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saeyoungchoismaid · 9 months

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{9:30 am}

Finding Childe shirtless, clad in nothing but tight, black boxers and a purple apron, was the last thing you thought you’d find in your kitchen.

“Ajax?” you mumble, wiping the crusties from your eyes as you stare at him in confusion and disbelief.

He turns at the sound of your voice and immediately smiles over at you, his hands still placed behind him as he adjusts the tightness of his apron.

“Good mornin’, sleepin beauty! Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna put that cute ass of yours to work?” he greets with his usual smirk. Heat floods your cheeks as you tug your nightshirt down, the kitchen air suddenly feeling cold on your bare lower half.

“What are you doing here?” you mumble instead of answering him, watching him flit around the kitchen as he grabs things in preparation of breakfast.

Your question makes him pause though. He turns to half face you, his feet still planted to the ground. He tilts his head to the side like a dog who just heard a sound it’s human cannot hear. “Do you…not remember last night?” he asks hesitantly.

“Uh…no? Should I…?” you mumble, rubbing at your forehead before scratching at your scalp. Now that he mentions it, you got a bit of a headache going on. Your answer makes a cute pout come to his face before it’s instantly flickering to that smirk that you’ve come to love.

He struts over to you and you suddenly feel like prey underneath the eyes of a predator. He backs you right up into your counter and you jump a bit upon feeling it. Your teeth grab ahold of your bottom lip as he places his hands on the counter that’s on both sides of your hips. He puts his weight into his grip, his scarred arms flexing because of it. His face is so close to yours that you can smell the berries he was snagging for the pancakes he was planning on making. You gulp. He’s too close—way too close. You might short circuit at this point.

“Need a reminder?” he breathes, his warm breath hitting your cheek from how he’s tilted his head closer to yours. He brings his lips to your ear, gently brushing them there, before whispering, “Can you cuddle me?”

You wriggle around in someone’s hold, trying to break free. “Let go of me! I have to wait for Ajax!” you shout. The arms around you tighten to prevent you from falling from the princess hold they’ve got you captured in, but they stop moving forward at least.

“How come?” they ask, shifting your weight in their arms. Whoever this person is, they must be super strong. Then again, everyone kinda has to be in Teyvat.

“Cause I love him and he’s perfect and-“ you start to whine, ready to go on a whole tangent about this man. The person against you tenses and tightens their grip even further. This is what cuts you off as you whine in pain now. “Hey! That hurts! You better put me down or he’ll beat your ass!” you start to shout confidently.

Your eyes widen as you’re finally set down. You’re met with a heavy, blue gaze, hands clamped down onto your shoulders to keep you steady. “Oh yeah?” they taunt, stepping closer to you and completely disregarding the first part of your words, it seems. The way they said that…so sure and cocky and confident…it almost sounded like-

You gasp as you suddenly throw your arms around the person who is indeed no stranger at all. “Ajax! When did you get here? I missed you!” you scream, holding the last vowel for much longer than necessary.

You feel laughter rumble through his chest and into yours as he wraps his own arms back around you. “Around the time you were asking for your sixth set of shots,” he teases. You giggle like a schoolgirl as you now hang off of him to keep yourself upright.

“Why didn’t you say so?” you tease right back, putting your arms around his neck and starting to pull like you’re going to be able to lift yourself up into his arms. He lets out an amused snort as he just stands there watching you struggle for a moment. When you start pouting with your face just mere inches from his though, he feels something stirring in his chest and has to stamp it out fast.

He swiftly picks you up once more and you rest your heavy head onto his shoulder. The entire walk back to your place, you ramble and tell him about everything he’s missed out on since he’s been gone on whatever adventure was demanded of him.

“And then I went to the hilichurl camp and beat some serious ass and—oh! We’re here!” Your ranting finally comes to a close upon spotting your house. You don’t see it, due to you staring at your own house like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen it, but Childe smiles to himself. You’re just so cute.

He unlocks the door, carries you inside, helps you brush your teeth, once again carries you to your bed, and turns away once he’s picked out some jammies for you. After several minutes, you manage to get out of your clothes and into the shirt he picked out without toppling over. However, you didn’t have such luck with your pants.

You flop down face first into the bed, letting out a tired groan. Childe turns around and opens his mouth to ask if you want water when he sees your bare legs (and a hint of your underwear). He blushes nine different shades of red as he quickly looks away. Normally it’s not so easy to fluster him (you’ve tried), but to have developed feelings for such a cute person…he can’t help it sometimes.

He huffs a breath with a dumb smile on his face, shaking his head and ruffling his hair. You’re going to be the death of him. “C’mon. Lay in bed properly or you’ll get cold,” he chastises, fixing your form to put you under the warm covers.

Upon putting you vertical on the bed, you throw your limbs around him to trap him. “Can you cuddle me?” you mumble sleepily, your eyes barely open. He bites his lip, his inner demons fighting in a full on war.

“I dunno if that’s-“ he starts to deny.

“Please!” you beg, tightening your grip on him. This only causes him to turn a tenth shade of red now.

“Okay, alright. Ease up on the killer grip. Just…let me get ready for bed…” he responds, giving into his desires. It was all worth it though because you now smile and cheer, messily clapping your hands while you giggle.

He removes his jacket and pants, undoing a few of his buttons. He then thinks it over and removes it completely. After getting down to just his black boxers, he turns to face the bed now. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he watches you. You're singing a song he’s unfamiliar with while playing with your fingers. He’s honestly surprised you’re not passed out yet.

He gulps. He’s gone to war and fought monsters beyond your imagination and risked his life and almost died several times and yet…he’s more scared in this moment than he had ever been in any of those instances. He’s loved you for so long and to hear that you might return those feelings has him…mortified. Love wasn’t ever part of the plan. He can’t afford to love and be loved. He can’t-

“Ajax,” you whine, elongating his name. You pout up at him and make grabby hands, signaling for him to get in and to come here.

He takes a deep breath and slowly crawls under the covers, letting the blankets settle on top of him as he rests his head on the other pillow. He doesn’t touch you though. God, you’re already so close. He might actually lose his mind.

“C’mere…” you mumble, grabbing ahold of him and wriggling yourself towards him despite the command for him to move. Once you’re satisfied with the distance (which is basically nose to nose), you toss a leg over his hip. His whole body is tense and is it hot in here? He feels like he’s on fire. His hands shake as he wraps an arm around your waist, laying his palm flat on your back.

You happily hum and return the favor, pressing your face into his bare chest. “I love you…” you whisper after getting comfortable. If he couldn’t hear his heartbeat before, it’s practically deafening now. He closes his eyes and squeezes them shut tight, trying to wake himself up from this dream he’s clearly having.

After several seconds of his body still being pressed against yours, feeling your heat, smelling your scent, he feel like he can’t breathe. This is real.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know…” he whispers before kissing the top of your head.

It took him several hours to fall asleep, but he somehow managed to calm down enough to fall asleep in the place he’s only ever dreamed of being.

You stare agape at him, trying to process all of this. He can tell you’re flustered by the time it fully registers since you now won’t make eye contact with him and you’re getting fidgety.

“That’s not—I didn’t—I’m not—“ you try to find the right words, to explain, but your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. What do you say to that?

He chuckles as he brings one of his hands up, his knuckles gently brushing against your cheek. “Hey,” he calls, grabbing your attention and making you focus on him again. “It’s alright,” he reassures, giving you a genuine smile. "It's okay if you didn't mean it...that being said..."

He trails off, leaning his head forward and bumping his forehead against yours. “I love you…” he whispers, confessing it into the light of day with you 100% sober this time. You choke on air, suddenly unable to breathe. So it wasn’t a dream. You thought your bed smelled like him, because he slept in it. You thought you saw clothes that weren’t yours, because they are his.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to wake yourself from this dream. You even go as far as to pinch yourself. After several moments of still feeling his heat, smelling the berries on his breath, and his hair tickling your skin, you know this is real.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” you whisper back, remembering what he said last night in response to your confession.

The words barely leave your mouth before he’s surging forward and connecting your lips in a kiss. You can taste the berries on his tongue now, the pink muscle sliding across practically every inch of your mouth.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as his hands that were previously cupping your jaw and gripping the counter move to your hips. From there, they travel down to your legs, feeling your thighs under his fingers. After this, he slips his hands under your shirt and places his hands back onto your hips. His thumbs brush back and forth across your hips, causing a shiver to go down your spine.

It didn’t take him long to place you onto the countertop. It also didn’t take him long to start a full on make out session with you.

Let’s just say you two didn’t remember about the pancakes until much later.

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ellecdc · 9 days

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hi my lovely, i was wondering if i might please be able to make a request! absolutely fine if it doesn’t inspire you or you don’t get around to it for a while or you don’t like it it’s no pressure!!

i was just wondering if i might be able to request big brother sirius or best friend barty (my loves) and a reader who is so stressed with classes and workload- ive been having a hard time lately and i feel so out of my depth and its seems that no one else is struggling like me and my adhd really isn’t helping me cause i try and get my work done and i just end up sitting there for hours and then breaking down cause i can’t do it and i just feel so useless

so sorry for going on a tangent i just don’t really have anyone to talk to! again its totally okay if you don’t want to write this just speaking about its made me feel better! i hope you’re doing well my lovely, you bring me so much comfort! and i hope birdy is behaving herself

🪩

cheering you on babes! sorry for the wait in this request, and thanks for your patience in me <3 hope your workload isn't causing you too much grief, and both Big Brother Siri and BFF Barty have asked me to tell you to make sure to take breaks and be nice to yourself!!

please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.

BFF!Barty Crouch Junior x stressed!reader [GN] who Barty forces to take a break

You were on your umpteenth read through of your notes for your upcoming Herbology exam when your books were rudely ripped out from underneath you.

“Hey!” You shouted at the unknown assailant when you raised your head to see Barty carefully piling your notes together and shoving them into his own book bag. “Barty, give them back.”

“No can do, Treasure. Let’s go.”

You watched, dumbfounded, as Barty began to walk away from your table in the library before he turned around when he realised you weren’t following him.

“Hello!? Earth to Treasure?” He sing-songed on his way back before he waved a hand in front of your face, which you quickly swatted away.

“Barty, this isn’t funny.”

“I agree.” He answered quickly; his tone garnering a severe quality that made your skin crawl. “You’ve been shacked up in this library for Salazar knows how long, I don’t know when your last real meal was that didn’t consist of tea and Honeydukes sweets, and when was the last time you got fresh air? You know? That stuff that's produced by trees and life and not tainted with the musty smell of old books?”

“Barty, I need to prepare for this exam.” You pressed.

“Which you have, and if you humour me right now, I’ll even help you study more later. Now, let’s go.” He demanded as he took your elbow and hauled you up from the table and dragged you by the wrist unceremoniously behind him.

After numerous failed attempts at getting Barty to tell you what he was doing, where he was taking you, what he was up to, why he was dragging you across the castle, you spent your trek across the castle grounds in a begrudging silence with only the occasional muttered protest escaping your lips.

Finally, Barty released your wrist as you stopped in front of an expanse of wall encasing the southern grounds near the quidditch pitch that didn’t seem to get much traffic at all.

You watched as your friend dug his arms into the bag much further than should have been humanly possible alerting you to the fact that he had, indeed, cast an illegal undetectable extension charm.

He was going to make you fail your exam and an accomplice to a crime.

He pulled out a large stack of ceramic plates he no doubt pilfered from the kitchens and placed them beside you before reaching back in and retrieving another stack.

“Barty. What are you doing?”

“Blowing off steam, as the muggles say.” He explained simply as he moved to stand beside you and placed a matching stack of plates on his other side.

“By scrubbing dishes outside like a down-and-out House Elf?” You asked bemusedly as you picked up one of the plates and twisted it around in your hands. They didn’t look dirty.

“Ye have so little faith, dear Treasure.” Barty said theatrically before he launched a plate at the ancient stone wall and watched it shatter before the pieces rained down into the grass below it.

“Barty!”

