear does love it when you go out to chop firewood.  You also make a mental note that you will definitely be making a trip out to the pine trees with Joel yet again. 

-End of Chapter 5-

A/N: Wow, this is the filthiest thing I have written so far. Once again there will be other chapters with these two. I already have a few written, had to split up what I originally wrote for this chapter into 3 separate chapters. Things eventually will heat up with these two and they eventually will fully give in. If you want to be added to the taglist let me know in the comments (tags only added to completed chapters or upcoming one-shots, not teasers).

Taglist: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @joeldjarin @vickie5446 @nastiasnow

#joel miller #joel and reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller masterlist #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #joel x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x female reader #my journey to you #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff #tlou fic #joel tlou

[finn-m-corvex]

Aftershocks Pt. 1 - Cole

The first of the stories that you all voted on for October's poll! Since the poll tied, I said that you guys would be getting TWO stories on the same day instead of just one, and that's still happening! This one will be going up in the morning, and then Falling Sleeves will be going up in the afternoon, so I hope you guys enjoy this double-whammy. Lightning in a Cubicle Pt. 3 is also going up tomorrow just in time for DR Pt. 2!

Words: 3.7k

TWs: sensory overload stuff, vomiting mention but nothing graphic, lots of fluffy moments bc it's Whumptober and I can do that kinda stuff.

Jay shivered where he stood in the kitchen, reaching up into the cabinet to grab a clean glass so he could get some much-needed water. He ignored the way his vision suddenly tilted to the right, gripping the countertop in an effort to stay standing against the wave of vertigo that threatened to draw him under. Nausea rolled through his head, and it took everything in him not to duck his head into the sink and throw up every bit of bile in his body.

This sucked.

He reached up to try and rub circles into his aching temple before recoiling, blue sparks trailing from his fingers as he drew them away. Instead of trying again, Jay just shoved his hand back into the hoodie's large pocket with a defeated sound. Guess that little trick of his wasn’t going to work this time, which would of course make this a thousand times more miserable.

Skin crawling from the scratchy t-shirt he had on, Jay ignored the way the hoodie felt uneven on his shoulders no matter how many times he readjusted it. His socks felt like they were suffocating his feet, and the hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat made him feel claustrophobic; the only thing not bothering him at the moment were his pants, but he wasn’t sure how long that was going to last. At the moment Jay wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed on fresh sheets in nothing but his boxers, wrapped up in his favorite weighted blanket and sleeping the day away. Except he couldn’t do that, because then he would have to explain his current predicament to the others, and he did not feel like playing a game of twenty questions when he was feeling this sucky.

Definitely overdid it on the last mission, he thought to himself as he finally snatched the glass, shuffling over to the sink to fill it. The motions sent familiar waves of pain radiating through his legs, pins and needles burying themselves deep into his skin. Jay turned the sink on, and immediately had to turn it off because when did it get so loud? 

Preparing himself properly this time, he filled his glass, even if the sound of the rushing water made him want to smash his head into the wall. He raised the glass to his lips, taking a very shaky sip of water; it was the first time he had drank anything in a day and a half.

First Master, he wanted a hug. He wanted a hug so badly. A tight one, a loose one, even a side-hug, he would take anything at this point.

Why were his hands shaking so bad? He knew why, of course, but he was going to ignore the problem for as long as he possibly could. Part of him wondered if he could make it to the laundry room and grab his compression gloves without the others noticing; those would definitely help. Zane had insisted on washing them after their last mission since it had involved quite a trek through the muddy woodlands of Primeval's Eye, and the gloves hadn't escaped unscathed.

His plan of ignoring all of his ailments was shot down pretty quickly when Cole came strolling into the kitchen only a minute later, flicking the light switch that Jay had intentionally left alone.

The blue ninja gave a small cry, free hand tangling itself in his hair as his vision whited out because ow ow ow it hurts it hurts-

Cole quickly turned the lights off, and Jay was left gasping for breath at the counter as his vision came swimming back into focus. It was a miracle that the glass hadn't slipped from his fingers and cracked on the floor. The hand buried in his hair started tugging in distress as Jay's barely contained panic threatened to rise to the surface, lightning struggling to leap from his body into any available surface willing to ground it. Why did his element always have to act up at the worst of times?

"Jay?" Cole asked, and Jay flinched because why was he talking so loudly? "What are you doing in here with the lights off? You okay?" 

He put the glass down onto the counter, leaning on his elbows over the sink. He wasn't entirely sure if he was going to throw up or not. "Headache."

The earth ninja made a small concerned noise that made Jay want to cry; Cole was definitely upset with him. "You overdid it on the mission, didn't you?"

And he was not in the headspace to be lectured; he was barely coherent enough to think of basic sentences. "Not right now, Cole-" 

"You told us when we got back that you would be fine!" Cole continued, "But you weren't, were you? I bet you got home and thought you could take care of it yourself but-"

Jay pitching forward into the sink with a strangled gagging sound was not what the ravenette was expecting to happen, but he quickly adapted to the new situation. Jay's fingers kept tugging on his hair so hard that it started to hurt, and the extra stimulation just made the lightning in his gut even stronger as it responded to Jay’s distress. Skin crawling, Jay’s fingers went to itch at the skin on his forearm, hoping for any sort of sensation to distract him from the pounding in his head.

"Stop it, Jay, that's not helping. Here, I gotcha,” Cole quickly did his best to break the vicious cycle, untangling Jay's hand from his hair and replacing it with his own larger one. He wrapped his arm around the front of Jay’s torso, frowning at the intensity of the smaller ninja’s shaking.

The blue ninja only sunk into Cole’s hold, shoving as much of his body weight onto his brother as he could. Somehow, Cole’s touch made the crawling so much easier to manage, and now Jay wanted nothing more than to be in his brother’s arms for as long as he wanted.

Cole squeezed Jay tightly. “I think you need to lay down, Sparky. C’mon, we’ll go to the couch.”

Except Jay couldn’t move. He whined when Cole tried to pull him away from the sink, knuckles going white with the force of his grip on the counter’s edge. Cole winced in sympathy when Jay vomited again, the sound of his gagging echoing off of the small kitchen walls as nothing came up (that was concerning in itself). He rubbed his brother’s back comfortingly, his hand in the auburn hair working to keep Jay’s bangs out of his face.

“Thank you,” Jay panted softly, spitting into the basin with disgust.

“Anytime. You really don’t feel good, huh?” Cole said softly, grunting as Jay nearly collapsed onto him.

“What was your first clue?” Jay snapped, even though he knew it wasn’t Cole’s fault he was feeling like shit, it was his. Reaching behind him and wincing from the feel of the fabric under his fingers, Jay drew his sweatshirt hood up and over his head, even though it did nothing to muffle the small sounds around him and only made his claustrophobia so much worse. Hurray.

Cole just hummed, still carding through Jay’s hair and lightly running his nails along the blue ninja’s scalp. He was more than experienced enough to know when to interfere and when to just let things slide. Jay closed his eyes and let some of his excess lightning course through his body; he knew it wouldn’t hurt Cole and he needed it out. Some of the tension finally bled out from his shoulders as the invisible pressure relieved itself, his body no longer having to work overtime to keep his powers in check. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, blue lightning humming across his skin as Cole gave Jay time to catch his breath and dispell some of the dizziness from being upright for too long. “Are you okay to lay down now?”

“Yeah, I-I think so.”

“Bed or couch?” Cole asked, and Jay had to think about it for a minute. The couch was closer, but the bed…

“Bed, please,” he said quietly. He wanted the comfort more than anything else right now; if he couldn’t fix it, then he would have to ride it out.

“I gotcha, buddy,” Cole said softly. “Come on, I’ll carry you so it’s easier. Just don’t throw up on me, alright?”

“No promises,” Jay groaned, clutching at Cole’s shoulders when his brother started to lift him up. Cole hooked one arm under Jay’s rear to hold him, the other hand going to rub in smooth strokes across the blue ninja’s back. The motion was achingly familiar from all of the other times that the two of them had been in this situation, and Jay just huddled closer to his big brother when he felt the tears stinging at his eyes.

Here was the hug he had wanted so badly, and Jay wouldn’t trade it for anything in the whole world.

Walking back to the bedroom was a much smoother ride than it would’ve been if Jay had tried to go back by himself, and suddenly he was grateful that at least one person knew about his predicament. Cole knew the drill, keeping his steps as even as he could and swinging Jay as little as possible as he went. He knew Jay would do his damndest to keep his bodily fluids to himself even if Cole wasn’t being careful, but Jay was already having a rough enough time as it was. 

The earth ninja squeezed his little brother just a little tighter, hoping the extra pressure would bring him some peace of mind.

Opening the door to the bedroom with a well-practiced movement, Cole made sure to flick the lights off before checking to see if anyone else was inside. It was empty; everyone else must still be outside training. Cole already knew that he was going to have to send a message to the groupchat about Jay’s condition, even if he knew that the blue ninja would have something to say. Jay always did; it was one of Cole’s favorite things about him.

Putting Jay down on his bed after moving the covers, Cole was quick to shut the black-out curtains over the window. They were something he had invested in a long time ago when Jay went through his first sensory overload and they had proven themselves useful time and time again. “Do you need anything?”

“New hoodie?” Jay groaned, sitting up and starting to peel his current hoodie off; he couldn’t stand the texture anymore. His shoulders ached from the movements, throbbing uncomfortably as he laid his head against the pillow. Even the small movement aggravated his blossoming migraine (pretty sure that’s what it was turning into), and he was more than grateful that Cole had closed the curtains before the sunlight could do very much damage.

“I’ll do you one better.” Cole dug around in his drawers, snatching up one of his softest hoodies (Jay’s favorite) and a simple black shirt. Turning around, he threw Jay’s old hoodie into his laundry basket; it would end up back in Jay’s hands eventually.

“Touch okay?” Cole asked, sitting down on the bed.

“Yeah,” Jay whispered, hand brushing his bangs out of his face. He could feel the subtle heat of his fever from his forehead; it was a sure sign that his lightning was still acting up, “please.”

Cole didn’t waste any time in stripping Jay out of his soaked-through shirt and putting the new one on, and he snickered at how large it was on his smaller brother. The thing practically came down to the blue ninja’s knees, and Jay was more than happy to tuck his legs under the hem, leaving just his feet poking out from the bottom. He shouldn’t have felt so much satisfaction from the new position, but that’s ADHD for you.

The earth ninja sighed. “How many times have I told you to stop stretching out my shirts?”

“Don’t care,” Jay replied half-heartedly.

“I know,” Cole said, shuffling down to be next to his brother. “You know I don’t really mind. Now how are we doing this?”

Jay bit his lip, feeling his face flush with shame as he popped his legs back out. How old was he? Certainly old enough to be able to take care of this himself. His anxiety flared, and Jay quickly found his breath running out and suddenly he was struggling to breathe because First Master what was he supposed to do when his brothers weren’t there and he would have to do this alone-

Until strong arms settled around him, drawing him into Cole’s larger chest with one of his legs thrown overtop of Jay’s. Jay ignored how he could feel every one of the earth ninja’s leg hairs, instead focusing on the rise and fall of Cole’s chest against his back and how pleasant the fabric of the new shirt felt against his sensitive skin.

“Breathe,” Cole told him gently, hands going to Jay’s belly and rubbing in soothing circles. The knot in Jay’s stomach slowly started to come undone.  “I don’t mind, seriously. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here. Do you need me to lay on top of you?”

Wordlessly Jay nodded, and Cole was quick to shift positions so that he was directly on the blue ninja. As soon as he stopped moving, Jay felt like a weight had lifted off of his chest, ironically enough. Cole chuckled when he felt his brother relaxing, reaching up to lace their fingers together and cross his ankles on top of Jay’s. Jay always told Cole that he felt like the world’s best weighted blanket, large and warm and heavy enough to be grounding but not suffocating (even if all of the others would disagree). Exhaling, Jay felt himself relax even more when Cole reached and pulled the blankets over both of them, making sure to tuck them up so that it was like a little tent for Jay. This was already so much better than how he felt in the kitchen.

“Okay?” Cole asked, and Jay hummed in agreement.

“Yeah.”

“Good, now how about you get some sleep, huh? So you’re a bit less of a grouch?”

Shutting his eyes, Jay was more than content to let his brother’s breathing soothe him and the insult slide, the rhythmic inhales and exhales like a soft lullaby in his ear with Cole’s heartbeat to accompany it. Wishing Cole a soft goodnight even though it was the middle of the day, the blue ninja fell fast asleep to the feeling of Cole tracing along the backs of his hands and a small kiss pressed against his forehead.

Quickly pulling out his phone from his pocket after seeing that Jay was asleep, Cole opened up his messaging app, clicking on the chat with everyone but Jay that they used when he was out of commission.

Earth Wind and Tired

Hey, Jay’s not doing too good

Watergirl

wdym

Earth Wind and Tired

I think he overdid it on the last mission

Sour Green AppLloyd

shit srsly???

Earth Wind and Tired

Yeah, he threw up in the kitchen and I couldn’t clean it

Frozone But Cooler

Do not worry, I will take care of it. Is he resting?

Earth Wind and Tired

Yeah, just got him to sleep but I’m stuck in bed. Can I get some help?

Watergirl

me and kai are coming hang tight

It was only a couple minutes before Cole heard his door open, two sets of footsteps scurrying in and closing the door. Cole watched as Nya and Kai both crouched down next to his bed with worried looks on their faces, eyebrows pinched in a similar sibling manner. They were still in their training gi; Nya must’ve been checking her phone right when Cole texted and paused the training session.

“Hey,” Nya whispered, “everything okay?”

“Jay’s getting pretty sick,” Cole said in a low tone, squeezing his brother’s hand. Jay didn’t squeeze back, good. He was still asleep. “Threw up more than once in the kitchen from the typical sensory stuff. Definitely a headache, muscle aches, fatigue, and grouchy too. Very huggy.”

“Do we have his pudding?” Kai asked, even though Nya was already making a note on her phone to send to Zane.

“We’ll have to run out and get it,” she sighed. “But that’s fine, we’ll pick up some other stuff for him too, not the end of the world. Is he running a fever?”

“Starting to,” Cole moved his head to let Nya press the back of her hand against Jay’s neck and forehead, her thumb lingering on the small scar across his left eye. He saw her eyes cloud over with emotion, and he was quick to press a kiss to her knuckles as Jay leaned into her touch. “He’ll be okay, Nya. He just needs some rest.”

“I know,” Nya murmured, eyes softening when drool started leaking out of her Yin’s mouth as he snored, much to Cole’s false chagrin.

“Every single time,” Cole fake-grumbled, and to both of their surprises Kai was the one to reach out and wipe it away without a word, although the red ninja had a gentle smile on his face as he did so.

Nya started taking her training gi off, reaching behind her to root around through Cole’s dresser and throwing on one of his shirts and a hoodie. Kai and Cole looked away when she threw her bra into Cole’s laundry bin, pulling a pair of Cole’s boxers up and over her waist so that she was clothed entirely in the earth ninja’s attire.

“Shove over, I’m coming in,” Nya said, and Cole shifted over as best as he could to make room for her, turning Jay on his side but making sure he stayed asleep. She laid down on her side next to Jay, close enough for her to pillow his head in the crook of her neck and cup the back of his neck. Nya pressed a few kisses to his hair in a rare show of affection, and Cole watched with bated breath as Jay started to stir.

The blue ninja barely blinked his eyes open. “Nya?”

“Hey, hun,” she said quietly, kissing his warming forehead and then his flushed cheeks. “You don’t feel so good, do you?”

Jay whimpered, tucking his arms against his chest and making himself smaller as Nya adjusted her hold on him. Cole wrapped his arms around both of them, making a fist with his hands and rubbing light circles into Nya’s back. 

“Back to sleep for you, dear,” Nya said, cheek to his hair with Cole kissing her forehead. Jay hummed in agreement, content to ball up her shirt in his hands as she threaded her fingers through the auburn curls. The touch soothed Jay, and he let himself bask in the joy of having his Yang and his best friend loving on him His head was still pounding and he was entirely too nauseous for his liking, but having both of them there made everything so much better than it would’ve been if he had gone back to his own bed, all alone.

Alone. He didn’t like being alone when he was sick.

“You’re not alone,” Cole said softly, nuzzling his face into Jay’s hair. “We’re right here, and so is Kai, and none of us are going anywhere.”

The knot in his chest loosened when Kai laid his hand on Jay’s arm, and Jay let the tension he had been holding in his shoulders leak out until they relaxed completely; the sensation was a little strange after keeping them up for so long. Yeah, he still felt like a steaming hot pile of shit left outside to bake in the sun, but it was okay. It was going to be okay.

Kai stood up from the side of the bed, watching as Jay’s eyes closed and his breathing evened out again. “I’m gonna get you guys some water since you might be here for a while. Need anything else?”

“Granola bars,” Cole said, and Nya nodded in agreement. “The peanut butter ones with marshmallows.”

Sighing, Kai shook his head in fond exasperation. “I’ll never understand how you guys can like those things, but okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thanks Kai,” Nya called as the fire ninja walked out of the door, making sure to close it as quietly as possible. The two of them stayed silent for a minute, listening to the sound of Jay’s breath ease in and out of his chest and the dull thunks of someone hitting the dummies outside, probably Lloyd. Nya started playing footsies with Cole, even though her shoe size was a fraction of his, and she groaned when she very quickly lost the game as Cole extended his giraffe legs over her own normal-sized ones. She pulled out her phone, and Cole was expecting that to be the end of that when she suddenly shoved the device into his hands.

Cole looked at it in confusion, turning it around and reading the screen. “What?”

“We’re playing Heads-Up, now get a move on and pick a category so we can start.”

“Nya, you could’ve just said you were bored,” but Cole did what she asked, picking the music category and holding the phone to his forehead as best he could with one free arm, the other buried under Jay and Nya. Nya snorted when she saw his choice.

“Oh come on, you know I’m not that good at music!”

“I just gave you some new records last week! Did you not listen to them?”

“No old man, I don’t have time to listen to records. I have a life, you know-”

Jay made a small noise, and both of them went dead silent as the blue ninja moved around a little, throwing his leg over Nya’s and making a satisfied noise as he hiked it up. Nya was more than used to the drool that started leaking onto her hoodie, only making sure that it wouldn’t go down her collar and on her shirt with a sigh before turning to look at Cole. She smoothed her hand through her Yin’s curls, letting the stuttery thump of his heart fill her with calm. He was here, and he was going to be fine.

“Quieter?” she said. Cole scrunched his face up, thinking, before nodding.

“Quieter.”

“We’re still playing though?”

“Hell yeah, Waterlily, and I’m gonna kick your ass.”

#finn's writing #ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago kai #ninjago nya #ninjago cole #ninjago jaya #jaya #aftershocks

[dougdimmadodo]

September's Fossil of the Month: Hyracotherium (Hyracotherium spp.)

Family: Horse family (Equidae) or Paleothere family (Palaeotheriidae)

Time Period: Early Paleogene (55-45 Million Years Ago)

Living across much of what is now Europe and North America, the members of the genus Hyracotherium were early members of the order Perissodactyla (the group of mammals to which horses, tapirs and rhinoceroses belong,) and are believed by some authorities to be among the earliest known members of the horse family, although some palaeontologists instead regard them as belonging to a separate but related extinct family of small, horse-like Perrisodactyls known as paleotheres (which would make them relatives or possibly ancestors of modern horses, but not technically true horses themselves.) Though notably horse-like in terms of their overall anatomy, members of this genus were small animals (growing to be 30-60cm/11.8-23.6 inches tall and weighing around 9kg/20lbs,) and, in contrast to the feet of modern horses (which consist of a single toe enclosed in a hardened hoof of keratin, forming a sort of built-in shoe well suited to running on flat surfaces,) had separate hoof-tipped toes on each foot (4 on the front feet and 3 on the back feet) which may have aided them in walking on the uneven, muddy ground of the dense forests that would have covered much of their range at the time. Further distinguishing Hyracotherium species from modern horses is their teeth, which (in contrast to modern horses which have long incisors for grasping and tearing grasses and tall crowns on their molars to protect them from being worn down when chewing tough plants,) consisted of relatively small incisors and short-tipped crowns, suggesting that, as forest dwellers, members of this genus fed on fruits, shoots and low-growing leaves much like many modern forest antelopes. Throughout the Paleogene period, temperatures gradually became cooler and drier compared to the period's warm, humid beginning, and this change in climate led the then abundant rainforests that Hyracotherium species inhabited to be gradually replaced with open grasslands and temperate woodlands. This drastic change led to the extinction of many forest-dwelling specialists towards the end of the Paleogene, but also provided a new selective pressure that would eventually result in the surviving descendants of many forest specialists adapting to life on open plains - by 37 million years ago the members of the genus Mesohippus (which are unanimously excepted as early true horses) had lost the 4th toes on their forefeet and developed longer legs and larger bodies as they adapted to life in open habitats, and roughly 22 million years later the members of the genus Merychippus were larger still, bore their weight on only one toe per foot (though two tiny, presumably vestigial toes still remained,) and had tall crowns that would have allowed them to graze on the abundant tough grasses that surrounded them. Today, the anatomical changes that can be seen in the transition between paleotheres like Hyracotherium and the modern horses of the genus Equus are commonly used as a textbook example of how lineages of organisms have changed and adapted in response to environmental changes over time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Note - Depending on who you ask, the fossil pictured above may belong to the species Hyracotherium angustidens or to a separate but related animal, Eohippus angustidens. Some authorities consider Eohippus to be the only species in its own distinct genus, while others consider it to simply be a species in the genus Hyracotherium. For the sake of this post, and because the image above is VERY pretty, I've assumed here that the latter is true.)

Image Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HyracotheriumVasacciensisLikeHorse.JPG

#Hyracotherium #animal #animals #zoology #biology #mammalogy #paleontology #wildlife #prehistoric wildlife #horse #horses #prehistoric mammals #prehistoric horses #fossil #fossils #paleogene #paleogene wildlife

[sotcwcrp]

SECRETS OF THE CLANS, JANUARY OPENING!

