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just-some-random-blogger · 9 months

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Yeti

Cregan Stark x Martell!Reader

Summary: Cregan takes you hunting with him and, you get caught up in a snowstorm. Needless to say, the cold is a formidable adversary to your Dornish self.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions/depictions of violence/gore/horror, smut (pwp tbh, semi-public sex, breeding kink, cunninglingus, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, praise kink), cregan 'don't fuckin scare my wife' stark, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: haha head. no thoughts. only wolf hubbie. and ok just roll with the folklore i added just just Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"WHAT?" I quip, breath condensing with the cold air.

The men around me let out deep, hearty chuckles upon hearing my concerned exclamation. Cregan chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. The fire in the middle of our group crackles.

"Aye, I saw it with my own two eyes," the oldest of the men in the hunting party says, "twas the biggest beast I'd ever seen." He scratches his white beard. A shiver runs down my spine. It wasn't just because of the wind.

"Lord Stark," a voice calls from behind, "we've finished setting up the tent."

Cregan turns to the approaching men and nods, "very good. Thank you."

"When mi cousin went missing," I turn to the man by my right as he speaks, "mi aunt saw a seer to ask if they could get 'is body back if 'e was dead," he says, "and, by the gods, instead, that night, there was a loud screech and claw marks on the trees. In the end, they erected a stone for mi cousin without 'is body."

I shudder and wrap myself tighter into my coat.

"D'ya know the story about the headless, lady?"

My expression twists, along with my insides. I shake my head.

"Well," the man continues, "long story short, an entire heard of sheep slowly started losing their heads and there were large footprints that trailed off the farm every time it happened."

I clench my jaw, "... how horrible."

"Aye. Yetis feed messily. They say that if you find sheep organs in the snow, you ought to run cause a Yeti left that there."

Cregan rolls his eyes but then catches the way my face continues to contort.

"Didn't all of the sheep on that farm have their guts gushing out of their necks?"

"I think it also happened to the cows-"

"That's enough," Cregan shakes his head, leaning on his knees, "I will not hear another word of the kills of a snow figments while we're out in the snow."

"But it's not a figment."

"Milord, you know that even your father had an encounter with the Yeti-"

"The Yeti kill mi dog-"

"Enough, I said!" Cregan blurts louder than the rest. He stands from his spot, and in turn, his cloak, which he had wrapped around me, is pulled off my body. He stills, having forgotten he'd done that, and looks down at me, reaching hand, "in the tent with you."

I do not take his hand. I instead grip my furs tighter as I slowly stand. He does not fault me for it, though he does let out a grunt.

The men share another laugh. They watch as I struggle to move from my spot, as I was practically twice my size with all of the layers I had on. Cregan had even given me his outer coat, leaving him one layer less, yet still, he was unfazed where I was practically rigid with frost.

"Poor Dornish cub," one of the men mutter.

Cregan presses his lips together and adjusts the woolen hat on me. He wipes the snowflakes off my lashes before placing a hand on the brown bear fur on my back, "waddle quicker then."

I do not snark back at his remark.

One crunch in the snow after the other, my boots finally take me to the tiny, makeshift tent.

Cregan reaches out to me again, making me look back at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. When I do nothing but stare, he mutters, "the coat, love."

I furrow my brows at him like he called bloody murder, "but I'm cold!"

Cregan blinks then shakes his head, "I'm only going to dust the snow off."

I shake my head and shudder, breath condensing in the air.

He purses his lips and grabs me not unlike a rag doll. I squeak and just let it happen. He brushes the snow off me, muttering something under his breath as he did, then guides me into the tent.

When he kneels down by the makeshift bed on the ground, he and takes off his cloak, "will you be sleeping with the whole wardrobe on you?"

I plop down next to him gracelessly and pant, "if you wish for me to survive through the night."

He draws out a deep breath. It looks as though smoke left his lungs. Cregan makes a pillow out of his cloak and motions to it.

I gratefully lie down, although with all the layers on me, the cloak-pillow was a bit too low. Still, I fluff it up and it suffices well enough.

"Will your men be alright outside?" I mutter as I gaze upon the blanket and fur tent they built.

He grunts as he stands, "there've been worse winters, sunshine." He then begins to walk off.

"Wait," I knit my brows, "where are you going?!"

Cregan turns back and places his hands on his hips, "I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your fur. There's barely enough room for the two of you."

"Cregan."

"Oh, Hush, hush," he waves his gloved hand and moves to close the tent's opening, "I'm keeping watch so my bear cub doesn't get eaten by a Yeti."

"That's not funny."

I hear the sound of his boots stomping away.

It was bad enough that I was shivering intermittently in my sleep, thus why I kept waking up, but then I had an awful nightmare about the gargantuan, white-furred snow monster. Now all I could do was pray to R'hllor that I remain strong enough to get through this storm.

I further solidify when I hear a deep cry from a distance.

... no... not a Yeti. That's simply my mind playing tricks on me.

And yet my heavy eyes are now wide open.

I roll on my back and sit down as I listen to the wisp of the storm, anticipating another shriek.

I sniffle and shudder as dread bubbles in my belly.

"I am not waiting for the Yeti to creep in my tent, gods no," I mutter to myself as I crawl out of my tent on all fours.

As I emerge out of the warm cocoon, I yelp when I look up and find myself faced with a snow covered man laid back on a tree truck. He looked though he was dead. I let out louder yelp when I realize the man was Cregan.

I run to him, no longer caring that cold was seeping through my fur and quickly brush the snow off him. Because of this, Cregan groans and finds consciousness.

"W-"

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" I rub Cregan's face with my hands.

He scowls at me, "is it morning?"

"W-what?"

He groans as he sits up, "dammit, girl, I was sleeping."

"WELL HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN THAT!" I quip, "you look like you were about to make friends with the Stranger."

Cregan grabs my arms as his face slowly contorts, "I'll have you know I am the vision of health, bride."

I let out a sound as he leans in and wraps his arms around me, bringing his face into my neck. The feel of his cold nose against my skin makes me gasp. He mumbles, "so warm."

"Cregan," I brush the building snow on him, "let's go into the tent."

And so we did. Or at least as much as the Stark lord could fit inside.

Once we were situated in the tent, I laid next to Cregan, who kept moving because of his legs that were sticking out. After a while, he began shifting me as well. He pulls me into his chest and claws my coat off, "away with these furs, dammit."

"Cregan, I'm cold."

My words and my attempts to keep myself warm are futile as my hulking husband rips the source of his ire off me, "I can warm you better."

"Cregan, please," I grab his hands when he tries to undo more of my clothes, "it's too cold for this."

I am wholly defenseless when he shifts on his knees and shoves me on my back. He situates himself between my legs and pulls his gloves off, "I'll leave you sweating."

I whimper when I feel cold begin to seep through as he pushes my skirts up, "Cregan-"

"Shh, shh, shh," he digs his finger into my hips, " 'm just going to warm my face. You felt how cold I was."

With a rip, my pants and smallclothes were down. The yelp that leaves me is repeated when I feel Cregan's frosty lips on me.

Cregan sinks down and throws my legs over his shoulders. At this point, his bottom half was sticking outside the tent. That, added to the sounds I was making through my glove-muffled mouth, made for the most obviously obscene act you would ever witness in the woods amidst a storm.

"Come now, pretty girl," he mutters between kisses, "no one will hear you through the wind."

I whimper when he swirls his tongue around my nub.

"And even if they do, they'll know to blame it on the Yeti."

True enough, I begin to grow warmer and warmer, and louder and louder.

"Mmm, fuck, Cregan," I reach down from him and dig my fingers into his hair, "I feel warmer now. So warm."

He hums against me, eliciting a moan from my lips. He sighs hotly on my core then nips at my thigh, "so sweet and soft for me."

I whimper and arch against him as he continues to lap at my increasing wetness. I bite down on my lips as the sound of his feasting fills my ears.

"Cregan," I sigh as I pull on his roots, "need more."

He barely lifts his head and whispers against me, "not warm enough?" His one brow quirks.

"Need you inside me," I mutter, seeing my breath fog up in front of my face.

Cregan chuckles then sigh, "see, you woke me up," he retorts, rubbing his cheek against my thigh, "I'm going to need you to beg for forgiveness first."

I grunt when he sinks back down on me, "please, husband. Forgive me. I'm begging you. I need you."

Cregan chuckles louder, "how wanton, not even putting up a fight--"

"Please," I pull his hair again, "please."

He shakes his head, so very clearly meaning to rub me with his nose, "I'm enjoying this enough already."

"My love, please. I want you in me," I pant."

With that, he sinks down darts his tongue into my folds, making me squeal. He continues at it then makes me yelp when he grazes my flesh. He croons, "like that, pretty girl?"

I whine helplessly as he continues. I can practically feel his grin against me. I scrape his scalp with my fingers, "Cregan."

He chuckles and relents, lifting his head, "oh, what now?"

"I need your cock in my cunt."

He laughs then clicks his tongue, "my, my, Lady Stark. How uncouth. Is how they raise the ladies in Sunspear?"

I let out a whimper when the cold bites my exposed flesh after Cregan pulls away. He presses his fingers into my thighs, "what would you give me if I fucked you, wife?"

I answer exactly as I know he wants, "an heir."

He huffs heavily through his nose and gets on his knees, "just one?" He brings both my legs into one arm as his other works on undoing his trousers.

"As many as you want, my lord."

He hums and eventually frees himself. I sound leaves me when I feel how cold but hard he is, "good girl."

Our groans mix as he sinks into me and pushes my knees into my chest. I feel warm slick on him as he rubs into my chilled cheek. "Fuck. You're so cold," he mutters. He proceeds to pepper kisses all over my face, "let me take care of you."

I reach for his face and begin to grunt when he bucks into me. If it weren't for all of the clothes still on my back, I'd surely have my skin gashed by the end of this.

"Fucking gods," he growls against my temple, "so tight and hot."

He pushes his hands behind my knees and picks up the pace.

I throw my head back and helplessly whine as he slaps into me. He pushes down on me and pins me in place. He pants against my ear, "this warm enough for you?"

"Mmm, gods, yes-"

"Gonna fill you up. Burn my come into you. Make you carry my pups," he licks my skin then nips at me, "make you heavy with my seed. Put so many pretty babes into my pretty bride."

My fingers dig into his hair as his mouth trails down my neck. He asks, "you want that don't you?"

"Yes, wolf."

He gruffs and snaps his hips rough, "good. Good."

I grow warmer as he moves quicker. Soon enough both our bodies are warm to the touch. I peck his cheek and bask in the feel of him. At a point, his movements become erratic and aggressive.

"My pretty cunt. Mine, mine mine."

"Cregan-"

"Yes, darling. I'm here," he sighs, "fucking my pups into your soft belly and warming you up. Feels better than all those fucking pelts right? Warmer. Warmer. Warmer. So fucking warm."

I squeal as I feel myself get pushed on the edge.

"Come on, love, give it up to me."

I whine erratically.

"Come on, pretty girl. Milk my cock and take my cum. Fuck, just like that. Come on. Don't be difficult. Come on, my little-- oh, that's it."

Cregan's movements do not relent as I come undone and spasm beneath him. The knot inside me breaks into a thousand pieces and I'm sure if there was a Yeti out there, they'd be running the other way after hearing me.

A few moments later, he, himself, twitches and fucks all of the smug comments he meant to say out of his system.

His movements grow increasingly languid until he comes to a stop.

He breathes against my neck and finally releases his clutch on my legs. He adjusts his hold on my thighs and makes a cushion out of me, not that I mind. In fact as I catch my breath and wrap my legs around him, I warn in between breaths, "don't you dare pull away, Stark."

He presses his lips on the top of my head, "never, Stark."

#house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfic #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark fluff #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #cregan stark smut #cregan smut

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c0nfessions-of-a-writing-freak · 7 months

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Winner Winner, Stormfly's Dinner

Pairing: Hiccup 'Horrendous’ Haddock III x fem!oc

Word count: 6.7k

Hiiii I was wondering if you could write a fic about the dragon races? I’ve seen your fic about the Lightfury stealing a dragon rider and really enjoyed it and I loved the dynamic the Lightfury had with your oc, Toothless and Hiccup even tho she doesn’t seem to like him too much. I was hoping you could incorporate that dynamic into an x reader fic? Also, you're free to use Stardust as the name of the Lightfury since I thought it was so cute. Since I know it probably wouldn’t fit into your original story I thought it might be easier to do it as something completely new with similar characters if that’s alright? Love your work and can’t wait to see more! From Anonymous

Hiii i was wondering if u could do something like a dragon racing fic with the sheep since I thought that might be fun. I’ve seen most people have requested Hiccup so I’m just going to request him as well since that’ll be fun and easy for you. So maybe like just segments where the reader is singled out with each rider so she can have some fun banter or moments with them and then maybe she gets the black sheep and wins the whole thing and hiccup is super proud of her <33333 From Anonymous

(Y/N): Your name

(H/C): Hair colour

(D/N): Dragon name

A/N:

A loud horn rang out as (Y/N) stepped into the old dragon training arena, her Lightfury–Stardust–following behind her. The noise signalled the nearing of the annual dragon race, letting those know to start making their way over soon. The stands were empty but the pit of the arena was full of dragon riders and their dragons, applying paint to the wings and heads of their dragons.

"Running a bit late now, are we?" Astrid called out as (Y/N) passed her. She wore a smug grin on her face, coloured orange and blue just like Stormfly behind her. Stormyfly perked up at the sight of (Y/N) and Stardust, trying to take a few steps towards the pair to greet them. At the sound of her talons scraping along the stone floor, Stardust's head snapped towards her, and a flash of teeth and a wrinkle of her nose deterred Stormfly from getting too much close. (Y/N) placed a hand on Stardust's head, lightly pushing it in the direction of where a mass of darkness sat patiently and with his chest puffed out slightly as its one-legged rider smeared paint across his head. At the sight of the other fury, Stardust went gracefully over without a second question, leaving (Y/N) to fend for herself.

"Hi, Stormfly. Looking good," (Y/N)'s voice rose as she ran her hands under the Deadly Nadder's chin, earning an elated hum from the beast. A bubble of joy rose from the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach to her chest, lighting her up until her soft laughter rang out around the arena. Astrid soon joined in on the laughter as she followed after her wayward dragon. "You ready for today, Astrid? Been feeding Stormyfly as much chicken as possible?"

At the mention of chicken, Stormfly lit up. Rising from (Y/N)'s grip and stomping her feet lightly in excitement. Astrid raised both her hands to try to calm the Deadly Nadder down, shooting (Y/N) a feigned annoyed glare. "We've definitely been getting some extra practice in, though I wouldn't say… you know what is needed to beat all these knuckleheads. What about you? Got any secret flights in with Stardust in preparation for today?"

(Y/N) ticked her head to the side, the corners of her lips lifting. Her body language showed indifference, but Astrid could tell something was going on that (Y/N) wasn't telling her. "Stardust and I will do just fine without any extra help. We always have a few tricks up our sleeves."

"We'll see about that once we get in the air," Astrid comments as she leads Stormfly back to her painting station. She dabbed a small sponge into the bowl filled with orange paint before lifting her arm to run it along Stormfly's outstretching wing, leaving a trail of paint behind that she would later go over to make the colour brighter and the lines steadier. "I took the liberty of setting up your station near Hiccup's. I hope the colours are to your liking."

"I'm sure whatever you picked out will make Stardust and I stand out amongst the rest of you," (Y/N) called over her shoulder with a laugh ringing through her words, choosing to ignore any undertones of teasing that she could find in Astrid's voice. (Y/N)'s eyes now landed on a new target. A target that she wouldn't be able to reach as quickly as she would have hoped to.