“Too much talking, not enough throwing Treasure.” He called over to you as he hurled a second plate at the wall.

“Can you at least tell me why we’re defacing school property?!”

With a long suffering sigh, Barty allowed the plate he’d been in the process of picking up clatter back onto its stack unceremoniously.

Barty moved to stand in front of you, crouching down ever so slightly so as to force you to make direct eye contact with him and placing a hand on each of your shoulders should you consider bolting.

“Alright Treasure, listen. Are you listening? I love you, you’re my best friend, my soulmate, my ride or die, I would live, die, and kill for you; you fucking suck when you’re stressed out. Okay? You’ve been living in that library for a week, you’re barely eating or getting any vitamin D which is already difficult enough in sodding Scotland without you actively avoiding the sun’s rays, and…I miss you.”

You looked between both of his green eyes which oozed nothing but earnestness and concern before letting your shoulders drop.

“Fine, but why are we smashing plates?”

Seemingly trusting you not to take off, Barty returned to his full height with far more pep in his step than he had before he read you like one of your Herbology textbooks.

“Great question! I was trying to decide between this and shoving Gryffindor’s into the Black Lake; I figured you appreciate this better.” He said as he shot you a wink. “Now get throwing, Treasure!”

Deciding that it was folly to try to argue or reason with your…capricious friend, you picked up a plate and lobbed it dutifully at the wall.

What started off as you merely humouring your friend in his antics quickly left you breathless, smiling, and squealing in delight with each smash of a plate. You and Barty spent much of the afternoon cackling and dancing under a shower of broken porcelain before you reparo’d the plates and did it all over again.

You hardly realised the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees when you turned to look at Barty; his face flushed red and a wide grin spread across his face which you were sure was mirrored on your own.

“Thank you, Barty.”

His smile turned softer as he looked at the plate in his hands somewhat abashedly. “No need to thank me, Treasure. You know I’ll always look out for you, ‘specially when you forget to do it yourself.”

“Easy there, Junior; I'll start to think you’re going soft on us.” You teased as you nudged him in the arm with one of your plates.

He scoffed and shoved you away from him. “I will not tolerate this slander.”

“Is it slander if it’s true?”

“Defamation.”

“There’s no one here to hear me.”

“Hey, Y/N!” The sound of James Potter’s voice rung through the air as he walked towards you from the Quidditch pitch. “It’s good to see you outside of the library! I was getting wor-”

You never got to hear what James had been worried about as Barty quickly began lobbing plates in his direction.

“Barty!” You shouted as James began dodging the assault.

“Sorry, he spooked me.” Barty deadpanned, not sounding sorry at all as he continued throwing plates at the Gryffindor chaser.

“I’ll catch up with you later!” James shouted as he started jogging towards the castle in the opposite direction of his attacker.

“You know, for a quidditch player, you have terrible aim.” You grumbled at your friend as you shot him an unimpressed glare.

He returned your glare in response to your insult. “I’ll have you know, if I wanted to actually hit him, I would have.”

“Soft.”

“Alright, that’s it. Pull out your wand, Treasure.” He barked as he dropped his plates, brandished his wand and took a duelling stance.

“I am not fighting you, Junior.”

“Those were fighting words.”

And before you could retort, he had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder before he began marching towards the castle.

“What are you doing?!” You squealed as you playfully swung your fist against his back.

“Throwing you in the Black Lake.”

“Barty!”

You didn’t return to the castle until the sun had fully set; feeling tired in a good way and far happier and more relaxed than you had felt in days.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #slytherin skittles #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch jr fluff #barty crouch jr drabble #barty crouch jr ficlet #barty crouch jr imagine #gn!reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert #ellecdc fics

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sunthug · 2 months

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Chapter 2 - Etched In Parchment

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bandit Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Bounty Hunter M!Reader

𝐱: alternate universe - western, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, light angst, drinking (alcohol). 𝟏𝟖+ ��𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈 (7.5k words)

series masterlist || prev: chapter 1 || next: chapter 3

Seven Years Ago…

Commander Graham Bishop pressed the tips of his index and thumb against the edges of his mouth, ignoring the grain of sand on his lips as he blew a shrill whistle.

The young men in the distance brought their exercise to a halt, an orange cloud of dirt lifting from their skidding feet.

“A’right, gather ‘round,” he called out, circling a hand above his head. Moving to lock his fingers behind his back, Bishop watched patiently as his unit gathered closer.

Your cheeks were flushed from the smoldering heat. Bullets of sweat crowned your hairline as you jogged into formation, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other scouts.

“Before I let you go for the day,” he huffed, shifting to cross his arms over his chest, “I’ve got a bit of news.”

You glanced up and down the line at the other scouts. Commander Bishop reached for the back of his combat pants and fished out a pocket watch. His thumb released the clasp, opening the compartment to check the time, before returning the silver artifact to its rightful place with a ‘click’.

“Retiring already, Commander?” The question came from your immediate right.

Next to you stood a beaming scout, his shoulders pulled back as he stood at attention. Soft chuckles fluttered through the formation. The pale stubble along his jaw did little to hide his humor.

Commander Bishop returned a wry smile, raising a greying eyebrow in a challenge. “I’ll retire when I’m dead. You’re not gettin’ rid of me that easily, Keller. At ease.”

You stifled another laugh as you were nudged by the scout’s elbow, followed by a look only you could decipher. ‘Don’t we know it,’ it read.

A warm breeze pressed into your back, not explaining the chill that touched the exposed skin of your neck. Something grim washed over the Commander’s expression in an instant. He sighed deeply as he kept his eyes trained on the dirt under his boots.

“You’re not scouts anymore,” he said, so quiet that it nearly got lost in the wind. You shared a look with the others. The Commander’s words hung in the air as he studied the stone faces that made up his unit.

“One of these days, I won’t be around to lead you. Hell, one of you might just take my place up here,” he chuffed. That earned a bit of a stir as the young men grinned and muttered under their breaths.

You remained still, keeping your eyes on Bishop and his somber gaze.

“The world is cruel,” was the pill that was too big to swallow. “S’why you must stick together, y’hear?”

Every mouth responded in unison, though worry pinched your brow as you took in the man’s words. It wasn’t anything new to get a lecture from Bishop, but there was something almost…bittersweet this time around.

Like a parting speech.

Commander Bishop shook his head, seemingly snapping out of whatever tangent he had started. He chuckled humorlessly as he rubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

“Enough of my ramblin’. On with the news.”

You exhaled slowly as the Commander went on to announce the unit’s final assignment as scouts; a patrol through the Southeastern region. There had been reports of outlaws and runaways squatting within the region’s canyon, using it for shelter.

“I’ve spent years preparin’ you all for this. As you step into manhood, you’ll be responsible for more than just…” he paused, bushy eyebrows twitching, “mindless patrols. You’ll be protectin’ the Homelands from the real dangers of the world.”

The unit buzzed with excitement while unease sat heavy in your stomach. You ignored the gnawing in the back of your mind as the formation was dismissed, trying to keep up with your comrades and their enthusiasm.

“Hey,” Bishop called out, ushering you over with a jerk of his chin. You approached him without hesitation, standing at attention out of habit. He said nothing to correct you, instead resting a heavy hand on your shoulder. “This’ll be a walk in the park for you, I’m sure.”

You nodded quickly, biting down on the smile threatening to split your face. “Of course, sir!”

Commander Bishop pressed his lips into a thin line, his hand lowering from your shoulder. His eyebrows pushed together, green eyes studying your face pensively.

“I meant what I said about stickin’ together. There will be men out there who’ll try and take advantage of you. Men who you may call your brothers can be just as cruel. I trust you’ll keep your head on straight for this.”

The sounds of the other scouts were distant now, leaving you and the Commander in the field. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, pinned by the stern—and somewhat sad—look in his eyes. He gave you a stiff downward jerk of his head.

“Stay vigilant, son.”

He called you that often. Like he meant it. You swallowed hard and nodded, believing him once again.

“Always, sir.”

—

Your attention was miles away as you stared out the window, fists tucked under your tightly crossed arms.

The past had a funny way of creeping up on you. Waking up from a replay wasn’t new, but the dreams continued to catch you off guard. You found a small pattern in their occurrences, and could only denounce it as you being stressed before a contract.

The dreams didn’t always play out the same, with very few details remaining true to the original story. The look on Bishop’s face plagued your mind for years, but the ones you truly couldn’t shake belonged to your comrades—faces you couldn’t bury.

There were words left unsaid within the creases of the Commander’s eyes, too complex for you to translate at the time. Even now, as the memory returned, it was hard to decipher.

You assumed that was because the man you had once idolized turned out to be a hypocrite.

That final assignment, as you remembered it, was the catalyst for the way your life took shape. Meeting Herschel Shepherd. The transition of leadership. Commander Bishop being declared K.I.A, and the can of worms that had opened—it all packed into the snowball of events crashing down soon after.

With no time to breathe between the onslaught of accusations and mourning, a perpetual tension wound up tight around your being, coiling around your spine with a punishing grip. You found yourself constantly on edge—too aware of the world around you, everything that was wrong with it, and what you could do to make it right.

At first, it was hard to decide if chasing the lawless was ‘in honor of’ or ‘out of spite of’ Bishop. Eventually, you stopped trying to justify each contract and allowed it to be the reason you stayed with the unit. Loyalty was the sole purpose from then on out.

The path you and your brothers took toward redemption was riddled with thorns. It was a decision made together, born out of fear of being thrown into the world your Commander warned you about, trusting in one another. You continued to bear the thorns alone dutifully long after their disappearances. That, you decided, was with honor.

Your Commander had told you to stay vigilant all those years ago. God forbid you allowed history to repeat itself.

Voices rose from the corridor, bringing you back to the present. You hardly glanced over your shoulder as the double doors pushed open behind you, giving way to the parade of men entering the conference room.

“Hope you weren’t waitin’ too long,” one of them called out.

You turned away from the window then, locking eyes with baby blues. Sandy brown hair bounced with each of the man’s steps, sweeping over an amused brow. You clocked the gaudy, golden badge pinned over his heart as you sized him up.

“Sheriff,” you held out a hand as he approached you. “Pleasure’s mine.”

Phillip Graves needed little to no introduction, considering that you’d done a bit of research on him; joined the service young, passed selection with flying colors, and made a name for himself when he became the youngest Sheriff. He was something of a big deal across the Homelands.

He grinned widely, causing a deep dimple to set into his left cheek as he accepted your handshake. “No need to be so formal, Sport. Nice to finally meet you.”

Your eyes shifted to the five men shuffling through the doorway behind him. Officers were marked as such with dull, metal badges similar in shape. They crowded a table like a wake of vultures, their limbs moving in a sea of greys and blacks. Gloved hands slapped down plains of parchment, the rolled edges smoothed out across the red oak tabletop.

“Can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re in on this,” Graves sighed, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “There’s not many we can call on to take a bounty this high.”

We’re a dying breed. You grimaced at the thought. “Glad to know I’m trustworthy.”

“Just sayin’ I’m glad Shepherd got you involved.”

You regarded him with a nod. Whether or not the Sheriff noticed the tension building in your shoulders, you weren’t sure, but he cleared his throat in response.

“Speakin’ of..?” Your eyes slid toward the officers and back.

“Ah, right. Guess I should start breakin’ down what exactly you’re involved in, huh?”

Graves jerked his head with a soft click of his tongue, ushering you to follow him to the table. Your eyes were glued hungrily to the images sprawled out for you to feast upon.

As you approached the table, you reached out a hand and grazed over a map of the Northern Homelands; terrain that seemed so familiar, you could redraw it with little effort. Your eyes danced around the table, unable to stay on one piece of information for too long.

“It’s a lot, but somethin’ tells me that won’t be a problem.” Graves leaned on the oak with his palms, chin tucked in as he brought his gaze up to you.

You shook your head. “The more the merrier. What’s all this?”

His expression was mixed with eagerness and amusement as he nodded slowly. As if finally, he got to see the Hunter at work.