In celebration of our January 14th - January 28th opening, we're going to be highlighting each of the clans, to give you a better idea of what they're like / how different they are from the books!

Today's clan is...

Thunderclan

ART CREDITS: carnationcarnivore on discord!

❗Important note! Thunderclan is only SEMI-OPEN to new members! They will only be allowing in member whos specifically request TC on our membership application.

A spark comes to life in the depths of your chest. Arcing over a pumping heart and electrifying your very soul. Paws clobber the forest floor as a voltage races through those veins. Looking above, a series of pelts are crawling on trunks and flying across tree limbs after bushy squirrels. The sky rumbles with the admonition of an incoming storm, your ears perk at the chance of being doused by the thrumming rain. Keep up, now!

To be your eyes into Thunderclan Territory, Harrierkit a Thunderclan kitten is here to interview some of his clanmates! Take it away Harrierkit!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"So, what's Thunderclan's territory like?"

"Oh, it's quite marvellous! With so many trees and woods that go on for miles and miles! The sound of birds chirping and singing songs of beauty! Trees so tall you could reach the clouds and stars. And! Oh my, I'm getting ahead of myself little one. For seeing the territory with eyes of your own, is what I call an amazing first experience." - Lionhoney

Thunderclan's territory is an impenetrable woodland, decorated with dense foliage that's easy to get lost in. Ferns and thorny-thickets twist at every curve and low hanging branches promise to snag an unfamiliar cat's pelt. To those who have learned its navigation, the forest floor is an oasis to skittering bugs and nests of curious prey. Above your head lays a maze of tangled branches, rising to towering heights and spanning across the full length of the forest, those daring can venture across abandoned twoleg bridges or find themselves in a nasty fight with sharp-toothed red squirrels. The labyrinth of foliage and the web of branches overhead are so different as to almost be their own territories, but they interweave with one another in a timeless dance. The Hearthborn twisting and turning through thickets and the Timbered flying through branches with the sun on their "wings" have very different experiences with the territory, but both are so characteristically ThunderClan. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"What's the best place in our territory? Go lots' into detail please!"

"My favourite spot on ThunderClan territory is our Sacred Oak. I've adored looking up to it ever since I was a kit. It represents the past and my--our--future. Something magical is in that bark, and I swear it glows beneath the light of the moon. It holds secrets and stories and success. I plan to be part of it one day." - Foxleap

The Sacred Oak truly is magnificent; a tall, ancient tree, it is said that StarClan struck the tree with lightning to symbolize their approval of Thunderstar. All leaders from Thunderstar to Bugstar have had their pawprint carved and painted on the Sacred Oak, and on the reverse side, lovers have left their intertwined paw carvings as well, immortalizing their devotion to each other. The grand tree symbolizes ThunderClan's love, both the love between cats and the love of the leaders for their Clans.

But the Sacred Oak is far from the only notable landmark; ThunderClan has plenty of others across its large stretch of forest. The vibrant grove of berry branches, speckled with vines of multi-colored berries that lay through the trees and litter the ground below. Hidden away, by the edge of the territory lies a secret meadow, canopied by tightly knit trees and lush with tall-standing flowers and untouched grass. Daring timbered warriors can find themselves in the well-structured twisted canopy, an entire separate world above the floor! And to those in Thunderclan more adverse to the risk-taking heights, a muddy coliseum welcomes any cat for a good spar, though-- make sure you don't come back to camp all muddy by taking a leisurely dip in ThunderClan's flooded meadow!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Hey! Can you tell me a story 'bout something that happened in Thunderclan?"

"I remember when Silkshimmer, my apprentice, caught her first piece of prey. She had a bit of trouble gettin' the hang of huntin', and it was really takin' a toll of her self esteem. But, one day, we're out in the trees and the next thing I know she was leapin' through the trees like she had wings. I barely blink and suddenly she found herself with a crow beneath her claws. I'll never forget the way she smiled." - Robinfeet

A mentor is one of the most vital figures in a young apprentice’s life, and apprentices often come to see their mentors as a form of family. Aside from just training their apprentice, mentors offer general life advice, a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear, and an extra set of paws to help with whatever their apprentice is crafting at the moment, whether it’s a present for a loved one or their personal set of bark armor. When apprentices graduate, they wear their bark armor and colorful pawstains up to the highrock, and it’s frequently their mentors that help them put on their festive attire for their big day. When the crowd bursts into thunderous cheers once the warrior ceremony concludes, the mentors will cheer the loudest, and many of them cry. Mentor-apprentice bonds frequently last far beyond graduation, and Silkshimmer and Robinfeet’s connection is no exception. The two of them are still inseparable, even though Silkshimmer’s grown so much since her apprentice days and now has an apprentice of her own: young Ivypaw, who’s missing a foreleg, just like her! In fact, once a mentor’s apprentice receives an apprentice of their own, ThunderClan cats recognize them as a grandmentor. If mentors are frequently as close to apprentices as their parents are, grandmentors are then like grandparents; while not primarily involved with the apprentice’s training, they typically like to take an interest and check in with the youngster from time to time. Cats can often trace their “mentor lineage” just as well as they can track their family lineage, and these mentor-apprentice ties connect all of ThunderClan together, making the Clan feel like one big family.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"M' lucky to be in the best clan in the forest, what's our culture like compared to the others?"

“M-My mentor Cicadaskip just taught me this, and I think it’s really cool… U-Um, Timbered warriors of Thunderclan have a sort of secret code that they use to communicate with one another! We mimic the sounds of different bird calls, and then use them to warn other T-Timbered warriors about things like prey, clanmates, enemies… I-It’s really neat! I haven’t mastered all the calls y-yet, but I will one day! I just need to focus on making the calls more round, like Cicadaskip told me to!” - Amurpaw

ThunderClan loves to delve into the world around them and celebrate every little bit that the forest throws at them. The Timbered language is no exception, as it was born from their appreciation for the complex symphony of birdsong greeting them from sunrise to sunset. In fact, all of ThunderClan’s culture comes from embracing the forest’s gifts and displaying them to the world, with all the pride of a beautiful bird flaunting its feathers. With the abundance of berries, flowers, and other bright natural dyes found in the forest, ThunderClan cats often sport multi-colored looks, especially in certain patterns called pawstains. Their love of painting extends past their fur and onto physical objects as well, especially the bark armor they craft throughout their apprenticeships. Wood is one of the most valuable crafting staples for ThunderClan cats, but not all wood is created equal! After so many years of relying on and studying the trees surrounding them, the tree types grew to have characters of their own, from the quaking yet courageous aspen to the circles of ash keeping each other safe. ThunderClan cats even have their own version of astrology called arbology, which relates to different tree types and is used for light-hearted superstition and fuels many discussions during apprentice sleepovers. All-in-all, ThunderClan cats are spirited, bright, and as loud as the storms they celebrate, and they’ll always be deeply connected to the forest that shelters them.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"I think the council's really cool, what do you think, Withercall?"

“The council of Thunderclan has always been incredible. From the moment that me and my siblings entered the forest, they have been welcoming of us, giving us warmth, prey and kindness. The council do what they can for our clan, keeping us safe and fed… Especially the healers! Please do go see my dearest sibling Lunarlynx if you ever have any ailment. She will fix you right up, and make sure you feel even better than you did before!” - Withercall

ThunderClan's council is as dynamic and interconnected as the forest itself! From Raintansy's rebellious ideals to Lavenderdream's gentle, thoughtful nature, each cat in the council brings unique aspects and diverse perspectives to the table, and their relationships run as deep as ravines. As leader of ThunderClan, Bugstar is known to be reserved in relation to the rest of the council, but he never hesitates to make a quick decision when the Clan is in need, while his deputy, Daisyfang, is known for consulting many before determining her next move. Among the healers, although some may be closer than others, their connection to one another has grown throughout every trial and tribulation they have faced together, and they would trust one another with their lives. Merlinheart and Snowdapple are mates and are currently watching their kits, now apprentices, experience life and grow into their own pelts. Having trained beneath the two in the midst of crisis, Skyhunter and Raintansy have formed an unbreakable bond that travels well beyond words, and Lavenderdream and Lunarlynx—the Clan's newest healers—lean upon one another in every moment of doubt, always trusting that the other will catch them if they fall. Not only that, but all of the healers' kits view the other healers as their healer auncles, always looking out for them at every turn! Overall, while their strong, varying opinions may cause them to butt heads at times, there is no doubt about how much each cat on ThunderClan's council cares for their Clan.

#sotcwcrp #wcrp #discord wcrp #warrior cats #thunderclan #warrior cats rp

[mlmxreader]

Some Men Never Leave The War | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ "Don't... don't shut me out, please" + "I'm stressed, and I'm cold, and I'm wet because I had to walk through the fucking rain"

[Something triggering happens while Alfie is away. Goes out in search of them and finds them in the only place he'd know where to.] ❞

: ̗̀➛ Alfie is all too aware that some men never leave the war, and that for some men, the war will never go away and will never end; he knows that, and he does try his best.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, trauma symptoms, brief mentions of hallucinations, smoking

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The telephone rang at exactly quarter past three in the morning, and although he was tired and he ached, hardly able to get rest thanks to his partner being back home, Alfie still dragged himself out of bed to answer it; he did wander if it was his mother, as he had offered to house sit for her while she was visiting some friends in another county, but surely she would not have rang him at such a time. He groaned, wiping his face as he cleared his throat.

“‘Ello?”

The voice on the other end, his own nephew, sounded scared and confused, so panicked that the poor boy stumbled over his own words. “Alfie, it’s, it’s your husband, he’s… Alfie, he’s having waking nightmares again, and runnin’, runnin’ around and, and I don’t, I don’t know what to do and I’m, I’m scared that-”

“Alrigh’,” Alfie yawned as he thought about what to do. “I’m a ten minute walk away, I ain’t gonna be long - just hang the fuck on. Breathe. Let him go.”

“What?!”

“Let him fuckin’ go,” he mumbled. “I know where he’s goin’, it’s fine.”

Alfie put the phone down with a heavy sigh before he went and got his shoes and his coat, not exactly pleased when he popped his head out of the door and saw the weather; rain pounding the pavement so hard that it bounced back up again, a harsh icy wind gushing through the street and nearly knocking him off of his feet.

But he knew where you were going at least. Whenever you were in trouble, whenever you were unsure of yourself or you needed a little bit of help, you always went to the exact same place - you even once admitted to him that, before the war, you used to go there whenever you needed to clear your head.

Down in the woods where no one else would know. Perched upon a riverbank and surrounded by harsh brambles and thick thorns. Nothing but the sound of gently trickling water and bird calls to surround you. Alfie knew it well, it was the same place where you had proposed to him just after the war.

It was the same place where you, him, the rabbi, and his family had gathered to sign the ketubah; the very same place where you had stood under the chuppah, where both of you had stamped on glasses with your right foot after giving the rings to each other.

Both of you had known at the time that the government and legal systems would not see the marriage as binding, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t.

You had been married in that woodland, it was almost certain that if your waking nightmares would be happening, you would go there.

He soon found out that he was right, seeing you sat on the damp and muddy riverbank with your arms around your knees, all but sobbing against them; he was slow, but still sat beside you and put his arm around your shoulders as he sighed heavily.

“Why didn’t you come to Mum’s? Eh?”

“The Germans,” you sobbed, crashing into him and shaking your head. “The Germans are out there, Alfie…”

“Alright, alright,” he whispered, gently running his hand up and down your arm. “C’mon, sonny Jim, let it all out…”

Your breath heaved, shaking and trembling as you cried against him; Alfie could, on some level, understand. He had seen and done the same things during the war that you did, but you had come away with it always on your mind, whilst he could leave it behind.

He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you had been gassed more than he had, or maybe it was because he suffered more knocks to the head. It happened a lot, though. Some soldiers couldn’t leave the war. Some soldiers dropped it on the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month when the armistice was called.

For whatever reason, you could not come home. Your mind was still years away, back in the trenches. Alfie knew better than to ask why you were going through one of your episodes again, but he supposed it was likely due to a car backfiring, which sounded an awful lot like shelling.

Or maybe someone walked behind you for a few minutes too long, and your mind could do nothing but scream “German!”. It could have been anything, but Alfie knew that better than anybody else, and if he was honest, he felt like he had failed for the first time in his life.

He had let you down, and what was worse, he had failed to protect you from all the shit going on in your head. He had failed, and he knew it. As much as he hated to think about it, he knew it.

But then you pushed him away, eyes wide and full of fear as you panted heavily, hands shaking as you withdrew almost entirely into yourself; for the first time in your life, you looked at Alfie like you didn’t trust him in the slightest.

“C’mon,” he sighed, speaking as softly as he could. “I’m stressed, and I’m cold, and I’m wet because I had to walk through the fuckin’ rain and… you’re lookin’ at me like a Jerry.”

“How can I trust you?” You whispered. “They’re telling me not to.”

He frowned. He knew you sometimes heard things that weren’t there, knew that sometimes old soldiers who were long in the grave would speak to you.

He cleared his throat, shuffling back a little even though the mud squelched beneath him. “Don’t… don’t shut me out, please.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” your voice trembled. “I don’t know if you’re real.”

He swallowed thickly, his breath shaking as he fought back the urge to sob loudly. “I ain’t gonna tell you to snap out of it… I ain’t gonna tell you what you’re feelin’ ain’t the fuckin’ truth or that it’s all bollocks… but I’m gonna stay right here. I ain’t fuckin’ movin’ until you’re ready to. Alright?”

You nodded, looking him up and down and letting out a quiet whimper as another sob began to tear through you. “Al… alright…”

“I’m gonna reach into my pocket,” he said clearly. “And I’m gonna pull out a packet of cigarettes… do you want one?”

You nodded.

“Alright.” 

#mlem writes #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x yn #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons oneshot #alfie solomons one shot #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders x yn #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy x you #tom hardy x y/n #tom hardy x yn #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fic #tom hardy oneshot

[jackdaw-sprite]

Funerary Rites, Chapter 3 - Walk

After a few months in which real life monopolized my time, I've managed to finally finish chapter 3 of Funerary Rites!

Danny sees where Caretaker lives! Or part of it, anyway. Oh, and he has a little bit of a crisis. I'm sure it's fine.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Words: 5723

Characters: Danny, Clockwork

Warnings: Some controlling behavior, I guess? Caretaker has a very poor understanding of some boundaries.

Read on AO3, or below:

The journey to Caretaker's home was winding and strange. Danny had seen Faerie before, of course; his periodic slips and stumbles through the veil growing up had been how he'd met Caretaker. But he'd never explored, never lingered. As a child, Danny had been paralyzed by fear at the sudden shift. As he grew older, he'd known not to wander regardless. His parents had warned him about fae. And Caretaker had, too.

Thus, the world Danny now walked was strange to him. It was also so vivid Danny felt almost like he'd stepped into a painting.The forest they were in was awash in violet shadow, its twisting trunks and underbrush touched with patches of gilded light. Here, a bough hung in stark relief, leaves a vivid green. There, berries winked from the crown of a bush. The understory and trees wove together into a sort of maze; Danny's attention would stray to the arc of a branch and follow brambles and hills deeper, deeper into the forest through natural archways and halls until the ground vanished.

It was an arresting sight, and more than once Danny would only realize he'd stopped when Caretaker nudged at his shoulder to shake him from the daze.

"We have a long way ahead, child," he murmured once. "Come. You'll not want to be caught by those who weave this place."

Finally, there was a break in the maze. A lightly trodden path slithered into view, and they turned to follow it. With the extra space and without Caretaker tending his every step, Danny walked beside him. 

The path was clear of the thorns and thistles that had littered their earlier journey, but the soil of it was dark with moisture. Patches of mud swallowed it whole in places, and there Danny could see the texture of shoes and stranger things; claws and paws and hooves, and a few wheel-tracks that had left the ground intricately stamped behind them.

The same mud pulled insistently at Danny's feet, and he nearly lost a shoe to it. With a frustrated grimace he wrenched it free, only to have the other one stick fast a few steps later. This time he almost snarled pulling it free and overbalanced, tipping forward.

Caretaker caught him before he could pitch headfirst into the mud. His long fingers wrapped securely around Danny's shoulders and pulled him upright.

Danny paused, torn between wordless frustration and wanting to thank Caretaker for at least keeping him from being covered in mud and wanting to dance away from Caretaker's grip–his fingers were too long, too solid.

Wrong.

"'nks," muttered Danny, doing his best to sway away from Caretaker's creepy fingers. "Why're we using this path?"

"It is the least treacherous way out of these woods, despite its frustrations." Caretaker tipped his hood at Danny's muddy feet.

"Oh. Great."

A small, muddy, and very frustrating eternity later the violet shadow of the woodlands broke open.

Light flooded over the path to reveal meadows sparsely dotted with trees, shadows pooling ink. The grasses and flowers painting them were an impossible array of color and scent, but most importantly the path ahead was dry.

"Finally," said Danny, and Caretaker huffed a laugh.

The walking was easier from there, and Danny found himself distracted by the world around them once more.

Faerie brimmed with the wild and strange. They traveled over meadows drenched in honeyed sounds and smells. There were odd little bridges over creeks teeming with darting creatures that only pretended to be fish when Danny looked at them. Once, there was only an assortment of stones in place of a bridge and Caretaker laid three stalks of wheat at the riverside before allowing Danny to cross.

When Danny looked back, he caught a glimpse of something red vanishing beneath the water, and the stalks were gone.

Always, always Caretaker kept Danny close by. Once, they saw shapes on the road and he tugged Danny under his cloak 

Danny hated it.

He hated the fear that raced through his heart and set it galloping as he heard the strange cadence of footsteps going past. He hated how slow they were, and wondered if he would hear them stop. Hear them turn and shout and begin to chase them because Danny wasn't supposed to be here. Because Danny was human.

His mouth was dry.

Caretaker's cloak was as soft on the inside as always, his tunic crisp and cool to the touch. His hand was clasped against Danny's shoulder. It was warm like comfort, like I will guide you home. For a promise, for a price.

Warm like a familiar face in a horrible situation.

Horrible like one.

Outside the shelter of the cloak Danny remembered hiding in too many times, the footsteps stopped, and a voice like sand and wind said something he couldn’t make out. Caretaker gave some kind of calm response.

Danny felt sick.

His parents had said that some fae ate humans. 

Caretaker didn't. Caretaker wouldn't. A stone grew in the back of Danny's throat at the idea of it, of one turn too many in an awful day.

He swallowed it back and let his fingers brush the lip of his back pocket.

You shall not harm me, nor through inaction allow me to come to harm…

It would be fine.

It would.

In the dark of the cloak, Caretaker’s hand wound farther around Danny’s shoulder, solid like iron. He said something else, and the footsteps resumed, then faded to nothing.

When Caretaker released him, Danny surged from the cover of the cloak like he was surfacing from underwater and twisted to face him, gasping the fresh air.

“Are you alright?”

Danny’s answer stuck in his throat, too tangled to come out.

They kept walking.

Past trees bent low and knotted, past reeds and vines woven into sculpture, boulders that breathed and a thousand other strangenesses. The slip of earth beneath Danny's feet faded into a dull rhythm and a sharper ache, and he found his mind wandering despite the circumstances.

The sun ambled through the sky.

Occasionally, he could hear snatches of music on the wind, a faint ringing. A distant bell tower, maybe. Danny occupied himself for a time wondering what belltowers looked like, here. 

Slowly, the brushstrokes of Faerie's landscape became at once less deliberate and more defined. Trees took less artful paths to the sky. Scrub bristled haphazardly together, and copses of trees combined to form a patchwork with grasses. 

It was a transition. To what, Danny didn't know.

Eventually, they came to a tree. It was an enormous old thing, bowed and creaking with age, and its branches swallowed the path in its shade. Caretaker paused by it to run a hand over its bark, before stepping around the roots at its base onto a hidden path. Danny followed.

This new path was as knobbled as the tree, and too narrow to walk side by side; in places it was barely wide enough to show as a line in the grass. Without the space to walk beside him, Danny trailed behind Caretaker close enough to brush his cloak. They wound around hillocks and through more brush until the ancient tree was hidden from view many times over.

Caretaker stopped.

Close on his trail, Danny almost ran into him. He scuffed a few steps back to right himself and peered around Caretaker to see what had made him stop.

There was a sculpture.

It emerged from the brush surrounding it incongruous and tall; taller than Caretaker by several feet and farther across than Danny could spread his hands, but with barely any depth at all. It gleamed silver, but looked closer to lace than metal and more delicate by far than the iron bars guarding the windows of Fenton Works.

It evoked a spider's web. 

Danny looked at Caretaker, who glanced in his direction before easing off a glove.

Oh, Danny thought. That's what's wrong with his fingers.

They had too many, too mobile joints.

Caretaker fluttered them for a moment, fingernails winking bronze in the evening light. Then he traced a finger over the sculpture, strumming it like a harp to a sound like falling dew.

It shivered. The webbed strands slid past one another, leaving the knots at the edges tightening and the holes at the center growing, growing until what stood before them wasn't a sculpture at all, but a doorway framed by intricate knotwork.

Caretaker gestured him through. Hesitant, Danny went.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. One step through the door, two, and the world was the same one he'd seen. No sudden shifts caught Danny off guard, no sense of danger or sudden swell of chatter from the trees. No sudden silence, either.

He was just on the other side.

He turned, and there was the strangeness Danny had expected. From this side of the doorway, there was a wall of bramble framing it.

Caretaker let it weave shut behind them with a wave of his hand, and then gestured for Danny to follow. Danny did, trying not to let ice creep too far through his veins.

Caretaker had opened that door, and he'd shut it. Danny had no idea how to do either. Was he stuck on this side of the door now? Without Caretaker, could he leave?

Did it matter?

He was only going to do something for Caretaker, right? Nothing bad or that would hurt him, and less than a week.

A week. He could keep it together for a week. No matter how weird it got.

Danny stepped over a long tuft of grass.

The path was wider on this side, though not better kept. It was laid with stone, but the cracks were overgrown. Tall grasses reached out from them and drooped over the flagstones, and  Danny picked his way from one to the next. While Caretaker moved with careless grace, Danny was a bit more awkward on his feet. He didn't really want to stumble and fall. It would be embarrassing. And it would give Caretaker a reason to help bring him to his feet again. With his creepy hands.