"(Y/N), I need your honest opinion–well, not too honest, or I might cry–about my battle paint!" Tuffnut called out as he saw the (H/C) haired girl walking past. As (Y/N) turned to take in the mix of colours on his face, she jumped back at the closeness of the boy. Tuffnutt had run up to her and was standing with his face pushed outwards with his eyes widened. On it was a yellow skull with the rest of his face blacked out. "Is it too much? Too little? I think I should add more paint but Ruff disagrees."

"It's, uh, very you," (Y/N) said slowly, her palms extended in front of her and faced up as she acknowledged the thought-out design. (Y/N) took half a second to think out her answer before she was closing a fist and lightly punching Tuffnut in the shoulder with it, "You know, I think you should go with your heart. If you think you should add more, then by all means, add more."

Tuffnut stared at her for a few seconds before he threw both hands into the air, "This is one of the many reasons you are my favourite," He exclaimed with a large grin overtaking his feature before he was spinning around and walked back towards his sister, arms still in the air. "You hear that, Ruff? (Y/N) thinks I'm brilliant!"

A smile displayed itself on (Y/N)'s face as she watched Tuffnut happily run back over to his paint station, his half of Barf and Belch looming over as he watched Tuffnut happily smear more paint on his face. The groan that rang out did little to wipe the smile off (Y/N)'s face as she turned to see Ruffnut glaring at her with her arms crossed. "Great, now I'm going to have to deal with the aftermath of all that."

"If it makes you feel any better Ruff, you get to dunk water on his head later. Maybe even repeatedly," (Y/N)'s words got an evil grin stretched across Ruffnut's face as she rubbed her two hands together, shooting her twin brother a sideways glance as she imagines the future that awaited for her.

(Y/N) didn't stick around for too much longer after that since she was losing time. Everyone else had finished painting at least themselves or their dragons and were now either going in for more details or working on whatever they hadn't done yet while she was still yet to even see the colour of her paint. Her hope for getting started didn't stay around for long as a short Viking called out to get her attention.

"Oi, (Y/N)," Snotlout yelled as he waved a large hand at her. Hookfang stood behind his dragon rider, sporting some red and yellow paint along his wings and a little bit on his jaw and cheeks. (Y/N) quickly walked over to greet the boy, not one for ignoring anyone. "You mind helping do my face? I would use the mirror normally, but the twins shattered it earlier while trying to call dibs on it."

"Are you sure you weren't in on the shattering of said mirror?" (Y/N) questioned with a grin as she came to a stop in front of Snotlout. The shorter boy's shoulders dropped as he tried to fight to string a sentence together to defend his honour. It only ended up causing a laugh to rise from (Y/N). "I was kidding, Snotlout. I totally believe it was just those two causing their normal ruckus."

"Good, because you know I would never stoop so low to join in or whatever it is those two get up to," Snotlout puffed out his chest as he said this, earning another huffed-out laugh from (Y/N) at his actions. "Now, about that face paint?"

The laughter slowly died down as the question was brought up for a second time. One of (Y/N)'s arms was raised as she wrapped it around the forearm of her other arm. Trying to let the boy off gently, she spoke softly, "I don't know, Snotlout. I haven't even started on Stardust or my own paint, so I don't think I have the time."

"It will only take a second, I promise," Snoutlout said as he tried to push the bowl of paint into (Y/N)'s hands.

But at the sound of a second horn (Y/N) shook her head and pushed the paint away from herself and back to Snoutlouts chest. "I'm sorry, Snoutlout, but I don't have time. How about if I finish myself and Stardust and still have time afterwards, I'll come back over and help y

The offer was a good one, and the best (Y/N) would be able to give as she could already hear the first group of Vikings arrive early for the race later. Snotlout seemed to ponder the offer, taking his time in weighing it out in his head before giving a single nod of his head. "But I want you coming straight back here once your done. No faffing around with Hiccup afterwards."

One of (Y/N)'s hands shot up to her forehead in a salute as she looked down at Snotlout. "Hearing you loud and clear, soldier."

(Y/N) could hear the huffing of Hookfang, along with some muttering from Snotlout, as she turned away from the flaming duo and tried, once more to get to her desired destination. This time she thought she'd finally be able to. She had gotten through nearly all the dragon riders, and Fishlegs wasn't one to socialise much before a big race, having some pre-race ritual he had to forgo. But as she started walking once more, a Gronckle-loving dragon rider attempted to get her attention.

"Ooh (Y/N)! (Y/N)," He called as he left Meatlug behind, the Gronckle happily snacking on some rocks. Fishlegs held a card in his hand as he made his way over to the (H/C) haired girl, a nervous grin on his face as he came over. (Y/N) came to a stop even though she was a little annoyed at being stopped for the fourth time. She tried to hide that annoyance as Fishlegs hadn't done anything wrong. "I stayed up late last night trying to finish this new card I made for Lightfury's. I thought we needed a newer version since we've found out so much more about Stardust and her species."

A smile fought its way onto (Y/N)'s face as she saw the carefully drawn Lightfury on the small trading card. (Y/N)'s eyes widened as she swore she could see every detail on the small picture that replicated her very own dragon. "Wow, Fishlegs, I don't know what to say. It looks amazing."

"This one's for you," Fishlegs quickly said, placing the card in (Y/N)'s hand before she could decline. "And before you say anything, I have a second one at home. I made this one just for you since I know you love everything and anything dragon related."

"Thanks, Fishlegs. I don't even know what to say," (Y/N) grinned as she stared at the small card before delicately placing it in a small pouch she had attached to her belt so it wouldn't get ruined while she was racing. As she thought about the race, she realised how much time she lost between getting to the arena late and having to talk to all the different dragon riders. "Good luck with the race, yeah?"

"I'll see you out there," Fishlegs concluded as they both turned away from each other.

This time, (Y/N) was finally able to get to where she needed to be.

"Hi, Hiccup," (Y/N) said as she trailed her fingers along the brunette's arm. The taller boy looked up at (Y/N), a soft smile on his face as he watched the girl dance around him. "And hi, Toothless. Red is such a good colour on you."

A gargling noise quickly erupted from Toothless' throat in his way of saying hello. Stardust was wrapped around the other dragon, head resting under his chin as she was careful not to smudge any of the red paint, mainly because she didn't want any of it getting onto her scales.

Before (Y/N) could take another step forward, she felt two arms wrap around her waist and pull her backwards. As she fell back into Hiccup's chest, a bubble of a laugh rose from her chest as she felt him pull her down to sit on his lap as he rested his head on her shoulder. At the action, Stardust let out a small growl. Her nose scrunched up as she threatened to take a step forward, the gentle coaxing from, Toothless stopping her from doing so.

“I was wondering when you were finally going to make your way over here,” Hiccup said as he rocked the both of them back, completely ignoring Stardust’s warning as he was already used to the untrusting behaviour on her part. He was sure he was slowly starting to get a breakthrough with the dragon. Having Toothless around certainly helped with that. “Once Stardust over there came bounding over, I knew it was only a matter of time before you would follow. I didn’t know it would take that long though.”

“All the other dragon riders seemed to want to keep me as far away and for as long as possible,” (Y/N) said as she wiggled out of Hiccups grips to the Viking's annoyance. She quickly turned around however and stood between his legs, forcing the Viking to look up at her from where he sat as he extended both of his arms so they could gently rest on her hips. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for. So, if you could help me by painting Stardust with me, I’d appreciate it.”

At the mention of her name, Stardust stood and stalked a few steps away from Toothless, getting ready to be coated in paint. But when she heard her name in the same sentence as the Viking (Y/N) likes to keep around, her head shot around so she could watch Hiccup with a heated gaze.

“I’m not too sure Stardust likes the sound of that,” Hiccup said slowly. Rising from his seat, he followed after the shorter girl as she moved over to where three bowls of paint sat. Of course, there was the bowl of red paint that Hiccup had used for Toothless, but the other two bowls were left untouched.

“Nonsense. Stardust will stand still as you help me,” (Y/N) announced confidently as she picked up a bowl filled with light blue along with a sponge that sat near it. As she turned back around she sent Stardust a warning look, silently telling her to behave. “I want to do a sort of spiral along Stardust’s back where the colours intertwine with one another. But I don’t know what markings I want to do on her wings or face yet.”

Hiccup came up next to (Y/N), a step or two away from Stardust as he watched (Y/N) dip the sponge into the paint and slowly start to trail it along Stardust’s back. A soft purring began to emit from the Lightfury as (Y/N) worked her way down, her other hand gently trailing along with her. Hiccup took this as his chance to step up beside her now that she had gravitated further down Stardust’s body. At the sense of his presence, Stardust’s head whipped around while the rest of her body stayed eerily still.

“Easy girl,” Hiccup reassured gently as he raised a slightly shaking hand for Stardust to sniff. The dragon however scoffed a bunch of air out of her nose, the wind smacking against Hiccup’s hand as she turned away from him once more with a grumble. As if on cue, Toothless waddled over to them and stopped in front of Stardust to keep her busy while Hiccup worked.

When a hiccup got about halfway, (Y/N) left his side as she walked over to Stardust’s other side. Patting the white dragon on the edge of her wing, Stardust extended it for (Y/N)’s use. (Y/N) started to run the blue paint over the groves of Stardust's wings. As Hiccup walked over to help finish off the wing, he got a similar response to when he stepped up to her once more.

(Y/N) didn't pay too much mind to her, shushing her as Hiccup watched what she was doing. "I want this done on the other wing but in reversed colours. Also, can you fill these in with pink? And trace the back of her wing with it as well before you start on the other side with me?"

"Sure I can," Hiccup agreed, quickly doing what the (H/C) haired girl had asked him to. Again, (Y/N) was able to finish and move on to Stardust's other wing as Hiccup fought to catch up, trailing behind her as he copied her work. When Hiccup finished, he could see the girl crouched in front of Stardust's face while the dragon leant her face down low. Coming to a stop behind her, Hiccup saw the two bands of blue wrapped around Stardust's front legs while she now trailed some paint up her face. Looking at the close proximity between the two, Hiccup said, "I think you should finish Stardust off."

Once the final stroke of paint was drawn, (Y/N) turned back to smile at Hiccup. "Come on Hic, you know Stardust won't bite."

"That's the thing," Hiccup unwearily said as he cautiously stepped forward, an immediate response rising out of Stardust. (Y/N)'s head instantly whipped around at the noise emitting from her dragon. A light scowl was on her face, slowly making the rumbling calm down. "I'm not completely sure she won't."

(Y/N) took a second to think over what she was going to do before she reached a hand back for Hiccup to take, waiting patiently until she felt the steady weight of it. At the contact she pulled him forward, the light ring of his metal foot hitting against the stone floor as (Y/N) pulled him to crouch down next to her. Stardust's face twisted at the sight of the other dragon rider but tried to stand still as (Y/N) was still crouched in front of her.

Grabbing onto Hiccup's other hand, the one that had the bowl and sponge held in it, she pulled it forward before making another grab for his previous hand. Together they dipped the sponge in the paint before trailing it along Stardust's front legs, having two rings on each alternating leg. Since (Y/N) was doing most of the work, Stardust couldn't find it in herself to try and scare them off. She still however made her annoyance known as she glared at Hiccup, the boy only being able to give her a throaty chuckle in response.

As they moved onto Stardust's face, (Y/N)'s hold on Hiccup's hand loosened, giving him the chance to back away if he wanted. But the boy's hand stayed where it was, trying not to seem too keen to get closer. As the sponge dipped back into the paint before moving up to the Lightfury's face, Stardust slowly closed her eyes, allowing the paint to trail across her face. Hiccup could feel a smile slowly starting to etch across his face. Never before had he been able to get this close to the Lightfury with Stardust's willingness. Even if there wasn't much of it right now.

"All done," (Y/N) happily cheered as she pulled Hiccup's hand away from Stardust's face. The dragon's eyes instantly shot open, a smile starting to stretch across her face as she turned to find Toothless to show off the finished work. (Y/N) watched happily as the dragon bounced over to Toothless, spreading her wings as she pranced around Toothless, forcing him to turn to follow her as he showed one of his famous toothless smiles.

"Now it's time for something more important," Hiccup said as he stood. Balancing the paint in one hand, he pulled (Y/N) to her feet before tugging her slightly closer.

"What could be more important than painting Stardust?" (Y/N) questioned, smiling softly up at Hiccup as she waited to see what he might do.

"This," He said as he dipped his thumb into the pink paint and brought his hand up to (Y/N)'s cheek. He waited half a second before running his pink-coated thumb across her cheekbone, making sure he curled the paint up the higher he got. A laugh rang out of (Y/N) as she pinched close one of her eyes when Hiccup ran his thumb underneath it. Once he was done with that half of (Y/N)'s face he wiped his thumb into the palm of his hand, trying to get rid of as much of it as possible before he bent down to place his bowl down and pick up the one (Y/N) had put down earlier. "Nearly done."

"You have to let me do your paint after this," (Y/N) demanded with a grin, leaning forward as she bounced forward on her toes.

"Absolutely not." Hiccup was careful not to mess up the swirls he was painting onto the girl's face. "What I want is simple and I can do it myself. Plus, I know you're going to try and add something to the design if I don't keep a close eye on you."

"Alright," (Y/N) said as a hum in return. She stood still as she waited for Hiccup to finish. "Here, I'll take the paint back over."

At the offer, Hiccup handed the bowl of light blue over, watching as (Y/N) turned to get the pink bowl off the floor before walking over to the table it had originally rested on. Dipping a thumb into the blue paint, she let it coat her thumb before grabbing the bowl of red paint for Hiccup and bringing it over for him. "Thank you, (Y/N)."

"No problem, my love," (Y/N) said as the bowl was handed over. Hiccup's eyes flashed up at her, trying to hide a smile as he dipped his pointer and middle finger into the paint. While Hiccup was distracted by his own paint, (Y/N) reached her thumb up and smeared the blue paint she had gotten on it across her lips until they were completely covered in blue. Hiding her face by knocking her head down, (Y/N) circled Hiccup until she stood behind the dragon rider. Wrapping both of her arms around the taller boy's waist, she rested her chin on Hiccup's shoulder like he had done to her earlier. As Hiccup dipped his two fingers into the paint again so he could drag them along his face, (Y/N) lept forward and placed a small kiss on the boy's jaw.

"What was that for?" Hiccup asked as he lifted his hand up to draw on the paint, ignoring the sensation of the paint (Y/N) had left behind.

"Nothing," (Y/N) grinned, hiding it behind Hiccup's head as she moved to his other side before placing a longer, drawn-out kiss on his cheek. The blue paint wasn't as vibrate as the first kiss but still was a clear outline of her lips. "Am I not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?"

"I never said that," Hiccup said as he twisted in (Y/N)'s arms. His eyes locked on the colour of (Y/N)'s lips too late as he had already dived forward to catch her lips with his own. (Y/N) smiled at the sensation, keeping her arms tightly wrapped around Hiccup's midsection while the boy's brows pinched together. His tongue edged forward, waiting for (Y/N) to part her lips when the taste hit him quickly. Just as (Y/N) was about to grant him entrance, Hiccup pulled back, staring confusedly down at (Y/N)'s lips. "Why is there paint on your lips?"

"No reason," (Y/N) quickly said, feigning nonchalance. Maybe she spoke too quickly or should have been quicker since when she surged forward to try and leave another kiss mark on Hiccup's face, the boy planted both hands on (Y/N)'s shoulders, a groan leaving his now blue-coated lips as he hung his head onto (Y/N)'s shoulders.

"Please don't tell me your blue kisses are all over my face." (Y/N) didn't respond, causing another groan to rise from Hiccup as he lifted his head again, scowling lightly at the shorter girl when all she could do was smile. "You know what?"

"What?" (Y/N) asked, her brows furrowing at the lack of reaction from Hiccup. Once she saw Hiccup's thumb dip into his red paint, her eyes widened at what she knew was coming her way. Dropping her hands from Hiccup's side, she tried to wiggle back and out of his grip.