“Years worth of intel right here. Got my boys to gather every hit we’ve had since…well, since the fuckin’ genesis, I suppose.”

“Jesus,” you hissed, lowering your eyes.

The officers had put more space between them and the table, giving you and their boss room to breathe. There was still at least one of them lingering in your peripheral vision.

Sentinels of a colorless void, just…hovering.

You looked up at hazel eyes set into pale skin as one of the officers stalked past. A pink line hugged his brow, the scar disappearing behind his hairline as it curled upward. His eyes remained trained on you, unwavering in their intense contact. You cleared your throat, frowning down at the supply of information.

Looking over the reports, some dated back four to six years. Graves had been right. They had gone back to the beginning.

“Your letter mentioned the possibility of a heist.”

The Sheriff swayed in your periphery and took a step back. “We have every reason to believe The Vengeful is going to strike North.”

He pulled the map in closer, tapping over a cluster of red marks drawn on the paper. You leaned in, recognizing the surrounding areas of great plains and winding rivers.

“I’ve got some,” he paused, fixing his lips upward in thought, “connections…up there. Caught the bastards lurkin’ around a weapons cache before fleeing to whatever hidey-hole their asses crawled from.”

“They were planning their attack by scoping the area,” you hummed, taking a step back. “Surprised they didn’t cause a scene right then and there.”

The floor creaked with the combined weight of Graves walking around the table and you shifting in place. Your eyes skimmed over the many lines of text. The other reports didn’t offer much—you already knew what these men were guilty of.

A sigh of boredom filled the air as you moved to set the sheet down. You froze in place, arm stretched out across the table, as your gaze fell upon a portrait of a man. A poster. As you continued to move paper aside, you found another. Then a third. A fourth.

“This is them,” it came out with breathless enthusiasm. You licked your lips and looked up at the man standing across from you. “This is who’s haunting the Homelands.”

“Correctamundo.” He reached his hand out and cleared the table, moving the portraits into view.

Each portrait was branded with a bold ‘WANTED’ across the top, like a crown above the men’s heads. You frowned, dragging the posters closer. The sepia-colored images of their scowling faces etched into your mind as you scavenged the details, your eyes moving restlessly across the parchment. “Where do I start?”

Graves looked around and nodded his head. With a silent command, the officers circling the room came together in a single file line to face the door. You looked up to watch in awe, chuffing quietly under your breath at their immediate obedience.

The sound of their boots on the hardwood floor filled the room as they exited without a word, leaving you in the Sheriff’s presence. Graves already had his eyes back on you when you turned back, stapling his fingers around the back edge of a chair to lean on.

This was the part of the job that kept you separated; you took the brunt of the work, getting your hands dirty with what the law couldn’t. While officers remained on a need-to-know basis, you were granted access to find out all that you could at once.

You knew too much to be given any sort of real power. Too much to be outlawed. It was the beauty within the danger of your position—that kept you constantly teetering the line of respect.

A perfect misalignment.

“They’re high-value targets,” he sighed, the mirthful energy seeping from his tone in an instant, “but they’re also high-risk. I’d be a damned fool to send you out there blind, of course.”

You wanted to argue that you wouldn’t be “blind”, to correct the man of your capabilities and remind him as to why you were here in the first place. Knowing how to pick your battles, you nodded. “What do you know about them?”

Graves reached out, arranging the posters in an order of his own. A firm hand was pressed into the table as he leaned forward. The first was of a man whose identity was hardly translated into the print.

A hat on his head cast angular shadows over his eyes. The lower half of his face was protected by a dark fabric filled with ink, the negative spaces making out the shape of a skeletal jaw. You weren’t able to make out anything notable about his features from the image alone.

“Did the ink run out after making this one?” you teased lightly. You traced the suggested outlines of his cheekbones and eyes, trying to take in every detail you could.

Graves huffed out a laugh. “Simon Riley. There’s a reason they call him ‘Ghost’...sonuvabitch is hard to keep track of. Offers the highest risk. It’d be suicide to send you out to look for him.”

His words sat heavily as you studied the poster. You ran your tongue over your teeth, feeling the prickles of anticipation deep within your boots. A high enough risk to take out anyone trailing him?

“You got John MacTavish here,” his fingers tapped angrily on the portrait next to Ghost’s, pulling your attention, “but ‘Soap’ is more than fitting for this slippery lil’ fucker.”

You peeled your eyes away from the shadowy figure. Narrowed eyes stared back at you from under dark, furrowed brows. The man’s bottom lip was in a soft pout, highlighting the scar on his chin. The sides of his head were cut short against his skull, leaving nothing but a sweep of dark ink growing from the subtle widow’s peak of his hairline.

“What makes him a high risk?” You gave Graves an arched brow. It was hard to find a name like ‘Soap’ with a look such as his intimidating by any means.

The Sheriff’s face dropped, his eyebrows twitching to meet in the middle. Any remaining trace of cheerfulness was wiped from his expression as his words came out hard as stone.

“He single-handedly caused over a quarter of the Eastern Railroad to go up in flames. Who knows what kind of shit that one is rigged with.”

Your eyebrows shot up. There had been plenty of reports on the train robberies. Many were accompanied by some mention of an elaborate diversion, with the tracks destroyed to bring the cars to a halt. Over a quarter of any major railroad was…excessive.

“Demolitions,” you sighed, looking at Graves astonished. “Got it.”

He pushed the third poster toward you as he continued. “John, fuckin’, Price. Too much of an obvious risk to go straight for the leader.”

Aside from the slight frown, the man’s expression was unreadable in his portrait. His pale eyes were blank and shrouded by dark lashes. Fine hairs crowded his cheeks and across his upper lip. Your fingernail scratched idly at the specklings over his nose.

“His boys do well to protect his ass…unlike that Bealy crew, huh?” Graves tossed you a wink, humor returning.

“Never start at the top,” you reiterated.

A dark cloud formed over your head, wondering if this was the face the other hunters saw in their final moments. Either of these men possessed the capabilities to carry out the deed, but did John Price find satisfaction in being the one to snuff a hunter out? Your teeth bit into your tongue.

The light fluff of Graves’ head moved in the warbled edges of your vision as he observed you. Parchment rubbed against the hard surface of the table as he pushed the remaining poster into your line of sight, hoping to grab your attention.

“With all that bein’ said…this is your target.”

Out of all of them, he looked to be the most prepared for a mugshot. You noticed the curve of his lopsided smile first, nearly taunting as the portrait stared back with onyx eyes. A faint scar on his cheek marked over the shading of his skin, adding to the list of details you’ve been collecting as you picked apart the images.

“Kyle Garrick,” Graves stood upright and puffed his chest. “Goes by ‘Gaz’, and offers the lowest risk. Should be a cakewalk for someone like you.”

You scratched under your jaw, hoping to hide the tension of your muscles. Looking up at Graves, you leaned over the poster. “What’s the plan?”

He jabbed a finger into the table. “The plan’s simple; track Garrick down and bring him back alive. If you get your hands on him by doin’ what you do best, it’ll guarantee us findin’ the others.”

“Don’t worry,” you lifted the poster of Gaz from the table, giving it a final glance before rolling the parchment tight. The texture was smooth against your palms as you clutched it. “Consider him found.”

Graves met you halfway across the table, taking your hand in a firm grasp. His face was masked with a silent hope, blue eyes pinning you in place.

“Watch your ass out there.”

You nodded, giving his hand a shake before pulling back.

“Always.”

—

The saloon hosted only a handful of patrons, who were scattered around the establishment. You took shelter at the end of the bar, putting as many stools as possible between you and the other man sitting at the barren counter.

You propped your chin in your palm, leaning against your elbow as you continued studying the files given to you. Sheriff Graves was needed elsewhere by the time the meeting ended, leaving you to your own devices for the night. He apologized for the inconvenience. You told him you preferred it that way, allowing you to focus.

In your hours of studying, the sun had lowered. The clouded sky dimmed to a murky blend of pinks and blues—night approached much quicker than you anticipated. The saloon attracted less foot traffic as time passed, which you were grateful for.

A sigh passed your lips as you looked over the reports of sightings. Your eyes burned as you blinked and rubbed at them, lowering your head.

“Finally ready for that drink, mister?”

You lifted your head, meeting the kind yet tired eyes of the lone bartender. Her hair was pulled up into a nest of a bun, stray brunette curls framing her rounded face. Her hands moved to her lower back, adjusting the layered belts that kept her skirts in place.

“Ah,” you chuckled dryly. “Seems like it.”

She wiped her palms against the flowing fabric and smiled. “What can I get you started with?”

“Bourbon. Neat.”

You watched as she poured the liquor, sliding the glass down the bar and into your waiting hand with finesse. With a tilt of your hat, you muttered a “thanks” before bringing the glass to your lips.

The initial sip carried a sweet burn as it marked your tongue with its heavy essence, leaving a hot trail down your throat and to your stomach. You couldn’t recall the last time you had a decent drink. With a smack of your lips, you set the glass off to the side and got back to work.

There wasn’t an official report on the sighting at the weapons cache, leaving you to make do with what you were given. The most recent report placed The Vengeful up North, as Graves mentioned.

In the wealthy city of Longshire, the home estate of lawman Finnigan Clarke was broken into. Cassidy Clarke, his wife, was the one to call in the report.

Details stated that sometime after midnight, Mrs. Clarke was woken up by a crashing window. The sound disturbed their five-month-old. Concerned, Cassidy left the bedroom. It wasn’t until she made her way to the nursery that she noticed that things had been stolen from the home.

Thankfully, the nursery had been untouched, and the newborn was fine. The only injury reported was a small cut Mrs. Clarke earned on her foot from the glass. You sighed with relief.

“That’s quite the read you got there,” the bartender commented. You looked over as she pushed the end of a fresh rag into a glass, wiping the inside dry.

“Oh, this? You should see some of the shit I see off the paper,” you insisted, taking a small sip of your whiskey. “This is nothing, really.”

Her eyes flashed with interest, but she continued working. You went back to shuffling between the slips of paper, only stopping to lift your glass for small sips. It didn’t satisfy the thirst, or the nagging feeling in your gut as you read back on the gang's past crimes.

You made notes in the pocket-sized notebook you kept on your person, pencil flying across the textured pages in a rush as your brain picked apart information.

Common sightings up North — is their base here?

Weapons cache report — ???

Ask Phil about it before leaving.

The Clarkes (Longshire) — worth looking into

What was taken?

WHAT HAPPENS TO THE STOLEN GOODS ??

Time crawled as you continued your work silently, breaking from your readings long enough to order another drink when your glass was empty.

The bartender didn’t bother you otherwise, focusing on her closing duties as she served the last few patrons. The air was still in the saloon, aside from the occasional clink of glass on wood or shuffling chairs.

You were swishing the remains of your second drink when you were approached again.

“I hate to bother you, sir, but…”

You looked up from the file, facing the bartender. With a shake of your head, you pushed the now empty glass away. “You’re not a bother, especially when you serve me up like that.”

She chuckled, eyes lowering to the organized chaos displayed before you.

“I recognize that man,” she pointed, tapping the top corner of Garrick’s portrait. You met her eyes, watching them widen as they read over the man’s face.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed that even the lone barfly was gone—it was just you, the bartender, and the sea of quiet.

“Did he do something to you?” you asked, leaning into the bar with a lowered voice.

She shook her head. A hand reached up to brush away a strand of hair from her cheek as she continued to look over the portrait, her expression calming. She looked at Gaz like she knew him.

“More like he did something for me,” she chuckled softly, a warmth making her russet skin glow. You sat back, eyebrows shooting up.

“If it’s personal, then that’s not something…I don’t-“

“No,” she waved her hands frantically. “I’m not some hussy! That man, he…” Her gaze fell gently on the portrait as she stepped forward. With careful fingers, she rotated the picture to face her, asking with her eyes for permission as she did. You watched her, skepticism and curiosity stirring with the liquor in your gut. “He saved my son.”