Danny shuddered.

They were a thousand times worse now that Danny knew what they were like under the gloves. Not that Caretaker had replaced the one he'd removed, no. He'd removed the other glove as well, and tucked both into his belt and now every time Danny caught sight of his hands he also caught sight of the way they bent.

Against his better judgment, Danny looked up. At the sight of him, Caretaker smiled again. It was a quick thing, and small.

Danny ignored it. It was probably just another tactic to make him feel safe.

He wasn't. He wasn't safe, didn't feel safe. He looked around, and discovered that they were in a field. It was dense with bushes, and full of grass that came up to his waist. In the distance he could see the straight lines of a building, veiled by a stand of trees. What was that? Were they going there?

"Child," said Caretaker, and rested his hand on Danny's shoulder. "Come. It's been a long journey. Don't you wish to wash yourself free of dust and grime?"

Danny shrugged off the hand, and considered. A shower did sound nice, actually. They'd been walking for hours and right now Danny was sticky with sweat. He could imagine the film of dust covering him, too. And it would be wonderful for his aching feet. Just because his parents occasionally took them on wilderness survival vacations didn't mean Danny liked hiking.

"What's the catch?" Danny asked.

"I'm offering you hospitality, as agreed."

"That doesn't mean there isn't a catch," Danny said. "What is it?"

"Why are you so eager to see ulterior motives in my kindnesses?"

"It's a kindness now?" Danny asked, pointedly.

Caretaker paused, then dropped his hand with a sigh. "The catch is thus: the human world is laden with many poisons. Especially with the destruction of the study, you will be covered with them. I have no wish for you to leave traces of poisonous dust within my home."

That…made sense.

The bathhouse was a pale building nestled on the edge of a large clearing, the path leading up to it as worn and overgrown as everything else beyond the spider’s web gate. Danny was starting to wonder if Caretaker preferred a touch of wilderness, or if wherever they were just lacked a, hah, caretaker.

The sun was low, now. It was not quite brushing the treetops, but the shadow of the forest was already creeping from the shelter of the canopy. The space between the trunks was deep and dark, but not uninviting. A faint breeze ruffled the trees and Danny's hair, and Caretaker's cloak waved gently in it.

The air was sweet.

The first of the three steps to the entryway was cracked. The smaller part of the step tilted away from the center, and a tuft of grass poked from the space it left behind. The steps, at least, were swept clean.

Danny followed Caretaker up them and into the bath house itself.

Despite the wear of the exterior, the interior was clean and in good repair; the door opened to a small room with a tile floor and wooden benches. Light fell from a pair of high windows into the space, criss-crossing the far walls in clean lines without hitting any suspended dust.

Caretaker pulled a towel from a cupboard along the wall and set it down on a bench. "The bath is through the door," he said.

Danny nodded.

After Caretaker left, Danny padded through the doorway. He'd never been in a bathhouse before–he lived in Illinois, not ancient Rome. But it seemed intuitive enough. The stone walls of the exterior were bare on the inside as well, and a wide tile walkway separated them from a large pool. Bath? Danny shrugged mentally. It didn't really matter. The water was clear and inviting, and if Caretaker wanted him to clean himself with it, he didn't expect it to do Danny any harm.

Besides, the trek had left him footsore, dusty, and more than a little sticky. Even if Caretaker hadn't been of the opinion that the human world was full of cooties or whatever, a bath would be nice.

Danny dipped a toe into the water to test and found it cool, verging on cold. Just right for tired feet. He sat at the edge with a sigh, and let them soak for a bit before he slid the rest of the way into the water with another, deeper sigh.

It did feel nice.

Danny scrubbed everywhere he could. He didn't know what the proper decontamination procedures or whatever were if you were covered in something poisonous. But he could try. If Caretaker was right and he was coated in dust poisonous to fae, it would only be right. He wouldn't want poisonous dust in his house, either. And considering he didn't know when the house had been built, maybe there was some stuff poisonous to him, too. Didn't they use lead and asbestos in buildings at some point? And it wasn’t like his parents did normal things in the basement. Who knew what was involved in tearing a hole in reality? He hoped it wasn't mercury. Or anything radioactive. Or poisonous in general.

Anyway.

A nice thorough scrubbing was hardly the worst thing under the circumstances. 

Danny surfaced from rinsing his hair and looked at the door. He wondered where Caretaker had gone off to – he hadn't heard footsteps since Caretaker had left him to the bathhouse, and it was starting to feel like a long time.

He should probably finish before Caretaker came back. 

The towel was in easy reach. Danny wrapped it at his waist and dripped through the doorway to the changing area.

He stopped cold in the doorway.

“What.”

His clothes were gone.

Where were his clothes?!?

The room wasn't empty.

A dark square of fabric lay under a piece of paper on one of the benches.

His piece of paper, Danny determined after studying it with unsteady hands. It hadn't been swapped out or changed. The rules they'd agreed to were still there. He set it to the side and picked up the cloth.

It slithered through his hands, unfolding into a bunch of much longer material. Some of it fell to the floor and puddled there.

It was probably clothes. Danny breathed out, feeling his pulse fall back from the verge of panic. Okay. He had clothes. They just weren't his clothes. This was fine. Well no. It wasn't fine. The whole thing was very far from fine.

But he had clothes.

…

It made sense, Danny told himself, and remembered to breathe in. If he was covered in poisonous dust, then his clothes were, too. Caretaker was probably just. Taking care of them. Making sure they weren't poisoned, or washing them. and then he'd give them back, and these clothes were just so Danny wouldn't be left without while that happened. Which was nice of him. Generous. Or something.

Weren't you supposed to tell your guest what you were doing, when you did that sort of thing? Assuming Danny believed that it was just kindness.

He didn't, really.

Danny swallowed.

His cereal bars were gone too.

…It wasn't important. 

If Caretaker only gave him food with terrible strings attached he'd just go hungry.

Nor through inaction allow me to come to harm, murmured the rules in his head.

The tunic slipped through Danny’s fingers again and fell to the floor. Did hunger count as harm? Starvation would. Going hungry for multiple days probably would.

What was Caretaker allowed to do, to make sure Danny wouldn’t go hungry?

Danny realized he wasn’t breathing again.

Focus.

One problem at a time.

His clothes were gone. His cereal bars were gone. He was still only wearing a towel, but there were clothes he could wear.

He could put on the clothes. At the least, it would make him slower to die of exposure if he had to make a break for the trees.

If, Danny appended a while later, he could figure out how. He'd laid them out on the floor to get a better idea of what they were and overall they seemed…complicated. And a lot. A lot of complexity, a lot of pieces. A lot of embroidery, on some of it.

Well, he had to start somewhere. If nothing else he'd just get decent and then Caretaker could deal with the consequences of replacing all of Danny's clothes. If he wanted to give Danny a confusing mess then he should expect Danny to wear it like a confusing mess.

So there.

Mind made up, Danny reached for the most intuitive part of the ensemble: what was possibly an undershirt.

Danny took stock. 

There was no mirror in the bathhouse, but he felt…not sensibly dressed. There was no sensibly dressed with whatever this was. But at least somewhat okay. If Caretaker disagreed, well. He should have left instructions.

Danny looked at the door again, almost expecting Caretaker to appear at the thought of him.

He still hadn't returned.

Danny picked at a sleeve, examining the barely-visible embroidering on it for a moment while he wavered. But he couldn't stay in the bathhouse all week. Danny tucked his paper into a reasonably secure fold and opened the door.

Caretaker was on the other side. "Ah," he said, looking down at Danny. The corners of his mouth tugged it into an almost-smile.

"What?" asked Danny, already irritated by the pointless complexity of the clothes.

“That’s an unusual way to wear those.”

“Well I would hardly know, would I?”

Caretaker cocked his head. “Of course not. I had–”

He interrupted himself by kneeling before Danny, and reaching out for the length of cloth Danny had used to tie his shirt closed. “Here," he said, and pulled it apart in a swift motion. "You need to wear it like this–" he broke off.

This was probably because Danny had frozen. His hands were fisted in his pants tightly enough to ache. Every hair on his arms had puffed out and he stood ramrod straight and stiff as a board. Like imitating wood would make this stop.

In the silence, Danny could hear the belltower tolling away in the distance again, low and soft and something else.

Caretaker withdrew his hands, watching Danny from under his hood; it was light enough still to see more than the glint of his eyes. They looked at one another for a moment, and then Caretaker gathered himself with a breath.

"I do not intend to harm you, child," he said, voice as soft as the ringing.

"I'm not–" said Danny. "I don't. Don't do that." His hands moved to the sash of their own volition and clutched at it maybe a bit too tight. He took a shuddering breath. "What did you do with my clothes?" What did you do with my food?

"They were contaminated as well."

Were. Danny swallowed, and decided that he could freak about what that meant later. Later. One thing at a time.

"Don't touch me like that," he said, and his voice wobbled a bit despite his effort to seem unaffected.

Caretaker frowned. "I was fixing your clothes."

"Yeah. Don't. Look, can you just. I don't know, show me?"

"I was also doing that."

Breathe, Danny. 

"Not on me."

Caretaker's eyes flickered over Danny's face. He retracted the hand reaching for Danny and brought it instead to his neck. His frown deepened. "You fear my touch?"

"I–" yes wasn't the truth. Not quite. But no wasn't, either. "Maybe."

The bell in the distance – a clocktower? – gave one final toll, sharper than the rest before falling silent.

"You did not fear it before."

And at that, the panic and fear boiled into fury. Before he knew what he was doing Danny stepped forward, words rushing out of him like steam. "Because you hadn't threatened my parents! You said you'd kill them! You hurt them and scared me and now you've stolen my clothes. What did you even do with my food?!?" He punctuated the last with a jabbed finger.

Caretaker recoiled from it, hands curling in on themselves like dying insects. He stood and his hands vanished behind the folds of his cloak but Danny wasn't done.

"Why are you so surprised that I'm afraid of you after all that? I thought–I thought."

Danny's voice broke. He couldn't finish that sentence. The betrayal was still too thick on his tongue for that. So he fisted his hands in the cloth of his too-strange clothing and changed tacks, voice turning quieter. "Anyone would be afraid, if you showed up and nearly killed their parents and then demanded they come with you to save them." He found himself looking at Caretaker's boots and forced himself to look up again. To meet Caretaker's eyes. "Anyone would be, if the only thing keeping them safe from you was a piece of paper and you took their clothes and their food the moment their back was turned and then showed up like you hadn't done anything at all, and then you, you." Danny shook his head.

Caretaker was silent. Watchful.

"Of course I'm afraid," Danny said again, and the silence trailed between them.

Caretaker remained in the doorway for some time. But the slant of his shoulders was heavy, and he made no move to enter the bathhouse. 

Eventually, Danny looked away and down at the towel he'd left piled on one of the seats. He picked it up like fiddling with it would make the situation less awkward. He began to fold it.

"I can take that," said Caretaker, and held out a hand. It was the first thing he'd said since Danny had said he was afraid of him, and his voice was soft, the movement ginger, his fingers still.

Danny tossed it to him.

"And," added Caretaker. "I can show you how to tie your sash."

"I know how to tie knots," Danny snapped.

Caretaker did not react to the venom. "Later, then. You will need to be properly dressed the day after tomorrow."

At the reminder that he was here to fulfill some purpose, Danny's stomach dropped. He'd forgotten. How had he forgotten that Caretaker wanted him for something? That he hadn't just kidnapped Danny to torment him or to dress him up.

"Why?" Danny asked.

"It will be a formal ceremony."

"A ceremony? Will there be other fae? Will they–will they know I'm human?" Danny asked. 

"No," said Caretaker. A hint of amusement sneaked back into his voice. "No others. Just you and me. You do not need to worry about fooling anyone."

"Then," said Danny. "Why is how I'm dressed important? Why can't I just dress how I want? Like a t-shirt and jeans."

The amusement vanished. "You must be dressed appropriately," Caretaker snapped.

Danny's anger sputtered like a fire quenched. He drew back, feeling ice race along his skin even as the terrible expression which had crossed Caretaker's face vanished as swiftly as it appeared. Concern replaced it, and Caretaker stepped forward. 

Danny stepped back.

Caretaker almost shrank in place. His shoulders fell with his head and for a moment he seemed only skin and bones and exhaustion. He hung still, silhouetted by the doorway. Behind him, the dying evening light burnished the trees and garden in copper.

"I have no desire to hurt you," he said, and Danny knew now that he was lying. "I–"

Silence choked the next word.

Caretaker blocked the door. The hand–the claw holding Danny’s towel flexed unnaturally.

The first cicadas began to scream. It was almost enough to cover the sound of the distant clocktower, ringing again.

“If you are hungry, there is food,” Caretaker offered. It was quiet. He was still playing at smallness. Like Danny hadn't seen the ugly truth of him just now.

“I’m not hungry,” Danny lied, and wondered if Caretaker would call him on it.

The cicada-song swelled.

“In that case,” Caretaker said. “I will show you to where you may sleep.”

It was a spacious room.

It was also spartan. There was a bed, a window, a wardrobe. The walls were plain and bare, the floor, cold. There was no rug. There were no paintings or pictures or tapestries on the walls, and no designs engraved on them either. When Danny opened it, the wardrobe was similarly empty. It smelled only vaguely woody and a little sharp.

Danny shut its doors and looked at Caretaker, who loomed at the entrance, the towel still an incongruous presence in his claws.

They were in a small building in the same large clearing as the bathhouse, built with the same stone and low angles, and in the back of his mind Danny wondered why they were so similar when the house he'd glimpsed through the trees was so different.

It didn't matter.

What did was the way Caretaker was lingering just outside the doorway. With his hood still up, the twilight was now deep enough to swallow the subtleties of his expressions but the slump of his shoulders remained visible.

Danny ignored it. "Is this a prison?" he asked, squinting at Caretaker.

"No," said Caretaker, voice a hoarse whisper. Had Danny still believed that he was kind, he would have believed that Caretaker was devastated. But fae were adept at lying without speaking untruths. Pretending horror or defeat would be a good way to do it.

Danny narrowed his eyes, and tried again. "Are you planning to keep me here against my will?"

Caretaker straightened. "I am not planning to violate the terms of our agreement."

That wasn't what he'd asked.

"Do you think," asked Caretaker before Danny could respond with another question, "that our agreement is unambiguously not against your will?"

Oh.

"Do not think that I have deluded myself into believing you are happy to be here, child.” Caretaker’s voice was quiet and exhausted. ”Nor that you would be here without need on your part." Soundlessly, his silhouette turned.

"Then why is it so empty?" asked Danny.

It was a moment before Caretaker responded. His hood tilted in Danny’s direction.

"Would you accept a well-appointed room? Or would you grow suspicious that the comforts of it were intended to bewitch you?"

"But there isn't even a rug."

Caretaker turned back towards Danny. "The rooms in the house are more comfortable. Would you prefer one of them?"

A choice.

The pit that had been twisting in Danny's stomach for ages gave a yank. Caretaker had suggested that Danny clean up, and then replaced his clothes.

What was the expression? Give an inch and they'll take a mile?

Was this a test?

A way to get a foot in the door, make another crack in Danny's…everything?

What was going on?

Danny swallowed. "No. I'm okay here."

The outline of Caretaker's hood bowed in a nod. There was a rustle of cloth, and Danny felt something cold and hard pressed into his hand.

"Um."

"Whisper into it if you require me. I will hear."

And with that, Caretaker was gone.

There wasn't much to do after that than crawl into bed and sleep.

Or try to.

The insect hum that had built through nightfall was thick and heavy in the air. It sat on his chest and buzzed and it seemed almost to weigh at the passage of time as well; It felt like the line of moonlight through the window hadn’t moved in hours.

Danny stared up at the ceiling and tried to concentrate on the dark shapes of the beams crossing it. Counted them, tried to count the knots he could see in the wood, traced his eyes along the shadows' edges.

Tried to drown his thoughts in the relentless insect hum from outside.

It wasn't that there was something wrong with the bed. It was soft, and the sheets were clean and cool in the summer night air. Nothing itched.

His nose did. Danny scratched it.

There was nothing wrong with the bed. There were no lumps, it didn't squeak when he shifted his weight or any of the other things that could be keeping him up. They smelled odd but not alarmingly so, like sleeping over at Tucker's house and smelling a different detergent on the sheets.

Not a friend's house.

Everything was wrong.

Danny was scared. He was scared and alone in the dark in a strange place in another world he'd never had much luck escaping by himself and someone he’d trusted had nearly killed his parents and he didn’t know how they were even doing and it was very, very hard not to imagine all the horrible things that could happen when he could only look up at the ceiling and try to distract himself from the knot in his stomach with the knots in the rafters he could barely see.

He got up.

The door was a vague shadow on the wall, and Danny considered it. Remembered his parents’ preoccupation with thresholds, remembered the way Caretaker had stayed just outside the door.

Maybe…maybe he shouldn’t open it.

The light from the full moon through the window was enough to see by, and Danny shuffled across the silvered patch of floor to look out. If he couldn't sleep, then maybe he could at least look at something more interesting than the ceiling.

The clearing was still. The trees stood sentinel around it, the space between them dark as the sky above.

He could see the overgrown maze of bushes between the buildings. It was everywhere; climbing up walls and piling on itself. He'd thought the path Caretaker had led him along was badly overgrown, but from the window he could see another path vanish entirely into a mess of probably-shrubs.

Who was supposed to take care of this? People with lots of land had gardeners, right?

Had Caretaker done something to his?

Movement caught Danny's eye and he crouched down to peer over the windowsill.

A figure wound its way among the plants with smooth movements that belied the waist deep plants. It wasn't dressed in Caretaker's dark cloak–instead it was covered in a pale cloth. It knelt and vanished behind a mess of twigs.

What was it doing? Danny rose to get a better view, and succeeded only in seeing a sliver of white and obscure movement among the bushes. Some twigs trembled, and Danny swayed to the side to look, to no avail.

After some time, it stood.

Danny froze, heart hammering. But it wasn’t enough.

Slowly, the dark of its face turned towards Danny.

It froze.

For long moments, nothing moved.

And then the figure turned away and slipped along a different path, out of sight.

Danny pulled himself away from the window, no longer sleepy in the least.

Weren't there fae you weren't supposed to look in the eye? What if this was one of them? Caretaker had agreed Danny wouldn't be harmed during the deal but what about after it? Had Danny just stumbled into a trap where he had to agree to more deals with Caretaker to keep safe from an irate fae he wouldn't even have seen if not for the deal he'd had to make to keep his parents safe?

Was that the reason for all this?

He slid down the wall, one hand over his mouth in an effort to keep quiet, half convinced that any moment the fae he’d just seen would come howling at the door.

The door– he hoped thresholds held weight here.

What was he going to do?

What did Caretaker want?

He’d never said.

He’d never said.

How could Danny have forgotten to ask? How hadn't he pressed the question?

What would Caretaker make Danny do? What was happening the day after tomorrow that he needed to be dressed up?

What was happening tomorrow that he didn't?

The knot in his stomach sprouted into a more intricate dread and grew up his ribs, gripping at his lungs and heart.

…

Danny curled in on himself, head filling with horrors.

No matter how the night dragged on, the morning would come too soon.

#danny phantom #danny fenton dp #clockwork dp #jackdraw-spwrite #jackdaw-spwrite #funerary rites fae au

[polutrope]

For the silm phrase prompt list- Galadriel, "wandering free in the woodlands".

Thank you for the prompt! Here I have adopted the LotR version of Galadriel who came over the mountains before the fall of Nargothrond.

Celeborn/Galadriel, G, 550 words. On AO3.

The creek ripples over Galadriel’s feet. The water cools the ache of many leagues cutting their own path over the rough, uneven ground of these ancient woodlands. She curls her toes, kneads the muddy bottom. Across from her, Celeborn splashes the water in his cupped hands over his face. His tongue darts out to taste a drop, and he smiles when he catches her watching.

“It is clean,” he says. “It seems the Enemy's poisons have not reached this place.” He sighs and scans the dense black canopy. Galadriel watches the droplets of water trickle over his bared skin and remembers the first time she saw him this way, bathing beneath a fall of water that leapt over slick shining stone into a pool of the Esgalduin. 

“It is strange to trace the steps of my people back over the mountains,” Celeborn says. "My grandsire must have passed through these woods, seeking the light in the west; and now we return, fleeing the darkness we found there.”

Galadriel hums but offers no answer. The first time she fled a home in the west, she followed the thrum of longing in her heart. That thrum had been her constant companion from the earliest years of her youth, before even the rumour of another land across the sea had entered her child’s fantasies. Rebellion had kindled her longing, so that she blazed bold and bright as if drunk on the very starlight that illumined the cold bitter paths to Middle-earth. A longing to rule turned to a longing for vengeance turned to a longing for wisdom; but ever did her spirit burn with purpose. 

Until Finrod’s light went out in the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the last of her brothers, and the light within her was extinguished also. She might have mouldered beneath the damp stony vaults of Menegroth had not Celeborn woken her from her hollow grief and bid her journey east beside him, leading a small company back over the mountains.

Yet no purpose scorching the soles of her feet has driven her onwards on this, her second flight from darkness. 

“My love?” Celeborn’s voice, soft as morning mist, clears the murk of her thoughts. “You are troubled.”

Galadriel hums again and looks up from the dark gleam of the river into the dark gleam of his eyes. “And for what have we fled?” she asks him. “To what purpose do we wander in these woodlands, having left our kin behind?”

Celeborn comes to sit beside her and clasps her hands in his. “Is it not purpose enough to endure? To be free, so that the traditions and ambitions of our people might live on with us?”

“What ambitions?” Galadriel asks. “What is there here but unchanging stillness and silence? Have we come all this way only to wander, singing the memory of our people to the unhearing trees?”

Celeborn smiles and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, but for a long time says nothing. At last he answers, “Yes,” and kisses her brow. “For now, that is all we have to do.” 