"No, you don't," Hiccup quickly exclaimed as the bowl of red paint dropped from his hand and spilled across the stone floor. Not to matter though since Hiccup's lips were already coated red. (Y/N) tried to fight Hiccup's arms off her as she backed away with a laugh. Hiccup's arms shot out and tightly secured themselves around (Y/N), trapping her arms to her side in the process. (Y/N) tried to lean back as far as possible but Hiccup only followed after her. Leaning up and forward, Hiccup placed a large kiss on (Y/N)'s forehead, marvelling at the red that was left behind. "There. Now we match."

(Y/N) pretended to be annoyed as she felt Hiccup's arms loosen around her. She wasn't doing a very good job at hiding her true emotions as a large smile blossomed across her face. At that moment, (Y/N) didn't have to worry about anything. Certainly not about the betting that was going on above her.

“My money’s on Snotlout,” Spitelout said as he stood neck to Stoick. Spitelout was looking down at his son as he pointed an all-knowing finger towards him.

“You sure he ain’t gonna throw it all away again?” Gobber asked from the other side of their chief as he scratched his beard with his fake wooden hand, looking down at Snotlout with a less then keen eye.

Spitelout flashed Gobber a glare, both of his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he said, “I’m sure he has it this time around.”

"What about you Stoick?" Gobber asked, turning Spitelout's glare away from him as they both turned their attention to the man sitting down. "Who have you got your eyes on for today's race?"

Stoick didn't even need to think about his answer as he brought a large hand to rub against his chin while saying with a bellowing voice, "My golds going towards my daughter-in-law."

"Oh? Hiccup's popped the big question?" Gobber asked he turned back to look at the pair still wrapped in each other's arms. He could see the splatter of paint they had been leaving on each other's faces, but Gobber was more than content to let them stay in their own little bubble for a bit longer.

Stoick's face pulled downwards at the question. In a grumbled-out response, he said, "Not yet."

"If that boy doesn't hurry up, she's going to do it for him," Spitelout stated, getting silent agreement from the Vikings he was conversing with."Now, back to business. Not putting your gold on Hiccup, eh?"

"Not today, no," Stoick shook his head. "(Y/N) and her dragon have been looking promising recently."

"We'll see if your judgement has grown clouded soon enough," Spitelout teased, grinning as he heard the final horn ring out. Some of the dragon riders got on their dragons as soon as possible, flying up to where they stood on their baskets, waiting for the race to begin. "Normal amount?"

"Hm? Sure," Stoick absentmindedly said as he stood from his seat and walked a few steps forward, gaining the silence from the crowded arena stands. The silence urged the remaining dragon riders to mount their dragons and get to their starting positions. "Vikings and dragon riders, today we join for the first race of the year. On the Gronckle we have Fishlegs, the Monstrous Nightmare being flown by Snotlout-"

Stoick was cut off by a loud cheer from Spitelout, the man yelling, "That's my boy!"

"Yes, thank you for that wonderful display Spitelout," Stoick deadpanned as he turned briefly to face the other Viking as he calmed himself down. "The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut of the Hideous Zippleback, Astrid on the Deadly Nadder, and my son of the Nightfury."

Stoick paused as he got to (Y/N)'s part, drawing the crowd into suspense. "And on the Lightfury we have my hopefully soon to be daughter in law, (Y/N)!"

(Y/N) turned and grinned at the Viking chief, her face light and full of joy as she laughed along with the other Vikings watching from the arena stands as Hiccup gave off a slightly sheepish smile. At his smile, Gobber banged his wooden hand on the arena's railing before pointing accusingly at Hiccup and saying, "We see you, Hiccup and we're all waitin' for that question to be answered."

"Moving on," Stoick yelled as Hiccup threw his hands in exasperation. "I hear now begin the first dragon race of the year! Release the sheep!"

Once the horn rang out, all six dragons took off. At first, it was a battle of speed as they all raced straight up before breaking away from each other so they could scower Berk for any of the painted sheep they needed to win this. There were twelve sheep that they needed to find before the black sheep worth ten points would be shot to the sky.

As (Y/N) guided Stardust a bit closer to the huts when she noticed another fury trailing behind her. Looking over her shoulder with a grin, she saw Hiccup flying not too far behind them, the paint from earlier still smeared across his face and lips. "Love that colour on you. Is it maroon?"

"Oh, laugh all you want," Hiccup waved her off as he leaned forward on Toothless's back a bit more, his hands tightening on the saddle as Toothless tried to speed up.

(Y/N)'s head quickly turned back around, copying Hiccup's movements as she leaned down to Stardust's ears. "Come on girl, it's time to disappear."

Stardust let out a soft mew at (Y/N)'s words. Spreading her wings wide, speeding up as much as possible in the time to heat up a plasma blast in her mouth. Without warning her wings shot inwards towards her body as she turned into a nosedive. As the shot rang out, (Y/N) buried herself as close to Stardust's body as possible. As the both of them dived through the blast, the same cloaking that took over Stardust danced across (Y/N) and the few white scales she had woven into her clothes.

"Whoo!" (Y/N) yelled as they vanished without a trace, the only lingering part of them being her voice. It took a while for (Y/N) to spot her first sheep, the fluffy animal trying to hide under the hut of some Viking. But when both her and Stardust's eyes landed on it, they changed paths without a thought and swooped down. Twisting her body so (Y/N) sat upside down on her back, Stardust flew upside down so (Y/N) could hang down and pick the sheep up from where it lay. Pulling the sheep to her chest, Stardust helped to right them up as they burst back into the sky.

To everyone else, it looked like a sheep had somehow been granted the ability to fly but those who truly knew could just see the ripple in the air as (Y/N) and Stardust tore through the air.

Taking a sharp turn, the two of them with their extra passenger dived back towards the training arena, careful to keep out of sight of any other dragon riders. As they swooped in, the crowd cheered as they faded back into view to drop the sheep into the Lightfury's basket. Taking a quick look at the other baskets, (Y/N) could see that Astrid already had two sheep while Hiccup had three, meaning there were only six more sheep to find before the black sheep was released.

Pulling back on Stardust's saddle, the whistle that commonly was handed to the Nightfury rang out, filling the air as she shot away from the arena. The two of them didn't have time to waste as Stardust looked out for any stray sheep while (Y/N) looked for any dragon riders in the air with sheep.

As her eyes landed on Berk's Nightfury, a grin spread across her face. "Stardust, we need to go after Toothless. Make sure he doesn't see us coming."

Stardust shot out another plasma shot, cloaking them as Toothless looked back as the noise echoed. The dragon's eyes narrowed as it searched for Stardust but eventually had to look away when nothing turned up. Hovering above him though was Stardust as (Y/N) began to climb from her back. (Y/N) kept a hand situated on the saddle as she got ready to drop. Her feet touched down on the leathery back of Toothless, a confused yelp escaping him as his head shot back once again. As the feeling began to climb along his back, he tried to hiss out a warning to Hiccup.

"I'll be taking that," (Y/N) yelled as she tore the sheep from Hiccup's hands before launching herself off and over Toothless's head. Toothless gargled as (Y/N) went falling off of him, diving through thin air as she waited for Stardust to catch her. She continued to fall for a few seconds before she saw a floating sheep hurtling towards her in the claws of Stardust as she faded back into existence once more. (Y/N) landed on Stardust's back harshly, her bones rattling as one of her hands unlatched from the sheep to grab onto Stardust as she turned to the arena, a Nightfury on her tail.

"I'm going to need that back, (Y/N)," Hiccup called as he tried to keep up with (Y/N) and her Lightfury. Adjusting his metal foot, Toothless's tail changed directions, giving them a gust of speed. The soft grunts of a Monstrous Nightmare behind him were slightly startling with how close Snotlout and Hookfang were to catch up to them. Stating his thoughts, Hiccup said, "We can't let that happen, bud."

Toothless made his agreement known as he flapped his wings once, shooting away from Snotlout as they grew closer to Stardust. But no matter what they seemed to do, Stardust had an impossible lead on them. So there was no stopping it when Hiccup watched as both sheep were dropped into the Lightfury's basket. Hiccup and her were now tied. Astrid still had two but the twins had been able to score themself a sheep of their own. Nine sheep found, three to go.

(Y/N) and Stardust shot up once more, hoping to make one final round before the black sheep could be found. They didn't bother to vanish again, shooting through the sky as they tried to find more sheep. It was when a commotion could be heard above them. Meatlug had a sheep clutched in her claws while Stormfly and Barf and Belch tried to herd the sheep towards them. Fishlegs was panicking from atop the Gronckle, a perfect opportunity for (Y/N) to steal it.

Barf and Belch slammed into the side of Meatug, making the Gronckke growl as the sheep was dropped from her to retrieve the fallen sheep already gone after it. Stormfly was close to grabbing it within her claws when Stardust shot forward, sweeping the sheep from the air as she spiraleD up. “You’re going to have to be quicker than that if you want to win this!”

"Stormfly fetch!" Astrid yelled and the excited growl that erupted from Stormfly was anything to go by, (Y/N) was going to be in trouble.

"Fly Stardust, fly," (Y/N) screeched as the Deadly Nadder's eyes locked onto the both of them. Stardust's head shook as she shot forward, taking sharp turns to try and lose Stormfly as they were chased down. (Y/N)'s eyes landed on the last two remaining sheep. Patting on Stardust's neck, the Lightfury's eyes also landed on where (Y/N) was looking. "This is going to be a close one."

Dropping down, Stardust got all of her claws ready, planning on holding one sheep in each pair. As they reached the sheep, Stadust's front claws were able to score the first sheep but as she started to lift, her black claws pointing out to latch onto the sheep's fur, something snatched it out from under her. "I think it's only fair that I get this one after what happened earlier."

It was Hiccup. Both Stardust and (Y/N) were left slightly dumbfounded as they followed after the Nightfury. The others had caught onto their catchings and were trailing after them, making a train of dragons and dragon riders. As Hiccup threw his sheep down, followed by (Y/N) and her two, a final horn rang out, signalling the black sheep as the scores rested five to (Y/N), Hiccup at four, Astrid at two and the twins at one. Whoever grabbed this sheep would seal the victory.

"It's just one more sheep, Stardust," (Y/N) whispered to her dragon, the two of them shooting away from the arena along with all the other dragon riders. (Y/N) could hear them also muttering encouragements to their dragons. "We've come far enough to win this all."

As she spoke, she heard the launch of the sheep, the subtle clank of the chains smacking against wood as the black sheep went flying. It was a fight of flames and talons as all eyes locked onto the black sheep. It was a certain Nightfury that was able to shoot forward and steal the sheep into his clutches. That's when the chase broke out again.

Toothless had an advantage with speed, taking a small lead as Stormfly and Stardust were close behind. Both dragons were trying to shoot forward in front of the other, the riders on their back yelling jeers at each other as their dragons did the work. It was only when Stardust was able to push herself forward in a burst of speed that Astrid let out a frustrated yell. "He's right there Stardust. It's now or never."

As her agreement Stardust flew under Toothless, getting close enough that (Y/N) could reach up and snatch the Blacksheep from his claws, earning a snap from the dragon. "Right, let's go."

As they lowered themselves even further, Stardust let out a roar as they flew. The arena could be seen coming up, crowds of Vikings hitting each other and jumping up to see who had the black sheep as they all rode in.

It didn't stop there though. As they began to dip into the arena, Snotlout came hurtling around from the other side of the arena, an axe in hand as he tried to swing it toward (Y/N)'s head. Stardust already acted as (Y/N) yelled, "Dive, dive, dive!"

Nearly falling from Stardust's back because of the lost grip she had, a not-very Viking-sounding squeak as she fought to grip onto Stardust's saddle. Stardust rumbled from below her as she knocked her tail up, bumping (Y/N) further up her saddle as she swung around the arena, weaving in and out from the different dragons as they tried to steal what was theirs.

As the black sheep made contact with the Lightfury's basket, the sheep getting squashed in with the other ones, a ripple broke out through the stadium as the race ended.

"Yes," (Y/N) yelled as she threw both her arms out, Stardust throwing her own call to the wind as they sailed across the arena perimeter, close enough to the stands that some of the Vikings could read out and congratulate her.

"That's my girl," (Y/N) heard the yell from Hiccup as he flew up next to her, the tips of Toothless and Stardust's wings overlapping. "I almost thought I'd be able to win one over you."

"That is where you must have gone wrong," (Y/N) called back before Stardust was steering her to Stoick's seat, the man waiting happily with a grumbling Spitelout not too far away from him. "Have I won you enough gold, Stoick?"

His booming laugh shot around. "You have this time."

"Placing bets again Dad?" Hiccup questioned as he fell from Toothless's saddle, climbing over to (Y/N) where he pulled her from Stardust's saddle and placed a kiss on the side of her head.

"Of course I was Hiccup," Stoick said as he watched the two. "Picked the right dragon as well."

Turning around to face Hiccup, (Y/N) grinned up at him. "You want to go on another race?"

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cauliflowertree · 1 year

Note

sirius black x reader

"we have a problem." - "no, YOU have a problem. i have an idiot who keeps getting into one."

the great escape—sirius black.

summary: sirius needs your assistance to get him out of trouble.

word count: 0.5k

fanfic no. 008

“wait til minnie catches us, we’re done for,” sulked peter, trailing behind the rest of the marauders barging into the gryffindor common room.

each one of them was panting and hunched over their knees, sirius and james with large smiles on their faces. it was the type of smile that indicated they’d just landed themselves in a heap of trouble—if they were caught, that is.

sirius stretched himself out and walked over to the common room door to peek his head out of the side of the painting. he startled, slamming the portrait shut and running back to his friends with a flash of concern across his face.

“is she there?” james asked, holding his left side where a stitch was blossoming.

sirius turned his attention to you. “darling,” he said sickly sweet.

you had been watching the event transpire over the spine of your book, suppressing small smirks from stretching over your lips.

“we have a problem,” sirius continued, sitting beside you and extending an arm around your shoulders.

you scoffed, shutting your book without noting the page you left off at. “no, you have a problem. i have an idiot who keeps getting into one.”

“so you’ll do nothing?” sirius failed to conceal his astonishment.

“you’re not a damsel in distress, sirius. don’t act as if you can’t talk yourself out of anything.”

it wasn’t two minutes before you heard professor mcgonagall’s voice down the corridor, heading up the stairs. sirius pleaded with you, and his friends followed suit like helpless sheep. even remus looked as if he was asking for help in his soft expression.

“oh, fine!” you stood up from the sofa and huffed at the lot of them. "you owe me,” you narrowed your eyes at sirius.

"anything you want, darling," he said with a confident smirk, though his eyes flickering towards the common room door gave his anxieties away.

you rolled your eyes, already beginning to think of ways he could return the favour, and started for the door. mcgonagall's shrill voice echoed through the high-ceilinged halls of hogwarts and you were still stumped at how you would drive her away from her course.

"wait!" hissed sirius, tiptoeing over to you.

he wrapped an arm around your waist and he came in for a quick kiss, pressing his closed lips against yours for an instant before running off with his friends to their dorm room. you shook your head, trying to wipe the smile from your face as you exited the gryffindor tower.

"oh, professor!"

"not now, miss y/l/n, i have urgent matters to attend to," the professor dismissed you curtly.

you smirked deviously and shrugged, heading down the stairs. "sirius, wait up!" you called down the stairs, sweeping around the corner as you stifled a giggle.

you heard mcgonagall's footsteps stop abruptly on the stone flooring and her little heeled boots descend the stairs faster than you'd heard before. but you were already turning the corner of another corridor by the time she reached where you had been.

sirius definitely owed you for this.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black imagine #sirius black blurb #sirius black drabble #sirius black fluff #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black #marauders era x reader #marauders era fanfiction #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction

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galadae · 2 months

Text

the sunlit spark

rating: T pairing: calantha lenn/hien rijin words: 4.1k summary: hien and calantha find themselves with time to spare, and calantha wants a rematch. notes: first kiss fic redux! occurs after 4.4 quest the will of the moon. this is technically a rewrite of the old "impulsive" prompt but it's over twice as long as the first version and the vibe is better/more accurate for them. ao3 link

Hien takes a deep breath of cool fresh air as his shoes crunch in the short grass. The breeze carries the scent of sheep and cook fires, earth and stone. The sun drifts towards the horizon, bathing the steppe in golden light. Towering clouds drift like tall ships on the sea of endless blue above. He stops to study them as he makes his way up the familiar path to the hilltop above Reunion.