“Oh?” You pulled your notebook closer, holding the pencil against the page. “What happened, if I may ask?”

“You must be an officer or something,” she raised a brow, looking just as skeptical as you.

You shook your head mirthfully. “Something. Go on, you can tell me.”

The bartender looked hesitant, glancing between you and the wanted poster. Her eyes carried a deep regret, shoulders sagging with a sigh as she finally caved.

“It was a month ago or so. My son had been…hanging with the wrong crowd. He’s got legs like a beanstalk, nearly your height if I had to guess…but he’s young. Impressionable. I’m more than certain he was being pressured.”

She broke away, carrying your empty glass with her as she retrieved the well-loved bottle of Bourbon. You watched her movements, tapping the end of your pencil against the page. The bartender turned to face you, setting the cup and bottle between you.

“One afternoon, he hadn’t come home for supper. I had to be here, so I only hoped he was just running late. It’s just him and I, so not working is not an option. Anyway,” she sighed, pouring into your glass, “he wasn’t home when I returned in the morning. I cried to anyone who’d listen as I walked through Stonebrook. That damned Sheriff was off doing god-knows-what, with his officers following him like a pack of dogs.”

“Sheriff Graves?” You raised a brow. You thanked her for the glass with a nod when it was handed to you, not yet bringing it to your lips.

She rolled her eyes. “The one and only. I was sure no one would help me if he couldn’t…until this one came along.” The bartender nodded down at the portrait, your eyes following. “Heard my pleas for help and didn’t second guess it. I told him everything I knew, and he took care of the rest. He tracked him down and brought my boy back home. I didn’t know he was an outlaw himself, though.”

“Not yet, technically,” you mumbled, not missing the irony.

“Can’t imagine him doing any wrong,” she smiled. Your upper lip twitched. “That man didn’t think twice about himself ‘fore he stepped in.”

You scanned over the reports and map, his portrait, and the bartender’s hopeful face. You bristled at her ignorance, fist clenching on the bar counter as an undeniable heat licked up your neck.

“That man,” you gritted, “Gaz…is more dangerous than a gang of petty teenagers. He’s more than capable of doing wrong.”

The bartender took a half-step back as if the air around you was being contaminated by toxic fumes. Her hands moved timidly to her skirts and she brushed at them with her palm, her eyes not leaving you until she cleared her throat.

“He saved my boy’s life,” she insisted, as if to convince you, “and was charming. He didn’t want any kind of payment.”

Your head tilted back, jaw unhinging to allow the liquor to drown the choice words in your throat. You glared down at the portrait as you swallowed.

“It’s always the charming ones,” you grimaced, licking the bead of liquor from the corner of your mouth. You lifted your eyes to train on the bartender as you set the glass down with a hollow, punctuating thud.

A silent transmission of mutual understanding passed between you as she took the glass, disposing it into a small wash bin behind the counter. You ignored the words she huffed under her breath and looked down at your notebook.

Asshole with a heart

What would Garrick gain from saving that boy, if not money?

Does Phil know about this?

You closed the book, tucking the pencil between the pages before returning it to your pack. The bartender didn’t return for conversation as you gathered the files. Not a single glance was spared until she heard the jingle of your coin purse.

“Thank you…for your kind service,” you mumbled, gesturing to the payment. You had been less than kind in her moment of vulnerability. You hoped that money would make amends. “Keep the change.”

She gently brought the currency into her palm, eyeing you with a lowered brow. You turned with a nod and pushed from the stool, shouldering your bag. A man remained slumped over in a booth as you passed, his cup half empty as it sat forgotten by his head.

“Wait!”

You stopped as the bartender called out just as your palm touched the door. You looked over your shoulder, finding her at the end of the counter. She looked hesitant again, fingers curling at a pocket stitched onto her skirt.

“No one worthy of punishment would help a mother and child. I’m sure you’re able to see the good in that.”

“Have a good night, ma’am. Keep you and your boy safe.”

You left it at that. There was no use being angry at the woman whose son was thankfully saved—even at the hands of some criminal. But her words mixed with the spirits settling in your system, formulating an inebriating cocktail that rendered you irresolute.

—

In the morning, you cursed at the chirping birds.

Your stomach rolled while your head pounded, working together to remind you of your poor choice to drink. The only thing that peeled you from the bedding was your duties, beaconing you louder than the call of the mattress.

Pomona tittered at your arrival. Her head bowed, sniffing at you as you situated her saddle and untied her reigns.

“Yeah. I’m excited, too,” you mumbled sarcastically, scratching under the horse's chin. You weren’t too ecstatic about returning to the Northern region. The lands were littered with history that you were more than willing to leave behind.

It was part of the job, and the job came first—after a fulfilling breakfast.

The trek up North offered stunning views of mountains and creeks. In those quiet moments between a man and his horse, you were reminded of the beauty of the Homelands.

You had spent a great part of your life protecting it for a reason.

As the sun journeyed beyond the horizon, you steered Pomona through a thicket. The familiar landmarks guided you as you used years of repetitive travel and instinct. You knew a clearing would be ahead, offering a sheltered place to stop and camp for the night.

You pulled the reins gently as Pomona broke through the treeline, urging for her steady gallop to slow down to a halt.

“Home sweet home,” you sighed, swinging your leg to lower from the saddle. You stroked Pomona’s neck as you walked further into the clearing, holding the rein like a leash.

It was just as you remembered it; tall pines surrounding a clear pond. Charred logs remained untouched from the last time you camped in the area. A makeshift post for Pomona was erected from the ground, close to the water if she ever needed a drink.

It would be the closest thing to home that you could get.

Once settled by a small fire, you continued to study. You focused on the Clarke report, hoping to find anything notable that you may have missed the first time. As you read over the report again, one detail blared at you. Finnigan was not mentioned as being on the premises.

You pulled out your notebook, opening to where your pencil functioned as a bookmark. Picking up where you left off, you added to your notes.

The Clarkes (Longshire) — worth looking into

What was taken?

Where was Finnigan ??

The fire stopped providing enough light for you to continue reading in the dark. You had exhausted your efforts for the day and decided that a trip to Longshire would be in your best interest after all. You put the files away, making room for you to lie down.

Pomona was stiff as a board on the other side of the fire, her body unmoving aside from the occasional flick of her tail as she rested.

“Night, Po,” you exhaled, fluffing your bedroll as you slid into it.

You lay on your back, listening to the soft crackle of the flames as you stared up at the stars. The usual aches that came with riding for long periods started to grip your muscles, plunging you into the cold waters of sleep.

—

Riley. MacTavish. Price. Garrick.

Kyle Garrick. Gaz.

Onyx eyes. A taunting smirk. Sepia.

“Should be a cakewalk for someone like you.”

—

A shrill whinny jolted you awake. The fire had long died out, leaving you and Pomona in the eerie glow of the moonlight overhead.

You sat up, flinging back the top cover of your bed roll. You looked around the clearing as you jumped to your feet, scanning for any unwanted visitors. It was still you and your horse, accompanied by a gust of wind.

Hooves pounded the ground as Pomona neighed again, awake and afraid. You approached the mare with careful steps.

“Easy, girl. Easy,” you cooed, holding your palms out to her. Pomona bristled again, shaking out her mane as she trotted anxiously. “It’s alright. It’s just us.”

You had doubts as Pomona continued panicking—her animalistic senses were more keen than yours. You placed a hand on the side of her neck, keeping a safe distance to avoid getting stomped.

“What is it?” you whispered, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

Pomona stilled, blowing a hot breath against your forehead as she leaned into your comforting touch. After a moment to calm down, you reached into the saddlebag for one of her snacks.

“You’re alright. I’m here,” you sighed, holding an apple slice in your palm as she nibbled at it. You brushed the juice and spit on your pant leg when Pomona finished, keeping a hand on her coat.

The snapping of twigs broke the moment of peace, sending the mare into another panicked frenzy. You jumped back and stared into the tree line. The sounds continued as bushes rustled, drawing closer to the edge of the clearing. Footsteps.

You reached for your Colt single-action without hesitation, thumb flicking the hammer. You kept your eyes on the black wall of trees as a bullet slid into place. A finger hovered over the trigger guard as you stared down the sights.

“Come out of hiding,” you shouted, pointing your revolver towards the noise. You walked around Pomona hastily, putting yourself between the unseen threat and the mare. “Now!”

You allowed a beat of silence before firing a warning shot into the air, the ‘pop’ forcing the threat behind the tree line to reveal itself. Pomona squealed over the noise, her cries echoing in the night.

“Hold your fire!”

You aimed the weapon at the tree line as a man stepped into the clearing, his hands held up in surrender. The pond reflected the moonlight, causing his skin to glow in the night as he slowly approached your camp. You squinted, trying to get a better look through your bleary vision.

On the receiving end of your revolver was a timid smile, striking the chord of familiarity as his face became clear. There was only one man you knew who would wear his facial hair that way as it grew out, keeping the mustache thick and the beard closely shaved.

He wasn’t some intruder—this was someone you knew. A friend. You blinked away the sands of sleep as he stopped. Pomona was quiet behind you, the realization quelling her as well.

“Alex..?” you muttered, lowering your gun.

“Well, look at you,” his mustache curled up with his smirk as he dropped his hands. “The Big Bad Hunter himself.” His eyes slid to the revolver. “You gonna shoot me? Really?”

Alex Keller was just as lighthearted as you remembered him to be—as he’d always been. Meeting under Bishop’s command, your bond remained consistent throughout the years. You watched him take his training elsewhere, choosing to become an officer instead. Even through the slight disagreement between the others at the time, you considered Alex your closest—if not only—friend now.

You flicked on the safety, your eyes trained on the man as you shoved the gun back into its holster. “You didn’t have to sneak up on us like that. Nearly gave Pomona here a damn heart attack,” you mumbled groggily.

Alex waved you off as he approached the mare, holding a hand out for Pomona to sniff. She accepted him immediately, nudging into his waiting palm. He rubbed under her chin, cooing soft apologies as you knelt by the wood pile.

“The hell are you doing here, Keller?” you scolded lightly. You worked at sparking a fire as Alex examined the camp, sitting on the log by your bedroll. Flames came to life along the wood, bathing the area in a dancing glow.

“A little birdie told me that you were out here for a hunt,” he leaned his arms on his knees. “And by ‘little birdie,’ I mean Herschel.”

You stood with a yawn, dusting your hands on your knees. “More like a great turkey,” you rolled your eyes as you sat beside him. Alex chuckled, nudging you in the side with his elbow.

“I also heard that you got your hands dirty killing Marcus Bealy point-blank.”

Your brows furrowed, eyes fluttering in disbelief. The smile faltered as Alex studied you, his head tilting to the side. You watched each other, equally confused and trying to process until you spoke up.

“I didn’t kill Marcus Bealy. Did you hear that from Herschel, too?”

“No,” Alex rubbed mindlessly at his forearm. His eyes focused on the dirt, searching for a way to rectify the conversation within the sands. “Just some gossip in the force. I feel sorry for the guy who found him like that.”

You rubbed your hands together, warming them against the fire’s heat. “Like what?”

“They don’t tell you anything out here, do they?”

“Kind of hard to keep up with news when you’re traveling, Alex.”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “Right. Well, if you really want to know?”

You could picture the scene as Alex described it; Marcus Bealy’s lifeless body lying strewn over the cell bed with shotgun bullets caving his face in. You closed your eyes, willing away the image of blood and brain matter.

“And they just assumed that was me?” You looked over at Alex. It wasn’t your style to leave a mess—sure, you were never afraid to fight or even kill if it was called for, but you were far from sloppy.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” Alex sighed. “I don’t know how you hunters operate, but something tells me that going after another's bounty is frowned upon.”

“You’re right,” you grunted. “It is.”

Whoever did it must've had a vendetta against Bealy or wanted to leave a message. You made a mental note to reach out to Shepherd once you arrived in the city.

The nearby water licked at the stones bordering the pond, filling the air with noise with the fire. Your mind raced with questions as you sat in a comfortable silence. Alex poked at the firewood with an elongated, forked stick, content with being in your company.