Not for no purpose, Galadriel thinks, and captures Celeborn’s lips in hers as he lowers them from her brow. Despair and darkness drove her from Beleriand, but it was love and hope that carried her feet over the mountains.

#galadriel #celeborn #celeborn x galadriel #prompts #silm phrase prompts #my fic #first Galadriel-centric thing I've ever written!

[giddlygoat]

"I could fix this movie" tell us how 👀 I can sense you have rant-worthy opinions and am very curious 👀 pls elaborate

okay, i said i would write some of my thoughts on the lorax 2012 in detail, so here we go. 

(roughly 2k words under the cut (help))

first of all, i just want to say i actually enjoyed some parts of the movie quite a lot (and for different reasons). while i have lots of problems with it, and some pretty huge ones at that, i thought the film was very pretty and certain scenes and visual elements (ted riding his scooter through the outer walls of the city in the beginning with the schlop river beneath him, and some of the architecture that stayed very true to dr. seuss’ illustrations) will definitely stick with me because of how well they were conveyed artistically. 

but. 

i don’t like the movie as a whole. i actually dislike it a lot. to put it shortly, i didn’t care about most of the cast (especially not ted), i felt that the moral of the story was greatly distorted to the point that it achieved basically nothing in the way of teaching kids the lesson, and while i love the onceler’s character, i hate that character as the onceler. or at least i would have much rather seen his decent portrayed in a way more serious light where they could hold him fully accountable for his actions and make the audience actually hate him for it, even if he’s still a sympathetic character that ends up regretting it. it could’ve been done a lot better. 

i won’t go into every little thing that i want to critique about this movie because that would take hours to type, but i will illustrate what kind of movie i would have liked to see. 

it was only after i rewatched the 2012 movie about a week ago that i finally found the time to also watch the 1972 film again and hooooboy. it’s so obvious now what i was struggling to see. 

i knew a lot was wrong with the 2012 film and i knew that i didn’t like the way they illustrated the reckless detriment to the environment. but now, having freshly watched the (delightfully done) 1972 short movie i can say without a doubt i prefer the original film much more. 

now, that’s not exactly a fair comparison in most ways because obviously they were both meant to be very different movies, but in terms of coherency, morals, and overall charm, the 1972 film is superior to me in every way. 

in the 2012 film it’s like they whittled the point down to a blunt nub and barely managed to get it half across throughout the ~hour and and a half of run time. they muddied the moral of the story so much that i had to constantly remind myself that the lorax was supposed to be the likable character that the audience should side with whole heartedly. that the onceler and the results of his horrendous actions were supposed to be scary in “how bad can i be”. that ted existed. 

the movie was a mess. o’hare was unnecessary and boring. and while thneedville was definitely not portrayed like the kind of place i would ever want to live, they made it abundantly clear that the citizens loved it there. not a single character cared about the trees save for the woodland creatures, the lorax and the onceler towards the very end of his arc. which honestly would have been totally fine if they didn’t try to then shove an unnecessary side plot with ted and audrey in there. 

this isn’t to say i automatically dislike a remake or adaptation for trying to expand on originally simplified or vague plot/characters. in fact, that’s one of my favorite concepts in the realm of art, especially if it’s done with a lot of heart for the original content! but the lorax 2012 didn’t feel like it was written with the intention of preserving the moral of the story and supplying generations of fans with a beautiful retelling of what to me was the most moving story i’ve ever read by dr. seuss. it felt like a cash grab, and i don’t think i need to explain why that’s even more messed up than usual in this scenario, under these circumstances. 

before i spiral into the void of endless complaints however, i want to turn my focus on the things i did like about the 2012 movie for a moment. 

i loved the art! the visual storytelling, character design, and animation was pretty great, and a few scenes did more for me visually than the poorly adapted story every could. it was clear they were not lacking in great minds in their art department. i would like to shake the hand of whoever was in charge of directing the onceler, because i don’t think i’ve ever been quite so mesmerized and captivated by the way a character moves and conveys moods and emotions on screen. the onceler’s acting (and incredible voice talent btw) is the only reason i can rewatch so many scenes from the movie over and over again. it truly inspires me as an artist and almost makes me forget the sour taste in my mouth. he’s just so bouncy and vibrant and stands out from everything else so perfectly, and the sheer amount of goofy charm they were able to cram into his body language is mind blowing to me. 

and as i mentioned, i loved the onceler’s voice. i grew up watching the office, and andy bernard (also played by mr. ed helms) was my favorite character for ages. his bright ties and unabashed goofiness and constant breaking out into song really made me smile as a kid, and while his character was certainly not the most considerate or emotionally intelligent at times, i could always forgive him for that signature silly charm. i love characters like that, and when the onceler began speaking, i immediately recognized his voice. it wasn’t until after i finished the movie that i looked up who it was to be sure, and the confirmation made me chuckle. 

and about the onceler’s characterization! as a character, i love him. he’s goofy, lanky, relatable, way over the top, and horribly sympathetic. my heart goes out to a guy who’s just trying to prove himself worthy of his momma’s love, despite being told he would never amount to anything. like dang, at that point the onceler in the movie could have just been a sad little puppy out in the rain and it would have inspired basically the same reactions out of me. i can’t think of a single way to make me like him more. 

and that’s why i love him as a character but hate him as the onceler. 

or perhaps more accurately; why i am disappointed that they didn’t do a better job of illustrating his decent as the literal villain of the story. 

at this point, i wonder why they even called the movie “the lorax”. i don’t know what they thought they would gain by claiming it to be an adaptation if it barely feels like the original content at all. don’t even get me started on how the lorax in the 1972 film was a lovable, considerate little sweetheart with not an ounce of spite in him, but how the lorax in the 2012 film is a neck-cracking, fist-shaking mean old sack of dirt. yeah, i still rooted for him because his role in the story was to protect the trees, but i barley cared about him beyond. the characterization didn’t fit in the slightest. 

what i really wish they had done in the 2012 film, if i had to work with a similar cast and accept that this movie is going to be a retelling at best, goes something like this:

make thneedville a clearly terrible place to live. maybe not at very first glance - maybe they are good at ignoring their predicament sometimes, but the sky can’t be blue and the citizens can’t be bopping along with great big smiles on their faces all the time like nothing ever happened. paint a picture of urgency and desperation for a better quality of life that thneedville in the 1972 film did so perfectly, even with a single shot. the town looked grey and desolate. it looked like a town that was actually living with the aftermath of pollution. 

make audrey actually care about the environment, rather than simply thinking trees are neat for the aesthetic, or whatever her deal was in the 2012 film. show her actively trying to make a difference and having some real drive. let her show the audience some reasons to root for her and get attached.

ted could still be motivated entirely by his crush on audrey in the beginning. i think that could potentially be funny. but throughout the movie, for the love of all that is green, please give him a clear moment of realization. give him purpose. make me care about this stupid kid. i want a scene where his eyes get big and he realizes how much falls on his shoulders. i want to see him and audrey working together and having a meaningful arc. 

and for the sake of this hypothetical movie, say the onceler remains the character that he is in the beginning here. he’s the quirky, optimistic, lovable guitar slapping youngin that we all know and love. now let the story progress as it did, and let him chop down his first tree. now, enter the lorax. 

i can say without hesitation that i much prefer the considerate sweetheart from the 1972 movie. but i can’t say that i think that perosnality and the 2012 onceler’s perosnality would make for a very good dynamic on screen together, in this particular revision of the story. i know why the writers made the lorax a grumpy pants in the later movie - the interactions are funnier when him and oncie can butt heads and argue and glare at each other. that is entertaining when done right. and honestly, i would be completely fine with it, if they had made the lorax sympathetic just like the onceler. if they had shown his sweet side and toned it down by like, eleven notches with the sexist jokes about the onceler’s aunt.

i want to see the lorax get really anxious about the situation. i want to see him kindly beg the onceler to stop chopping down trees before he thinks about threatening him with the forces of nature or whatever. i want to see the lorax worry, as well as watch him huff and shake his fists. give it some weight. 

and finally, i want a movie where the onceler’s thneed empire is built in great detail. let him slide down the slippery slope ungracefully and don’t sugar coat it. let my stomach twist up in knots because i want to love him but he’s just thrown his good sense out the window for the sake of building his success. i want to watch a movie with a villain arc that’s told as masterfully as it is in “biggering”. i want a scene where he battles his conscious figuring on wether or not this was worth it. in fact, i want that movie so bad it more often than not drives me to fits of frustration. 

how i could love a single character from a frankly bad movie this much, i’m not even entirely sure. the onceler in the 2012 film is the best thing about it and even he wasn’t done faithfully to the original. he didn’t make a bad enough villain for it to be a good enough movie. 

doesn’t mean i’m not going to keep thinking and thinking about this until my brain fries, and perhaps my perspective will change over time, but right now all i really am is disappointed. 

despite it all though, i love the onceler in the 2012 film on his own, and i’m doing my best to enjoy what i can given the unfortunate circumstances. i’m just trying to have fun and not overthink it too much. not all the time, anyway. 

i know you probably weren’t expecting an essay so i’m sorry about that anon, but i’ve been a mess over this stupid movie and i needed to get it all out. i hope it wasn’t too much like a cheese grater on your brain to read. thanks for asking!

#i don’t know who to talk to about this stuff sorry #i just like. have this chronic condition where i keep thinking about bad movies with literally any potential at all bc #i wish i could remake them better and flesh them out well and actually make them treasurable #but for now i will continue to headbang to biggering in my kitchen alone #the lorax #the lorax 1972 #the lorax 2012 #the onceler

[separatist-apologist]

The House That Built Me

Summary: Eris Vanserra finds himself the Duke of the Vanserra estate when his father unexpectedly passes away, forcing him to reconcile the past he left behind in the house he never hoped to see again.

Note: This is not a direct spin-off. I'm just plagiarizing myself at this point.

Read on AO3

Arina’s entire life had always revolved around the Vanserra family. From her first awareness, everything and everyone moved around the four people who made up the ancient Dukedom. Duke Beron Vanserra brought his wife, the elegant Lady Vanserra, and his two sons—Eris, the eldest, and Lucien, the youngest, every summer and departed at the beginning of Autumn. To Arina, it had always been odd that so much centered around people who, to her, only existed between the months of June and September. 

When they weren’t at the Forest Estate, they were in the city of Velaris. Arina had never been and thought she never would. Her mother, the housekeeper of the estate, oversaw the female staff and managed the Vanserra’s home down to the cent, ensuring nothing was ever out of place or fell to ruin. It was an exhausting job, to Arina’s mind anyway.

I work so hard so you will not have to, her mother would remind Arina, collapsing into the little room they shared. They were lucky to have the space at all given the tight quarters most of the serving staff lived in. At least this room did not share a bathroom with anyone else.

Her mothers status gave Arina status. Lady Vanserra paid for Arina’s education, accidentally introducing her to the Archeron sisters. Their family estate buttressed against the Vanserras and, unlike the Duke and his sons, lived there year round for the most part. Lady Vanserra had paid Arina’s tuition so she could study alongside the highborn Archeron’s. 

Unlike Lucien and Eris, who rarely interacted with the staff, the Archeron girls did not seem to mind so much that Arina lacked their soft mannerisms and lilting speech. Elain, in particular, took an immediate liking to Arina, perhaps because Arina encouraged Elain to get her fine skirts muddy on occasion. When they were hunched over books, the four took to the woods from dusk until dawn, screaming and laughing, lost in games of imagination in the enchanted woodland. 

And in the summer, Arina was always called back, shoved in a too-tight, itchy dress, and forced to greet the Vanserra’s on the front drive. She liked Lady Vanserra best, who was like another mother. Amera, she’d once whispered to Arina with a wink. She was younger than her husband by at least ten years and so beautiful Arina understood why the Duke had wanted her so badly. Too much, her mother had once murmured though Arina didn’t understand what that meant at all. She was everything Arina’s mother was trying to turn Arina into. Each year, Arina studied her when she stepped from the carriage, placing a delicate, fair hand into her husbands. She wore her auburn hair off her face, twisted and combed without a stray hair out of place. Russet eyes always swept over them and when she smiled, Arina sometimes pretended it was because she was happy to Arina, and Arina only.

Beron Vanserra was a humorless man in comparison to his beautiful wife. Handsome enough, with muddy brown hair and eyes, Arina wondered what the lady liked about him. He didn’t seem to know they existed at all and spoke only to the steward.  She supposed he must be kind, and he was handsome enough—more handsome than the men in the village, at any rate. He always placed a gloved hand on his wifes back and led her in, his sons trailing just behind.

Lucien would grin when he saw her, his hair a match for his mothers though it was never tidy. His skin was perpetually tanned, even after a winter in the city where Arina was sure he saw very little sun. He grew only darker in the summer when he was left to run wild and the Duke paid very little attention to him. It was for the best—Lucien would join in with the Archeron’s, causing all sorts of mischief with the youngest, Feyre.

Eris was the oldest and his fathers man as far as Arina could tell. Though he shared his mothers coloring, her auburn hair, her russet eyes, Eris held himself like his father even as a boy. He looked down his nose at them if he acknowledged the help at all. He didn’t play games, not even when Lucien cajoled. He holed himself up in the library, her favorite room, and focused on his studies and his fathers other lessons. 

Eris was mean. Two years older than her, Eris already considered himself lord and never let any of them forget it. Tramping home one day, happy and coated in dirt, Lucien and Arina had the misfortune of running into Eris on the grounds just outside the garden. 

“You’re filthy,” he sneered, looking her up and down. “Mother says you’re going to be a great lady but no lady I’ve ever seen takes such joy in mud.”

“What would you know about ladies?” Arina had snapped. Eris’s outrage was not imagined. 

“You can’t speak to me like that,” he’d told her. “Apologize.”

And Arina, foolish and young, had shoved him so hard he’d fallen in the dirt. Eris had his revenge, she supposed, when he told his father. Arina had been marched into the drawing room, trembling like a leaf before the Duke and his wife while Eris smirked from the sofa.

“Tell him you’re sorry,” her mother had whispered, hands on her shoulders.

“Sorry,” Arina muttered petulantly. Eris merely turned up his nose but it was Beron who was determined it would never happen again.

“Put your hands on the table,” he’d ordered and Arina had no choice but to comply. Eris had turned, then, eyes wide when he realized his father meant to strike her. Beron Vanserra took his cane, rapping hard over her knuckles, twice for each side. Arina hadn’t dared to look at Eris, to see if he was still satisfied and instead swallowed her urge to cry. 

When she saw him next, Eris said nothing at all, nose still pointed in the air and when he walked passed her, he shoved his shoulder hard against her body, shoving something into her bruised, still swollen hands. Arina hadn’t dared say a word, instead darting for the woods, for a tree she liked to hide in. She’d unwrapped the little napkin, revealing the prettiest cake she’d ever seen in her entire life.

It was an apology of sorts.

It took another year for Arina to learn she was not the only one who suffered Beron’s particular form of punishment. She woke in the night to a woman screaming. Bolting upright, Arina crept from her bedroom, certain someone must be dying. She made it up the stairs, fumbling in the dark, before a hand gripped her wrist and yanked her backwards.

“Don’t,” Eris whispered, his entire body shaking. “Go back to bed.”

“But–”

“Go back to bed,” he ordered, only eleven years old and somehow the most authoritative voice she’d ever heard in her entire life. Arina did as he said, though she could not sleep. When she woke, Lady Vanserra greeted her at breakfast with a bright smile and swollen eyes. 

“Allergies,” she explained to Arina’s mother, who brought ice without another word. Across the table, neither Eris nor Lucien dared to look at their mother and for the first time in her life, Arina felt badly for the Vanserras. What was it like to live with so much fear?

Arina was always a little too relieved when the first of September arrived and Beron packed his family back into their golden carriage. She was a little sorry to see Lucien go but grateful to have the refuge of the library returned to her. The moment the carriage vanished, the mood in the house lifted as if everyone collectively took a breath. Every year, without fail, until that last one, the year Arina turned thirteen.

The last year Eris Vanserra lived with his family. 

They’d arrived a day earlier than planned. Arina had been holed up in the library, hair unwound in only a braid despite her promise that she would prove to Lady Vanserra the lessons were paying off and Arina could, in fact, act the part of lady. It wasn’t that she couldn’t—it was that the corsets were miserable and the hair pins made Arina’s headache. How Elain stood it, Arina would never know. When she was on her own, no one cared if she wore simple, unstructured dresses or if her hair fell about her shoulders. Apparently men lost their ability to be rational at the sight of a lady’s natural body or her undone hair. Arina thought it was pretty excuses for men to act abominably, though she didn’t dare voice those opinions out loud to anyone but Elain.

The problem was Arina’s face, which had become lovely to look upon, at least if the men in the village were any indication. It made her mother nervous—Arina was the product of pretty promises made by one of those villagers, though who her mother had never said. Though her mother had never outright said it, Arina knew her mother wanted to see her make a better match to a middle-class sort of man. A merchant, perhaps, or banker or judge. Someone who could take care of her, could offer her a nicer life. 

At the house, Arina was safe. The serving men didn’t dare look twice, unwilling to risk the wrath of her mother and the Vanserra’s were never around to notice. It gave Arina leave to lounge about, utterly spoiled when she felt like it.

She hadn’t expected a frustrated fifteen year old Eris Vanserra to stroll in a day early, halting when he saw her draped in a large chair, her legs dangling over the arm, in a plain blue dress better suited for a child. Eris, as always, was still in his jacket and breeches. He paused, gloved hands fisting at his sides.

Arina scrambled upwards, dropping her book to the cushion behind her. “Lord,” she murmured, sinking into a bow as was proper. He only stared, blinking twice before waving a dismissive hand. 

“Don’t get up on my account.” She reached for the book behind her, offering him a thin lipped smile. “I didn’t realize you’d be home today.”

“My apologies for the intrusion,” he replied, not sounding very sorry at all. Arina didn’t stick around to see why he was in such a mood. There were rumors Eris was supposed to go to university that year, halted because his father had changed his mind. Whether that was true or not, Arina felt a prick of sadness for Eris. Beron’s control was absolute and unrelenting. He could wreck his son’s future should he choose. 

Arina and Lucien ran wild, just as they always did, playing the part of Lord and Lady only when it was required of them. Arina pretended she didn’t notice the way Lucien watched Elain, as if he’d only just realized she existed, and Arina knew Lucien pretended he did not see how she studied Eris when she thought no one else was watching. He’d changed since she’d last seen him—become taller, more muscular, handsome, even. The features that had once seemed so sharp and ugly to her had shifted, or perhaps he’d merely grown into them. Eris seemed chiseled, suddenly, beautiful in a way a man should not.

And he wasn’t a man, she reminded herself. He was still a boy but all the pieces were there and for the first time, Arina thought a boy was pleasing to look at. He was no longer his fathers man, at least, not entirely. Eris was prone to outbursts, snapping when Beron demanded too much and putting himself between his mother and his brother. 

Arina felt sick the first time she saw the bruise upon his cheek. Eris didn’t acknowledge it though Arina could look at nothing else but the purple mark against his high cheekbones, marring an otherwise lovely face. It was not the first.

It would not be the last. 

It was raining that day, the moody violence foreshadowing what was to come. Arina had been in the library, slowly reclaiming it from Eris who was packing to leave. He’d been given leave for university and things had settled in the house. He would go in the fall and next summer she knew when Lucien returned, his elder brother would not. She was happy for Eris, she supposed, and confused for herself. She didn’t want to like him, after all. Eris Vanserra was off-limits to people like her. 

She heard the shouting and ignored it, making herself small in the chair.

“Beron, please don’t—”“He needs to learn to take his punishments like a man.”

Those words drew Arina from the library, creeping through the house despite the hour of day, until she’d made it to the stables where she knew Lucien would be watching. He was sheet white, mouth grim, as he watched his brother and father march towards the woods.

“Is that a…” she trailed off, noting the horse whip slung over Beron’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Lucien agreed. “Father is angry Eris got his way. I think he means to show Eris who is still lord.” They all heard the first crack of the whip. Arina counted thirty in total, each one more horrible than the last. Lucien stood stock still while she counted softly between them, eyes fluttering shut each time they heard the air ripple. Eris made no noise at all, or none that carried, at any rate. And when Beron returned, he looked at his youngest son, sweat dripping from his nose. 

“You are not to help him,” Beron ordered, panting as he said it. “Eris will return on his own.” Lucien nodded tightly, satisfying his father. Arina was never part of that agreement–Beron did not acknowledge she stood there at all.

“Are you really going to leave him?” she’d asked as night approached with no sign of Eris at all.

“I have to,” Lucien had replied with a note of regret. Arina couldn’t accept that. Eris would have gone for Lucien. Who would come for him?

She waited until all the lights in the estate winked out before she took off running, ignoring the way the rain pelted against her skin, unusually cold for the end of August. There was no moon, no starlight to guide her way and foolishly, Arina had not thought to light a torch. She plunged into the woods with little more than her memory to guide her.

She practically tripped over his body. “Eris,” she whispered, reaching for him in the dark. She hadn’t meant to touch his wounds, her hands pressed against hot, sticky flesh. He groaned, jerking involuntarily at her touch. He turned his head, letting her press her palm to his forehead.

“Mama?” he whispered, his voice so broken, so sad. 

“No,” she answered, tugging at his bare arm. “Only me. Come on. Will you stand?”

“Leave me,” he moaned, turning his head away from her. Arina tugged again, more insistent this time.

“You’ll die out here,” she explained, managing to get him on his feet. She slung his arm over her shoulders, trying so hard to brace the weight of him without toppling over. 

“If he finds out you helped…” Eris did not finish his sentence and Arina didn’t answer. If Beron found out she’d disobeyed, she supposed he could whip her, too. It was better than doing nothing at all.

It was a long, miserable walk back to the house. She had to set him down multiple times to catch her breath, laying him face down in the grass as carefully as she could. Eris did not complain, perhaps grateful for the help at all.

“To your room,” she’d tried once they reached the stables. Eris had only shook his head.

“No,” he gasped, leaning against an empty horse stall. “Too many steps. Just…you’ve done enough. Go to bed.”