“It’s a small repair. The mender's apprentice said it should take an hour.” Calantha’s voice sounds from behind him. He turns to see her pocketing her coin purse. With a few long strides she joins him, slowing to match his pace. “I suppose we have some time to ourselves.”

“That is fine by me." He flashes her a smile. “We may as well enjoy a bit of quiet after the excitement of the day.”

“You’re right about that,” she says. She stretches her arms above her head. “It’s been awhile since I’ve fought a single opponent as fierce as Sadu. I’ll still be feeling it tomorrow.”

“As will I.” With a chuckle he rubs his left arm, working out the faint soreness.The wound from Daidukul was sealed without a scar. Y’shtola had been quick and thorough.

Calantha’s eyes dart to his arm, and away. “How are you holding up? I know Y’shtola healed you, but–why did you come with me? You’d be better off resting.”

“And have it be known that the Khagan strode about the steppe without a care after her fearsome battle, but I was laid up in bed for the day?” Hien chuckles. “But in truth, I am fine. The sun will soon set, and I would admire the view in this place once more. After all, it may be awhile before we return here.”

He tries not to stare at the way her hair catches the sunlight, a halo of gold around the back of her head. This was not the view he had anticipated, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

“It is a good view,” she says, oblivious to his thoughts. She laughs, light and clear, as she casts her gaze towards the clouds. “Every time we return here, I think of when we first met. I didn’t know what to make of you, perched on the top of the cliff.”

He scoffs. “Perched ? As I recall it, I was deep in thought.”

“If you say so,” she says. “All I remember was by the end of the day, I’d lost both a hunting contest and a duel to someone I’d barely met. It was not a pleasant time for me. I was almost determined to dislike you.”

“Ah yes.” Hien smirks. “Your secret. The mighty Warrior of Light, and her mighty fear of–”

“Don’t you dare,” Calantha snaps. “I still want a rematch. Yes, the mighty Warrior of Light, giving both victory and her saddest secret to a total stranger. The embarrassment haunts me to this day.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Or perhaps you'll do me a favor and forget about it. Surely you have enough on your mind already without another small insignificant fact about me.”

Insignificant or no, the thought sprung to his mind often. When he moved wood for the fire from a shady spot against the wall, and spotted a snail leaving its trail across the stone behind. While he walked along the river, and found familiar spiral shells among the stones. When he watched her help build the growing number of small gardens around the Doman Enclave. He wondered how she managed when she was sure to see many snails with that kind of work. It was never important, when he did think of it. But he couldn’t forget this tiny, trivial piece of her, stuck in his mind for good, even if he wished to. Such was the way with friends, was it not?

“It was a fair bargain that you agreed to, my friend. And I find it hard to believe that your secret is, as you call it, your saddest. It simply amuses me too much to be forgotten." He grins, trying not to laugh again at the grimace on her face.

“Of course it does,” she groans.

He steps closer. “But perhaps you suffer less now that I'm no longer a total stranger. Unless you're still determined to dislike me.”

She huffs, blowing a tuft of hair from her face. “Depends on how well you keep my secret.”

“Never fear.” He claps a hand to her shoulder. "It will remain safe with me, even till the day I die. May the Kami bring misfortune on my head if it does not.”

She raises an eyebrow and laughs. “Excessive, but I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps we can stay friends, after all.” A slow smile spreads across her cheeks, tinged with mischief. She drapes her arm around his shoulders. As she bends to whisper in his ear, her voice drips with equal sweetness and mockery.

“And seeing as we’re great friends, now, perhaps I can call you Shu–”

“There is certainly no need for that.” He gives her a playful shove with his elbow before she can finish.

“Why ever not?” she says. Her lips purse into a fake pout. It’s his turn to roll his eyes, and her laugh rings out across the hillside at the mixture of amusement and annoyance on his face. He watches as she pushes past him, further up the hill.

He folds his arms. “I would enjoy a rematch, but if you keep on like this, I'll need another secret from you."

She turns to face him, her mouth set in a cheeky grin to match his own. “You won’t get one out of me this time.”

Something flickers in her gaze that sets a spark alight in his chest. Perhaps it’s the sun on her face, or the way her eyes shine with mirth, or the breeze catching in her hair. He can’t help but laugh along with her, unable to tear his eyes away, until they crest the hill a moment later.

The steppe is lit in gold and pink from Reunion below, to the Dawn Throne, to the mountains on the horizon. Calantha stops near the edge, staring across the overlook.

“Here’s your view,” she says, spreading her arms apart. She takes a deep breath. Her arms fall to her sides as her gaze drifts across the steppe.

Hien steps up beside her. He follows her line of sight, the beauty of the familiar vista washing over him again, until he finds his eyes drifting towards her. She shields her eyes from the sun with long graceful fingers. He stares at her profile, the tip of her nose, her lips–She looks over, eyebrow raised in question. “What?”

He swallows and looks around the hilltop, scolding himself for letting his mind wander so. He clears his throat. “This place strikes me as a fine field for a rematch. I believe you just said you’d like one?”

Calantha turns to face him. “I did, didn’t I? I'm all for it.” She studies his face for a moment, glancing over his sore arm again. “Unless you’re too tired from before.”

His limbs are sore, and he could use rest. But he doesn’t want to concern her. Or for that matter, miss any fun.

“I’m no more weary than you,” he says. He stands up straight and rests his arm on his sword with a confident smile. “And we have time to spare. Do you truly wish to challenge me now? Or shall we wait until you have your armor from the mender?”

“I shouldn’t need it. It’s not like you intend to kill me. At least, I hope not.” Calantha shrugs, and gives him another smile. “I’m sure I can beat you without it.”

“That may be,” he says. “I myself will relish the look on your face when I win yet again.”

She bursts out laughing. “We’ll see about that.”

“I’m ready if you are.” Hien locks his eyes on hers. “Shall we?”

He draws his sword. Calantha nods and readies her lance. They both step back, keeping close eyes on each other.

They circle the hilltop in silence. The breeze blows past them, rustling their hair and clothes. Voices drift up from below them, scattered syllables and laughs from the market stalls, the calls of animals. Birds pass by overhead. Hien considers his position. If he can get her where the sun is in her eyes–

Calantha brushes hair from her forehead. “What are you waiting for?” she says. “Afraid to make the first move?”

Hien studies her stance. He can't let her taunt him now. He steps into the sun’s path and Calantha follows him, still circling. She squints in the sunlight and glares at him.

“So that's how it is,” she says. Lowering her head, she darts forward, lunging with her lance. He lets the blow glance off his blade. He's got to move closer, inside her range. She'll drive him back if he's not careful.

Calantha follows the motions of her lunge past him and spins, letting the shaft of her lance swoop towards his head. He ducks the blow with a laugh. “Come now, you can do better than that.”

She thrusts the blade towards him, forcing him to leap out of the way.

“And so can you,” she growls. “What’s the fun if you're only going to jump away? Put in some effort, will you?”

“As you wish, Khagan.” He laughs and dashes towards her. She raises her lance to block his blows, one by one. If he can disarm her, somehow– He rushes forward again.

She vaults back with a laugh.

“Who's jumping away now?” he says, voice tinged with annoyance.

“It's only fair,” she teases, leaning on her lance. “I could make you chase me.”

He shakes his head. “And why would I do that? You're the one who wanted this battle. I can wait. If I'm to win, I would save my strength.”

“I have to do everything myself,” Calantha mutters. Before he can respond she springs toward him.

Her blows come one after the other, a whirling kick as she spins around her lance, a spinning blade deflected with his own. A poor attempt to catch his leg with her lance which he hops out of place to avoid. A swift strike towards his waist. Her onslaught is relentless. He barely beats her back. He's determined to disarm her, but the opportunities are few. He begins to wonder how long he can withstand her attacks without an opening. Even after her long battle with Sadu, she's fierce and quick on her feet. Does she not know fatigue?

Then she strikes, too high, just past his head. Now's his chance. Hien barrels into her, low and fast. She grunts as his shoulder hits her stomach. He wraps his sword arm around her waist, and grabs the lance with his other hand, yanking it away from her. With an indignant huff she wrests it back, gripping it in both hands on either side of him. She pulls the lance haft in, trapping him against her. “Nice try,” she sneers.

He laughs. “You assume I'm finished trying.” He tries to duck out from under it, but she locks him in, holding him closer.

“I think you are,” Calantha says.

He glares up at her. There is a way out, he's sure, but her face is so close, her eyes bright with the sunlight, and he can't seem to think clearly pressed against her. He struggles for a moment, heart hammering.

“What cheap tactic is this, my friend?” he says.

“One that keeps you from winning.” She looks down at him with a taunting smile.

He laughs. “You’ll have to try harder, then.” In a desperate effort to escape he does the first thing that comes to mind.

In one motion he grabs her waist and hurls himself backwards. She yelps as she falls forward with him. Her lance drops and Hien breaks free of her. The ground strikes his back as he lands –unfortunate, but if he's quick, he can salvage this.

Calantha catches herself on her knees, lance in the grass. She plants her foot to rise just as he sits up with his arm raised, ready to place his katana at her throat–

The sun is in his eyes. He misjudges the angle of his blade, almost thrown from his hand in the fall. Calantha knocks the weapon from his grasp. With her lance in both hands, she pushes him down, laying the haft under his chin.

“Yield,” she says, with a breathless smile still on her lips. He can feel her knee on his waist.

He scowls at her and pushes back against the lance. She scoffs and leans over him, straddling his legs. He’s pinned beneath her. Perhaps he can still get out of this. Panting, he looks over at his blade. It lies just out of reach.

Calantha pushes the lance closer, tilting his head up further. “Well? Do you yield or not?”

Hien sighs and collapses back against the grass. The metal inlay of her lance haft against his neck is pleasantly cool. He nods, too breathless to say anything else.

Calantha’s chest rises and falls rapidly as she catches her breath. “See, no armor needed,” she says, looking down at him with a satisfied smile. The wind blows her hair away from her face, revealing her flushed cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. She withdraws her lance and drops it on the ground beside her. A heady sense of admiration fills him, and he knows his heart is pounding from more than the exertion of their fight. The latent spark burns brighter. Too bright, threatening to bloom into something more. He feels both wary and excited at the prospect.

Hien stares at her in a daze as his breath returns to him. “Well fought,” he says. “A quicker match than our first, to be sure.” He struggles to sit up on his elbows, trying not to think about her weight on him.

Calantha glances down, realizing she’s still on top of him. Her eyes widen and she scrambles to stand. “Are you alright?” She looks down. Her face is neutral, but she can’t quite hide the blush that’s crept to her ears.

Hien gives a breathless laugh. “I will be fine, I assure you.” He takes her offered hand and begins dusting himself off. “Any bruises I’ve gotten will join my fine collection from earlier today.”

They retrieve their weapons and settle on a rocky outcrop a few yalms from the edge of the overlook. She sits so close that her leg presses against his. He finds he doesn’t mind.

He speaks to cover the way his heart still flutters. “Are you pleased with your victory?”

Her smile grows wider. “I feel vindicated. Thank you.”

“Of course," he says. “I would offer to spar with you more often, but judging by how this match has gone, I must limit the number of crushing defeats I suffer in one week.”

She chuckles. “Surely it wouldn’t be that bad.” The wind picks up again, rustling through the low grass. “I should try with a katana. I don't think I can match your skill just yet.”

“I'm sure you'll beat me nine times out of ten.”

“I doubt it. I need practice.” She shifts, pulling one leg under her. “I admit I’ve only trained with a lance and greatsword in the past months. That, and Alphinaud is trying to teach me to summon–Oh,” She looks over his head. “Your hair.”

“My hair?”

“One of the ties is coming undone. And there's grass caught–May I?”

Hien reaches his hand up to check. One of the cords is indeed loose. He wouldn’t have noticed. “If you wish, but there’s really no need–”

“It’s fine,” she says. She leans closer, arms reaching up on either side of his head.

She plucks the grass away and combs a few longer strands back into place with her fingers. The way she reaches around him leaves little to look at but her lips and the graceful curve of her neck. He finds it hard not to let his eyes drift down to the pendant she wears, just above her breasts, to the way her shirt wraps across her chest. The memory of her weight on his hips is still fresh in his mind. Heat rises to his cheeks as he pushes the thought away.

He’s sure none would blame him for admiring her looks. But she’s his friend and ally. He’s not sure how he should see her. He can’t deny he’s admired her since after the Naadam, but it’s more than that. Whether it’s her resolve and determination, or and the easy way she jokes with him, or her care for those she holds dear, even if she’s sometimes loath to admit it – he finds himself drawn to her. Her presence heartens him. In the time she’s spent helping him begin to rebuild, he’s found himself thinking how much he’d like her to help finish the task. He knows it will take years. And as unlikely as it might be, he hopes she’ll join him in as many of those years as she can spare. At first that desire stemmed from profound gratitude for her aid in the past months, and her part in liberating Doma. Without a doubt they’d be further from their goals without her. But perhaps it’s more. He can feel that spark again, buried in his chest. Her voice brings him back from his musing.

“Hold still, I've almost—” She pulls everything in place. “There. It should stay now.” Calantha sits back, but her hand lingers on his shoulder. She smiles, and her eyes have a strange softness to them. One he’s seen in the rare moments he’s caught her stealing glances. He pretended not to notice, of course, in case he misjudged them. Her gaze drops to his lips. He stares, unable to look away from the light catching her hair and her eyes, gold in the violet.

He never dared to think they’d become so close that he could feel the whisper of her breath against his cheek. He has thought of it, when he let his mind wander, but those were idle, foolish daydreams. Nothing more.

And yet she hasn’t moved away. Her face is ilms from his, and Hien’s heartbeat quickens again. He reaches a tentative hand up to brush his knuckles across the pale freckles on her cheek. She closes her eyes and lets her head rest against his hand.

He stares at the way her eyelashes fall against her cheek. The draw to her is undeniable now. Hien rests his forehead against her temple. The gentle sound of her breath, the smell of her hair, her hand on his arm. He can think of nothing else.

“The sunset,” she says. The phrase is quiet, and she tilts her head to look across the horizon. Her eyes open, heavy lidded in the bright light. “Didn't you want to see it?”

“I did,” he murmurs. Despite its beauty the sunset is not where his attention lies. His heart hammers in his chest.

“Calantha-” he starts, but whatever he meant to say has flown from his mind, now full only of her.

She smiles, a small, delicate curve of her lips. “Yes?”

He finds himself uncharacteristically speechless. Instead he ghosts his thumb across her lower lip. Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away.

Hien brings his lips to hers.

It’s short and light. Barely a kiss. He’s afraid to overstay. In a rush Calantha cups the back of his neck. She draws him close, kissing him once, twice, and a third time, each one a little longer and deeper than the last. Her lips are soft, the kisses somehow tender and eager at once. He wonders if she had hoped for this. Hien reaches his hands around her waist. He keeps a gentle grip on her sash, half to steady himself, half to pull her in. Her warmth and the faintly sweet herbal scent of her hair surround him, both familiar but never this close, not until now. He thinks he could melt into her. The spark he felt earlier is so bright it threatens to set his whole heart aflame.

With a final brush of their lips she breaks away, her breath fast and hot on his cheek. His head spins. He rests his forehead against her neck, fingers still clutched in her sash.