“How did you know I was here?”

Alex turned over a burning twig before looking at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his smile pushed up. “Would you believe me if I said I know you?”

Your head shook as you rolled your eyes, looking at the pond.

“C’mon, now,” he dropped a hand on your shoulder. “You always camp around here when you’re up in these parts. You’re a creature of habit like that, you know.”

You glanced at his hand, offering a small smile as he shook you. You leaned forward as he let you go, your elbows digging into the tops of your knees. If anyone knew you, it would be Alex. Maybe Shepherd also—in his own, slightly morphed way.

“Something on your mind?” Alex hadn’t turned away from you, even as your focus trained on the ground between your feet. You didn’t realize how much you were sulking until you caught the worried look on his brow.

What could you tell him that would satisfy the perpetual nagging that you had been feeling for the past three days? So much was currently on your mind, putting you in a position you hadn’t been in since you were a rookie in the field.

“This bounty,” you sighed, giving in to the moment. Alex shifted in your periphery, turning to face you more. “More specifically, the target.”

“Talk to me.”

While it wasn’t the smartest idea to speak heavily on your contracts, you couldn’t find any reason to worry about Alex using the information against you. Not only would it serve no personal gain, but there was no room for deception in your relationship. You both honored that.

“I’m here for The Vengeful. Herschel pinned me up for the task and has me working with some hot-shot sheriff to hunt down one of the members.”

Alex’s face fell as he listened. “Please tell me you’re pulling my tail.” His face darkened as you shook your head, and he hissed. “Shit.”

“I don’t know what to make of it yet,” you sighed. “Usually, I get assigned, and the rest just comes to me. There’s nothing to second guess. Now? My mind is all over the goddamn place.”

“As it should be. You and I both know what these men are capable of,” Alex nodded.

You ran a hand down your face with a groan. “But then this woman…she told me about her son. How one of them saved her son from some gang. Had the nerve to tell me to see the good in him. As if…” you stopped, pinching the bridge of your nose. “As if he didn’t take our family away.”

Alex remained still as you grew antsy, leg bouncing. The silence was deafening, both of you unsure of how to navigate the topic from there.

You sat upright, wiping at the dryness of your eyes. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. That damned bartender got in my head.”

“What is your gut saying?”

You snapped your attention to Alex, whose face was as open and guileless as ever. “What?”

“What is your gut saying? Not your head.”

“It saying…” you paused, looking into the fire. It would have been too much to admit that you were scared. Without too much thought, “...that I should do right by our brothers. What would that even be? It’s not like I can kill them.”

Alex leaned closer, draping an arm around your neck to pull you in. “Only you know what ‘the right thing’ is for this. Not some lady. Not Herschel. Hell, not even I can tell you. If you listen to anything, listen to your gut,” he gently poked your middle.

You instinctively brought your hand to your abdomen as he continued.

“Bishop would have said the same thing.”

“Yeah? Well, look where that got him,” you glowered. Alex gave you another shake. “What? Can we take his word for anything anymore?”

“Yes, we can. You know why?” Alex sat upright, his voice more stern than it had been all night. “Because Bishop had our best interest at heart. Always. That’s what my gut tells me.”

You eyed Alex up and down, begrudgingly residing from what could have been an hour-long argument.

“Sometimes,” he chuffed, shaking his head, “you’re a hardass. You know that?”

“Tell me something new, Keller.”

Alex tilted his head, genuinely thinking about it. You plucked the stick from his loose grasp, jabbing at the fire. With a snap of his fingers, he turned to you again.

“I’ve got something new for you. That gun of yours? You’re a little rusty with it.”

“You’ve gotta be the most annoying person I know,” you gritted. Your words didn’t hold any real malice to them.

“I love you, too,” he sighed, giving you a gentle pat on the back.

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gendervapor14 · 1 year

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treating myself to some old OP episodes to alleviate the horrors and i can’t resist the urge to ramble about bell-mère’s death a little bit.

so, i will start here, with this iconic moment:

manga readers may notice something right off the bat. “hey, arlong’s not aiming for her head!” yes, in the anime, seems they switched his aim for the heart. i actually prefer this. first of all, that flintlock is huge compared to her, so head or heart, it’s gonna kill her. not a fatality issue. i’m just a huge sap, and i think there’s something more symbolic about him shooting her in the heart for defending her love - her kids. (even tho all of this could have been avoided if she just lied, and then she’d actually be able to keep loving and supporting her kids, but, uh, i digress)

this moment really captured me when i was first watching, because for the first time, one piece truly felt dark. this wasn’t just an upsetting backstory. it had some element of gore here, which i’m not sure would be as effective if he went through with a headshot. they might have censored it a bit more.

more (slightly gruesome) photos and analysis beneath the cut 👀

look at what they got away with here!! this was early one piece mind you, so i feel like things were generally a little cushier? (or maybe that’s just my nostalgia talking XD) but the harsh black and white contrast, the utter silence during this scene, the speed in which this happened! (it was a pain to pause and scrub and get good screenshots, let me add). i will say i’m not up to date with current OP shenanigans, but to me, this seems like one of the most abrupt and brutal deaths in the series. (and this doesn’t even put into account the horrid beating she got beforehand)

there are some nice parallels here between her death and rosinante’s, (most notably her last words being “i love you” to nami and nojiko, and a flintlock as the weapon of choice), but even then, i think this is a bit nastier. seven little bullets in a 10ft tall man is painful, yes, but it wasn’t gruesome, and he managed to cling onto life for a little while afterwards. this was just. bang. done. heart – gone. leaves the viewer totally reeling.

in a way i feel like it’s almost an honor for bell-mère to get such a violent death? okay hear me out i know that sounds crazy. she sacrificed herself for her kids and went out kicking and screaming (or standing solemnly, towards the end). she brought forth such a refreshing take on women in one piece. i mean, let’s not forget this scene:

she was gonna blow his brains out!! zero hesitation!! how many characters in this series, let alone women, would go through something like this? i get that different characters have different honor codes and such, but it was sooo incredibly invigorating to see a woman get her hands dirty like this.

so by that logic, it’s kind of weirdly nice to see her not be treated like a little doll? this is highly speculative though, because i’ve noticed there’s this rather annoying trend where women are used as a moral compass for villains. “oh, look how deplorable arlong is, he did that to a young pretty woman!” we see the same thing with doflamingo, for instance, in his “fight” with viola. “oh how heinous, he threw her to the ground! how disrespectful! she’s just an innocent princess!” yeah, ugh. getting off tangent here

this whole scene set a standard for me, (and hopefully other viewers), who kind of saw the series as a fun lighthearted pirate adventure. yes, there was tragedy and sadness before this arc, before this backstory, but something about this moment in particular made my perception tremble. the bar was raised! a compelling character and backstory can have a truly harrowing ending!! a delightful revelation for me, for whatever reason XD

feel free to chime in if ya got any additional comments or takes on the matter. i don’t think bell-mère gets enough love. if you do wanna chime in, just um. be nice. i’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, okay. and multiple interpretations of these scenes are valid! i’d love to hear ‘em! <3

#one piece analysis #because i’m upset and i need to distract myself #this is my first proper unprompted analysis too so go easy on me #i just like the tangerine lady #i think she’s neat #bell mere #bell mère #bellemere one piece #bellemere #she has so many tags #arlong park

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metamorphosisff · 9 months

Text

|Chapter 17| Spread Your Wings

The dark cloud that had been hovering over me had started to dissipate last week around the same time I met with a therapist for the first time. My reaction to Trevor tearing my apartment to shreds did not stop at pulling away from Xavier. The week after I barely went outside out of work and spent hours in bed crying. Crying because one man’s entitlement had upended so much, most importantly the illusion that I was keeping it together. Mari was not having that though and after exactly seven days after that she stormed into my apartment to shake me out of it. That day we went shopping all over downtown Brooklyn to get new things for the living room. We were even able to find small vials for the remaining ashes of my grandmother I managed to save. It was what I needed to start feeling human but I went through the motions the following week. It wasn’t until Jazz dragged us to some off Broadway play that I slowly realized I owed it to myself to get help. So I started therapy because a wise man once told me talking about my problems might make them easier to get through.

Sweeping a glance over my apartment as I got my purse together, my mind projects Xavier standing before me with those eyes glossed over in as much pain as I was in. Taking a deep breath, I shake away the memory. I prayed he was doing okay because for the moment it felt safer to keep my distance. I had put too much onto him which was not fair. He had his own problems to contend with and expecting him to add mine into the mix wasn’t sensible. That did not mean his absence wasn’t felt though because a day had yet to go by without me thinking of him.

The sound of my phone ringing with an incoming Facetime made me roll my eyes. I was trying to head out and get some food but that would have to wait because it was Lonso who was calling. We haven’t spoken in a few weeks so there was no way I could miss his call without him going off on a tangent in our text thread.

“Hey,” I greeted, once his bronze face filled the screen. His curls were shorn close to the scalp in the way military men often sported their hair. He was dressed in uniform and sitting in a nondescript office with a pair of slate gray AirPod Maxes over his ears. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I was just thinking about you and decided to call. I am surprised you answered though since you seem to specialize in dodging me,” he said, with a pointed stare.

“Don’t make me regret doing so by being an ass,” I said, with a roll of my eyes which he chuckles at.

“I’m fucking with you, partly. I worry about you and it doesn’t always show in the best of ways,” he said.

“That’s putting it modestly. You are overbearing at best and a pain in the ass at least. There is never any in between with you. I can’t handle that,” I said, finally coming clean about why I avoided conversations with him. Well, one of the reasons. The main reason.

“Cause you be hiding shit when I can help you. Like why Mari had to tell me about what that nigga did?” Lonso asked, folding his hands in front of him. His frustration was slow to start, opposite of mine which was explosive but I can tell he was trying to remain calm so we could have a full conversation. “Like what the fuck Jamila? You know I would have found a way to come up here.”

“And do what? He’s locked up and not coming out for a long ass time. I handled it,” I said, raking my hand over tangled curls. My hair hadn’t been a priority lately but it needed to become one. I made a mental note to take care of it while Lonzo shook his head at me.

“Be there! I could have helped you clean up and replace stuff. What happened was scary as fuck and to hear about it from someone else days later hurt. I can’t lie,” Lonzo said.

“I’m not trying to hurt you on purpose. I’m just used to doing things by myself and asking for help is hard because I don’t like being let down,” I said.

There had been so many times when I was a teenager that I asked for help and people always feel short or never fully followed through. After a few times I realized the only person I could count on in this world was me. Life became easier once I accepted that I had to make sure I was okay at the end of the day. While I did have some help from Mari, I tried not to lean on her too much because raising Papi was a lot. With her I was decisive about what I decided to let her in on as not to worry her. It never even crossed my mind to tell Lonzo about what happened because he wasn’t in my daily orbit. He had been reduced to unanswered calls and texts I’d sometimes reply to depending on my mood.

Nodding his head, he said, “I get that but I haven’t let you down. Anything I ever said I was going to do, I did even when I was broke.”

That was true especially when I was in college and struggling to feed myself after paying rent. Lonzo found a way to send me a hundred dollars every two weeks until I got a better job. Almost a whole year he did that. When I got the flu bad one year he came up from Virginia to take care of me because Mari, having a toddler at the time, couldn't. However it was during that time that he decided he had to hover over every decision I made.

“Our parents made some terrible decisions that affected us differently and I hate that you got the shorter end of the stick. The one thing they did right was us though. I don’t want us to keep on the way we are, sniping at each other because we used to be close. If you died with our relationship being like it is…,” he stopped to take a deep breath. Lonso wasn’t an emotional person so to see his eyes redden caused mine to as well.

He looked away from the screen for a second but I caught the way his bottom lip trembled and immediately I felt bad.

“I thought about that too,” I said, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t want to fight with you Lonso, I swear I don’t but I need you to be my brother, not my de facto parental figure. I’m grown now and yes sometimes I struggle but I always find my way.”