He managed to unlatch the wooden door, tumbling inside without preamble, like he was little more than trash. It felt so wrong to see him that way. Arina wasn’t leaving him. She went into the house, exhausted and wet from sweat and the rain. She changed her clothes and gathered supplies—cloth for his wounds and clean water, ointment to help with the pain and the swelling and something for him to wear, too. She dug out blankets and pillows no one would miss and dragged it all down to that stall where Eris lay, face down in the straw. He was passed out when she returned which made cleaning the criss-crossed slashes over his back all the easier. Arina refilled her bowl of water a total of four times before she finally slathered on the paste and carefully dressed them as best she could. He was heavier than her, impossible to truly move around. Once she’d managed that, Arina slid a pillow beneath his head and tucked a blanket over his body. She meant to leave him like that, to return at dawn and take it all back just in case Beron came looking.

Eris reached out for her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling against him. It was awkward and clumsy, a scared boy looking for comfort.

“Mama?” he asked again, his voice smaller this time. Arina brushed a piece of auburn hair off his sweaty forehead.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I can get her–”

“Don’t,” he replied, opening one eye as if it pained him. “Thank you.”

Eris pressed his forehead against her own, lapsing back into sleep. Arina let him hold her, too tired to actually sleep. She was afraid if she did she’d wake up tucked against a corpse. He was so hot and somehow clammy and shivering. She kept pressing her hand against his cheek, if only to reassure herself.

As dawn broke, Eris began to rouse himself. “Lay back down,” Arina insisted as his shaking arms tried to raise him to his feet. “I’ll hide you here.”

Eris had never looked so young to her. Had she once thought he was a man? The eyes that peered back at her were those of a boy, terrified and alone, not daring to believe anyone would help him at all. Arina wished she could hug him. “I’ll take care of you,” she added. Eris put his head on her shoulder, his tears dripping down his nose and soaking her ruined dress. She didn’t dare move despite the ache of her body as carefully as she could, brought an arm around his back, fingers sliding reassuringly through his hair. It was what her mother had done for her when she was scared, nails gliding over the scalp as she hummed a nonsense song.

The house came to live with the first breath of dawn, and so too, did Eris. Sucking in a breath, he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of her dress. “Look at me,” he whispered, his face drawn, eyes flickering with an ember of defiance. Shuddering, and fingers trembling, Eris held her face in his hands. She thought he might kiss her and Arina found she wanted him to. She didn’t dare move, swallowing hard at the half naked boy covered in his own blood, his skin still too warm to the touch. “Swear to me something.” “Anything,” she agreed foolishly.

“Leave this place,” he whispered, his eyes searching her face as though he’d know if she wasn’t honest with him. “The first chance you get, turn your back and do not come back.”

Arina nodded, her disappointment strange and heavy. “And you?”

Eris’s face was hard. “This is my last summer here. Make it yours, too. Swear.”

“I swear.”

Eris lifted himself to his feet after that, staggering forward without her assistance. She didn’t dare help this time. He needed to show his father he could do what was demanded of him no matter how cruel. Arina merely cleaned up the stall and considered the promise he’d exacted from her. It was the opposite of what she wanted. Not an ask to stay or be faithful or wait, but to go and never look back. To never think of him again.

Arina was certain she would never think of anything but him.

Eris Vanserra upheld his word. Arina never saw him again, though she didn’t leave like he asked her to. That was the winter Eris Vanserra went to university across the channel and the year Arina’s mother became ill. She’d written to Lady Vanserra, begging for any kind of help. Arina’s mother had very little money despite her prestigious position in the house.

The week after Christmas, Beron Vanserra came himself to see her, his wife trotting just behind him. He gestured for her to sit in the drawing room, still only thirteen years old.

“My wife says you are asking for a physician,” he began, sitting across from her, hands folded in his lap. “One you cannot afford.” Arina nodded numbly, hiding her fear as best she could. “Yes, sir.”

“I will provide one,” he told her, leaning forward to examine her carefully. “But it will not be free. You will have to work off the cost.”

“I will,” she promised, ignoring the guilt she felt. Eris was stupid, she told herself. He was gone. She couldn’t abandon her mother to death simply to uphold an impulsive promise between a near stranger, no matter what he thought. Beron had drawn up a contract for her to sign while his wife watched with disapproving eyes. Beron, to his credit, did send a physician from the city and her mother got better…for a time. 

It was a vicious cycle over those next three years. Her mother would recover just enough to send the doctor away only to immediately fall ill with the same coughing spell and Beron would send the physician back. Arina continued her classes as she worked, picking up the shifts in the kitchen without a word about it. Her mother, unaware of the deal she’d made with Beron, thought Arina was merely growing up. She spoke of asking the Archeron’s if Arina could participate in the season with them, as if Arina was not already pledged to Beron Vanserra, likely for the rest of her life.

It didn’t matter. Arina was sixteen when her mother finally passed quietly in the night. The Vanserra’s had just arrived, their first year without either of their sons at all. Lucien, too, had been sent away, leaving just the two of them to flit about the house, avoiding each other the best they could.

Beron paid for a funeral that his wife arranged. He never spoke of the arrangement at all, never rubbed it in her face like a villain might. Arina knew he merely added it all to her ledger, the balance an impossible sum given what she earned. 

Elain Archeron was the only one who knew, outside of Lady and Lord Vanserra. Arina had confessed it all one night when Elain asked if Arina would like to borrow some of her dresses. “Lucien will help.”

“He cannot know,” Arian whispered, thinking he might say something to Eris, who in turn would be furious she’d disobeyed him. “This is the way of things.”

Girls like Elain had pretty, easy lives.

And girls like Arina worked.

Present day- 10 years.

Eris Vanserra didn’t know what was wrong with him. If there was one thing he truly enjoyed, it was fucking. He could have done it every day for the rest of his life in the exact same position and never tired of it. That day he had the finest woman he’d ever seen bent over his desk, her ass poised so perfectly as his cock slid in and out. He couldn’t figure out why he was struggling to enjoy himself. He slapped her ass cheek, earning a loud, theatrical moan.

Right. She was one of those, faking her enjoyment a little too much, cunt clenched around him as she did most of the work. Heir to the Vanserra empire, too many women saw only the title of Duchess when they looked at him. This woman, with her pretty chestnut hair, looked over her shoulder.

“Do you like this?” she asked, her voice smooth and sultry. Eris was surprised to find he didn’t. He was still hard, still moving, still appreciative of the glide of her body against his own…but he had stalled. It was as if his brain could no longer crest that hill. Eris reached for her hips, fingers digging in the skin, and slammed her against him over and over and over until he felt her release quiver around him. 

Come, he demanded of himself but his cock was stubborn. Even wrapped, it did not want to spill in another gold digging lady no matter how lovely her body looked wrapped around his own. Eris pulled himself out her with a growl of frustration, turning his back to force himself to breathe. It wasn’t as if his cock would settle. It would remain half hard in his pants until he was forced to finish himself, leaving Eris more frustrated than before. “Are you well, Lord Vanserra?” she asked him, turning from her desk. Eris felt her hands on his still clothed back, lips pressed against the fabric. 

“I am distracted,” he admitted, sliding the condom from his cock and discarding it in the wastebasket beside his desk. Her eyes flickered when she saw it, as if the entire day had been for nothing. “I’m afraid even you can do little to fix that.”

He pulled his pants back over his hips, having only ever left them at his ankles. 

“I could get on my knees?” she suggested, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. It was too late. The moment passed when Eris pulled his pants on. Instead of outright rejecting her like he ought to, he merely pressed his palm to her pretty cheek.

“Next time,” he said before stepping around her for the door. “Get dressed. I have a meeting I will be late for if you do not hurry.”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth and Eris considered she was not used to her advances being turned down. Get in line, he wanted to say. She was hardly the only woman who thought a pretty pussy and a willing mouth would give her whatever she liked. Women had been falling to their knees for him since he’d been seventeen years old. The longer he remained unmarried, the more desperate some women became.

He hurried her out just in time for his mother to arrive, eyes rich with disapproval. “Mama,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“I hope you rinsed out your mouth, Eris,” she chided. Her disapproval of his activities was well-known. Had he been a better son, like Lucien, he would have gotten married to a wholly appropriate woman and immediately impregnated her. Eris wasn’t Lucien nor was he a particularly good son though he liked to think that, as far as heirs went, he was not as disappointing as he could have been.

He ushered his mother into his town house, taking her to the familiar parlor where tea and sandwiches were laid out just as they always were. Eris had lunch with her once a week, allowing her to moan his status as a bachelor while telling him every little piece of gossip he missed because he was too busy drinking and fucking to participate in polite society. 

“Are you well?” he asked, noting the black dress she wore. It was nearly summer, far too warm for the long sleeves and high collar. 

She sighed. “There is no good way to tell you this. Your father had an accident returning from the continent. It’s unclear if he fell from his horse due to exertion or perhaps a heart attack…he passed this morning.” The world stilled for a moment. Beron Vanserra, the villain of Eris’s childhood, was dead. “What?” He didn’t dare believe it. Beron would live forever, his presence the dark shadow clouding Eris’s life, making him feel as if he were perpetually eight years old.

“There’s no need to pretend,” she said crisply, pouring a cup of tea from the floral patterned pot Elain had given him a mere four months earlier. “Your brother broke into laughter when I informed him–”

“I knew Lucien was your favorite,” he grumbled. “You told him first?”

“He has been staying with me,” she reminded Eris, her russet eyes sharpening. 

“Only because his wife is still cavorting about the countryside–” “Convalescing, I think you mean to say,” she interrupted primly. “Which brings me to several other matters. Lucien wants the Forest Estate–”

“Done,” Eris said easily. “He can have it in perpetuity, can sell it, light it on fire—” “Will you stop?” she asked, pushing a cup of steaming tea towards him. “That home was a gift from the royal family. You cannot sell it even if you wanted to. It is yours, Eris. You are Duke Vanserra now.”

Duke Vanserra. The title rang crisply in his ears, the long promised ascension he’d always wanted. By virtue of blood and birth, Eris had always known and still, had assumed it would take an act of God to kill Beron. He’d only ever be his fathers right hand man, exacting his bidding while trying not to draw too much attention to himself.

“If you expect me to live in that house–”

“I do not,” she replied, reaching her hand over the small, rounded table to hold his own. There were too many ugly memories for Eris. Not just at the country estate but their home in the city as well. He should have been staying with mother instead of Lucien, who had picked up all the responsibilities Eris shrugged off when he moved into his own home. 

“Give it to Lucien…allow his children to inherit it. I think that is a fine plan,” she assured him. “But Beron wanted to be buried out there…and you will need to oversee it.” He’d have to go back. 

“I trust you are handling the arrangements?” he asked, squeezing her thin hand in his own. Beron was dead. Beyond the title and the wealth Eris would inherit, his mother, after thirty-five miserable years, was finally free. She nodded.

“I think, once the mourning period has passed, I will remain with Lucien and Elain. She will need help with the new babe and I do not care for Velaris, if we are being honest. The manor will become yours.” “Yes, alright,” he managed. “I will handle things. Is there anything else or can we discuss the gossip I heard yesterday in the market?”

Her eyes sparkled. “One more thing, I promise. You remember Agatha, our housekeeper?”

No, he thought too quickly, his mind flashing a pair of green eyes set in a golden face. “Of course.”

“She passed away ten years ago,” Amera Vanserra told him, stirring more sugar into her cup. “Her daughter signed a contract with Beron to work as repayment for the debt his mother incurred with a physician he provided.” Eris could hear nothing for a moment. Only a rushing, roaring of blood filled his mind. He remembered very little of Agatha, of that terrible estate he loathed so much he would have danced around the flames should it ever catch fire. He did, however, occasionally think of her daughter Arina. Eris had very few regrets in his life and had always counted not figuring out what happened to her as one of them. He had hoped she’d left, just as she promised she would, and married some decent gentleman far, far away from the Vanserras.

Eris frowned. “Surely her debt is repaid?”

“I have asked Beron about it over the years. I promised her mother I would look after her, I would ensure her future. Beron has been tight-lipped and would not tell me what was left—” “Forgive it,” Eris said quickly. He owed Arina far more than his life. She’d been kind when it would have been easier to not be. She was the only person who had seen him cry. 

“She’ll need papers,” his mother protested. “And I think she would not like thinking this is an act of charity. Elain Archeron wants to see her married and is hoping to use this summer to create a little season for Arina. Will you dredge those old documents up for me? Beron kept meticulous records…I know they must be somewhere in his office.”

“I’ll find them,” he swore. That settled his mother, removing all traces of guilt from her countenance. Eris launched into his pathetic gossip without preamble, delighted when his mother one upped him, sharing all the messy matches being made. Eris was grateful men were not required to participate in the spectacle of courtship unless they wanted, certain he would have been married far, far sooner as he’d never had particularly good sense. He’d have been caught with his pants down over some minor noble's daughter and be halfway towards his own brood by then.

Not unlike his little brother. To Lucien’s credit, he’d only ever wanted one woman–the wife he’d married a year earlier. Lucien had never wavered in his commitment to Elain and the moment she made herself available, Lucien all but murdered the competition at the point of his sword. He’d done everything exactly by the book so there would be no room to doubt his affection and had not, at least publicly, compromised Elain’s virtue or chastity. 

Elain could give his mother a million grandchildren. Since she’d floated into their lives, his mother had brightened innumerably, and Eris’s too, though he’d never admit it. Elain’s presence was a salve, not just to Lucien, but to his mother.

To him.

Eris waited a full day before stalking towards that brick faced manor, set on the nicest street in Velaris. It sucked up an entire block, sprawling both up and out, as if Beron had meant to have seven children instead of just two. Every home Eris had grown up in had been too big, too empty. He preferred his little town house, with its three bedrooms and its tight walls. There was nowhere for ghosts to hide or shadows to lurk. 

Eris noted the mourning flowers scattered about the foyer as he jogged up the polished wood steps. Was anyone truly sad he was dead? Perhaps whichever mistress he’d taken that month was disappointed he’d died before she could sire a bastard to challenge Eris and Lucien though even then Eris had his doubts. Beron had five other children scattered across the city. He doubted Beron had left provisions for them at all. It would be up to Lucien and Eris to decide if they’d inherit anything at all. Eris was not certain he wanted five other men clamoring for the estate and challenging Elain’s new baby for the title as heir. 

Beron’s office was the second biggest room in the house, save for his own bedroom. Eris closed the door behind him, inhaling the smell of tobacco and liquor. He’d hated this room as a boy—it was where Beron chose to punish his sons for whatever wrong doing he’d imagined that day. The office was all immaculate dark wood and leather bound books all arranged around his large desk. Eris wanted to wreck it, to inject a little chaos just because he could.

Instead, he sat in that leather chair and began pulling open drawers. His mother hadn’t been wrong–Beron kept immaculate, precise records down to the cent. Eris knew exactly how much money the family possessed, having gone to the bank earlier that day to take over the accounts so there would be no disruptions but had he not, Beron accounted for it all.

Eris found Elain’s dowry, unspent and tucked away in a little file noting that Beron had not gotten her signature to transfer it from her and Lucien to himself. Eris crumpled that little note and set the file to the side. He’d give that to Lucien, who could do whatever he liked with that money.

His mothers dowry was also unspent, an absurd sum for a man who already possessed so much. All the haggling Beron had done to acquire more coins, more land, was laid out elegantly as if his mother were little more than a flock of geese. That, too, was set in a pile. He intended to give her ownership of it instead of having to rely on him to pay for her things—not that he wouldn’t. Eris dug out their trusts, dug out the information regarding his bastard brothers and the allowance his father had been paying their mothers for upkeep for those who were still babes. Beron had paid for their education and Eris begrudgingly decided he would continue, even if it rankled him. 

Night had fallen before he finally stumbled upon the folder he needed. Tucked inside neatly was a contract drawn up by a lawyer in which Arina Novak agreed to work against the debt she incurred for her mothers health expenses. Arina’s signature was signed below, dated mere months after she’d pulled him from the forest. Eris reclined in his chair, staring at her flowing penmanship. He hadn’t been in a position to help her, he reminded himself…and yet he’d never truly gone looking, either. He’d just closed that door without a backwards glance, indulging himself on occasion to wonder where she’d gone.

No where. Beron had marked the costs of her mothers funeral, tallying it neatly. Three years of physicians who charged a pittance while Beron charged Arina for the cost of his time, for horses, for having to write things in his ledger at all. Eris imagined Arina, at thirteen, had likely not understood what she was agreeing to. 

Her mother had left her a small sum of money. Not much—two years of her salary, carefully saved to provide Arina a future out of the Vanserra household. Beron had taken it, paying himself back without clearing any of Arina’s debt. She would have been freed that day if he’d been honorable. She could have joined Elain at school, could have participated in the marriage market at the same time, be married with her own children…and instead, Beron merely noted he’d promoted her to housekeeper. Eris could imagine his fathers glee at getting a skilled worker for nothing. He hadn’t given Arina a raise for her work while charging her interest each year and adding to her balance for things the household ought to have provided for. Each time a child fell sick or something broke under her watch, Beron merely tallied it up.

Pulling out a piece of paper, Eris quickly noted her account paid for and signed it without consideration. He tucked it into an envelope along with all the other things he felt needed his attention, before going home for the day, his mind racing. She’d be there when he arrived. Agatha had been a strange looking woman with the greenest eyes. Eris remembered very little about Arina.

But he’d never forgotten those green eyes. 

**

“Look at you,” Arina breathed when the carriage door opened. Lucien Vanserra hauled himself from the carriage gracefully, grinning when he saw her. Hand outstretched, he waited patiently for his very pregnant wife to scoot towards the edge. Far from letting her navigate the narrow steps herself, Lucien merely lifted her up and to her feet as if she were a feather in his hands. Elain scowled.

“I hate when you do that,” she complained, pressing a hand against the small of her back. Arina drank in the sight of Elain, eight months pregnant and glowing. She was a dream in pale blue, her stomach rounded beneath the stretchy fabric, her hair pulled neatly off her head. 

Lucien shrugged unrepentantly. “Welcome home, Lord Vanserra,” Arina told him with more than a little amusement. She still worked for him and was still responsible for overseeing this household. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

Elain snorted as Lucien said, “No you’re not. No one is. I have never seen so many smiling faces in the wake of a dead man. His funeral is practically a party, to hear mother talk about it.” “When will she arrive?” Arina asked, checking the mental boxes in her mind. Elain had insisted that she and Lucien preferred to share a room, that Lady Vanserra should take her old room, made exactly as she liked. 

“Tomorrow,” Lucien replied, patiently holding his wife’s hand as she maneuvered up the stone steps. “Eris was still wrapping things up when we left.” Arina pretended the sound of his name did nothing to her. She was terrified to see the new Duke. She hadn’t seen him in the years after he’d left, back straight, chin in the air as if his father hadn’t torn him to ribbons in the woods. What kind of man had he become, she wondered? 

“I’m surprised she didn’t come with you,” Arina admitted, following Elain upwards as well, hand clasped in her own.

“Eris will make an excuse not to come if she doesn’t drag him down,” Elain said sweetly even as she grimaced. “And this funeral is Amera’s attempt at matchmaking, however misguided.”

Lucien smirked, as if the thought of his brother subjected to the manipulations of his mother amused him. 

“Should I put him in the Lord's quarters, then?” Arina asked carefully. She had not let herself think of which room Eris would occupy. She didn’t wish to know where he slept, where he bathed or ate or lived at all. 

“Put him as far from his old room as you can manage,” Lucien replied, leading Elain to a chaise just inside the marble foyer where she could sit. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved an envelope while Elain caught her breath. “Speaking of Eris. Mother asked him to find the contract you signed with father all those years ago.”

Arina’s heart stopped at the sight of Eris’s elegant script, written neatly on the envelope. Just her name and nothing else. She’d inquired only once with Lady Vanserra, four years prior. The matriarch had sworn to do what she could and Arina surmised she had finally lived up to that promise. Arina pulled it up with trembling fingers. There was no note from Eris, no condemnation or polite hello. Only a notice that she had fulfilled her obligation, signed and dated a mere four days earlier. He’d also neatly folded a will, left by her mother, and check for a sum of money she’d left behind that Beron had clearly meant to keep in perpetuity. Lucien read over her shoulder, clearly just as curious.

“What a bastard,” he grumbled, snatching the check from Arina’s hands. It was written in Eris’s same calligraphy, dated the day after he’d closed her contract. “Beron hardly needed the money.”

She swallowed, letting Lucien hold the delicate piece of paper. “You’ll deposit this for me?” she asked, as if there was ever a question. She needed a man to do it on her behalf, given she was unmarried. Lucien smiled.

“I’ll handle it. All of it,” he added pointedly as Elain rose from her chair and waddled towards them. “Consider this your last day—” “Lucien,” Arina tried to protest. He raised a broad hand while Elain grinned brightly beside him. They’d conspired, she realized. 

“I can manage a couple guests in my own home,” he informed her smoothly. “If I catch you working, I will take you out back and dunk you thoroughly in the lake.”

“What Lucien means to say is you’ve done enough,” Elain said gently, looping her arms through Arina’s and forcing her to walk over the polished wood floors deeper into the house “And while no one would blame you for taking a horse and leaving, I was hoping you’d stay here with me this summer as my guest.” Arina rubbed her hands against the blue uniform of her dress. Dread crept through her stomach. All she’d known, for ten years, was working in this house. The education she’d been given felt like a distance memory, hardly useful to her at all. What good was Latin when the toilets stopped working? She licked her lips nervously as Lucien offered, “I could take you to Velaris, if you like?”

That would be worse. “No,” she insisted hastily. “No, I…” 

“Don’t you want to move on?” Elain asked her gently. “Find a family of your own?”

Arina forced a smile on her face. “Let me help you with this, at least. It will take you time to find a new housekeeper.”

“Not as long as you’re hoping,” Lucien warned. “Don’t make me force you–” “Yes, with the lake outback,” she interrupted without malice. “You are still that awful boy, you know.” Lucien’s grin was unrepentant. “I’m glad we understand each other. Let my wife make a fuss over you. It’s quite nice.” He strolled away, hands jammed in his pockets and a skip in his step. “I cannot stand how happy you have made him,” Arina told Elain, watching him walk away. “He is intolerable.”