“Shit.” Calantha ducks her head with a shaky laugh, like pulling herself from a dream. "I should see about my armor," she says, looking away. “I’m sure Y’shtola is wondering what’s taking us so long. We still need to discuss…”

She trails off with a quick breath, not looking at him. His hands are still on her waist.

“We should go,” she says, sliding from the rock.

The abrupt motion shakes him from his reverie. He nods. “Let us return, then,” he replies, with as much nonchalance as he can muster.

The sun sinks below the mountains, and the evening air brings a swift chill with the wind. They say little on the way back to Mol Iloh. Calantha hardly looks at him. Hien spends the short trip half in a dream, and half considering their awkward silence. Had he misjudged her? The creeping dread that he’s made a rift between them begins to nag at him. He curses his poor judgment. He hopes he hasn’t offended her.

Evening turns to night. They eat and talk with the rest of the Mol, comfortably conversing with all except each other. Everyone seems to share a calm, easy air. It fails to match the growing apprehension in Hien’s mind. He tells himself there’s nothing to be done about it, but it does little to ease his thoughts. He has to fix this, somehow. Her friendship means more to him than a foolish kiss.

As the fire burns low, he sees Calantha stand and bids the others goodnight.

He excuses himself and strides after her. She doesn’t seem to hear him approach. “Calantha!” he calls. She turns, between two yurts. Her eyes are wide, but with what emotion, he can’t say. He can see her breath quicken.

He steps towards her, stopping a few fulms away. “Calantha. About earlier. The kiss. If you don’t–that is–” he stops as the words catch in his throat. He grits his teeth and starts again. “I am sorry. The fault was mine.”

She sighs and glances away. “No more yours than mine. Don’t worry about it.” A small smile creeps onto her face, but fades when she looks up at him again.

He stares. The words could be politeness, or tentative acceptance. He's not sure which she means. He can offer nothing in return but a confused half frown as he waits for her to say more.

She shuffles her feet. “I’ll bid you goodnight, then,” she says.

“Wait.” Hien steps toward her, looking up into her eyes. If he’s made a rift between them, he can't end the night without taking steps to mend it. “We are even in victories, you and I. If you wish for another match you have only to ask.” He grins at her. “Even if you defeat me every time.”

She ducks her head with a soft laugh. “I’d like that,” she says. “Perhaps next time I won't use my lance. I've got to give you some chance of winning.”

The small taunt brings a flicker of normality back between them. He grins. “We shall see who truly is the better, lance or no.”

“I look forward to it.” Her tone is soft, but still sweet. It lifts the weight from his chest. She turns away. “Goodnight, Hien.”

He stands for a moment, watching as she disappears between the yurts, not moving until long after she’s disappeared from view. The sound of his name in her mouth strikes him differently this time. Hien wants to capture the syllables, like flower petals in the palm of his hand, and hold them close to his heart. He can’t know how much will change between them. He prays he hasn't ruined anything they can't fix together. But he does know the tiny spark in his chest is now a bright flame for her. He can no longer ignore it.

#hannah words #ffxiv #oc: calantha lenn #calantha/hien #this is all flirty banter and hien having heart eyes. that's it. that's the whole fic #also cala saying 'don't worry about it' is so funny to me and probably me only aksdjfhad bye #also obviously no pressure to read but. I *did* add almost 3k words and I'm much happier with it so i will be booping it a few times <3

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aegor-bamfsteel · 1 year

Note

"All?" he mocked. "Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."- Sansa(ACOK IV). How on earth Hound considered a hero?

If I remember correctly, that’s not one of the quotes people use when talking about how heroic the Hound is (although tbh he doesn’t say many positive things). Sansa a few chapters later shows him (politely, fearfully) where he can shove his nihilistic strongman philosophy:

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking.

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, hisvoice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. —ACOK Sansa VII

So let’s get this straight: strong bitter Hound who says the weak are there to serve the strong holds a knife to a girl’s throat for a song…and she sings for mercy, holds his face, and he’s so shamed by what he was going to do he leaves her alone to never see her again. Hound has been mocking Sansa’s “soft” “bird” songs since she met him, and she, afraid for her life, proves to him and everyone reading that yes, those “weak” qualities are stronger than hatred and brute force. This is actually one of the best pieces of evidence that GRRM isn’t grimdark…not that a grown man broke into a girl’s bedroom and threatened her with a knife to sing (that’s sadly expected), but that girl, in a “voice that sounded small and tremulous to her own ears”, sang about mercy and peace…and she wins, he doesn’t hurt her anymore. It’s not so much Beauty and the Beast as it is Snow White and the Huntsman, in which Snow’s innocence means the Huntsman can’t bring himself to kill her; except Sansa singing and putting a hand on his face takes a more active role. She asked the Mother earlier to ease the rage inside him, and she (or She?) did.

No, the Hound isn’t a hero, but more importantly, his entire mindset in that quote is wrong. And Sansa—one of the series’ main heroes—shows us in the same book why. I can’t imagine reading Sansa’s Blackwater chapters and how she represents a core theme of the novels—that compassion, peace, and mercy are actually stronger than hatred, war, and revenge—and not understand she’s going to be one of Westeros’ future leaders by the end.

#ask #sansa stark #anti sansan #asoiaf #opinion

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kookaburra1701 · 9 months

Text

WIP Wednesday - Aristeia

tagged by @mareenavee, @sylvienerevarine,@paraparadigm, @saltymaplesyrup, tyty friends!

I am tagging @skyrim-forever @gilgamish @greyborn2 @dirty-bosmer @thana-topsy @nientedenada @totally-not-deacon

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the orcs of Mor Khazgur

Summary: Borgakh is a dutiful daughter of Mor Khazgur, an orc stronghold in a remote corner of the Reach that has existed since the Merethic era. Expected to someday become the shield-wife of a distant chieftain, Borgakh tries to uphold the Code of Malacath as best she can. But when her father, the chief of their stronghold, goes missing while on a quest for vengeance, the suitors that show up to vie for his place cause no end of trouble and threaten the strength of Mor Khazgur. Borgakh soon finds herself traveling far from home across the Druadach Mountains to find her father and save the stronghold.

The first chapter is here on AO3.

Here's a bit for chapter 2!

Borgakh left Gul and Olur in the meadow, and continued along the base of the slope. She followed a faint track, barely more than a deer trail, as she kept her eyes on the familiar landmarks that told her she was choosing the correct path to reach the sheltered winter pasture.

Clink.

The butt of her staff struck something metal as she placed it on the ground while navigating a rocky outcropping. Borgakh frowned and knelt to clear away the fresh, wet pine needles that littered the trail.

A small silver-colored brooch glinted in the sun. The overall shape was that of a diamond formed by two wings flanking a stylized dragon. She had only seen that symbol once before - on the armor Olur was wearing when he had returned from the Legion to take his place in the stronghold.

The brooch was pressed into the dirt in the middle of a large boot print, the dimples from hobnails pockmarking the crushed grass. Borgakh stood and looked further up the trail.

The path ahead was torn, fresh red clay visible where turf had been cut by heavy feet. A breeze brought her the sharp, clean scent of a crushed juniper bush. There was a scrap of red wool caught on a tree branch.

Borgakh broke into a run, climbing as fast as she could. This trail led to only one place.

“Cario, you oaf!” The shout rang out ahead, the deep male voice followed quickly by the sound of bells and panicked bleating. Then laughter.

Borgakh burst into the clearing where Mor Khazgur’s goats were kept on pasture through the winter. It was a sheltered place, large enough to sustain Mor Khazgur’s small and hardy herd, and surrounded on three sides by sheltering arms of rock. There was too little grass to keep a grazing flock of sheep, but enough shrubs, brambles, and trees to satisfy the goats. It was high enough up the mountains that predators rarely bothered them, but low enough that forage was rarely covered by snow.

But now there were three men- human men- arms outstretched and turned away from her as they moved in a line towards the half-dozen or so goats huddled against one of the rock walls that now trapped them.

Rage bubbled up in Borgakh’s throat, and before she was conscious of doing so the battle cry her mother had taught her ripped from her throat as she charged at the men.

“What in the-” the man closest to her turned and she had only a split second of satisfaction seeing the confusion in his face as she brought her crook down hard on his bare head. He dropped like a stone.

#mor khazgur #fic: aristeia #borgakh the steel heart #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim #tesblr #wip wednesday #kb writes #orc posting hours #it's not easy being green #orc #hot orc summer

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zacharybosch · 10 months

Text

Tell Me if You Feel It

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

Fresh, is the word that immediately springs to mind, along with soft and bouncy and unspoiled, and Ed doesn’t say any of them. “Just something. Not a bad thing. Nice to have someone I can show the ropes to.”

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hello and welcome to my ed/stede brokeback mountain AU! E-rated, 7k one-shot, nobody dies but it is bittersweet ❤

title is from Supermoon by case/lang/veirs, please also check out my spotify playlist for some additional sad cowboy vibes

🤠

read Tell Me if You Feel It below or on ao3!

🤠

The great flock of sheep rolls across the high pasture like clouds on a stormy afternoon. It’s a cooler summer than most he’s had in his so-far short life, colder still up here on the face of the mountain, and Ed tucks his jacket a little tighter about his body. He twists his mouth to curtail his smile as he watches Stede, this shiny well turned-out boy, trotting circles around the herd and standing in the saddle to show off and wave his pretty little hat, high peals of laughter carrying away on the wind. Ed’s not been up here since the start of the season, his role as camp tender requiring him to stay further down the mountain, but the sheep needed fresh grazing and moving a flock this size takes more than one man. Nice to have some company for the day besides, and Stede seems happy enough to have him there.

Ed chews on the cheroot sticking out of his mouth. He won’t light it yet; only got a few left and the man from the ranch isn’t due to meet them with supplies for a couple more days, but he savours the taste, bitter tobacco and something leathery and old. His horse, a sweet-tempered mare with a ruddy chestnut coat, whickers softly and shifts her hooves against the earth. Impatient to be off, tired of the saddle and the man on her back, but Ed rubs a soothing hand on her neck and she’ll stop and wait for as long as she’s told.

Stede comes trotting over, pink cheeks puffing out beneath the wide brim of his hat, and his own piebald mare flicks her eyes at Ed. “Beans for supper?” he asks, even though he doesn’t have to, since they’ve been up here a month now and consistently eat through the good stuff days before the next scheduled supply run.

Ed plucks the cheroot from between his lips and tucks it behind his ear. “Beans for supper,” he agrees, then clicks his tongue and presses in with his legs and points his horse on the trail back to camp, knowing Stede will follow behind.

At camp, Stede brushes down the horses while Ed gets the fire going. Some of the firewood’s a little damp and Ed mutters idle curses as he tries to encourage the struggling flame, but soon enough it starts to catch and he slowly adds logs until it’s burning strong and bright.

The beans aren’t so bad. They cook them in the cans and eat from them too, spoons clacking against the cheap metal, no point dirtying pots and bowls for this. Stede always looks thoughtful when he eats, and Ed supposes it’s because this is all a novel experience for him; it’s clear Stede comes from money, with his jeans still dark and stiff at the seams, boots that have only just now started to crease after a month of wear, gold and teal stitching bright on the shaft. Begs the question why Stede is even here, what a well-heeled boy like him could possibly be looking for up in the wild mountains.

They’ve talked some in the month they’ve been up here, although not much and never for long. Practical concerns mostly, what the weather’s doing and which horse has a stone in its shoe and how soon should they move the sheep on to the next pasture, never going too personal save for one time Ed caught sight of a coyote prowling the camp, big son of a bitch that had already taken several of their lambs, grabbed his .30-30 Winchester and got it clean between the eyes first try, and Stede whooped and hollered and breathlessly asked where he learned to shoot like that. Only one other time he’s taken a shot that clean and Stede wouldn’t like it if he knew about it, so he just shrugged the question away and kept his talk superficial, tended the camp and minded his business while Stede rode in and out each morning and evening.

Stede’s not the kind of company Ed would normally choose to keep; always difficult to know where you are with white boys, not to mention rich ones, even if they smile and shake your hand with a litany of pleasantries, and it’s oftentimes too much work to stay on their good side with no reward to show for it so Ed just doesn’t bother. But it’s been lonely up here too, and the solitude can eat a man up from the inside out if he’s not careful about it. Ed needs company more than he cares to admit, and over the metal scrape of spoons in cans and the jumping crackle of the fire, he starts to think maybe that need could be met.

He kicks the conversation off with the blandest thing he can say, safe and cautious and still more personal than anything he’s allowed in the past month. “Did this last summer, the herding. Thinking I might go for next year too, if they’ll have me back again.”

Stede immediately perks up, sitting to get a better look at Ed across the fire, pushing his hat back with an excited, thoughtless gesture. “An old hand then, are you? It’s my first time here.”

Ed looks down at his can and smiles as he scoops up the dregs of food. “I can tell,” he says, and maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, because that’s just the kind of inoffensive and gentle poking that gets boys like Stede so wound up, so he qualifies it with, “Not that I mean anything by that. Just something about you.”

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

“You are good with the sheep. They’ll be pleased when it’s your turn up the mountain, I think.”

“I spent my whole damn life sleeping with sheep, been nice to get away from them for a while to be honest,” which isn’t all that honest, because Ed finds a good deal of comfort in the dumb beasts with their serene yellow eyes and distant, soft bleating. Growing up on a lonely, windswept ranch, earth blown flat in every direction as far as the eye could see, no children about and no safe place to be other than wandering with the sheep, far from the house and the darkness that lived inside.

“My daddy owns ranches, but we never lived on one,” Stede says, as though plucking Ed’s memory from his head and placing his own alongside it. “A whole lot of them, all across the state. He worked hard to make a good life for our family and now he hates me for enjoying that life, hates me for not working hard like he did. Thought he might like it if I put some work in here, lighten up his dim view of me.”

“Is that so,” Ed says, face neutral and heart beating at Stede’s honest, ready admission.

“I hope I’m doing a good job.”

If a man can hate his own son for the simple fact of his existence, then there’s no job in the world that can be done good enough to gain his favour back. Stede is still trying to shut that barn door, but Ed knows the horse has already bolted. “You are.”

Stede smiles at him across the fire, a forlorn thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s kind of you to say, Ed. I know I could do better.” Quiet settles between them for a minute, just the crackle of the wood and the rush of sparks as the pile of logs collapses in on itself a little more. “To tell you the truth, Ed, I’m dreading going back home at the end of the summer. I don’t think he’s waiting for my return. Pleased to be rid of me, most likely.”

Nothing Ed can say to that, nothing real that will make a lick of difference. What platitudes can he give when his own father hated him just as much? “Do just fine on your own, I reckon. A man’s gotta leave home some time, anyway. Better to do it now, strike out when you’re young.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“In a way. Choice was made for me, really.” Normally Ed wouldn’t go into it, or he’d spin some fanciful yarn about seeking his fortune, answering the call of the big wide world. But Stede told him something true, and Ed wants to give a truth back. “My folks aren’t around. Old man kicked it some years ago. Mama went last year, bank tried to take the ranch to pay off all the debts we got left with, stress of trying to fight it sent her to the grave earlier than she should’ve gone and then the bank just took the ranch anyway. I put some work in at a few places since then and they’ve usually been willing enough to give me a space to lay my head at night.” Ed pushes the long tail of his braided hair away over his shoulder, taps his spoon against the side of his empty can, anything to do that isn’t looking at Stede’s open, interested face. “Do just fine on my own.”

“It’s lonely, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Can be.”

Ed isn’t quite twenty; Stede only just. Little more than boys really, too young still to be carrying this kind of weight with no idea yet how to ease their burdens, but it’s good to have a friend where they hadn’t thought to find one.

Spoons rinsed in the stream, blue shadows stretching long over the packed earth of their camp, Stede wheels his horse about in the muted dusk light and canters off up the trail to spend the night with the sheep. A week or so more and they’ll switch, and Ed will be the one to sleep up on that lonely mountain slope, while Stede stays and tends the hearth with a tent big enough for two. He wonders if Stede will ever glance up to watch Ed riding about on the slopes, a little dark spot in the steep meadows, the same way Ed has been watching Stede.