“You do and I’m not taking that from you but there’s no harm in letting other people walk beside you. I worry about you, I haven’t stopped worrying about you since the day we left,” Lonso said.

That had been a shitty day because Ms. Lena didn’t let anyone know the day of the move. Later she explained that she didn’t want to be talked out of her decision or be further manipulated by my parents. When I got older, I somewhat understood where she was coming from but that didn’t take away from how cruel the act was. Our father had to physically rip Lonzo from me because even at fourteen he knew what leaving would mean.

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. Guess that means I should listen huh?” I said, causing him to smirk.

“That’s exactly what that shit means,” he cracked.

“I’m going to do better,” I said, drumming my fingers on the counter top.

“Me too MiMi, me too.”

Hearing my childhood nickname doesn’t make me cringe like it normally does when he uses it. For the first time in a long time, we smile at each other.

It’s late at night and try as I might, I can not fall asleep which isn’t a surprise. Insomnia had been a dear friend ever since the tornado known as Trevor ripped through my apartment. He took away my ability to feel safe in the home I grew up in and I would hate him forever for that. Having enough tossing and turning, I get up and slide on some sweatpants. Grabbing my keys and phone, I head across the hall to let myself into Mari’s apartment. The light in the living room is on but everything else is off leaving the apartment quiet with the exception of humming appliances. Out of habit, I pad my way down the hallway and stop at the first door on the left. Slowly I turn the knob and find Papi with a sheet over his and a glow coming from a screen alongside the sounds of a video game. Flipping on the light, I watch amused as he quickly pokes his head out.

“Auntie?” he questions, eyes blinking to adjust to the light. He takes one look at me and knows something is off but like the intuitive kid he is, doesn’t press me. Instead he lifts his Switch in the air. “You tryna play?”

“Hell yeah,” I said, walking over to sit beside him.

“If I win, can I stay up for at least another hour?” he asks, knowing I’m about to tell him this is his last round of whatever he’s playing.

“Yes but if I win, it’s light out. It’s already going on eleven and your mom will kill us both if you're still up when she gets home,” I said.

“True,” he said, as he passed me a controller. Propping up the Switch, I see we’re playing Mario Kart. “I couldn’t sleep though.”

“Me either. Anything in particular on your mind?” I ask, as he starts the round.

“Yeah I was thinking about how our building needs better security. Like if our door downstairs actually locked how it was supposed to that nig- I mean that bum wouldn’t have been able to do what he did,” Papi said.

“Maybe,” I said, trying to figure out how to approach this conversation with him. “But I don’t want you worrying about that okay?”

“I can’t help it. That was messed up and I hope your boyfriend beats his ass,” Papi said.

I tear my eyes away from the screen just in time to see the serious expression etched across his features. His eyebrows are sunken as his lips twist to the side.

“Xavier is not my boyfriend and stop cursing,” I said.

“Yes he is, he takes you out and makes you happy. He also buys me stuff by the way. Can you tell him I’d like some more X-Men stuff?” he asked.

“I’ll see what I can do Papi but I make no promises,” I said.

“I’ll take that,” Papi says, causing me to chuckle.

We end up going for best out of three when he wins the first but in the end I let him have his extra hour. With one last warning for him to keep his eye on the clock because I will deny agreeing to let him stay up if caught, I leave him to his lonesome and go into the living room.

As I snuggle into the couch to wait for Mari to come home, my phone vibrates against my thigh where it is resting. Seeing Xavier’s name on the screen on the text notification sends my heart racing against my chest. Papi spoke him up and he must have heard it from wherever he was. My hands grow sweaty as I unlock my phone to read the message.

Hey, I know you still taking your time but I just want you to know that I love you and I miss you. I especially miss you talking during our Marvel marathon. I think I miss your snoring too (not the sound but knowing you're that close). Nothing and I mean nothing, will ever change that baby. I’m here. Take your time.

Hot tears splash onto the screen by the time I have reread the message for the tenth time. A weight is removed slightly from my shoulders but there is no real reprieve. I want so badly to call him but I toss my phone to the side. I’m not ready to talk to him but I should be.

The scent of Jam fills the air as Mari takes a rat tail comb and makes another part in the back of my head. After waking up and sending Papi outside to play, we decided today would help each other with our hair. I had touched up the bleach on her roots once we finished eating breakfast and now she was returning the favor. I turned my phone over and over in my hands contemplating what I was going to say to Xavier. Contemplating if I was ready to say something at all. I had resolved that he should hear from me last night and thought sleeping on it would help me get there. All I’ve managed to do is lament on the fact that in a dark moment I pushed him away instead of embracing the lifeline he was tossing me. I did not have to face the aftermath of Trevor’s destructive behavior alone but I chose to because cleaning up other people’s messes alone was second nature to me. I did not want to have an audience but that’s not what he was offering. He was offering a helping hand and it took me longer than it should have to realize that.

“I miss him,” I sighed, raking my hand over the few finished braids Mari had placed over my shoulder.

“So call him,” Mari said, as that was the simplest thing ever after the month of silence between us. The text he sent last night still has my heart racing and made me realize how much I miss his presence in my life. “And before you start, no, it’s really not that hard.”

I open my mouth to respond but my phone ringing in my hands steals my attention. A picture of Jazz and I fills the screen with an incoming Facetime call. I hit the green button to accept it and in seconds, she’s filling the screen with a full beat face and a slicked back black ponytail.

“You called right on time Jazz, your daughter is in here tripping,” Mari says, peeking from behind me.

Jazz cackles while I shoot Mari a side eye which she ignores with a mush of my head and a command to keep my head down. I adjust how I’m holding the phone, lowering it further into my lap so that Jazz can see my face and Mari can braid comfortably.

“Gon’ head and tell me what’s going on Birdie. I see it all over your face,” Jazz said, adjusting her AirPod. I can tell she’s on break at the center she works at because this is when she usually calls me to check in or to confirm any upcoming plans.

“Xavier texted me last night and it made me realize that I miss him…a lot actually,” I sighed.

“I’m not hearing the problem. Not only has Mr. Clipboard been respecting the space you asked for but he didn’t take it as a dismissal. He probably reaffirmed that he loved you, right?” Jazz asked.

I nodded my head and am reminded by Mari, gently putting it at the right angle to keep still. “He did but-

“But what?” Mari sighed exasperatedly behind me. “You love that nigga real bad.”

“And do,” Jazz chimed in, causing them to laugh.

“But,” I said, over them, “I blinked and a month went by y’all. There are things broken in me that I thought I could ignore but I can’t and I don’t know if time will ever fix it. He doesn’t deserve the mess that I am.”

“Now that ain’t never been a kept secret baby girl and Xavier has always known that you have some baggage. I’m sure he has his own because we all have our shit Birdie but that’s a lazy excuse to push him away. It sounds like you have let your fear get comfortable in the driver's seat,” Jazz said, instantly calling me to task.

She has a keen sense of knowing when I’m stepping around an answer. Where Mari has gotten used to waiting me out, Jazz has no patience for it.

“I’m afraid that one day he’s going to decide that he can’t handle me or my shit. Like he’ll realize maybe I’m not worth the trouble after all and I know how fucked up that sounds. My therapist says it’s easy to talk ourselves out of a good thing but I don’t know. It keeps me up at night because I have never been loved like he loves me and we have only scratched the surface of what we could be,” I said.

“Your therapist is right. Love is a risk, being vulnerable and open is a risk, not loving at all is a risk. Everything in life comes with a risk even the choice to do nothing is a risk because you might miss out on your person or an opportunity. Ultimately you have to decide what outcome you can live with,” Jazz said.

“Right, and missing out on Xavier will be one of the dumbest things you have ever done and I’ve watched you shave your eyebrows off,” Mari added.

“Regardless of how much he loves you, you have to love yourself and believe you are worthy because your worthiness is eternal. It shows in your attitude, in your walk, in your eyes. Some days will be harder than others to do so but you have to,” Jazz said.

“Sure do and Mila, babe putting Xavier to the side for a moment, you have been more mindful lately. Less snappy and more patient. That little orange vest stint put some things in perspective for you and he came along while you were already in motion,” Mari said.

“I’m trying but I feel like that shit with Trevor’s dumb ass set me back because bad things keep happening and I realize I never had a break. There is always something and I want there to be peace so bad. In order for me to be at peace I have to heal but my healing is always interrupted and that makes me want to give up. Why is maintaining change so fucking hard?” I sighed, feeling tears align the bottom of my eyes.

I was sick and tired of crying. Ever since that night I do it easily and it leaves me feeling like a constant torrential downpour. The dam I put up in my teen years had eroded and there was no longer anything between me and my feelings. Though I’m exhausted from crying these last few weeks I let these tears fall too because they feel different. They aren’t sad, they are cleansing.

“Because change is scary but remaining the same keeps you stagnant and you can’t grow that way Birdie. Actually, that’s the quickest way to die. You deserve to live not just survive but live and you are well on your own way. This really is the time to push past against all your fear and hesitation. You’ll be better for it in the long run,” Jazz said.

Not just live but survive.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded my head because Jazz was right. I was taking the steps to better my life by going to job interviews, working on my attitude, trying to fix my relationship with my brother and getting my therapist. I deserved the happiness I got from and with Xavier to balance out all of the rest.

“Y’all are right,” I breathed out. “I just get stuck in my head sometimes and that inner voice is a bitch to drown out.”

“That’s why we’re here. To be loud as hell and tell you to chill the hell out and go get your man,” Mari said, placing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Period. Take life by the reins Birdie and I’ll see y’all for brunch this weekend. Can’t wait to hear how it goes. Toodles,” Jazz says with a quick wave as someone enters her office calling her name. She makes an annoyed expression before slapping on a quick smile which we laugh at as we wave back. Shortly the call disconnects and I lock my phone back.

“I love how she makes plans and just expects us to show up, any other plans or obligations be damned,” Mari giggles as she finishes another braid.

“I’ve learned to embrace it. Her plans have been a bright spot this past month,” I sniffle, as I wipe the last of my tears from my cheeks.

“Agreed, be giving me something to do other than work and cart Papi around,” Mari says, as she makes a new part. “But back to you real quick. Text him back right now. You have had your space but he deserves for his effort to be met with some of your own.”

I nod my head and unlock my phone. “Never thought I’d see the day you would be on a man's side.”

“He’s not just any man, he is the man that returned your real smile. So unless he does something extremely out of pocket, I fuck with him,” Mari said.

Her approval means the world to me because Mari is the only family I see every day. Without her I would be adrift and I haven’t always brought the best people around. Xavier passed both her and Papi’s test without even having to try hard because he’s a genuinely good person. Opening up our text thread I try to type out a message but nothing feels adequate enough.

“What time do you think you’ll be done with my hair?” I asked.

“In like maybe two hours and no, you cannot wait until after I’m done to text him because that defeats the purpose of me saying ‘right now’ girl,” Mari said.

“That’s not why I’m asking. What I need to say, shouldn’t be done through text. I’m going to go see him,” I said, turning around to look at her.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Mari shouts, “Hallelujah! She has awakened with the spirit of common sense.”

“Not too much on me!”

#metamorphosisff #Black Fiction #black romance

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herehavesomeheadcanons · 1 year

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hey, i really liked your jealousy headcanons. Could you do more for the other vamps you're writing for? 👀

Oh ho ho, well if it isn’t the person who thanked me for the Ky content. You’re welcome, by the way. I also think there isn’t nearly enough Ky content, which is why i’m writing it! If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself!

Tw: murder and violence, also just Ferid in general.

Ferid Bathory

🤍♦️ Hoo boy. Hooooooooo boy. Ferid is EXTREMELY territorial. It really doesn’t take much to make him jealous. The perpetrator would have to be human, because no vampire wants to fuck with this bastard. Well… that’s not entirely true. I can’t see Rigr giving much of a shit. (But that is an entirely different can of worms.)