“I know,” Elain agreed, one hand resting on her stomach. “I will endeavor to humble him.” How Elain chose to do that, Arina did not want to know. Like all of their courtship, Arina kept the pair of them at arms length. Elain and Lucien were her friends separately and, she supposed, together. However watching them fall in love, seeing how it might be between two people only made Arina feel lonlier. She knew Elain wanted that for her and once, Arina had wanted it too.

She was far too old to start. Twenty six and unmarried made it seem as if something was terribly wrong with her. Most girls wed far younger. Elain had been allowed more time than most as her proposal to Lucien was all but assured and she had wanted to travel with her sisters before settling down into motherhood. 

What man would want a wife who was not only as old as she was, but who had spent her life working as she did? Arina hardly had the gentile manners even middle class men dreamt of. She still liked to lurk in trees whenever no one was watching. Hardly wifely qualities. Arina was wild and, as she’d gotten older, had decided she didn’t want to change that. 

Elain dropped off an absurd number of dresses that evening, along with pretty shoes and haircombs. Arina had stared at them in the little room that had once belonged to her and her mother, hanging them neatly in her closet and arranging them gently on the dresser. She had so little—everything in that room belonged to her because she’d earned it. Elain was kind, and it felt bad to ignore those fine dresses and corsets for an easy cream colored dress she could slip over her head, that flowed against her frame without constricting her breathing. 

Instead of her usual bun, Arina opted for a braid over her shoulder. It was the hair of girls, not ladies and yet she decided she would not marry and so what did it matter if she dressed herself for comfort over fashion? Arina had no intention of attending Beron’s funeral though she did make her way to the servants quarters to ensure everyone knew their places. Berta was already waiting, eager eyed and hopeful. She wanted to replace Arina. 

Arina could have made the recommendation to Lucien that day and he’d have done it. She didn’t intend to make Berta wait forever. After all, housekeeper was the most prestigious job within a lord's household for a woman and Arina was sure Lucien paid far better than his father. 

Arina went to the library afterwards, avoiding the bustle around the house she would have usually participated in. She felt so idle. It was uncomfortable, not having anything to do with her time, no projects to organize, no staff to oversee. Just as she’d done when she was a girl, Arina plucked her favorite book from the shelf and fell into her favorite chair, head on the arm of the chair, legs dangling over the sides. No one but her ever came in here. The library was merely for show, for Beron to collect things with his absurd wealth that he’d never use. 

She knew the book in her hand like she knew her own name. Each line was memorized, imprinted on her mind, so when she read, her lips moved too, reciting the words like an actor might. It was a child's story, the kind told to make them think the world smaller and safer than it was. The hero slayed the dragon, the world united. It made her feel better, even as an adult. 

Even when the library door pulled open and a man with amber eyes stepped inside. He didn’t see her for a moment, half hidden beside the window, a table just in front of her. He turned his back, running a hand through his short, auburn hair as he exhaled a noise of frustration.

“Fuck you, father,” he snarled, his voice dark and rich. “If I could kill you myself, I would. You were an absolute…bastard…” his voice trailed off as he turned again, so slow the air seemed to still. Eris Vanserra had returned, every inch the Duke, now. The boy in her memory, with his rounded features and soft, snotty lilt had been replaced with the man standing in front of her. Tall, muscular and lean, Eris Vanserra was impeccably dressed in a silvery blue jacket cut stiffly against his angular, carved jaw. A complementary vest hugged against his chest, tapering against the fine cut of his white trousers that were swallowed at the knee by shiny black riding boots. She’d wondered how he had turned out, if he’d been as handsome as his looks had once suggested he might be.

He was absurd in his beauty, far lovelier than any man had the right to be. A lock of red hair had fallen against his forehead, unnoticed as Eris took her in. Recognition flared over his features.

“Still here, are you?” he finally asked. Arina’s heart sank. They weren’t friends, she reminded herself, and whatever attraction she felt was foolish. Arina closed her book just as she might have done years past.

“Lord Vanserra,” she murmured, dropping into a polite bow. He merely watched, his expression unreadable. She attempted to pass him but Eris was quick, pulling the book she held from her hands. He turned the spine to his face, reading the faded gold lettering with narrowed eyes.

“Still here, still reading the same books,” he stated, eyes snapping to her face. She felt like a child, embarrassed and flustered all at once. “I don’t know why that surprises me.”

He handed her back the book, fingers careful not to touch her. Arina snatched it, holding it against her chest.

“You haven’t changed at all,” she informed him, turning her back to leave.

“You have,” he called after her, his words slowing her. Her hand hesitated on the handle of the door. She dared to look over her shoulder at him, wishing she hadn’t. He seemed angry. “You were supposed to leave.”

Arina wrenched open the door, hating him just a little. “And go where, exactly?” she replied, slamming the door before he could respond. It was all well and good for Eris to uphold the promise he’d forced on her under duress. He’d been half dead, bleeding and crying. She would have promised him anything to make him feel better. That was foolish, childish nonsense and they both knew it. 

And yet, Arina thought perhaps Eris had the right idea after all.

Maybe she should leave. 

**

Eris could not breathe. Pacing the library, he held his hand against his chest and forced air through his nose and out his mouth, over and over and over. This cursed house was a nightmare. Everything held some forgotten memory made new, dragging him into the murky darkness of his mind and his fathers cruelty. The only refuge was the library–Beron had never touched this place, had likely forgotten it existed.

But she hadn’t. And in his desperation to find somewhere free of Beron, he’d strolled right into Arina Novak, the little girl who’d kept him from dying in the woods one night. He remembered so little after the first snap of the whip, had blocked most of it out. He recalled the cool rain against his back and the smell of the warm dirt pressed to his cheek.

And her, soaked in her white dress, pulling him to his feet and dragging him through the woods and over the hilly lawn where he’d collapsed into the stable. He’d passed out, his dreams fraught and had woken to pretty green eyes tucking a blanket around his body. No one but his mother touched him with such care and yet when he’d pulled her into his arms, she’d smelled of sunshine and citrus, hardly his mothers scents. 

He’d put her behind him. Even when he’d honored her mothers will, Eris had given her little thought beyond his hope she did something with her life now that she was freed from Beron’s influence. He hadn’t expected to find her still, dressed in a white dress so reminiscent of the night in the forest, her sunlit blonde hair swept in a messy braid over her shoulder. And her eyes…Eris braced his hand against the table. In his mind, she was a freckled, chubby cheeked girl. 

Not anymore. Arina could have brought Velaris to her knees if she’d ever been given permission to leave. Her beauty was overwhelming, bright like the midday light pouring through the window. Eris understood why Paris might risk his kingdom for Helen of Troy, had she been even half as lovely as Arina was. 

Arina, devoid of a corset and the fussy hairstyles the ladies in Velaris wore, her legs hanging over the side of a chair as she read a book for children. Arina, with her full, unpainted pink lips, her tanned skin, her mossy eyes. She was not for him and never had been—his first awareness of her was being shoved in the dirt by her own hands, only to watch his father bruise them unforgivably when he learned of her transgression. 

Not for him…Eris turned his eyes to the window, unsurprised to see her stalking over the lawn like a petulant child. He wanted to chase after her, to needle her until he was under her skin. Eris turned back to the library, instead going to see his obnoxious brother who had known Arina had been here all these years and said nothing at all.

“If you want the office back, you’ll have to fight me for it,” Lucien said absently, rifling through their fathers old documents. “Or the bedroom.” “I wouldn’t touch that bedroom with a ten foot pole,” Eris retorted, well aware Lucien had likely already done unspeakable things to Lady Elain. Lucien looked up, misunderstanding him. “I had everything changed.” Eris only rolled his eyes. “Did you not give Arina her inheritance?”

Lucien’s brows shot upwards. “Of course I did.”

“Then why is she still here?” Eris demanded, furious that Lucien would allow her to continue working when she ought to go. Escape. 

Lucien steepled his hands in front of his face, regarding Eris with an assessing gaze. Annoyed, Eris dropped to the blue leather chair across from Lucien’s desk, leg crossed over his knee. 

“Elain wants to find her a match,” he finally said, leaning back in his chair. “Who am I to deny my wife?”

“And Arina?” Eris asked petulantly.

“Why do you care?” Lucien shot back smoothly. 

“She…she did me a favor once,” he finally admitted, catching the interest in Lucien’s face. So Arina had never told, had she? She’d just assumed she must, that servants gossiped. What better piece of information than to spread how the lord's son wept like a child in the arms of a maid's daughter? It softened him, if only a little. “I want to see her–” “Settled, yes. We all do,” Lucien agreed. “Dont’ worry, Eris. I can manage just fine without you hovering over my shoulders.” Eris scowled. “You’ll fuck it up. You always do.”

“Reassuring words from Duke Vanserra,” Lucien retorted as Eris stood. “Don’t stay on my account, brother. Go back to Velaris and continue fucking your whores. I am sure that will fix things.”

Eris rounded on his brother, who didn’t have the decency to look scared. “Oh? And has marriage fixed you?”

“Perhaps I was not so deeply broken,” Lucien replied, leveling a cold stare. “Father cared far less for me than he did you, after all.”

“And that’s how you can stand being here? In this fucking house with–” he cut himself off, reaching for a decanter of Beron’s expensive liquor, throwing it forcefully against the wall behind him. Lucien didn’t flinch.

“Beron took too much,” Lucien finally said, drawing Eris’s attention back to Lucien’s face, to the scar from their fathers brutality. “He cannot have my peace. He is dead, and by all accounts, it was a slow, painful, and miserable death out on the road. By himself. No one to torment, to witness him.” “It’s not enough,” Eris said, panting wildly as if he’d just run a race. 

“Then you will always be angry and he will  never care. The apology you want is not coming, Eris. He is not sorry for what he did,” Lucien snarled in response. “Make your peace with it so you can move on.” Eris shook his head, stumbling from the office like a drunk man. He didn’t know where he was going until he yanked open the terrace doors. Sunlight shone around him, illuminating the beautiful grass and gardens. In the distance, Eris could see the sparkling lake juxtaposed against the cheerful green treetops of the forest. Eris pulled off his jacket as he began to walk, each step angrier than the last until he’d thrown the piece of clothing to the grass. He removed his vest, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. 

He took off in a sprint, unsure where he was going or what he was doing. It felt good to unleash himself, to stop trying so hard to be his fathers perfect son, to release the expectations that had always strangled him. Gentlemen didn’t run, they didn’t work, they didn’t care about women or love or fun. They didn’t cry or feel anything but rage and did exactly as they wished so long as it was mostly within the bounds of the law.

The problem was Eris did feel. He felt everything, bottled in his chest until he made a mockery of his very being. Eris cared too much for a Vanserra, and as a result could just barely function. He was Beron in all the ways Beron valued and when he looked at himself in the mirror, Eris hated what he saw.

He slowed after a moment, turning in a circle on the leaf strewn path. “Lost, lordling?” a mocking voice called from a tree. Eris titled his head to find Arina, sitting just above him, her leg dangling once again. He grabbed her ankle and yanked, sending her tumbling to the ground with a screech. 

“Did my mother not instruct you on the ways of being a lady?” he sneered as she rose to her feet, her hair unwound from the loosely tied ribbon. Arina pushed the hair from her face, the top of her head coming to his chin as she strode towards him.

“As well as she taught you to be a gentleman,” Arina snapped. Eris took a step towards her. 

“Apologize,” he demanded.

Arina didn’t yield, her fury only making her more lovely. “I’m sorry you’re such a bastard.”

Eris lunged and Arina took off, avoiding the path entirely to plunge into the forest unbidden, as if she were a child again. He raced after her, irritated she was so much better than he was at navigating his own ancestral lands. While he’d studied, Arina had been given leave to roam wild. Not anymore. He had paid his dues and for what? He was Duke regardless and would have been even if all he’d ever done was fuck his whores, as Lucien so crassly stated. 

He nearly caught her once, arms catching on her dress only to meet a branch to the face. She didn’t stop, not until she burst from the treeline to the dock, stopping so abruptly he slammed into her and sent them both toppling to the grass. Arina exhaled all the air in her lungs, her soft body breaking his fall. Eris was fine, though bruised, and present enough to know that when he hoisted her up over his shoulder, he was violating several fundamental truths regarding how men and women ought to act.

“Eris,” she gasped, kicking at his chest and beating against his back. “Don’t you dare—”He threw her into the lake, watching her flail against the crystal water with satisfaction. He didn’t know why he’d wanted to do any of it at all—why he’d chased after her, why he’d yanked her from the tree or even why it amused him to see her fall into the water. 

Arina didn’t surface for long enough to unsettle him. She could swim, he was certain of it. Still, Eris walked to the end of the dock, crouching on the edge to see if she was injured or drowning. Her hand shot from beneath the glassy surface, fisting in his shirt. Eris howled, tumbling into the chilly water without ceremony. She attempted to lift herself out of the lake as he went under, grabbing at her bare leg and dragging her back beneath him. Arina twisted, pulling from his grasp to surface for air.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, pushing away when he surged towards her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Eris frowned. “No,” he finally admitted. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“This is a poor way to talk to a woman. Surely you must know that,” she spat, swimming to the dock. He watched her hoist herself up, water sluicing off her body that was now completely visible to him. Eris’s amusement only heightened when Arina stood, her dress clinging to every inch of her skin. Nipples peeked through the sheer fabric, giving Eris the general sense of her shape, of what she might look like undressed. 

She crossed her arms over her chest as he floated. “I’m not trying to talk to you,” he admitted. “Perhaps I wanted to see you naked.”

“I’ll tell,” she threatened, drawing him back to the dock. Eris, too, lifted himself out of the frigid water, running a hand down his own sheer shirt and the toned body beneath. Arina barely glanced, as if she’d seen a million good looking men and he did not impress her. 

“I’m so afraid of Lucien,” Eris taunted, striding past her for the forest beyond. He had water in his boots and his pants were far too heavy to feel comfortable and yet Eris had the sense that if he stripped in front of her, she’d close her hands around his throat. He was so lost in his little victory he’d forgotten everything else. 

“Stop,” she whispered, freezing him in place. Eris had never let anyone see him without his shirt, opting for either utter darkness or to keep it on his body. He swore he meant to snap at her, to turn like a furious dog until she backed away. Only Arina had ever seen, by virtue of being there when it happened. Even his own mother had never looked, had kept her distance as if she could not stand it.

Arina’s fingers slid beneath the wet shirt covering him. Impulsively, Eris pulled his shirt over his head, barring himself to this stranger, to a woman he barely knew. She sucked in a breath and, angry, Eris demanded, “Don’t pity me.” She traced the thin, pink lines over his otherwise taut back. “I don’t pity you, Eris,” she murmured, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. Her hand pressed along his spine before he felt her lips graze the skin.

“I would kill him, if I could.”

Eris spun so abruptly Arina skittered backwards, stumbling back to the wooden dock. Standing over her, half naked and exposed, Eris felt vulnerable and it scared him. “He's' dead.”

Arina drew her knees against her chest. “Maybe it’s not enough.” 

Reality washed over him, returning his sense of decency. He’d chased a woman through the woods and thrown her in the lake. For what purpose, other than she frustrated him? Haunted him, he decided, staring into the golden green eyes he still saw in his nightmares. Far from a monster, Arina was an angel. No one had ever come for him, had cared, had seen him. She had.

And Eris couldn’t explain it.

But he wanted to ruin her.

#im gonna finish this one i swear #erinia #aris? #i forget #anyway #eris vanserra #being the saddest snottiest little bean #no one talk to me about my incomplete fics #my goal is to finish them by 2023

[jargonautical]

Domesday

MANOR HILL HOTEL and Day Spa sits up past Alfriscombe’s headland, a decorative shell formed gradually over the centuries around the core of the original medieval manor house. For centuries this was the family home of the Vernons, able to trace their noble line back to the Norman conquest and beyond, but a combination of expensive tastes, a series of disastrous investments and a few unlucky runs at cards forced them to sell up and retreat long ago.

It still has the air of a grand house, if you can overlook the Michelin star plaques screwed to the stonework beside the main entrance and the ‘[NO] Vacancies’ sign creaking on its gibbet down by the main road. The sweeping carriage drive still follows the curve of the manor’s boundary wall, taking new arrivals past well-kept gardens and grand views over the bay before dropping them at the front door. The frontage is all late Regency, clean and white in the spring sunshine with row upon row of identically sized sash windows, while newer extensions at the rear house guest bedrooms overlooking the back lawn, neatly clipped evergreens, and beyond that ancient woodland with the crown of Fairy Hill rising up out of the trees in the distance. In short, picturesque as all hell from every possible angle. Little wonder the first Baron Vernon chose this spot to cement his triumphant land grab post-Conquest.

The grand ballroom jutting off the south-east side is a Victorian addition from the family that owned it briefly until their only son was lost in the Great War. One of the bedrooms is still preserved as a shrine to his memory, the life’s work of his grieving parents, even his uniform laid out as if ready for him to return and don it before he heads off to victory. Mainder struggles to remember that family’s name, to his occasional shame. Not Vernon, certainly, and he had nothing to do with their misfortunes, but still. Maybe he’ll drop by the display later and remind himself. It feels like the right thing to do.

The only visible remnant of the medieval hall in these modern times is a wide Gothic arch just inside the front door. The old lord’s motto just manages to assert its presence if not its meaning, shallow scratches in the fragile sandstone barely legible now; HABEMVS TENEMVS, it used to say. A brief smirk ghosts across his face as he passes under the inscription and wipes his muddy feet thoroughly on the logo woven into the doormat. Initially dismayed when the hotel decided to adopt the Vernon coat of arms as part of their branding, between the threat of lawsuits and the enthusiasm of the fancy graphic designer they hired it ended up almost unrecognisable, with details like the lion passant the Vernons were once so peacock-proud of replaced by nothing more than a stylised scribble beneath the shield. The absolute cherry on the cake is knowing that it appears not just on doormats, not just printed on restaurant menus and crockery and the tiny guest soaps in the rooms, it’s even embossed on the luxury quilted toilet paper. Odds are that someone at that very moment is wiping their arse on the Vernon crest, and he couldn’t have devised a more fitting use for it if he’d tried.

This early in the year it’s sparse business, with the Valentine’s Day offers over and done with and the Spring Bank Holiday trade yet to materialise, but those guests who do make the trip tend to be heavily susceptible to impulse buys from the trinkets displayed at the treatment centre desk. He stops to admire, as he always does, the sheer artistry at work in arranging the showcase, each shelf in the display containing precisely the correct number of tempting items, not too crowded and not too sparse, all angled to sparkle just so under the cabinet lights.

Looking more closely though there are a few gaps. “You managed to shift that geode.”, he remarks, reaching into his coat pocket and flipping open his notebook. “Want me to send up another? Anything else you’re out of?”.

He’s left hanging when the young woman at the desk holds up a ‘wait’ finger and darts into the tiny office behind the desk. “All of the rose quartz.”, her voice echoes back to him. “Most of the pendants …”. She reappears with a handwritten list which she pushes across the desk for him to review. “Pretty much all of the fossils. Here you go. We had a big rush on over Valentine’s Day.”.

He raises his eyebrows, scribbling swift notes as he works his way down the extensive list. “No kidding. Who says romance is dead?”.

“Certainly not me!”.

The cheeky smile she shoots at him doesn’t go unnoticed, but he lets her flirting pass without comment. Gratifying as it was when he overheard that the young ladies at the spa reception desk ‘totally would’ even if he is ‘like, really old’, the days are long gone that he’d consider taking them up on it.

Back before the Closing his two chief duties were monitoring the Fold for strays and wanderers, and keeping track of the yasim, the half-bloods seeded year on year by the constant traffic between the two sides. He’d barely had to stir himself on that front in the last two centuries. Maybe there are more green eyes in Alfriscombe than you’d expect in such a small population, a bit more luck on the scratch cards or the horses. Realm blood leaves its mark. But these days there isn’t one that he could pick out of a crowd, the aura about them that says they’re someone he needs to watch over. Certainly there are none of his get. He hasn’t even had a relationship on this side for how long he can’t even remember for precisely that reason, and he’s not about to start now.

Business concluded, he ducks down the corridor in the direction of the events suite. Hotel management chose to decorate this section with a selection of tasteful prints in unfussy dark wood frames showing scenes from the history of Alfriscombe. He stops to admire what’s in his opinion the best of the lot, delicate ink lines and cross-hatching showing a view of the town from, if he remembers correctly, 1857. Yes, that’d be right; the pier hadn’t been built yet, and the old Abbey schoolhouse, one of the only victims of the fire of 1860, is still standing. Memory supplies the scene - the blaze and its aftermath, nobody hurt but the building itself reduced to smoking rubble - handwringing from the diocese and mutterings from the vicar about God’s mysterious ways. In truth God had very little to do with it, but he’s confident She would have approved of the outcome, if not the methods. No more kids being singled out at the teachers’ whim, mysterious discipline delivered behind closed doors strictly one on one leaving boys pale and tearful and resolutely silent. Not in his town. He still counts that as one of his better days’ work.

A couple of steps onward he halts again, head cocked as if listening to an unseen navigator, and apparently on impulse takes a sharp right into Hotel Staff Only territory, a service corridor providing hidden access to the function rooms and the restaurant. As such it’s an unloved, undecorated space designed for actual work to get done, safely out of sight of paying guests. Plush carpet underfoot gives way to easy-to-mop vinyl in dull blue. Utilitarian plastic skirting protects the bare plaster walls from the heavy catering trolleys, inclined to rumble on unchecked if you let go even for a moment. One such appears as he reaches the bend, and he stops close into the wall to let it go rattling past. The tiny young woman struggling to steer the beast nods breathless thanks and carries on her way.

Further down there’s the murmur of voices from an event in progress. More of the staff are in full action mode here, smartly kicking open the kitchen doors to bustle past and around him with water jugs and trays of coffee cups, but they pay him no attention beyond the occasional nod of greeting. They all know him, local kids grown up playing hopscotch or bulldog in the alley behind his shop, and for all his many faults he never could bring himself to be a dick to children. It works out nicely; they have nothing but positive associations with him, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken advantage of that fact to use their domain as a shortcut.