He sits up a while and smokes his cheroot in the gathering gloom. It eats through the stock of firewood, and he’ll have to spend most of tomorrow replenishing it, but he keeps the campfire going until long after night has fallen, a pinprick beacon for Stede to look down at and know someone is waiting for his return.

Stede comes in to camp mid-morning, just as the chill starts to yield to the heat of the day. Ed is down in the stream at the camp’s edge, freezing naked in the shallows as he crouches to wash his only shirt and the rest of his body, and he hears the sound of hooves but doesn’t look up at it. Stede will grab some food and refill his canteen, take a few minutes to go into the tent under the pretence of putting on a clean shirt but Ed knows it’s so Stede can fix his hair with a fresh helping of pomade, and then he’ll head back on up the trail to spend another day with the sheep.

But this time Stede lingers, comes out of the tent with his new shirt and neat hair and circles ponderously round the campsite. He glances repeatedly at Ed, fusses with his gloves and the horse’s bridle, and then decides he needs to freshen up at the stream as well and Ed wonders, dangerously, why.

Ed scrubs the hard bar of soap under his arms, splashes at them with the icy mountain water, then pulls his hair from its tight braid and wraps the red cord tie around his wrist for safekeeping. The color is vivid against his skin as he combs wet fingers through his hair, shaking out the grit and dust of the trails. Upstream, gaze drawn by the bright slash of color or maybe something else altogether, Stede watches, and turns away when he’s caught.

“See if I can’t shoot us a couple of cottontails, have us a nice supper tonight,” Stede says, as he pats water from his face with the sleeve of his jacket and goes to haul himself back up into the saddle. “Maybe the good whiskey, too. Still a few drops left.”

They won’t be eating rabbit tonight, Ed knows for a certainty. Stede can hit a big slow target and not much more than that, but there’s no good reason to snuff out his optimism and besides, the whiskey is good. “I’ll skin ‘em,” Ed says, as Stede’s already cantering away, and only when the sound of hoofbeats has melted into the forest does he rise from the stream and lay his wet shirt out on the banks to dry.

He spends the day replenishing the stock of firewood, shivering at first with no shirt to wear and then sweating as the sun beats hot on his back and the exertion of the axe takes its toll. He chops, and thinks about the little travel case filled with Stede’s shirts and stowed in the corner of the big tent, how he could just go in there and take one and wear it. He chops, and wonders what Stede was thinking when he packed it, if he could’ve known how anyone else out here with him besides Ed would’ve sneered and judged him for it. He chops, and thinks about fine blue cotton, white piping, pearly snap buttons.

Early evening, with the sky just beginning to drain pale and his own threadbare check shirt dry and back on his shoulders, Ed is half-heartedly wondering if it isn’t too late to ride down to the river to try and catch a fish or two when Stede comes trotting into camp with a brace of rabbits hanging from his saddle. He holds them aloft triumphantly, grinning at Ed, and Ed laughs, short and loud and full of delight. “You got ‘em!” he says, and slaps Stede’s thigh because that’s what’s in reach.

“I got them,” Stede replies, pride in his voice, and his leg is solid, flexing briefly under Ed’s touch before the mare walks on towards the hitching post.

The campfire catches easily and builds to a strong blaze in no time at all. Ed skins and dresses the rabbits with the quick, thoughtless efficiency of muscle memory, and soon enough they’re enjoying the richest meal they’ve had all month, washed down with the whiskey passing liberally back and forth. Stede pulls out a harmonica, this ridiculous and luridly-painted thing that Ed had inwardly rolled his eyes at first time he saw it, but Stede’s good humour for it is infectious and Ed husks out a few bars of some silly country song, voice stumbling a little over the words and inventing those he can’t remember.

Night rolls in without them even noticing, too caught up in the simple pleasure of good food, good whiskey, and a good companion to share it with. Stede is sparking like a fire and wobbly on his feet, and insists for at least a minute that he’ll still go and ride up to the sheep, but then he looks at the dark line of trees and the charcoal shadow of the mountain against the sky and decides a blanket down here by the fire will do him just fine.

“I’ll just curl up here by the fire, grab a little shut-eye and be right as rain before you know it. I’ll go up to the sheep at first light.”

“You’ll freeze your fuckin’ balls off out here,” Ed says, head buzzing and handing over a blanket anyway. “Just come sleep in the tent.”

“No, it’s your tent, Ed, I couldn’t impose. Besides, nothing like forty winks under the stars. Invigorating!”

Ed sighs, drops a couple more logs onto the campfire, and bids Stede goodnight. A brief hour or two later, awoken by the wild yipping howl of a coyote and then kept awake by the incessant chattering of Stede’s teeth, Ed sticks his head out of the tent flap and demands Stede quit his shivering and get inside. The campfire’s burnt down to softly glowing embers, and Stede rises quickly, as though already poised and ready and simply waiting for the invitation. He stumbles towards Ed through the messy remains of their supper, and once inside he sighs relief into the blankets. Ed shifts to make a little more room, and they both settle back into sleep.

The stars wheel across the sky, chased by a moon that’s one day from full. The horses, pleased to be spending the night together, nuzzle and lean into each other at the hitching post. Partially-burnt logs crumble and sink a little deeper into the ashy remains of the campfire, as the last of the embers slowly dim and wink out of existence.

Unthinking in the dark of the tent, blurry with sleep and moving on instinct, Ed reaches behind himself to find Stede’s arm and curl it around his torso. It’s good for a few moments, nestling back as he’s pulled closer, warm and comfortable with Stede’s breath puffing softly against the nape of his neck, and then it’s not; Stede stiffens and bolts upright, panicked. Ed, quick to wake and reckless, sits up and reaches for him, and reaches again when Stede reflexively pushes his hand away.

They hang for a moment perfectly still, eyes locked across a short distance that stretches for miles. Then Ed pulls hard at the sheepskin jacket he’s been sleeping in, yanks it off his shoulders and he thinks Stede gets it now, can see understanding in the shadow of his eyes as Stede grabs and holds him tight at arm’s length, taught on a string ready to snap. Moving carefully, like he does with skittish horses and barking dogs, Ed wraps his fingers around Stede’s wrist and drags his thumb over the thin skin, pressing into his hammering pulse.

It’s all Stede needs. He pulls Ed towards him, and breathing hard in each other’s space, they fall quick into the steps of a dance that Ed knows well and Stede is learning as he goes. Ed’s already unbuckling and unbuttoning, jeans loose and open as he gets to his hands and knees. Stede fights with his own belt, lets the hiss of his zip fly say the words that his mouth can’t form yet, but he’s moving no less fast or urgent, pulling at clothing to clear the way, and then he’s right there pressing hot and hard against Ed’s body.

It’s rough, easing the way on nothing but spit and a prayer, but Ed can take it, he’s done it before. Likes it like this sometimes, feeling it the day after and knowing it happened. Stede’s breath is on his neck again, short and sharp and hot like the hand that yanked his jeans down to his thigh.

This is the only way it could’ve happened. Maybe they’ll do it again and take their time to roll in the blankets all soft and sweet, but it had to start with this; rough handling in the dark, driving forwards eyes shut, taking the most direct route to the other side where possibility lay waiting for them.

Ed’s never come so quick or untouched before, the immediacy of the encounter overloading his brain and sending him straight there when he barely has his wits about him. Above, pressed tight along his back, Stede grabs Ed’s waist to steady himself as his own hips grind and stutter and still.

For a few breaths neither of them move, and then Ed’s shaky arms give out beneath him and he sinks to the blanket. Stede says nothing as he slips abruptly from Ed’s body, but he lays down too and curls in towards Ed with a careful few inches between them. The tent is hot from their exertion and Ed can feel every single part of his body fevered and glowing and alive, but he doesn’t move, just keeps his eyes shut and breathes in and out, deep and slow. In the humid air, beneath the weathered canvas and above the musty blankets, Stede smells like horse, dry grass, and the good whiskey.

Rain came and went at some point in the night, and Stede rides out early the next morning with hardly a word, disappearing into the dripping trees. Ed takes his chestnut mare and two of the pack mules down to the road at the river crossing, picking their way carefully down the mountainside over the steaming, fecund earth, meets the man from the ranch and loads up their supplies for the next week. Ed wonders if the man can tell, if he can look at Ed and see the mark of Stede’s hands on his hips, the scalding red burn of his breath on the back of his neck, sore to the touch and wanting it.

The man from the ranch sniffs as he reads over Ed’s request list for the next delivery, mutters just like he always does that he’ll have a hard time getting it, but he’ll be back next week with most everything they’re asking for. He sniffs again, nods to himself, dismissing Ed with no parting look or word and gets in his dusty pick-up to drive off. Ed climbs back into his saddle and begins the long trek back to camp, the river rushing loud in his ears.

Back at camp, Ed busies himself stowing the provisions and brushing down his horse and the braying mules, and more times than he cares to admit looking up the mountain to catch a glimpse of Stede, a tiny speck in the great swathes of green and white and grey.

The golden hour before sunset is just beginning to spread its burnished light across the clearing and Stede still hasn’t arrived back to camp yet, but Ed knows he’ll come and knows why he’s leaving it late. He gets the fire going, puts yesterday’s rabbit bones in a pot with water from the stream, peels and slices a few potatoes with his sharp little knife, opens one can each of some over-processed, under-colored meat and vegetables. It all goes into the pot, perched precariously on the grill stand above the fire. There was a block of lard and some flour with the new supplies, coarse stuff that the ranch owner’s wife likely didn’t want, and Ed thinks he can probably cobble together a fair enough dough for biscuits to cook on the hot stones at his feet. He doesn’t know exactly what it is that he’s preparing for supper, but he’s thinking harder about it than he’s probably thought about anything in his life and he wants Stede to like it.

When the hoofbeats come the sky is pink and orange, grey-lavender clouds gilded copper at the edges. Normally one for a perky little trot or canter, Stede enters camp at a slow walk, reins in one hand and something small and curious bundled in the other. He slides from the saddle, ties his horse to the hitching post and pats her briefly on the neck, leaning in when she presses against him.

At the fire, Stede looks at the two logs that serve as their benches, and sits on the one where Ed isn’t. It’s not a statement, just nerves, and Ed looks at what Stede’s got in his hand: a few scrubby little wildflowers, small bursts of petals in yellow, purple, white.

“From up on the mountain,” Stede says, even though there’s nowhere else he’s been today. He reels off their names and starts to go into the Latin too, then seems to think better of it and says instead, “Not much to look at but they smell sweet as anything.”

Ed puffs on his cheroot, flips his lighter end over end between thumb and fingers while he considers the stew bubbling over the fire, then takes the can that held the processed vegetables and holds it out silently to Stede. The flowers go into the can, Ed stands the can on the log bench, and he can see Stede’s smile from the corner of his eye.

They talk little while they eat around the fire, mopping up stew with Ed’s middling attempt at stone biscuits, sharing a can of peaches in syrup for dessert with no small amount of skittering glances and almost-touches, not drinking the whiskey despite having a new bottle and waiting patiently for it to be too dark for Stede to ride out to the sheep. Speech comes in stops and starts, shying at intimacies, until Stede says, “I have a gal back home. You know.”

“Yeah,” Ed says, knowing the script, “so do I,” even though he doesn’t have a gal and doesn’t want a gal, but knows that he should and knows that one day he’ll have to.

“We’re just— passing the time.”

“Yeah,” Ed says again. “Scratching an itch.” But if Stede gets the itch the way Ed does then it takes a damn lot of scratching and ends up worse than when you started. All you wanna do is scratch and can’t think of nothing else.

They don’t discuss it any further than that, and why would they, what need is there? They both know what they’re doing and no-one else is up here to demand an explanation of them. It’s nobody’s business but theirs.

Night is fully upon them, the sky deep and black and fathomless with no trace of the lingering sun; just the blazing spray of stars and the huge, glowing moon, bathing everything silver and blue. It’s their permission to look at each other, look away, look again and hold it this time. Ed goes first, takes the little kerosene lamp and lays himself down in the golden tent with his bare back on the scratchy wool blanket, and knows Stede will follow.

When Stede comes he pauses at the tent flap, hat in his hands, shy as a gentleman asking a sweetheart if he may have this dance. Ed sits up and reaches for him like he did last night, but this time Stede doesn’t push away, just lets Ed guide him in, touch his cheek and bump their noses together, rasping stubble as their mouths move haltingly in something that wants to be a kiss but isn’t quite there yet. Stede clings to Ed like he can’t stand the fact that eventually he’ll have to let go, and Ed whispers “it’s alright, it’s alright,” just a breath in the still air around them, no louder than the campfire that crackles beyond the tent.

They ease down to the blanket, propped on their elbows, face to face and a scant inch between their bodies, legs tentatively brushing and beginning to entwine. Ed rests his palm softly against Stede’s chest, circles a finger around the pearly snaps on his shirt, and pops them one by one at Stede’s slow nod. Stede still has his boots on; Ed’s toes curl and stretch in his bunched woollen socks.

The tail of Ed’s braid hangs over his shoulder and trails against his chest, endlessly pushed aside during the day but somehow always finding its way back, and when Stede puts his fingers to it Ed thinks he’ll just push it aside again; but instead Stede takes one end of the red tie cord between his fingertips, and pulls slowly, gently, until it slips from Ed’s hair. Ed holds so still, a faintly disbelieving puff of breath escaping his lips as Stede puts the cord aside and strokes tentative fingers through the already unravelling braid.

“Look at that,” Stede murmurs, the fluffy wave of Ed’s hair now completely loose and tumbling over his bare shoulder, the scent of woodsmoke mingled in the strands. “Lovely.”

“Don’t need to charm me,” Ed says shakily, wanting all of Stede’s charm and more besides.

“I know,” Stede says, soft and a little bashful, like he hopes Ed will allow him the indulgence anyway. “Have you done this before?”

There’s already a tacit agreement between them that this summer up here on the mountain exists outside of time and the real world, different rules and different lives and a different way to think of things. But asking about real life is dangerous, and even knowing this the desire to answer still claws raggedly in Ed’s throat, desperate to be given voice. Instead, he kisses Stede properly, hard and insistent. He’ll figure it out in his own time, whether the realization comes tomorrow morning or ten years down the road, Stede will think back on this and he’ll know that Ed has done it before.

Ed slips a hand beneath the fabric of Stede’s shirt and peels him out of it, his warm fingertips chasing away the last of the nighttime chill that still lingers on Stede’s skin. They lie down and pull their bodies flush and begin to move on instinct, thighs slotted together, a slow exploratory grind of hands and hips while they kiss and kiss and kiss. Stede makes noises, tiny breathless things, and he does what they both did the night before and wordlessly pulls open the button of his waistband, sends the zip fly hissing down.

Another breath, another moment of stillness to stop and look at each other; Ed drags his eyes from Stede’s face to his open jeans and back again, and Stede blinks and licks his lips and nods.

Ed curls his hand inside the denim, sliding over the soft, furry skin of Stede’s backside, and he squeezes and Stede cries out and then they kiss, again, wet and hungry. Ed grabs and pulls and Stede goes where Ed hauls him, sliding a leg up and over to straddle Ed’s hips. He’s sweet and excited about it, nervous beyond hope but so eager to learn what Ed has to teach.

Hardly any instruction manual required for what they’re doing. The body knows even if the mind is unsure, and they press together in a slow grind. Ed pulls his own jeans open, heavy buttons of his fly popping one by one and they’re maddeningly close, just a flap of fabric to fold this way instead of that and then they’d be touching, really touching, but neither of them makes the move. It’s a barrier they didn’t have to think about the night before, when everything was dark and happened so quickly and they touched themselves but hardly each other. Here now, the kerosene lamp bathes them in a light they can’t hide from, throws warm shadows between them at the final frontier. For a while they just stay as they are, teetering in the moment, not pushing forward nor pulling back. But soon enough practicality forces them over that line they were both too wary to be the first one to cross; Ed’s button fly is little worry, but Stede’s zip has sharp little teeth and with the insistent force of their grinding hips, it’s an accident begging to happen.