🤍♦️ Let’s get one thing straight. Ferid is not shy in the slightest about pda, not to mention the fucking collar (and probably leash, let’s be honest.) What I’m trying to get at is that EVERYBODY knows who you belong to. Everybody. Which means, the perpetrator can’t feign ignorance as an excuse. He deliberately tried to touch Ferid’s property, and that is unacceptable.

🤍♦️ His mood varies, but the options include: on-the-spot murder, psychological and physical torture, a threateningly polite warning, just *ahem* “claiming” you as his right then and there, or all of the above. Go ahead and spin the wheel, if you’re feeling lucky!

🤍♦️ Ferid is actually one of the scariest vampires out there. Not in a quiet, intimidating way like Urd, he’s more like an unpredictable wildfire. Anyone who spends even a single minute in his presence can tell that he is NOT one to be crossed. Someone would have to be downright suicidal to get on his bad side.

Lacus Welt

💜✨ He’s also very territorial, but can’t afford to be as loud about it as Ferid can. He’s not a noble, after all. That doesn’t stop him from being grumpy about it, however.

💜✨ If the douche is a vampire, which is unlikely, he’ll just stand there and glare and hope he leaves. Since drinking directly from a human is kind of illegal, he can’t really explain your complicated relationship to this other vampire who may or may not rat him out.

💜✨ Once you get home, Lacus will whine and rant about the other guy. Like, he will go on a full-on TANGENT about how disrespectful the guy was. He’ll probably also demand attention from you. You might want to just go along with it, he can be pretty whiney when he’s upset. Just hold him and reassure him that he’s the only vampire for you, he’ll calm down eventually.

💜✨ If the perpetrator is human, however, that’s another thing entirely. Unlike Ferid, Lacus is very predictable. On-the-spot murder is his go-to. No words, no threats, just fucking decimate the bastard. If that guy says even ONE THING that comes across as ‘a little too friendly’, Lacus will strike him down faster than a snake.

💜✨ Again, once you get home, Lacus will non-stop talk shit about the other guy. However, this time, it’ll be more gloating than sulking. Just pretend to be interested in what he’s saying. He’ll be too wrapped up in ranting about how stupid that human was to notice that you’re only half-listening.

Rene Simm

🖤♦️ Now here’s an interesting one. Rene is secretly VERY possessive, but he’s VERY good a hiding it. A master tsundere, this one. Like Lacus, he can’t afford to be loudly possessive.

🖤♦️ If the bastard is a vampire, which is still unlikely, he’ll pretend like he doesn’t care. Deep down he’s absolutely seething with rage, but nobody will ever be able to tell. You’ll probably notice that he does, however, act a bit grumpier than usual.

🖤♦️ If the perpetrator is human, that’s a different story entirely. Sure, he’ll pretend he doesn’t care. He’ll look the other way and ignore it entirely. It isn’t wise to plot murder out loud, which is why Rene is so quiet. He’ll wait until the opportune moment, and then it’s all over. No one will ever find the body.

🖤♦️ Similar to Urd, Rene is quietly intimidating. It’s always the quiet ones that you gotta watch out for, and this emo is no exception. Since he doesn’t have the power or status to openly challenge anyone who talks to you, he has to take a more creative and sneaky approach. Thusly, he plans and executes a murder worthy of a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.

🖤♦️ Eventually people will begin to catch on to the fact that anyone who gets a little too close to you disappears forever. After that, they start to leave you alone. You, of course, will never even know about all the murders. Rene will make sure of it.

Ky Luc

I adore low quality Ky- lookit his litol face-

🔹🤎 Surprisingly enough, he’s not all that territorial, so to speak. He just doesn’t like that you’re paying attention to someone other than him. He wants you to be talking to HIM and making HIM laugh, not some random human.

🔹🤎 He will simply insert himself into whatever conversation you’re having. If the other person takes offense, that’s their problem. Ky wants your attention and he’s going to get it. If the other guy continues trying to fight for your attention, however, things might escalate.

🔹🤎 There likely won’t be any murder taking place (thankfully), but Ky has another trick up his sleeve. He’ll just foil all his opponent’s efforts to command your attention. He can keep this up for as long as it takes to frustrate the other person into leaving. He has a knack for annoying people!

🔹🤎 If he’s feeling impatient, he might just verbally berate the jerk. Having Urd as a role model has made him quite good with his words! He can eloquently tell this other person to fuck off, and make THEM feel bad about ruining his afternoon with you. All while never dropping his wide-eyed smile!

🔹🤎 Not wanting to disappoint Urd has made Ky a master at creative, non-violent solutions. And his natural curiosity and slightly bastardly nature have made him an expert at getting on people’s nerves!

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9w1ft · 10 months

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the "gatekeep" anon here!

i fully agree with your response, please never apologise for going on tangents because i'm always intrigued to hear more of your perspective & insight!

i recall the influx of kaylors specifically during the midnights era — the memes were hilarious, but you can tell that things can go wrong and disrupt the flow of the river when people start going about kaylorism the wrong way: expecting taylor and/or karlie to come out, spamming karlie's instagram with taylor references, etc. — such actions that put the two in an uncomfortable spot.

being a gaylor or kaylor is not at all easy to say the least. while it's up to people how they want to approach this community with what sort of goals, i personally spectate the chaos unfold like a scholar or an archaeologist examining traces of history left by our ancestors to get a glimpse into their life rather than a tv show viewer rooting for the couple to end up together or a detective wanting to catch the culprit; for me, as a kaylor & gaylor, it's much easier for me and on my mental health & day-to-day life to engage with this community through the lens of what the past has to tell us rather than speculating what will happen in the future. spares you a lotta heartbreak, i learned the hard way.

there's no "right" or "wrong" way to be a gaylor as long as you're respectful to everybody involved. regardless of how the folklore deepens in the mainstream media, i will always appreciate us 22 kaylors on tumblr having something special to cherish :)

aww thanks anon! i do love to answer asks like this so thank you to you and everyone for sending them ☺️

i think there are many people who have taken a similar approach to you in terms of how to interact with or engage with kaylor and i think can be a really effective approach. i think that, maybe there was a time or era for taylor where she might have been specifically angling towards some sort of big goal, and while maybe she still is in some capacity, she is simply in a different season of life now and i have been trying to give her evolving approach to celebrity more grace and acknowledgment.

😆 i’ve definitely learned the hard way too, but, i think it gives some of us unique insight.. informs our perspective. i hope to grow with taylor and karlie.

you know, i remember at the beginning of her surprise song speech on glendale night one, before mirrorball, taylor talked about how she craves our (the audience’s) love and i thought about mastermind and the line “no one wanted to play with me as a little kid so i’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love me and make it seem effortless” and i remember thinking, i think part of easter egging and getting us to look and laugh at her is notably important to her, but how that must be getting increasingly harder as the world has become more and more volatile at the same time as she has taken on more and more personal and weighty and complex goals..

during anti-hero, when she walked right in front of where pro and i were standing, my schemes of making my eye sign wink at her melted and my cellphone dropped and all i wanted to do was reach out to her in that moment and tell her, i love you unconditionally. and i wanted to tell her that i don’t ever want her to think that she needs to give us consistency or clarity in order for us to want to stick around. of course, it was only a few precious seconds so… all that happened is we both got to sing “i’m the problem it’s me” to one another but… in some weird way it felt like the epitome of it. of all this. to be able to smile and laugh and say, hey, we’re not perfect but we both know it. why not make a lark of it?

i know the symbolism of the taylor on the big screen screaming to be noticed and how it represents this idea of taylor the presenter being focused on while taylor the gay person couldn’t been bigger yet gets ignored time and time again, and i get that and i agree with that, i think that’s very much her intention. but there was something about being present for the physically real taylor in that moment, trying to be every version of herself at once, that i’ve tried to keep in my mind when thinking about how i want to kaylor going forward.

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gladiatorofthevoid · 1 year

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Rise April Art Challenge: Day 7 Nonsense

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Ao3 link: here

(I was sick yesterday, so I had to skip that day’s prompt. I might try again at the end of the month. Please enjoy.)

The sound of fake lasers and explosions are just barely audible from Leo’s spot on the couch. It’s late and he doesn’t want to keep anyone up with the sounds of Jupiter Jim’s saving the world. Besides he’s watched this movie so many times he can resight it by heart.

It’s just getting into another of the long action seance since when his phone’s alarm starts blaring. Leo feels himself slip into doctor mode the second he hears it. The slider stands, shutting off the alarm, and heading to Mikey’s room.

His littlest brother, for all his claims that he can take care of himself, had decided to razzmatazz a little too hard and had ended up with a concussion. Leo had taken on the responsibility of waking the little orange one up every few hours. His insomnia was acting up again anyways, so it wasn’t so bad.

Entering the room, Leo blinked when he saw the empty bed. There was a moment of panic, before he turned and saw him on the other side of the room staring at the wall above his bed. It, like the rest of the room, was covered in bright colors and paint. But there was nothing more than that. Leo walked over to his brother and squatted next to him.

“Hey, bud. What you doing?” Mikey turned to him; eyes unfocused but with a soft smile.

“I’m tracking the goldfish.” He slurred. Leo blinked. Ok, that wasn’t great.

“Ok... I’m going to ask you some questions, alrighty?” Mikey nodded. “Ok, what year is it?” His little brother paused for a moment, then turned to Leo with absolute confidence and said:

“The one that’s bee like, but without the pink sickness.” There was silence, then...

“Oh, boy Mike. This is worse than I thought.” Mikey blinked and stared at his brother before continuing with his concussed rambling.

“Do you think that you can see lines that have never been there? Or will never be?” Yeah, Leo needs to stay with Mikey till the others wake up.

“I don’t know.” Leo answers, deciding that he can deal with a little nonsense while he waits for everyone to wake up.

“I don’t think I can. But Donnie can see jumps even when nothing moves so maybe we can if we look the right way.” Leo just nods and leans against the wall.

The next few hours are filled with Mikey talking about a whole range of topics. Some of which Leo can’t understand even a little, things like: bell heads, blanket laws, the power of purple elephants. But some of the things that are mentioned are worrying. Like when he says that Leo should never ever be called Green, with a look of such fear and grief on his face. Or when he whippers that he doesn’t want to crack into dust. It thankfully doesn’t last long, because he’s always running off on another tangent by the time Leo is trying to sort out what is being said.

In a few hours the rest of the family will be up to help, and in a few days, Mike will be right as rain and when Leo brings up what he said the younger will just be confused and say that he can’t remember saying anything like that. After that, it will fade from their memories and will never be thought of again.

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Ao3 Link: Here

Please check out @zee-rambles who came up with this challenge. And take a look at @rise-april-art-challenge for other submissions. Please give feedback if I need to work on something.

#unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise april art challenge #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt leo

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legendaryprofessorwisteria · 1 year

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Hey Professor!

I'm a Galarian trainer, and I've come across one type of those odd Paldean pokémon.. well, two but I'll get to the second one eventually. You're gonna need some context

First is the purple Cyclizar-esque lizard. It kind of crashed into my balcony window and I found it in my apartment after getting home from work. (Quick background for me is that I specialize in dragon-type pokemon rehabilitation (from injuries, etc.), and specialize in pseudo-legendary/legendary pokémon, so I had a general idea of what to do.) It wasn't hostile to me— most likely since my partner Dragapult was watching it, but the poor guy was startled and hungry.

Long story short, I managed to catch it after befriending the big guy with sandwhiches. (Perhaps they're food motivated?) They're currently in an ultra ball sitting on my bed as I'm typing this.

Now for the question—

Were you aware of an orange variant? It has white feathers, a throat sac that inflates to resemble a wheel and is around the same size as the purple one? It looks like Cyclizar, but almost dinosaur/fossil pokemon-esque. Similar to the odd Jiggilypuff in a way.

It is also in an ultra ball, it was.. surprisingly very friendly, almost like a dog pokémon. I have a set of clothes in the wash that were covered in drool. No idea how it got in, but there it is.