He emerges precisely where he needs to be, the atrium at the centre of the function rooms. They're busy laying it up for the first break, and he drifts aside to keep out of the way, helpfully picking up a discarded lanyard from the floor. A sign propped on the easel by the other door proclaims that today’s series of seminars are on the subject of ‘Alfriscombe: Past, Present and Future’, and are kindly sponsored by the Warrington Institute.

He barely glances at it. There’s news to be had here today, but that isn’t it.

#fantasy #fiction #books #somewhere to be #reading #faerie #gnu terry pratchett #goodreads #storygraph #booklr #one chapter at a time

[realityfm]

our  very  first  wild  card  has  been  played  by  dixie  claiming  camilla  as  her  new  roommate  and  partner  .  luckily  for  maria  ,  it  seems  that  one  of  our  housemates  is  running  behind  schedule  making  her  new  partner  for  this  challenge  only  our  newest  contestant  ,  bodhi  .  

this  challenge  will  be  a  test  of  your  skills  in  the  wild  so  make  sure  you  dress  for  the  occasion  .  meet  me  and  jaylen  outside  the  front  of  the  house  at  midnight  where  you  will  be  taken  by  individual  private  cars  out  to  an  unknown  location  .  your  mission  :  make  it  back  to  the  house  by  dawn  .  each  pair  will  receive  a  package  with  the  following  items  ...  a  compass  ,  a  flashlight  ,  a  map  ,  a  ten  dollar  bill  and  an  emergency  flair  .  you  must  leave  all  other  belongings  behind  .  but  watch  out  ,  not  everyone  is  playing  the  same  game  ,  your  partner  might  be  playing  against  you  ...  or  for  you  .  

ooc : you may receive a personal message to keep private disclosing your characters private mission or possible motivating factors . otherwise , you can assume that you should complete the challenge ( or at least try your best to ) . they will be dropped to separate locations in woodland which includes marshes , running water and muddy conditions . prize winners will be determined by random generator . 

#plot #challenge #maria #dixie #camilla #bodhi

[beardedmrbean]

KHERSON, Ukraine — First came rejoicing. Now comes the reckoning.

The southern Ukrainian city of Kherson, the only provincial capital captured by Russia since it invaded in February, is back in Ukrainian hands, though Moscow’s forces are still close enough to remain a menace.

The outburst of joy over the reclamation of Kherson — one of the most significant Ukrainian victories of the nearly 9-month-old war — is tempered by punishing hardships that still haunt the city: hunger and shortages of medicine as well as scant electricity, running water and communications.

Criminal and forensics investigators are rushing to document evidence of executions and torture, digging up bodies and coaxing traumatized witnesses to come forward. Already, case files are open on hundreds of suspected war crimes. Victims of torture haltingly recount their ordeals. De-mining teams are fanned out across the city and plying muddy fields in outlying former front-line villages, where wrecked military and civilian vehicles line battered roads.

And in what might be the most insidious iteration of pain, Kherson’s people must now come to terms with the fact that some of their neighbors cooperated with the occupiers.

“I was so very disappointed,” one local man said of learning that a professor from his old university, a onetime mentor, had sided with the Russians. “Well, they can just f— off to Russia, those people who helped them,” spat Iryna Lebid, a 58-year-old nurse.

Still, signs of recovery already dot a city where the first vanguard of Ukrainian troops entered only last week. At hastily created mobile and internet hot spots, people weep into their cellphones as they make contact with loved ones after months of isolation. Humanitarian aid is arriving by the truckload. In streets and squares, kids race up to Ukrainian troops, begging the soldiers to sign their Ukrainian flags.

Onlookers still wave bouquets at the roadside when military convoys pass by — Ukrainian ones now — after months of turning away and averting their eyes at the sight of Russian tanks and armored personnel carriers rumbling through their streets.

“We have our city back,” said Denys Bukhorin, wizened but grinning, as he stood in Kherson’s crowded central square with his teenage son, surveying the celebratory scene. “Next comes our country.”

Red-and-white crime scene tape stretched across an entrance to Byskovy Park — named for the lilacs that used to grow there — on Kherson’s southeastern outskirts. That’s because Ukrainian authorities believe this patch of woodland was the scene of a gruesome crime days into the Russian invasion.

Behind the tape, faded bouquets were affixed to trees scarred by large-caliber bullets. It was here, witnesses have told investigators, that Russian troops rounded up and slaughtered at least 17 members of a civilian territorial defense unit in a hail of machine-gun fire on March 1. A local priest later buried the bodies and stealthily notified the slain men’s families if he could locate them, officials said.

“You have to understand, the territorial defense are not professional soldiers, just regular citizens — accountants and such, and lightly armed,” said Meri Akopyan, the country’s deputy interior minister, who was on hand to watch the national police at work. “Absolutely, they were executed.”

In the woods behind her, black-clad investigators moved through the underbrush searching for remains, marking spots where exhumations had already occurred or where bodies — or body parts — were found.

In districts that were occupied earlier this year for little over a month by Russian troops outside Kyiv, investigators have found nearly 1,300 bodies of those killed during that time. Here in Kherson, which spent a full eight months under Russian control, that bleak harvest is likely to be far greater.

With bitter experience gained in places such as Bucha, the commuter town outside the capital where some of the worst of those early atrocities came to light, investigators are proceeding as carefully and methodically as possible, Akopyan said.

“Our big concern is to find and preserve all the evidence that we need to develop war-crimes cases,” she said. “There is a lot to be recorded. We have to be clear-minded and stay focused.”

Like law enforcement authorities and investigators, Akopyan said that she had already visited many scenes of suspected atrocities, including mass graves containing the bodies of civilians, some of whom apparently died under torture or were shot point-blank.

“We are almost past the point of surprise,” she said. “But you come to a place like this, and you find it shocking all over again.”

Few things are worse than knowing that a neighbor betrayed you. But that sickening sensation was experienced by many in Kherson, sometimes more than once.

Amid the revelry in the central square, Bukhorin told the story of a man sought by the Russians who was hiding in his neighborhood — until the occupiers found him.

“The Russians came and took him away, and we didn’t see him again,” said Bukhorin, 42, who was all but certain that someone living a few doors down had turned him in.

Kherson residents said pro-Russia authorities did their best to sow doubt and division among the approximately 80,000 people who remained in the city — about a quarter of the prewar population of more than 300,000. Often enough, they found collaborators.

Over the months, Russia systematically sought to tighten its grip, imposing a pro-Russia school curriculum and trying to force people to discard their Ukrainian passports for Russian ones and pay for goods and services in rubles. Punishment was swiftly meted out for any public expression of Ukrainian patriotism — displaying a flag, singing a national ballad, daubing a bit of blue-and-yellow graffiti.

The attempted Russification came to a head in September, when Moscow-backed authorities in Kherson and three other Ukrainian provinces staged fake “referendum” votes asking if people wanted to be part of Russia. Unsurprisingly, the Kremlin proclaimed that the populace had overwhelmingly assented. On Sept. 30, Russian President Vladimir Putin declared that the four Ukrainian regions in question, including Kherson, were part of Russia for all eternity.

Stanislav Borodashkin, 32, a Kherson native, described his deep disillusionment when he learned that a lecturer from his university days had become an overt supporter of the illegal annexation and could be seen online participating in pro-Russia events.

“Before, I’d considered her a good person,” said Borodashkin, an elementary school teacher and part-time tour guide. “To me, it was as if that person had died.”

Lebid, the nurse who cursed the collaborators, said those in league with the Russians “would walk about with the air of noblemen.”

“It’s a moral offense,” she said. “No one forced them.”

Even amid the rejoicing, the mood in the city tilted toward retribution. A government-distributed news pamphlet — filled with helpful practical hints such as step-by-step instructions on canceling state vehicle registration if your car was stolen or destroyed by the Russian forces — devoted its lead headline to a stark warning.

“We can guarantee collaborators one thing,” it said. “Accountability is inevitable.”

Those who defied the occupiers’ wishes earned gratitude. High school student Oleksandr Billii, 17, said every teacher in his school refused to instruct pupils in the Russia-backed curriculum.

“We’re proud of them,” he said. “It was the very best lesson they could teach us.”

Mykola Nehrov, a military veteran, said he spent three hellish weeks in Russian captivity, where he was beaten and subjected to electric shocks, along with other abuse he did not want to detail.

He said the Russians demanded again and again whether he had any connection with Ukrainian special forces they believed were carrying out behind-the-lines attacks in the city.

But he counted himself among the fortunate. At night, he would hear the screams of others being tortured.

“Others, and I am sure of this, did not survive,” he said.

“They worked round the clock,” he said of his captors. “It never stopped.”

Ukrainian authorities say they have uncovered a network of makeshift torture chambers in and near Kherson. The one where Nehrov was held was located in what had been a pretrial detention center in civilian times, on Energy Workers Street. He believes dozens were held at any given time.

“Anyone who had any connection to the military or law enforcement, journalists, activists,” he said, listing the kinds of Kherson residents who were seized from their homes, often in the middle of the night, for detention and interrogation.

From her home across the street behind a blue gate, 60-year-old Ludmyla Medvedeva would sometimes see hooded detainees being hustled into the compound, she said. And a few times, she witnessed the aftermath. She described seeing one disoriented man in his 40s ejected into the street out front.

“He had been broken somehow,” she said. “He couldn’t even say who he was.” Neighbors helped him make his way to safety, but she didn’t know what had happened to him.

In the detention center’s courtyard, a framed portrait of Putin lay face-up with the glass shattered. Passing Ukrainians paused to stomp on it, and one leaned forward to dribble spit.

The interior minister, Denys Monastyrsky, said that investigators in Kherson had uncovered 63 bodies bearing signs of torture, but that the search had only begun.

“Many more dungeons and burial places will be uncovered,” he said.

The head of the Kherson prosecutor’s office, Volodymyr Kalyuga, said authorities have identified at least seven torture sites in the city, with more in outlying areas. “I don’t know how many were tortured to death,” he said. “And the counting will be even more complicated, because some people, after they were released, made it home. And died there.”

José Andrés, the white-bearded celebrity chef turned humanitarian, was taking a quick break from his work, gazing about as he leaned against a green-painted wall in the center of Kherson. “People are hungry,” he said.

Andrés’ World Central Kitchen was among the first aid groups to push into the just-liberated city, bringing in truckloads of food and supplies. The main railway station was thronged with people when an 18-vehicle caravan arrived Wednesday morning, carrying food and medicine in the first such mass distribution since the Russian retreat.

On Thursday, 1,000 people lined up for about 6,000 bags of food at eight locations. One bag can feed a family of four for one week.

“The hug you get,” said Andrés, “is worth a billion pounds of food.”

During the occupation, and especially in its final days, conditions in the city became increasingly dire. Russian troops smashed key infrastructure as they fled. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, in a video address to compatriots, promised the government would move as fast as it could to restore electricity, water, communications, financial services and medical care.

But there was optimism that some semblance of normal life could return once the most urgent infrastructure repairs are made.

Kherson in a sense was lucky, with the city suffering little of the large-scale physical destruction of residential and commercial buildings that has taken place in urban battlegrounds of the east. Its recapture involved heavy fighting in nearby villages as Ukrainian forces pressed their offensive, but the city itself changed hands primarily because Ukrainians managed to all but sever Russian supply lines, forcing the pullback.

With the Dnieper River as the new front line, Kherson remains within the range of Russia’s big guns, although Western analysts say the reverse is also true, and Moscow’s forces will now seek to protect themselves by pulling artillery batteries back beyond the range of mainly U.S.-provided Ukrainian rocket systems.

Some of the clearest and most immediate dangers, though, were calculatedly sowed in advance.

“They mined everything,” Col. Bodnar Olexandr, the head of the regional department of emergency services, said of the retreating Russians. “They mined buildings. They mined vehicles. They mined bodies.”

Younger people tended toward optimism that the city could recover from a harrowing occupation.

“It’s not as it was, and it won’t be for a long time, maybe,” said 18-year-old Nazar Bolshedvorski, who expects to enlist in the military soon. “But if we stay united, it’ll get better.”

Yuliya Voitu, 13, wearing a huge smile and earmuffs with spangly kitten ears, had wrapped herself in a Ukrainian flag on which she had already collected the signatures of dozens of soldiers.

“I want to keep this as a memory,” she said.

At the other end of the generational spectrum, 83-year-old Raisa Nikityuk, wearing a tailored jacket and what had once been a fashionable-looking mauve cloche, said she believed Kherson would endure. Of herself, she was less certain.

“I was born in war,” she said, “and I’ve had enough of it for this life and another.”

#nunyas news #time for the lynch mobs to form #sadly

[globalhint]

Ukrainian soldiers fight fatigue as the conflict continues into the second winter.

Ukrainian soldiers fight fatigue as the conflict continues into the second winter, After fighting Russian soldiers nonstop in the pinewood forests close to Kreminna, Istoryk, a 26-year-old soldier in eastern Ukraine, eventually fell asleep one morning. An hour later, a new gunfight broke out, bringing the senior combat medic back into action for a protracted and intense clash. This cut short his slumber. "We engaged in combat for more than 20 hours," Istoryk, using his military call sign, declared. "Non-stop fighting, assaults, evacuations, and you know, I managed it," he said on Thursday to a Reuters reporter who was paying him a visit. "And we succeeded together. We need to gather strength right now because we're not very fresh." His account of recent battles and the exhaustion he and his unit are feeling highlight the extreme pressure the war—which is in its 21st month—is placing on Ukraine's meagre resources as well as its soldiers. In Europe's worst combat since World War Two, the soldiers are also aware that Russia has a much larger force, more weaponry, and ammunition. This raises the painful question of how Ukraine will ever be able to defeat the invaders once and for all. In an interview that was released this week, Ukraine's top commander, Valery Zaluzhnyi, spoke of a "stalemate" on the battlefield and said that a long-drawn, attritional conflict would favour Russia and would even endanger the country itself. Zaluzhnyi stated that only new capacities, including increased supplies from Western partners and locally made drones, will tilt the scales back in favour of Kyiv. The well-respected general's harsh judgment comes after a summer counteroffensive that has liberated much less area than Kyiv had planned, and just as seasonal rains are starting to fall, making it more difficult to move across muddy ground. Even while tiredness is inevitable for those in the trenches, motivation is still high. Speaking in a thick West Ukrainian dialect, Istoryk smiles charmingly as he describes his gloomy experiences. "I think so," he said in response to the question of whether he could fight for one more year or maybe two. For sure." CHANGING SENSITIVE Istoryk is stationed in the Luhansk region's Serebryanskyi woodland with a rifle battalion of the 67th Mechanised Brigade. Russians occupy the majority of the province. There are craters left by incoming shells all along the route to the trenches, and the blasts have split some of the burnt trees in half. This type of fighting is occurring all along the front lines, which stretch from the northeastern border with Russia's Belgorod region all the way mainly maintained. Although Russian forces quickly withdrew from their positions in the Kherson region in early November of the previous year, more significant advances are yet possible. Muddy circumstances, however, could hinder offensive efforts. "When you are up to your knees in mud, wearing warm clothes, protective gear and a rucksack full of extra clothes, it's a whole different story," Colonel Oleksandr Popov, the commander of an artillery reconnaissance brigade whose units are also operating in the area, told Reuters this week. His brigade's drone operators seemed less worn out than those in the surrounding combat battalions. According to Carnegie Endowment for International Peace Senior Fellow Michael Kofman, the conflict has entered a "transitional phase" in which both sides are in the driver's seat. in various locations along the front. "Overall, Ukraine's offensive in the south has either culminated or is about to," he stated. ALSO READ: Death toll rises in Gaza, Blinken calls Israel to take measures to prevent humanitarian losses ARMAMENTARY WARFARE Two significant thrusts are occurring in the south, one near Orikhiv and the other south of Velyka Novosilka. Major fights are going around the eastern cities of Bakhmut, Avdiivka, and Kupiansk along the front that stretches about 1,000 km (620 miles). Popov predicted that artillery would continue to be a vital weapon in the winter, pointing out that it worked better against more stationary targets and that the lack of trees offered minimal cover for ground forces, which harmed both sides. In the Lyman area of the front, the colonel observed a nearly three-fold decrease in the quantity of Russian artillery strikes. Some experts said that both sides had low ammunition inventories, despite the colonel noting a nearly three-fold decrease in Russian artillery strikes in the Lyman area of the front last month compared to October 2022. "My sense is that the artillery advantage that Ukraine had for much of its offensive is now going to recede and that Ukraine's ammunition availability is going to be constrained," stated Kofman. "Russia will also be forced to conserve ammunition, but will now increasingly benefit from the influx of supply coming from North Korea." Using long-range missiles provided by the West, Ukraine has attempted to destroy Russian air defences, aircraft, and naval assets away from the conflict in the hopes that such assaults will make it more difficult for Russia for the opposition to aid troops in the front lines. Meanwhile, Russia has continued to attack Ukraine with drones and missiles, claiming that this is a targeted military operation, but in reality, thousands of civilians have died and essential infrastructure for transportation, power, and heating has been destroyed. The next phase of the conflict, according to 26-year-old officer Zakhid, would be difficult and a true test of the military's character back in the forests surrounding Lyman. Source credit SEE: Israel tackles militants from Hamas inside Gaza’s tunnels Read the full article

[sardinesandhumbugs]

Alternative name for the Wild Wood :)

#messing about #no i dont know why its called that #another signpost marked out a park that i never found #only a very muddy woodland #so i dont trust those signposts anymore

[kanafinwe-makalaure]

Warmth | Thranduil Oropherion

In which Thranduil gains the impression that his Queen needs a break from her duties, and he will stop at nothing to achieve this.

My dear friend and almost wife @mismaeve requested a little bit of general fluff and comfort for Thranduil, so naturally, I wrote her a lot of specific fluff and comfort. I hope you'll enjoy this one and the idea I had for it since I basically winged it entirely. I may or may not have gone off a bit for you, oopsie! Sometimes inspiration just strikes, you know?

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem!Elf!Reader

Word Count: 3.2K

Not many years had passed since the once prosperous Greenwood had become overrun with enough darkness that the Woodland Elves had begun to refer to it as Mirkwood, yet now that it was Mirkwood, it seemed determined to prove that point over and over. Barely any light came through the thick leaf-crowns of its trees any more, and the darkness fostered foul things. Spiders came from Dol Guldur in waves, and whenever a new brood came, hungry for Elven flesh, the guard worked tirelessly for days on end to keep the threat at bay.

The Elvenqueen watched, each time, with a heavy heart. She knew that darkness was not just right before her doorstep, but was spreading into every corner of the world, which caused her great sorrow even though she knew she lived and remained here with Thranduil, her husband, and Legolas. She felt a little powerless, and so took it upon herself to do as much as she could to fight off the spiders and other fell creatures which came into her realm. It kept her mind busy, and usually she managed.

However, a few days before, a new brood had come close to their halls once again, and this one might have been the largest and most vile one yet. She struggled, and she barely found time to eat or sleep as she directed the members of the guard through the forest, keeping an eye open for more spiders and for injured Elves which she had to have brought back to the palace. Queen Y/N was always running and remained ever focused, for she would not allow herself to make a single mistake; not when the fates of so many rested on her shoulders, even if it was what she had chosen for herself. The day before, it had started raining, and it had not since stopped, and so she pushed forward through the thicket, drenched, shivering and filthy.

“My Queen?” the voice of one of her Generals called out to her over the noise of the heavy raindrops which were drumming down on the muddy ground. She looked, squinting to keep water out of her eyes, and recognised the loyal Feren.

Loyal to Thranduil, who she had spent the last few days artfully avoiding; she did not want him to know that she was in any way suffering in fulfilling her duties.

“Yes, Feren?” she replied, trying her best to keep her posture straight and her face smiling despite the crushing, bone-deep exhaustion that was gnawing at her.

Either she was not doing a very good job of it, though, or Feren knew her better than she would like, for he only frowned as if he was not buying her act at all.

“The King asks you to report to him,” he said, and his voice was, as always, perfectly, professionally neutral.

“I cannot leave my post,” she protested, “unless we want to be overrun by spiders by nightfall.”

“The King has ordered me to take your place while you are with him,” said Feren. “Worry not, for I shall act in your best interest, my Queen.”

She sighed; as much as she dreaded having to keep up her act in front of Thranduil as well, who knew her far better yet than his guard, she did long for the relief of his presence. His voice alone, sweet and thick like honey, would invigorate her, his smile would bring joy and life to her heart, and his touch would warm her. She was rarely heavy of heart when he was with her, for all he had to do to cheer her up was to be around her, and even now, the mere thought of him relieved some of the ache in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I will be back shortly.”

When Feren bowed his head, there was something in his eyes, mischievous almost, as if he knew something she did not, but she decided to ignore it. So, she made her way back to the castle, her eyes fixed on it now, unable to focus on anything else.

She saw Thranduil as soon as she entered through the heavy gates that were the entry to Thranduil’s Halls; he was, from so far away, a speck of silver robes and golden hair atop his oaken throne, on which he sat like a jewel on a crown, and he was surrounded by many of his confidants, who all had long lists and letters with them of all sorts of problems that always required his immediate attention. Her eyes were not at all on them, however.

Still after all the years she had been married to him, at the sight of him her heart began to flutter as if he had just begun to court her. She felt a bright, earnest smile split across her features, and she quickened her pace immediately, almost without realising it. Left and right Elves respectfully made way for her, their Queen, and Thranduil began to descend the stairs of this throne as soon as he spotted her coming towards him. With a slow gesture of his hand, the others around him began to scatter, begrudgingly taking their business with them for the time being.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed as soon as she was within earshot, forsaking all etiquette, “You are dripping wet!”

“Do not worry about me, Meleth-nin; I am well, and I will be until this threat has been pushed back and our lands are restored to safety,” she said eagerly to him, even as her mind and body were crying out for rest. She could not afford to rest right now; she was the Queen, and since her husband was busy with his own matters of equal importance, it was her responsibility to keep her people safe.