“We’re taking these off,” Ed says into the press of Stede’s mouth, tugging at one waistband and then the other, and this way they’re crossing the line together, no-one to go first and risk the other not following. It’s a tangle of hands and legs and Ed has a couple inches in height over Stede, but Stede is still long and wiry in that way young men often are, like they’ve been stretched too much one way and not the other. Slim legs, Ed notes, pale against his own, less hair.

Stede’s dick, pink and full mast, is heavy alongside Ed’s, nestled and warm. Ed puts a careful hand at the back of Stede’s knee, slides it up his thigh and digs a thumb into his hip, then across the hard plane of his stomach and down. Like their first meeting outside the dingy trailer that served as the ranch office, firm handshake in the hot afternoon sun while dust from the road whipped about their feet, Ed takes Stede in hand and holds him tight.

“That’s—” Stede tries, but the rest of the sentence isn’t forthcoming. Bracketed above Ed haunch and elbow, his back ripples as he finds the rhythm of Ed’s touch and pushes into it. Between the slide of their lips Stede admits, “Never kissed anyone like this before.”

Truth be told Ed hasn’t either, not really. Kissing is for romance, and romance is in short supply at the places he’s been. “Feels good?”

“Feels good,” slips sweetly from Stede’s mouth, as they rock and rub and moan together. “I, can we—”

“Yeah?” Can’t even let Stede get all his words out, feels like it doesn’t even matter what he might be asking for because the fact he’s asking is more than enough and Ed will say yes to any and all of it.

“Like last night, I want it.”

“Yeah, yes, I can take it again—”

“No, I want it,” and Stede presses himself harder into Ed’s hips.

“Oh shit, fuck, okay, have you—” can’t ask, shouldn’t ask, of course he hasn’t. “There’s things we should do. We need to prep.”

“It didn’t seem so difficult last night,” Stede says with this coy little smile, and Ed could ride a thousand good-tempered horses across a thousand summer mountain ranges with bluebirds singing and whiskey flowing from the springs, and none of it would make him feel like this.

“Think about— how it is with a woman. They have their own way of keeping things moving easy down there. We gotta improvise.”

At Stede’s uncomprehending look, Ed twists his torso to reach Stede’s travel case and the little grooming kit that he knows is stashed inside. Stede doesn’t get off of him or rise up even one inch to allow space to move, and Ed likes being pinned under him like this, likes Stede heavy and solid in his lap.

“This’ll help,” Ed says pointedly, prying the lid off of Stede’s tin of hair pomade and swiping a finger through the slippery oil.

“Oh,” Stede breathes, a little worried crease fluttering between his eyebrows. “Last night, I only—”

“Don’t worry about it,” and he can’t say ‘I’m used to it’ and definitely not ‘I like it like that’, but he can say again, “This will help you.”

“Oh,” Stede repeats, and Ed can see his brain ticking over as he figures out the answer to ‘Have you done this before?’ “Okay. Alright.”

They sink into another kiss, Ed trailing slick fingers down Stede’s flank and around to stroke against the tight furl of his entrance. Ed shakes as he goes, possessing all of the experience and so all of the fear too; fear that this is the point where it will end, that Stede will come to his senses, pull back, accuse Ed of seduction, perversion and worse. But Stede simply melts against him, takes Ed inside his body like he’s spent the last month waiting for it, and Ed shakes a little less and moves a little more.

It’s Stede who eventually reaches between them, when they’re overly hot and slick with sweat and about ready to shoot off like summer fireworks, pulls his palm up and down Ed’s cock a few indulgent times and then pushes it behind him and up where he wants it.

Like a lock and key they fit together, shaped for each other and sliding easily into position, but it’s a moment more before they try to move in this new configuration. Just looking and breathing, a sweaty palm to a hot cheek, a barely-there whisper of, “You’re here, this is happening, I’ve got you.”

Stilted at first but gaining confidence, Stede begins to move above Ed, following his body’s instinct up and down, back and forth, still trying to kiss even as their mouths bump and jolt and miss their mark. He sits up in Ed’s lap, chasing a better angle, brow furrowed above closed eyes and open mouth, and Ed thinks he’s never seen something so beautiful. Pink skin in the warm lamp glow, coppery curls tangled and bouncing, strain in his thighs as he tries to build momentum and can’t quite manage it.

“Come on, cowboy,” Ed says, with that wild runaway mouth of his. “I’ve been watching you ride this past month, I know your seat’s better than that.” But Stede’s uncoordinated in his movements, doubting the way his body goes, and Ed gets it, he does; it’s hard to be up there in the driver’s seat, being looked at like this with nowhere to hide. So Ed pushes up on one hand, presses his forehead to Stede’s and holds his hip to guide the lift and roll. “That’s it,” he breathes, words soft in the space between their lips. “Ride a horse, you can ride me.”

“Nothing like this,” Stede sighs into Ed’s mouth, cradling his head, hair spilling over his fingers. “There’s nothing like this.”

“Not a damn thing in the world that feels like this,” Ed agrees, kiss to shuddering kiss.

Stede is an accomplished horse rider; he has a straight back and fluid hips and long, strong legs, and he uses them well. He meets Ed push for push, grind for aching grind, peppering kisses over his jaw and down his neck, but he still can’t quite keep the pace they need to get where they want to go. Rough hand splayed against Stede’s sweaty back, Ed begins to tip and roll and Stede clings to him as they go.

Landing with a small puff of breath and a sweet little laugh, Stede is relaxed and easy on his back, pulling Ed against him, taking him back inside his body with nothing shy or hesitant about it. Ed grins against his mouth, kisses him hard and picks up the pace full-throttle, pulling Stede’s leg up to curl around his waist and driving into him, the jut of his hip bones against the creamy, freckled skin of Stede’s inner thighs.

Beneath him Stede moans, a sheen of sweat on his chest, hands gripping hard at Ed’s shoulders, his neck, whatever he can reach. Their kisses are barely kisses, just hot, gasping slides of lips and tongues.

Ed’s body is lit up, fire-bright and coiled tight, brain and mouth not working in sync as he babbles, “I’ve never— It’s never felt like— God, Stede, do you—” and then white-hot, breaking through, his orgasm comes crashing in like a summer storm, deep and thundering, rolling through his body, and he holds himself tight against Stede as he pulses inside, filling and marking him.

His head is thick, fizzing with electricity, only Stede’s wrecked voice cutting through, “Ed, Ed, please—”

He murmurs into the crook of Stede’s neck, “Hold on, I’ll get you there,” holding himself up on shakily-planted elbows, still pressed in heavily between Stede’s thighs. Ed grips Stede’s cock, slippery between his fingers, and strokes him firm and quick.

“Not far to go,” Stede says, breathless, the rapid rise and fall of his chest in time with the thrust of his hips as he moves to meet the rhythm of Ed’s rapid strokes. Hands at Ed’s back, nails digging in, he drags a matching set of long welts over Ed’s shoulder blades as he comes, arching up against Ed’s chest, clenching around him with his trembling thighs. Stede holds him hard enough to bruise, and Ed wants it, and when eventually they peel apart and lie flat on their backs, side by side and panting, Stede tangles their fingers together and Ed wants that too.

The tent is hot, the air syrup-heavy against their naked skin, and before long Stede crawls on wobbly knees to the opening and ties back the flap. He sits for a moment to enjoy the cool air, framed against the triangular slice of their shadowy camp, the black trees, and the brilliant night sky, and he looks back at Ed.

They don’t need to say it; they both know that they feel it.

After the rough efficiency of their first time, after the sweetness of the second, they fall into an easy pattern, initially only inside the tent but then outside it too. Up in the high meadows above the treeline, no work down at camp that can’t wait until tomorrow, rolling in the grass in the hot afternoon sun; suppertime around the campfire, potatoes sizzling in the dented pan, a little smoke and a little whiskey and an easy, familiar slide into unhurried intimacy; in the chill dawn, pale ghost-light and mist, back up in the saddle after another night spent leaving the sheep to fend for themselves and leaning down to steal a parting kiss. A hundred domestic scenes played out in miniature, more than just a warm body to press against at night, all fueled by the knowledge that none of it will last and the foolish hope that maybe it could.

And all the while Ed can’t grab the reins on his thoughts, galloping away a mile a minute to places he absolutely should not go: what if Stede came back next summer and they got to do this again? What if he found where Stede lived, paid him a visit, and they went away for a while, just the two of them in some remote cabin, no work to be done and all the time they wanted to hunt and fish and fuck? What if they got a ranch, built up a little cow and calf operation together down in the valley, or maybe out on the plains? A herd of their own, a bed of their own, a life of their own.

It’s staggering, how much Ed wants it. No way to unthink any of the things he’s thought, not now he’s looked them in the eye and allowed them to make him ache. And that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Once you acknowledge it you really start to feel it, and then you have to deal with the fact that you’re never going to get it, and there’s no way it won’t hurt now. They’ve not been merely passing the time, they both know that. They’ve been trying to live a whole life in one short summer, taking what they can because it’s all they’re allowed to have.

It’ll end because it has to end; no two ways about it, the color and heat of summer will drain from the land as the sheep are brought down off the mountain, and life with its relentless march onwards will demand that they act in roles that allow no space for the tender thing growing between them. The day will come, soon, and it’ll hurt, and maybe it’s best to end it like they started, pushing through it rough and quick; easier to watch a bruise fade, a raw scrape heal over, skin knit back together. Because how can you know when something’s done and healed if you could never even see the mark of it to begin with, if all you had and all you’ve got is a shift beneath the skin, a terrifying feeling that something has irrevocably changed and no clue how to fix it?

The day will come. But for now there’s sheep to watch and the camp to tend, and so long as they remain on the mountain life will wait a little while for them yet.

#ofmd fanfic #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd #our flag means death #my fic

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rabbitcruiser · 4 months

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Old Rock Day

Old Rock Day, despite some misconception, is not a day of celebrating classic Rock ‘n’ Roll tunes of days gone by but is, in fact, the day that Geologists and amateur rock enthusiasts take it upon themselves to show their appreciation of all things fossilised and stony.

Learn about Old Rock Day

All the lessons are in nature. You look at the way rocks are formed – the wind and the water hitting them, shaping them, making them what they are. Things take time, you know?

A rock is a solid mass that is made up of minerals or substances that are mineral-like. They form the Earth’s most outer layer. Rocks have also been (and continue to be) used for a number of different purposes. This includes everything from weapons to musical instruments and tools; their use is very varied. Of course, if you were to go outside now, you would probably see some rocks on the ground, right? They are everything, and something so significant deserves to be recognized and appreciated, which is what Old Rock Day is all about.

Natural processes help to ensure that rocks are continually kept on Earth, and by this, we mean processes like erosion and volcanic eruptions. Despite this, old rocks are essential when it comes to understanding the history of our planet and learning more about the Earth in general. Old rocks hold the answers to a lot of mysteries regarding the formation of Earth. They are able to tell scientists the story of what happened to cause the rocks to form, as well as revealing the effects these natural events have had on other forms of life within that area. It is crazy to think that something so small could hold such incredible information!

You can also find that fossils are held within old rocks at times. These are the preserved remains of plants, animals, and other organisms. These fossils can enable scientists to discover the sort of fauna and flora that existed in the past. They can then delve deeper, finding out what caused them to either go extinct or evolved. This is another way that rocks help us to understand the world that we live in.

In order to determine how old a rock is, geologists will use a technique that is known as radioactive dating or radiometric dating. This is a process that involves taking a look at radioactive elements and how they have decayed within the rocks. This enables scientists to find the oldest rock of terrestrial origin. Scientists believe that this rock could be 4.4 billion years old. It was found in Australia’s Jack Hills and it is a zircon rock.

History of Old Rock Day

The exact origins of this day are unclear and unconfirmed but there has been a suggestion that this day was first created by the cartoon family known as The Flintstones. Nobody from The Flintstones however was available for comment.

This is also the day when young children are often encouraged to go out and discover their first “pet rock.” It is a day that they can use to bond with their “pet” and cement the very beginning of their lengthy future relationship. Unlike with other pets, “pet rocks” never ever grow old or die.

Other festivities on this day include painting and decorating the “faces” of rocks and of gathering together attractive pebbles and stones to make inexpensive and original pieces of jewellery.

It is also the day that the pastime of building a “rock garden” is actively encouraged. Some towns and villages around the world hold competitions on this day to find the best decorated “rock garden”.

How to celebrate Old Rock Day

There are many different ways that you can celebrate Old Rock Day. one of the best things to do is learn more about the different kinds of old rocks. This is something that you can do by researching online or heading to your local library and looking into the different books there. Alternatively, you could visit your local natural history museum. You will be able to see some different significant rocks and fossils, learning more about them. You may not think that this is the sort of thing you would be interested in, but give it a try, especially on Old Rock Day. You may surprise yourself!

There are plenty of other things that you can do on Old Rock Day. Why not treat yourself to an old rock? You know, like a diamond! We won’t tell if you don’t! After all, any day of celebration is the perfect excuse to treat ourselves, right?

You could also enjoy a nice walk in your local area. Why not head to your local park and take a look at the rocks there? You could even collect some of the more interestingly shaped rocks. A lot of people actually collect rocks as a hobby, so this may even turn out to be something that you do on a more regular basis.

Another way that you could celebrate Old Rock Day is by enjoying some rock art. If you take a look online, you may be surprised to see the sheer number of different arts and crafts that are based on rocks. You can paint your own rocks in different colours, as well as using them as part of a bigger craft project. There are paint your own stone kits available to make it easier, providing you with the stones and the correct paints. Of course, you can go rogue and do your own project. You don’t need to buy a kit. No matter your choice, make sure you share your creation on social media.

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cathkaesque · 3 months

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The 'Be Nosy' question list: 4; 24; 32; 45

Hello!

4) "What piercings do you want?" I really want to get my ear lobe pierced! Very standard issue but it's not something I've ever done before. Relatedly I recently came to the conclusion that I really want to get a tattoo on my shoulder of a flock of swifts!

24) "What are three places you want to travel?" - I really want to go to Cuba, but in a political and not touristic capacity. Idk if they're still happening but there used to be these Solidarity brigades run by the trade unions that went to visit the Cuban Workers Central and I'd love to do that. I'd like to visit Souss Massa in Morocco and visit the FNSA farmworkers union. And lastly I'd really like to visit the western Scottish Isles, Skye, Mull, Rum, and see some sea eagles.

32) "If you could live in a fictional world, what would you pick?" Oh goodness, this is making me realise how long it's been since I've seriously thought about fiction...probably the Daily Mail article where Tony Benn becomes PM, abolishes the House of Lords and replaces it with a House of the Trade Unions headed by Arthur Scargill.

45) "What's the worst date you've ever been on?" - This is by no stretch of the imagination the worst date or even a bad date but it was a very funny series of events. Anyway me and my bf were at a country park, and found a trail called the "[country park] Challenge", so of course it we had to do it. It was very challenging but eventually we made it to the top of a very very tall hill. Only, it wasn't the trail, it was a dry stone wall we had chambered up, and now we were stuck at the top with no way down and it was getting dark. After some tooing and froing (where I insisted on not climbing down the sheer drop that we had climbed up), we eventually found a sheep track back down to civilisation. We got back home, exhausted but pleased to have survived the ordeal and ready for a rest and some dinner. While cooking dinner however, I touched a hob that was on and gave myself a second degree burn, requiring a very late stay at A&E. Again, not a bad date, but a wild sequence of events

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 7 months

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Confession - a Malevolent fic

There’s a trick to confession, if you want to keep another from hearing what you said. But not hearing it don’t make it not true, don’t make it go away.