The purple one will be named 'Jelly', and I've decided to call the orange one 'Peanut Butter' in order not to freak anyone out if I ever mention these two.

Sorry for the long ask, I believe these two occurances should be made known to you.

— Aster

Anon, you may be the luckiest person alive, and it sounds like you were precisely the right person for these two to run into. Thank you so much for telling me about this! What an experience you've had there. I'll respond more - because long post and spoilers - under a cut. I will say now though, we do know about the orange variant!

The two Pokemon you met are formally called Koraidon (the orange one), a Fighting/Dragon type, and Miraidon (the purple one), an Electric/Dragon type. For reference, this is what they look like:

They may look slightly different from the ones you encountered, but that is because these Pokemon are able to take on different forms - much like Cyclizar can stand up on two legs to battle or go on all fours and move quickly, these Pokemon can assume these forms for battle or move around quickly in their other forms. For reference on those forms, I've been sent these wonderful photos from Paldea, where a couple Trainers actually managed to catch both a while back, but their existence was kept between a select few people until these Paradox Pokemon started running rampant (that's how we know so much about them).

Side tangent real quick...aren't they adorable? By Arceus if these things end up being legal to own I might have to put my present plans on hold.

Ahem, that aside, these two are remarkably calmer and more tractable than the other Paradox Pokemon, which was probably why they were receptive to being calmed down by you. They have a confirmed genetic resemblance to Cyclizar, which may have something to do with it - a running theory is that Koraidon is from the past and Miraidon from the future, and because Cyclizar is so remarkably tame and intertwined with human history, the human-friendliness of Cyclizar is also true of its past and future forms! And yes, it does seem that all three are very food-driven.

However...they are also by far the strongest of the Paradox Pokemon, and evidence suggests they command some form of innate authority over others from their time period, akin to a lot of Legendary Pokemon. The lab is actually getting a pair of them and several other Paradox Pokemon that got caught/taken down shipped in soon to test the theory - and because I have a tamed Iron Moth, I'll get to be part of it! Very exciting. So you're very lucky your encounter with these two went so well.

I'd still recommend calling it in to your local professor/s or people who work with Legendaries if you can - we need all the help and info we can get!

#paradox event #paradox pokemon #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon scarlet and violet spoilers #koraidon #miraidon #in character #wisteria answers #cyclizar

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markantonys · 2 years

Text

path of daggers chapter 7-20

perrin seeing a woman who looks exactly like an older version of elayne getting all huffy about andor and the lion throne: huh, wonder who she could be

for real, if perrin had hung out with his best friend’s girlfriend one (1) time in tear he totally would’ve heard the name lini, or if he’d hung out more with mat and asked about his trip to the palace he would’ve heard the name tallanvor (pretty dumb of morgase’s party to not ALL go by fake names just in case), and he would right now know exactly what’s what. talking to your friends saves lives, people! this also goes to show how cut off perrin is from the other characters - rand, mat, egwene, or nynaeve would’ve either recognized morgase on sight or would’ve quickly pieced it together from having heard elayne talk about her mom and lini.

i’m hankering sooooo bad for a trakand family reunion now that they’ve all gone down/been forced down such different paths. the 3 kids especially - 1 being a whitecloak, 1 a tower aes sedai ally, and 1 a rebel aes sedai means they’re all 3 on opposing sides of each other, and i really want to see that dug into beyond the brief elayne and galad encounter in book 5. i’m dyyyyying for elayne and gawyn in particular to cross paths again, it would hurt like a BITCH and boy do i want that pain (although, poor gawyn, elayne is his raison d’etre in his pov and in her pov elayne NEVER thinks about him lmao). give me my Siblings Torn Apart By War angst!

i am probably the only person in the entire history of the world to read wheel of time and think “you know what this needs? MORE gawyn.” i just think he’s neat.

tallanvor is so annoying to me and i don’t know why. i just can’t stand him for some reason. genuinely think it might be a lingering grudge from that one time 5 books ago when he scolded mat for putting a flower in his hair. anyone who denies my boys the opportunity to wear flowers in their hair is my enemy for life (looking at you, green man).

me, knowing full well that mat is not in this book and is nowhere near ghealdan, reading that perrin sees a man in a broad-brimmed hat approaching: [beyonce meme voice] MAT???

but it turns out to be elyas. also pretty dope, i will admit! i’ve been wondering if we’d ever see him again. whoa i 100% forgot he used to be a warder.

we learn for the first time that the warder bond can be masked and that this is handy for sex. perrin is shook to realize that aes sedai fuck sometimes jfkgh

“i love her! why would i shout at her?” aww perrin ❤️ this is the most reasonable thing any wheel of time character has ever said on the subject of romantic relationships lmao also, elyas is the king of showing up out of the blue and infodumping key knowledge to help out perrin’s life, first with the wolf stuff and now with saldaean culture (although i thought perrin already figured this out from meeting faile’s parents so i’m not sure why he’s still like “wait, faile wants me to lose my temper sometimes????”)

tangent but i’ve seen many people annoyed that elyas was pushed to s2, arguing that it delayed perrin’s storyline, but i disagree. in the book it was SO RANDOM how this wolf guy just showed up and was like “hey kid you can talk to wolves” before perrin had even noticed anything on his own. i much prefer the show’s approach of perrin figuring it out a little by himself in s1 and then getting a proper mentor in s2 (at least according to casting speculation). and say what you will about laila and all that, but it 100% gave perrin a real and scary reason to be afraid of violence and his own strength, as opposed to book perrin who’s just like “i’m Very Big and that could cause problems if i’m not careful.”

faile telling perrin under her breath what to say so that he’ll look smart in front of alliandre hjkfg girlboss/malewife rights! they really are such a wonderful ship at their best, it’s a shame their worst is so bad.

alliandre going “wow perrin is so good at daes dae’mar” when perrin was actually spending the entire conversation thinking “oh my god i have no idea what’s going on faile help” this is such tgh rand energy i love it

“if not for perrin, faile thought she might actually have liked [berelain]” god i want that.............what is the POINT of this love triangle which 2 of 3 parties don’t want to be involved in! why can’t berelain and faile just become friends!

constantly annoyed by how the Bad Aiel Women (sevanna & co) all Wear Too Much Jewelry and Expose Too Much Bosom and Care Too Much About Silks, and how this is brought up every 5 sentences during every single scene they’re in

“[cadsuane] had not met many people she considered formidable, but sorilea was one. perhaps even a match for herself, in some ways.” game recognizes game! if only lini could be here to complete the trio

“strong endures; hard shatters.” “[rand] confuses them. he needs to be strong, and makes himself harder. too hard, already, and he will not stop until he is stopped. he has forgotten how to laugh except in bitterness; there are no tears left in him.” 😭😭😭😭 baby boy............

“the storm was coming? light, [rand] was the storm!” SEXY!!!! as always, rand pulling rank and yelling at people and ordering them around is 🥵

i yearn for soft rand. i’m wildly into hard rand. i contain multitudes.

literally sobbing over rand being close-ish to ebou dar and knowing that the seanchan have taken it over. go stop them! go rescue mat! be his knight in shining armor!

rand sits on a table, Rand Bisexual Sitting counter +1. man i can’t wait to watch josha’s rand sprawling about in chairs wearing fancy silk coats. and pulling rank and yelling at people. that’s gonna Awaken something in me.

nice to catch up a bit with the black tower, if by letter instead of in person. kinda wish rand had spent more time there so we could’ve seen more of what the training is like. we learn that a lot of them are either dying in training or are slipped poison in their wine after showing signs of madness 💔

rand hears about the damage done by elayne’s unweaving, though he doesn’t know the cause. UGH (avi)matrandlayne are all SO CLOSE to each other and yet so far! it hurts!!! fuck you, pattern! weave them back together right now!

“not a mild tone - [rand] could not manage that - yet heartening, he hoped.” 😭 “you’ll be with me to the last battle. i promise it.” i’ll admit i accidentally saw the fate of the character he’s addressing (if i’m remembering the name right) while flipping to the end to see how many pages the book was, but even if i hadn’t that’s a Character Death Toll if ever i saw one lmao

“rand had not realized he had spoken any of his thoughts aloud.” this happens SO MUCH in these books and i go crazy every time. no one does that in real life! in all my 25 years on this earth i have never once had a train of thought, heard someone respond to it, and went “oh gee i didn’t realize i’ve actually been talking out loud this entire time.” agh! i guess rand maybe gets a pass for potential madness reasons, but for all other characters this happens to there’s no excuse!

egwene’s dream: “rand wearing different masks, until suddenly one of those false faces was no longer a mask, but him.” 🗡️💔

“recently all of her dreams about mat were pale and full of pain, like shadows cast by nightmares, almost as though mat himself were not quite real. that made her afraid for him, left behind in ebou dar, and gave her agonies of grief for sending him there” mat my baby 😭😭😭 mat and egwene’s friendship is so good, there really is so much love there. and nynaeve too with her grief about leaving mat behind earlier. kinda makes me laugh how mat is way more besties with egwene and nynaeve than with his alleged Actual Bestie perrin, who has not thought about him for several books and vice versa.

hilarious how everyone was so upset about the hot weather but now that winter’s back they’re like “no actually this sucks.” mat didn’t have his life ruined in ebou dar for this! show some gratitude you bastards!

egwene’s like “we gotta get rid of the three oaths, i love lying” lmao bless her. interesting debate with egwene pointing out rightly that the oaths will put them at a severe disadvantage against the seanchan and that being able to lie has helped her and siuan immensely vs. siuan pointing out rightly that the oaths are the only thing that keeps aes sedai in check and gives the general public any trust in them.

“where was gawyn? was he well? was he warm?” egwene being extremely relatable! (to nobody but me)

the Year of the Four Amyrlins! my inner roman history nerd is delighted

talmanes and other band members have Felt that mat needs them, a tugging south towards him, whoa! i think this is the first instance of a non-rand ta’veren pull. now if only mat would pull rand and elayne to him............

egwene smacks down the hall and makes them declare official war on elaida. YES so satisfying to see egwene showing them how steely she is after all this time of pretending to be weak and easily manipulated!

elayne rides mandarb with aviendha behind her, arms around her waist 🥰 interesting that elayne is sharing a horse with aviendha instead of with her warder (who’s sharing with nynaeve) 👀 i’m going to continue my Wingman Birgitte vision and say that this was birgitte’s idea as a matchmaking attempt.

“she and aviendha combed and brushed one another’s hair - a nightly ritual for near-sisters” your daily reminder that the maidens also told rand that his brushing aviendha’s hair would be considered an intimate romantic gesture “and then they snuggled tiredly into the canopied bed in a small room.” BEDSHARING!!!!! 📣📣📣 BEDSHARING BEDSHARING oh wait nynaeve and birgitte are also sharing that single bed with them. but still, BEDSHARING! man remember the cauthor bedsharing days of eotw? i miss it.

elayne complains about nynaeve’s elbows while sleeping and says that “birgitte flatly refused to change places, and [elayne] could not ask aviendha to endure the woman’s sharp prodding” not even Asking your gf to put up with your friend’s sleep-elbowing, THAT is true love! and i bet part of the reason why elayne doesn’t ask is bc she knows aviendha would trade places without hesitation, THAT is ALSO true love!

“with nynaeve and [elayne] and the other sisters at the head [of the riding party]. and aviendha, of course.” aviendha is just a given in elayne’s mind now 🥰

while traveling through the andoran countryside, in addition to getting info about how much support house trakand has, elayne also wants to learn what the common people’s biggest concerns are 🥰

WHAT on EARTH did elayne DO with that dildo smooth rod ter’angreal that made her wake up in her shift the next morning with everybody amused but refusing to tell her what happened????? give me your theories STAT i must know lmao

we are now 2/3 through the book and nothing’s really happened aside from the bowl being used, avilayne’s exciting escape from the seanchan, and egwene’s war declaration. it hasn’t been boring (aside from some stretches of perrin’s and egwene’s sections) but........nothing..............has happened.

#wot #wot book spoilers

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