Thranduil’s features softened, and as he gently reached out for both of her hands, she had to fight the urge to collapse into his arms then and there.

“You look exhausted.”

“I am fine, Thranduil. Really, I am.”

She had to be.

With a soft sigh, he reached up to cup one of her cheeks, his touch light and tender, and his grip on the one of her hands which he was still holding tightened, like a firm anchor.

“You did not call me in to report, did you?” she asked weakly, her throat closing up as if she might begin to cry.

“Feren will take matters into his hands while you rest, my love, my Queen,” Thranduil whispered and brushed one of her strands of wet, muddied hair out of her face, then caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“I appreciate the gesture,” she still managed to protest, although absolutely none of her heart was behind it, “but these are my duties, and I am strong enough to push through and fulfil them.”

“I know,” Thranduil said genuinely, and suddenly, he took her into his arms, into a warm, gentle embrace, and seemed not to waste a single thought on the fact that her wet armour would definitely sully his fine robe.

She leaned into him as if it was the first time she was in his arms, and she felt herself relax a little; here, with her head resting upon his chest, she was truly at home, and nothing could shake her.

“Come with me,” he mumbled after a while, “I must show you something.”

She craned her head back to look at him, amusement coming over her. “Is this another one of your thinly veiled plots to lure me away from my duties, my King?”

His lips curled into a smile. “If you follow me, you will find out.”

A small laugh escaped her lips, which were a little chapped by now from the cold. Even if she had still wished to protest at this point, there was one thing even she had never been able to resist, and that was Thranduil, and so, she went with him willingly.

He was taking her to their shared quarters, of course, an arm around her waist to guide her sore, tired body along with him, and she leaned into him for support the entire way. She could, of course, have walked on her own; but she knew she did not need to.

When she entered their quarters, he got behind her and held his hands over her eyes. This way, he led her where he had been meaning to lead her to (which, as she was able to figure out, was the bathroom - she had lived here for centuries, after all, she knew her way around, yet his secrecy brought a smile onto her face, which might have been his true intention behind why he did it).

“Oh, so you are trying to get me clean?” she joked.

“Warm,” he corrected her, and then removed his hands from her eyes so that she could behold his work - but before she looked, fine, flowery scents were already tickling her nose. she recognised her favourite scented oils, which he seemed to have used for the occasion. The entire room was hot and full of steam, and a fire was cackling in the fireplace, the shadows on the stone walls dancing in its light. The bathtub had been filled to the top; the water was white and milky, mixed in with all sorts of ingredients that would soothe her dry skin, and rose petals were swimming on its surface.

She looked to Thranduil questioningly; as much as she loved him, she was not in the mood to take a bath with him; she was simply too tired.

“This one is just for you,” he said as if he had read her mind. “But I shall wait on you, my Queen, and fulfil your every wish while you warm up.”

She gave him a tired, but appreciative smile, then began to peel off the layers of wet leather and fabric off her body, while he turned around respectfully, and then, he took her hand and helped her into the tub.

The water was the perfect temperature, and its warmth seeped slowly into her blood. She dived down into it a few times both to wet her hair and to warm her face. She was too exhausted to really wash herself - in fact being warm, she only really felt the exhaustion take effect now, when she was so comfortable she could have fallen asleep right then and there. Thranduil asked, as soon as she had adjusted, whether she wished him to stay or to go, or to perhaps to give her shoulders a massage.

“No,” she mumbled, “just stay.”

And so, stay, he did. When she had finished her bath, he helped her into her bathrobe and then combed and wrapped her hair for her, and he was so gentle with it, she felt not a single tug or knot.

Then, suddenly, he took her hand and whirled her around to face him, somewhat gently, but it still startled her enough to cause her to let out a small yelp. He hugged her to his chest, gently, then cupped her cheeks and looked her deeply in the eyes with the kind of genuine, wide smile he was only really able to show his loved ones in private. It was enough to make her heart beat even faster than it already was, and she was just about to open her mouth and whisper, ‘After all these years, you still fluster me, do you know that?’, when he suddenly began covering her entire face in small, fluttering, intense kisses. It made her laugh, mostly because it was so absurd - it reminded her a little, and she was unable to shake that thought, of being licked affectionately by a large, happy dog. It also tickled, and it brought butterflies to her stomach. It seemed every time she was about to forget how intense Thranduil could be sometimes, how much heart could be in his displays of affection, he would remind her once again. She only threw her arms around his head and laughed.

Then, suddenly, he stopped, and looked at her once again with all the seriousness in the world, and, his voice deep and strong as it usually was when he spoke from upon his throne, he said, “I love you, Y/N, with all my heart. You, my brave, my strong queen, I could never compete with you, and though I cannot fathom why you would grant me the honour of allowing me to love you, I will bask in it until the end of all days, and perhaps one day I might get close to living up to you.”

She felt blood rush to her cheeks and ears, and hearing such words made her once again feel shy. Who was she to be told something like this, and by him nonetheless, who she thought she could never measure up to?

Yet he continued, and she could feel with absolute certainty that he meant every single word.

“The sun and the moon envy your light and beauty, for you have captured more of it in your eyes alone than they have in their entirety, and all flowers seem dull next to you, and even the stars pale in comparison. The strongest trees fall and the tallest mountains wither, yet you stand strong and always will. Who else could come close to you? I am humbled every day because you are my lover, my wife, my counterpart. Indeed, I cannot imagine anyone’s heart could love as strongly as mine loves you.”

“Then you are mistaken,” she whispered, a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes, “for mine loves you the strongest.”

Then, before he could continue talking and make her love him so much that her heart would burst out of her chest, she leaned in and captured his lips with hers, so tenderly that she was certain, or at least hoped, that her kiss would suffice to let him know which one of them was the one who was lucky beyond measure. At least she poured all her love into it, with everything she had, and with every moment there was more to come, for her love for him was and would always be endless.

He returned her kiss sweetly and delicately, and his lips were always soft and fit perfectly onto hers, and his breath caressed her skin with gentleness and warmth.

They broke away from each other at the perfect moment, and stood there for a little while with their foreheads touching each other, just taking in each other’s scent and warmth. Then, he took her by the hand once again, and he led her into their bedroom. Just when she thought that the only thing he had not already done for her was to pick her up and carry her onto the bed, that was exactly what he did, and set her down with her back resting against mountains of pillows. She recognised some of them as belonging in their sitting and drawing rooms, which led her to the assumption that he must have carried them in for her and she smiled, and continued smiling while he began piling blankets upon blankets onto her.

“Truly, I do not deserve all this pampering,” she said to him, a little in awe at how lucky she was to have him, perfect in every way as he was.

“You deserve the world,” he replied. “And some hot tea. It should have finished brewing by now.”

Only then did she notice the tea kettle upon her bedside table, and two large, comfortable mugs, not the delicate cups that were to be used when visitors came, but the kind that were meant for comfort, for tea and hot chocolate.

“You did all this for me,” she smiled. “How could I ever repay you?”

He finished pouring her tea into her favourite mug, and his face grew soft as he took in the sight of her for a little bit.

Then, he bent down and gently kissed her forehead. “Be less stubborn, so that I may worry less. Everyone needs and deserves rest, even you.”

She sighed, and then gratefully accepted her tea. “I know,” she mumbled into the steaming mug.

He nodded his head in approval. “Good. Now, is there anything else I could possibly do for you?”

“Well,” she said after a moment’s consideration, “I understand you must probably return to your duties, but if not - or if not right away - I would like to have you here with me for a bit. Sit with me, have tea with me, hold me in your arms.”

“There is no greater duty I have than my duty to you, my Queen,” he said. “And none I am more eager to fulfil.”

He cast away his outer robe, still wet in the front, and now only clad in his soft underrobe, in a deep, dark blue, he carefully sat down beside her and allowed her to lean into him, wrapping his strong arms around her waist from behind. Now it was her turn to take him under her blankets and to pour him a mug of tea. It was strong herbal tea, as she liked it best, sweetened with her favourite woodland honey; its taste was distinct and delicious. Thranduil knew that she liked it a little better than other kinds of honey, and so he went to great lengths to ensure that she should never have to settle for less. Certainly, King Thranduil of Mirkwood liked his dramatic gestures, his grand words, but his Queen, even though she melted away when he declared his love for her loudly and in ample words and great deeds, she could best see just how much he cared about her in the small things that he did for her, such as this.

While the rain, now less vigorous, still pitter-pattered on the windows, the royal couple of Mirkwood sat together under their blankets and allowed themselves, for just a few hours, to forget the world and to be only in each other’s presence. Eventually, the Elvenqueen drifted off to sleep in her husband’s gentle embrace, and he dared not move lest he wake her. Coincidentally, he did not want to move, either.

When she woke, all her stress had dissolved; the rain had stopped, and when she went back into the forest, now refreshed and her mind once again clear, she saw that Feren and the rest of the guard had been successful in beating back the spiders, still while following the strategy she had laid out. She aided in cleaning up the battlefield and getting care for their wounded and for the exhausted, and that night, there was a great feast in celebration of their victory and in her honour. All throughout it, she and Thranduil, of course, only had eyes for one another.

Edit: Here is a beautiful moodboard created for this story by @ilovekingt!

#request #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit #lotr #lord of the rings #thranduil x wife #thranduil oropherion #tharan-duil writing #HAVE THIS WHOLE THING MAEVE #YOU DESERVE IT #my writing

[lyrabythelake]

Stick Together

Legend is lost, and so very alone.

Read on AO3

CW: gore, mentions of death, just a shed-load of Legend angst

No birds sing in these woods.

It’s the thing that stands out most to Legend as he stumbles his way over fallen branches and rotting logs he cannot see, for the fog swallows his legs and the foreparts of his arms he stretches blindly out in front of him. There are no twittered conversations or scuffling of small creatures, no trickling nearby streams or even rustling leaves.

Just complete, all-consuming silence.

It’s the kind of silence that sits heavy in his chest and threatens to choke him, the kind that reminds him every second that he could not be more alone.

It’s not how it’s meant to be, he thinks desperately. Woods are places where life and nature thrives, but the trees that emerge from this ghastly fog are withered and decaying, twisting shells of what they once were. Or perhaps they have always been like this. There is no life in this place; it is a graveyard for the lost, one that threatens to bury him alongside all those who were unfortunate enough to die here, so very alone.

“Time!?” he calls, but it is half-hearted at best, his voice long hoarse from hours spent shouting the same eight names in futile hope that one of them will hear. The sound falls pitifully short, consumed by the banks of white swirling mist that cave in on all sides. He sounds small and frightened, incredibly pathetic, but he would give anything for someone, anyone to hear him.

How long has it been? he wonders. Time loses all meaning when the world around him provides no landmarks but the homogenous, gnarled faces of those mangled, warped trees that stare down at him every few steps. Time doesn’t flow in the same way when one is staring into that infinite abyss of swirling white.

His feet ache fiercely, but he cannot stop. He entered this place, so there must be an exit, there must. His mouth is so, incredibly dry and his stomach aches with hunger, his legs are weak and his ankles are splintering with pain from turning over on the uneven floor, but still he blunders forward. He has no way of knowing in which direction he is heading, every turn of his head is disorientating, every trip of his feet he is left wondering if he has just been going in circles all this time.

He has never been good at following orders, he’ll admit. Perhaps it is not so surprising that eventually it was the thing that brought his downfall.

“Stick together,” Wild had said, “and whatever you do, don’t stray from the path. This place is called the Lost Woods for a reason.”

Simple really, but the Captain had been on top form that day (is it the same day or have weeks passed without him knowing?) and after a jab that hit particularly close to home, he had stormed off in a fit of prideful rage.

None of that anger remains now, all that is left is clawing desperation and uncontrollable terror. There have been many times in his life where he thought he might die, when he had accepted that he may be nearing his last few moments in this world, but never has he felt so completely helpless about it.

This isn’t like dying in a sudden, electric explosion of a lightning strike. This isn’t like falling mid-battle, fighting for his life, sword held out in front of him until the very last second. This is slow and quiet and suffocating, it is drawn out and long-suffering, like Hylia is playing with him, torturing him before she finally ends it all.

It’s not like he deserves any better, he supposes.

A scream echoes in the distance, guttural and full of fear, like the sound of an animal crying out as they are torn limb from limb by a larger predator. Except there is no mistaking that this one is human.

“Hello?!” His breathing picks up as he clambers forward more quickly, half twisting his ankle on a tree root.

“Is anyone there?!”

Had it been a figment of his imagination? Is his worn-out mind configuring hallucinations from the ringing in his ears just so he can focus on something other than this endless white murk?

The scream sounds again, closer this time, but coming from all around him, the direction impossible to determine. But this time he hears the familiarity in it; he knows that voice, though he’s never heard it in this capacity, never heard such blatant terror held within it.

“Hyrule…” he all but whispers, his voice choked, the sound not coming out how he intended. “HYRULE!” he screams louder, his vocal cords feeling like they’re tearing under the strain. He spins around, desperately scrambling for the direction he needs to go in order to save him. But there is none. The sound had come from everywhere.

Had he gone searching for him after he had disappeared? Has he been wondering lost and alone all this time because of Legend’s stupidity? Has he met a grisly end in these woods, ripped to shreds by some wild animal, or is he lying somewhere in the mud, staring up into this boundless white mist, bleeding to death on the woodland floor in bleak agony?

“HYRULE!”

He can’t let that happen. Hyrule is too sweet, too determined, too kind, and he has already spent most of his life alone, he doesn’t deserve to die like that, he can’t die like that.

Another scream echoes out, lost to the white darkness and again, its tone is horrifyingly familiar.

“WIND!” Legend cries. There are tears streaming down his face, though he can’t remember when they started. Perhaps they have always been flowing.

Wind is so young, so hopeful and holds such promise. He told Legend only the other day how he dreams to explore every inch of the ocean, discover everything it has to offer. When he said it, he held such excitement in his big, blue eyes that Legend couldn’t even pretend not to be enthusiastic on his behalf.

“WIND! HYRULE! Where are you,” he utters miserably, those last words quieter but as much to himself as any of his pleas. His heart is banging in his chest, beating away the last stems of energy he has left within him. He dares not set out in one direction, for he might only extend the distance between him and his friends and when he finally loses his last morsel of energy, he won’t have the strength to rectify the mistake.

Another scream. Warriors. The man is like a brother to him, even if they have their disagreements. He has fought too hard in his life, he deserves a noble death, not this.

Then there is another scream, then another. Twilight, Four, Wild, Sky, their voices warped from terror and pain, so different from what he is used to them sounding like, none of them indicating any further as to where they may be located.

Legend is not holding back his sobs anymore, there is no point, no one can hear him. The mist takes his tears and draws strength from them, seeming to get ever thicker, that cruel, hypnotic swirling ever more disorientating.

Time’s voice sounds next, low and strained as if he’s trying to keep himself from screaming but fails as the pain gets the best of him.

“Time! Warriors!? PLEASE!” That last word comes out more of a scream, raw and painful, every fragment of helplessness he feels carried in its din, and he sinks to his knees. He has nothing left to give; dirt and twigs dig into his knees and shins and then his hands as he brings them too to the ground. The screams are a cacophony around him, coming from every direction, a symphony perhaps in the way they seem orchestrated to break him down until he is nothing. They are so frequent he can no longer tell them apart; it is just noise and agony and his own pathetic crying.

He wants to bring his hands to his ears, but he can’t bring himself to, for what awful kind of coward would block out their friends as they suffered. He cannot go to them, he cannot help, so he listens, and his tears fall and wet the muddied ground as he cries for his companions and all the others he could not save.

It is ridiculous now to think of all those who called him a hero when it’s clear all paths led to this moment, to him cowering on the slowly softening ground, snot dripping from his nose like a child while his friends die their endless, painful deaths.

But then the screams stop. Suddenly and all at once they cut off, and if it weren’t for the ringing in his ears and the heaviness of his face, he might have thought they never sounded at all.

They weren’t real, he thinks, they couldn’t have been. But his heart is still beating like a rabbit caught in a trap and adrenaline makes him tremble violently. The sheer disparity between the screams and the silence makes it seem like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He is waiting for something, waiting for them to start up again, perhaps worse than before.

And start up again they do, eventually, except this time, there is only one, and it is different. A jolt rips through him as if from a lightning strike, sudden and totally unpredictable at the scream that is higher in pitch than the rest and so, unbearably familiar.

Marin.

“Please, no,” he sobs, and though he knows it isn’t real now, that almost makes it worse.

He has not heard her voice in oh, so long. There have been nights where he’s lain awake trying to remember it, replaying those distant memories over and over in his mind, helpless as the picture of her gradually fades. He once would have given anything to hear her voice again, and it seems his desires have been thrown back in his face, distorted and satirical.

His heart aches as if it is tearing in two, and he truly believes it would be impossible to feel any more pain than he does in this moment.

He does move then, finally. He curls up into a ball, his back leaning against the rough, gnarled trunk of one of those dead, shadows of trees, his eyes pressed to his knees, listening to the sounds of his lost love, her sweet voice warped in excruciating pain.

There is a time during the potential hours he sits there that those screams turn to something melodic. He doesn’t know when it happened, perhaps it was too gradual to put a finger on the exact moment it changed, but the sound that reaches his ears is now a beautiful, eerie, and terribly familiar song.

It doesn’t sound like he remembers it. It’s not her voice, not really, there is an ethereal quality to it beyond the echo the woods provide and there is something strange and creepy about it. It’s a mockery of the girl he loved, and it is worse than any of the screams that came before it.

His tears stop. There are no more within him left to cry. The singing drones on and, he supposes, if he is to die here, at least he is thinking of her.

And he is. He thinks of lighthouses and gull’s cries, of falling asleep to the waves gently crashing on the shore. He thinks of the feeling of sand between his toes which he thought unpleasant at first but grew to love. He thinks of thick, red hair and the smell of strawberries and a time that brought true happiness in a way he hasn’t felt since.

There is an aching peace in those memories, so he hides in them. He lets himself be cowardly, because you know what? He’s given all that he has to play the hero, and perhaps he does deserve to die alone in the end, but in the face of it all, he’ll take back what he can.

So he gives up, lets the fog consume him.

 _______________

 “Legend!?”

He is aware, vaguely, that the singing has stopped. Aware of the ache in his head from crying and in his stomach from hunger. It is distant, but it is there, and logically, that means he’s not dead.

“Legend!?”

The voices… sirens… whatever they are haven’t given up then. Perhaps they’ll keep torturing him until the life finally leaves him completely. How cruel the world can be.

“Legend, where are you?!”

He perks up, finally bringing his face from his knees, for all the good it does. The fog is the milky white of a blinded man’s eyes.

Footsteps in the distance. The snap of twigs, desperate chatter. Maybe…

“Hello?!” Goddesses, his voice is wrecked. He’s never sounded so pitiful in his life.

“Legend! Is that you?!”

“Over here!” he cries, the small beginnings of hope blooming in his chest, despite him trying his best to smother it. Hoping never did end well for him.

“It is him!”

“Which direction did that come from?”

“This way, I’m pretty sure.”

“It’s a wonder we found anything in all this goddessdamned mist.”

“Over here, I think I see him!”

All of a sudden, a familiar face is staring into his own, worry etched into every feature, his curly brown hair wilder than usual, one cheek streaked with grime. But Hyrule is looking miraculously alive as he kneels in front of him, and this time Legend sobs in relief. He reaches out a trembling hand, the frailty of it almost sickening, and grabs a fistful of green tunic.

“You’re real?” he whispers hoarsely. It’s more a plea than a question and Hyrule’s eyes widen in something similar to shock.

“I’m real,” he tells him, watching helplessly as Legend reaches out his other hand to grab a handful of material in that one too.

“I wasn’t sure.” But he is now. Hyrule’s tunic is soft in his hands and the details of his face, the faint freckles on his skin, the green of his eyes, they’re too real to be anything else. Reality has been warped so many times for him that it’s become difficult over the years to tell what’s real and what’s not, but Hyrule is here now, and that’s as much confirmation as he’s going to get.

The others arrive, falling silent as they see Legend on the ground. He knows what a state he must look, he must have been crying for hours, but he can’t bring himself to care. The colours of their clothes are the most vibrant he’s seen for an eternity, and he turns his gaze from the Prussian blue of Warriors’ scarf to the glinting gold of Time’s chest plate like he is starving for it.

“What happened?” Time asks immediately, his voice soft but sombre.

“I thought you were dead. All of you.” Legend’s voice has almost given out completely, every syllable feels like he is ripping up the inside of his throat. There is another silence, and it seems no one knows what to say. Legend supposes the sight of him in such a vulnerable state must be a little shocking. He may not be the most stoic member of the group, but like them all, he keeps his emotions close to his chest.

“They say travellers who get lost in these woods hear the sounds of their loved ones in pain in the last moments of their life,” Wild murmurs quietly when no one says anything. His voice is muffled by the fog, but they all hear him crystal clear.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner,” Twilight says sombrely, as if it wasn’t his fault for running off in the first place. He doesn’t want apologies; he just wants to get out of this goddessforsaken woods and pretend all this never happened.

He knows that’s impossible though. The screams of those who stand in front of him unite in his mind with the strange, beautiful melody sung by the girl in his dreams. The way it echoes in his ears makes him fear it will never fade.

“Can you stand?” asks Sky, clearly sharing his desire to leave this place as soon as possible. To tell the truth, he doesn’t think he can, but he lets Hyrule haul him up, and though he wobbles palpably, he remains on his feet.

“We’ll rest as soon as we’re out of this fog,” Time tells them as they follow Wild closely. He somehow seems to know where he’s going, though Legend isn’t paying much attention to him, lost in his own relief and remnant horror.

“Let’s not come here again.” Wind’s voice is smaller than usual, containing none of its usual optimism. Legend could not agree with him more.

The atmosphere around them feels slightly strange to him. His ears still carry those Goddessawful screams and nothing feels quite normal. It is only the feeling of Hyrule by his side helping him along that assures him he’s truly been saved. But he trusts his friends, believes them to be real. And that belief is all he has.

#lyra writes #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #lu legend #Legend's turn to be tortured today