I fear Arthur’s truth, so big and bright. I fear ours together may strike like flint and leap into devouring flame.

An Oscar one-shot.

AO3

——

There’s a trick to confession.

Well. A couple tricks, if we’re talking honest, but the biggest one is this: if you want to hide somat big but never lie, the way to do it is to put it by somat else just as big and bright.

Lies don’t work so well. They may look good up close, nice and meaty, but take a few steps back, and they’re full of holes. No, if you want to hide a truth, you can only do it with another one.

Take my own past.

What I did to a wicked man when I was but a lad is true. My regret that I didn’t finish the job is also true. Both true, big and bright, and they serve to hide the other truth that anyone would see if I didn’t blind them first with rage and revulsion.

I went after a man’s face with the claw-end of a hammer. I brought it down, again and again, like a knife through eggshell, like an awl into hard meringue. I crushed him, made wet rips in his skin for bits of skull and brain to stick to like salt on the swell of pudding. I smashed his nose, and I popped his eyes, and I ground him into bone-dusted craters, while gore flew and spattered red like tomato sauce left too long on the stone and boiling.

They dragged me away, and dragged him away, and then in my story, I give the second big, bright truth—that I regret he lived, that I didn’t finish, that he is out there somewhere, hurting someone else.

These two are already bad. It is enough to focus on my violence and my regret, maybe to question why the Fathers never saw me done to law. To wonder how I could stand to take vows after that hypocrisy, how I can live with myself and others like those wicked, guilty men.

And with all this, you miss the other truth I said outright, left in plain view, just beside the big-bright shape of truths: he lived.

With a claw hammer to his brain, over and over, he lived.

With holes like rabbit burrows right through his face, he lived well enough to be transferred to a new parish and keep his job.

I don’t believe in lies. Don’t tell them. But there’s a trick to confession that saves the one who listens: with my truths, big and bright, you don’t ask how he could live, what that means he is, and so perhaps you slip the attention of a thing that’s mere embarrassed a human boy caught it out with a hammer, and so left to continue its life somewhere else.

I wasn’t real surprised when Marie turned out to have demon troubles. Not that I know what Scratch is; but there’s just too many things stalking the good, struggling people of this city, and ever since I cracked the mask of one with a claw hammer, I seem to find their victims.

I’m never shocked when they come to me, or come near me—trailing monsters that have no name, things that eat their dreams or their skin, things that drink their tears or sate their lust, things that steal their children and replace them or don’t. Sheep are prey animals; wolves and bears and thieves come in the night, and I am supposed to be their shepherd.

Crook and staff are the shepherd’s tools, one gentle-hooked to lift sheep from the mud, the other heavy-cudgeled to crack skulls and spill blood. And I am so afraid.

I don’t want to see the monsters. Don’t want to hear whispering in the night. Wish I could just bless infants and calm widows and give peace through holy sacrament.

Instead, this. I don’t have mere widows—I get them that made themselves so. I don’t have mere dreams, but creatures that infest like bot flies and persist, lumpish, under skin and feeding.

Scratch will never leave me alone. Hot breaths and lies, secrets and twisted realities, stretching true guilt out into new and terrible figures. And now his host is free, wandering, hidden in sweet sheepskin.

I am so afraid, but I do what’s right, or… I try. That’s what anyone can do, isn’t it? All anyone can do.

“Huh,” says Arthur Lester, when I say how old Marie’s house is. “When Scratch spoke to me, he said that he had been trapped in those walls for two hundred years, so how could that be?”

A good question. And we both ignore the big, bright truth that he hides with it, the question anyone would ask if they didn’t get stuck on Butchers and injured family and multiple murders just dropped aside, like nothing, like mention of spoilt milk, a consequence of poor attention.

“This book is fascinating,” I say, clutching this well-worn thing with names for the monsters I see. “Have you used it previously?”

“Hm? Uh, yes. Once, another creature–”

“Another creature? Lord.”

“I didn’t get the impression it was a lie,” says Arthur, which makes no sense.

“What was?” I say.

“What… if it wasn’t…” he stumbles through, continuing a conversation I’m only a small part of, “as long as Scratch is saying, but he’s not aware?”

Time dilation. Theories. A hunt. “It would make sense as to why he’s so desperate for freedom,” I say, because this big, bright thing is true, and we must find Hattie, and free her. “If every day felt like ten, I’d be batty as well.” We make our plan, and so we will go to the other home of the one who owns Scratch’s cage.

And we both ignore the other shape, the one he spoke and leaves in plain view beside the big-bright shape of other truths: another creature, Arthur Lester said, and moved right along.

Met Scratch, he did. Learned the truth of a possessed woman, and the dead brother-in-law before that, and took both in stride.

Never lied about that. Never said it rocked him when it didn’t.

But now, I have to wonder. How much death must you see, as a man, to hear of a case like this and take it anyway, to represent the murderous widow as the innocent party, but still to use that sin as a lever for the priest what got himself involved?

And what other things must you see, as a man, that Scratch would not shake you to your core foundation, not terrify you into escape, but only turn you toward his heat like some fire hose with a mind of its own?

I hear him talking to himself again as I head into the night to bring Daniel his things, and I wonder about possession, and about what Arthur said, and the big, bright truths he shared that he hopes hide another.

I heard him talk to himself in that house, not as a man just muttering, but as one arguing with somebody else. He did it in the hospital, too, when I approached.

And I wonder if our big, bright truths will weigh too much, grown too big to be camouflaged by another.

Fire is big and bright, too, but it doesn’t hide. It eats what it comes near. I smile and listen to Daniel’s drugged ramble about a son-in-law with terrible secrets and little hope, and I fear.

There’s a trick to confession, if you want to keep another from hearing what you said. But not hearing it don’t make it not true, don’t make it go away. I fear Arthur’s truth, so big and bright. I fear ours together may strike like flint and leap into devouring flame.

May God have mercy on both our kindling souls.

#malevolent fic #malevolent Oscar #oscar malevolent #malevolent podcast

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starlitangels · 1 year

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@star-sheeps said “47 for starlight and avior”

Of course I can’t resist that!

47. Crave

Avior’s body is hot where it presses against yours. You’re not sure if demons just run warm or if its a byproduct of the hellish landscape. Honestly, at the moment, you don’t really care. His skin is impossibly smooth under your fingers as you run your hands over him.

Neither of you are sure where your shirts ended up, but you’ll find them later.

Avior closes his hands around your hips and holds you flush against him. The stone wall of your cave is actually a bit cool where your shoulder blades are against it.

You kiss him with the same desperation he kisses you with. Months alone in this Hell wound the both of you tight enough to snap. Your feelings toward him have been steadily building alongside your trust in him. You’ve wanted this—wanted him—for a while now. Your hands rove up into his incredibly soft hair and twist your fingers into the waves.

His whole body shudders as you give a gentle tug at the roots of his hair. His kisses trail from your lips back to your ear, then ease down your neck. “Starlight, my starlight,” he breathes. Your chest heaves into his lips with your labored breathing. He leaves a dark blemish just under your collarbone. “I crave you.”

"Avior..." you whisper. "P... please..."

He straightens up enough to kiss your mouth again, cradling your head in both his hands, and you drown in his sensations.

#Star does Micro Fics #Redacted ASMR #Redacted Audio #Redacted Avior #Redacted Starlight #Avior #Starlight #i thought about taking the silly route #but spicy was more fun

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from-nobody-to-nightmare · 19 days

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Chapter 4: Mulligans Bounty (Boon)

“Despair was a heavy blackness that let no light in or out. It was a hell beyond expression.”― Yann Martel, Life of Pi

Whatever rage burned inside her before was smothered into impotent ash; leaving a smokey cold seething bitterness woven with despair that began to swell inside her. The more she held it all back the more tears fell. “The indignity of it all.” She muttered in a deep and gravelly voice. Her trickle of tears slowly became a cascade of mourning as she covered her face to muffle her ever-increasing wailing. The surrounding air became frigid as the shadows began to trickle toward her; and pooled at her feet before slithering up and blanketing her skin in their embrace. The cloaked gentleman's four eyes open wide in surprise upon her changing visage. As she lifted her head and forced her eyes open her eyes became so pitch dark that no light could escape from them and her maw shifted, split, and stretched into the ferocious jaws of a spider. Four great horns like that of a Hebridean sheep sprouted from her head framing her face like a perverse crown. The gathering shadows grew her form as she breathed heavily, straining to hold her roiling emotions in check; sprouting multiple arms ending in wicked claws as they proceeded to grip and tear at her chest splitting it in two and revealing teeth like ribs and a void as dark as her eyes. Her teary face set its gaze on the thin man beside her looking for any sign just anything to try and reassure her. “Astounding” he whispered stepping back as he felt the chilling mist she was giving off and something else he had long forgotten about…. Pure dread and it was wondrous. Unable to hear him properly in her duress she mistook his gesture for aversion filling her with shame, and took her chance to make a break for it. Her chest cavity bellowed out a miasma of deep shadows obscuring her form from any potential onlookers as she quickly rose from the bench and slipped through the rose bushes covering them in a thin rime as she passed. Thoughts twisted inside his ancient mind about what a boon it would be to acquire their soul; or to at least keep her away from those who would use her to bolster their power. Unfortunately for now, he would have to be content in keeping her untested power from the unworthy dead. He followed slowly behind her his feet crunching through the trail of half-frozen foliage, tattered cloth, and…. silken wool? He gathered the wayward fluff between his fingers and took a closer look. The threads were as fine as they were strong, and it was blacker than the blackest ink; just as hungry for light as her eyes were when she transformed at the park bench. Something besides darkness wafted from the tufts of thread as he held it; a feeling of greedy cloying emptiness that drained hope leaving nothing behind. “Such a boon to come from someone so new; what an enticing find.” he chuckled to himself in wonderment continuing on her frost-strewn path.

She traveled some distance off the path to a well-sequestered water feature. It was made of pale stone exquisitely carved with grotesque statuary and a heavily patinaed, unreadable plaque. Despite its remoteness in the park, the area was surprisingly well-kept. Exhausted and out of tears from her impromptu jaunt she sat by the lip of the fountain zoning out to the sound of cascading water. The hollow emptiness of the moment washed over her as the skylight glistened off the ripples in the water, their dancing refractions a blessed distraction from her misery. Her form gradually returned to its original state more or less. “Great.” she frowned; her hospital gown was torn to shreds on the way through frozen branches and briars revealing a body covered in soft and dense black fluffy wool covering just about everything above her shins. A deep long exhausted sigh left her as she rolled onto her side still looking out at the water. Her heavy disinterest in the world around her muffled the approaching footsteps of her hoped-to-be acquaintance.

“Here thou art.” He said to her in a delighted tone taking a seat next to a big black ball of wooly fluff. “I thought I hath lost you. What luck that thou hast left quite a trail amongst the brambles.” Her dulled violet eyes shifted up towards him followed by a deep snot-filled snort from crying so much. “I don’t know why you chose to follow me here after I acted so inappropriately back there.” She shifted her vision back to the water with a thousand-yard stare. “Fret not child; such displays of anguish do not rattle me; this is hell after all. Taking into consideration…. ‘Tis understandable for thou to mourn the life left behind; ‘tis a copious change to take; indeed.” he reassured her; if only to further drop her guard, “ In any event what matters now is what thou plan to do next.”

“What I should do next? I’m not even sure I can make it through today. I literally have nothing now, not even the clothes on my back. I can’t find a job like this, at least not one that doesn’t involve …. You know?” He raised a concerned eyebrow as she gestured heavily toward her private areas trying to say this politely, ““Negotiable Affections”; I think that’s the appropriate phrase.” A new thought came to mind, “ Where would I even live? I’d rather not live on the street, that was hell for anyone; even in the living realm.”

“Tell me lamb….” the man began, “ What comes to mind when thou thinks of home?” “Well….” she thought in the most general terms, “Usually I think of a house that is….. you know four sturdy walls, a couple of windows, a good door, a roof that doesn't leak. I mean a house house. What’s there to think of?”

“Ahem….I did not mean a building dear child. Ponder this more carefully if thou wish to find a suitable place to live.” he retorted, “What dream comes to mind when thou thinks of home?” She stared blankly at him unsure of what to say before turning her head to look into a distant patch of sky. “ I never thought of what I wanted in a home; it never felt like I had a choice. I’m on my own now, and I guess something that I would like for myself is a cozy cottage…. A little place to call my own, to have friends over if I ever get to make any….. Maybe to just be. I never got a chance to have that when I was alive” She let out a whistful sigh “ It feels a bit silly to dream about that now.”

Satisfied with her answer he smiled and remarked “ Though this place may be different than the living world, ‘tis just as much a place of dreams; and like all dreams, they have their prices.”

She gave an incredulous sidelong glance back to him “Well I would think so, everything costs money and I am willing to work for it. I just need a place to start.”

His eyes narrowed with a smirk. “ I may be able to assist….that is if thou cares to make a deal?”

She narrowed her eyes facing him head-on, “ What kind of deal?…….”

“Simple really; I will grant thee a head start to your desires; clothes, work, a home; in exchange for thy servitude?”

Her eyes widened a little as alarm bells rang loud in her mind bad deal, Bad Deal. She has read enough history books to see where this was most likely going. “ I don’t know….. What if I want to switch employers down the line? Is there anything else I could trade?”

He nonchalantly summoned a cup of tea. “ Well, souls are usually customary for these transactions. I am offering quite a bit you understand. ‘Tis a better fate than becoming a harlot.”

“My soul….. I don't mean to sound rude; but while that is an interesting sales pitch, Mr…umm?” She paused realizing that they never gave their name. “Zestial, Zestial Morde.” He answered. “Right…. Mr. Morde. I’m not quite willing to part with the only thing that’s mine right now. Maybe we could negotiate something different, you know something smaller for something smaller?” she pondered nervously.

Zestial veiled his displeasure well, most demons in her position would have just taken the deal as is but revealed in her honesty she was a rather shrewd person. If pushed he would lose his chance altogether. It was time to think of something else. He gazed upon the tattered remains of her clothes and then came a thought. Her silk-like wool if it was what he thought it was; she couldn’t understand how valuable it would be; maybe he could get more for less. He could put the lamb to graze on someone else's land and reap the rewards, but whose? A quick think-back to her desires gave an answer to work with.

“Umm, Mr. Morde?” Nadia looked at him wide-eyed with reluctant expectation and twiddling her fingers. “ Pardon me, child I was lost in thought. I suppose we could make a different kind of arrangement if thou art so inclined. Mayhap an exchange? Your wool for new garments should suffice.” She froze as he gingerly touched an inky black lock of wool from her head. Nadia bashfully turned her gaze away and onto the floor and stuttered, “I..I… suppose so. I doubt I could find anything that fits with all this fluff in the way. There is one condition though if I may add. Could you please let me keep the wool on my head? I’d rather not be bald.” she patted her head for emphasis.

“Very well.” he outstretched a hand from beneath his cloak, “ Do we have an agreement then Miss….”

“Oh! Right, I never gave you my name.” She nervously hesitated, “I..it’s…. Nellie.” She reached out her hand with a slight pause her mind darting with last-minute hesitation. Taking a deep breath she grabbed his hand, “ Yes.”

Magic surged from both parties' hands like electricity weaving a web around their arms; an interplay of his brilliant glowing green with her subdued demure purple. It left her whole body tingling so much that her wool was standing on its end. As she let go, his magical energy was still skittering around her wool; it was powerfully overwhelming as she shuddered the sensation off. Now she had an idea of how powerful he was; this was her first deal and even though she resisted trading her soul. Nadia began to wonder how powerful could other demons be. How long could she keep this up?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #ace #constructive criticism welcome #existence is a nightmare #female oc #from nobody to nightmare #it's gonna be a long afterlife #my ocs #platonic #zestial morde #zestial #hazbin hotel zestial

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