#when you find the beauty in the strange and foreign the world becomes so much more vibrant and lovely

[angelbitezzz]

Seeing how you two are gonna be asking Muffet for guidance on merch, are either of you afraid of spiders?

Angel goes digging in her pocket and produces her (lightly cracked) phone. After some scrolling, she holds it out to the camera, an enthused smile on her face.

(If you are sensitive to bugs, the images under the cut will be bugs so don't look.)

#tw bugs #Crossbones and Starstruck #sans undertale #ts underswap sans #ts underswap #text box #ts underswap self insert #ts underswap au #these are in fact photos i've taken around my house lol #i used to be a lot more afraid but changing your mindset around insects is as easy as saying “hello beautiful!” on instinct when you see on #when you find the beauty in the strange and foreign the world becomes so much more vibrant and lovely #its part of why she can interact with monsters so casually. #she (and i) has a deep fascination in biology and such #nature creates some fantastic things! #thanks for the question!

[istadris]

Mareach headcanon time :

In the Mushroom World, King or Queen isn't a title you gain automatically when taking the throne of a kingdom. Prince or Princesses can be acting, legitimate rulers for years without anyone questioning their right to rule (aside from villains obviously).

Likewise, marrying royalty doesn't make you royalty by default. After her wedding, Peach is still the Princess, and Mario takes it for granted that he's still just Some Guy who happened to have married the ruler of the kingdom, and that said ruler's title is "princess". He'a a hero, sure, but he didn't become royalty or nobility or gain titles or land or anything he associates with royalty customs from Earth.

Things take a strange turn, however, when Peach becomes pregnant.

Mario doesn't pay attention to it at first, because he has other things to worry about like his wife (his wife!!!) expecting their child (their child !!!)

But some people start acting a bit weird around him.

"Did you think of what gems you will have on your crown?", someone asks in the same tone one would ask about your plans for the baby's bedroom.

"Can't wait to do business with you !", a king from another kingdom tells him cheerfully, as if Mario was ever expected to do more in politics than sit around, look pretty and bash some villain skulls.

"I'm expecting you for a visit as soon as you can find the time in your schedule!" The royal tailor says, which Mario takes as a joke about his eternal overalls.

Even Toadsworth suddenly asks him a lot more to help with various diplomatic and budgetary tasks, which Mario obliges with because he's a dear, but he doesn't get the sudden need for his help, given he's a plumber by trade when not punching Bowser in the face.

But as I said, Mario just waves it off and focuses on becoming a dad soon.

When Peach gives birth, he cries, Luigi (who's been waiting in the next room and drove him there because Mario was too nervous to drive his kart when he learned Peach's water broke) cries, everyone cries but not as much as the baby (or babies ? Haven't decided that yet), they show the baby to the crowd gathered outside the castle, it's a beautiful day and even Bowser sent a gift basket.

Then some days later, as Mario is busy cooing over Peach breastfeeding the baby, Toadsworth shows up and asks Mario to come greet a foreign delegation. No, not Peach, Mario.

"Why would they want to see me over Peach ?"

"Now now, it is part of your duties as King now after all"

"Part of my what now."

"After all the Queen has to rest, your Majesty."

"Wait what."

Turns out, in this world, one does become a King or Queen only after birthing or naming a heir. The role of Prince/Princess is then passed on to this heir, as their parent now enters a new step of their rule : acknowledging that they are now continuing the line even if they were to pass away.

And, especially in the case of birthing a heir, as the new parent will be too busy taking care of their child for the first months, it is expected of their partner to act in their stead in political decisions. And since you can't have any commoner acting in the Queen's name...

...Mario is now officially King of the Mushroom Kingdom.

Everyone just assumed he knew all of the package deal when he started courting Peach, so no one bothered to fill him in.

(Mario spends the next ten minutes hiding under Peach's bedsheets while she's very amused by the situation, before she comforts him and assures him he'll do great).

#super mario bros #mareach #miscellaneous mario madness #I love making Mario face the Consequences of dating a princess.

[loveemagicpeace]

💕Astrology Thoughts💕

💜People with mercury in the 9th house learn foreign languages ​​very quickly. Their thoughts are quick and creative. These natives are going to likely become writers. They are people who genuinely believe they always have something to learn, that the world is boundless and filled with an immense quantity of knowledge.

💞9th house synastry is very good because it creates a special relationship. You can learn a lot from this person and grow with them. You can discover many new things with this person. At the same time, it creates a romantic connection. A person can mean a lot to you and you always remember the relationship with them. Because this house represents the meaning and being alive. So you feel alive with this person. And it can become a very special relationship for you.

🐚Capricorns are very good rappers. I've never looked into it that much, but now I notice that a lot of Capricorns make rap music. And a lot of Capricorns also have tattoos.

🪷Earth signs can be very shady actually. They are more shady than water signs. And they can be more intimidating. So when someone is very dark, it does not mean that they are a Scorpio, but they can be an earth sign. Scorpios are not really that dark on the outside, but more so in the soul. While earth signs are darker outwardly.

🪐Saturn always rewards you! When you feel that you are going through many lessons, you can expect that you will soon experience a blessing and your life will become easier.

⛷️Sports vibes are sag/aries vibes. Many athletes have either Sagittarius or Aries in their signs. Many people who have these two signs are involved in sports or have been in younger years. They are always for action or crazy moves. So you will never be bored with them. And both signs can challenge you many times and are unpredictable (so you never know what to expect).

🎑Sagittarius often get over a person when they travel. Traveling gives them inspiration for life and makes them feel alive. Traveling is like therapy for them.

🦁Leos can be a selfish sign. But they know how to have fun on their own and they know how to take advantage of things even if they have to do it themselves. They know how to use their selfishness in a positive way to have fun themselves. And I think that everyone should have this energy, because sometimes selfishness leads you to something positive.

💧How signs love💧

Capricorns love in silence. Capricorns love when it's dark and there's no way out. They love your wounds. Scorpios love intensely and passionately and bring profound changes to your life. They love your soul. Cancers love loudly and with great care. Libras love your beauty. Sagittarius love passionately, fiery and always create meaning even when there is none. Leos love with courage and pride. Aries love boldly, fearlessly and furiously. Taurus love slowly and calmly. Pisces love with imagination, dreams and fantasies. They love subconsciously. Virgos love with all the little things that you don't see about yourself. Gemini loves recklessly and with words. Aquarius love differently, unpredictable and strange. Sometimes you wonder if this is love or friendship.

🧚🏼‍♀️How people love is their Venus and how they behave in love is their Mars. For ex.: venus in libra many times you idealize love and sometimes you love too quickly. At the same time, in a very romantic and playful way. You can find beauty in a person from the outside and from the inside. Mars in scorpio you can act intense, possessive and controlling. You can also be jealous many times and want to have a person for yourself. You want the person to be only yours. At the same time, you are also stable and loyal in your relationship. You do a lot for the person you love.

❄️Your rising sign shows which parts of the body it rules. And what is many times more exposed or you injure yourself earlier. For ex.: capricorn rising-knees, most of the time they injure their knees or many times they have bruises on knees or legs. Virgo rising-abdomen, digestive system. These people often have stomach problems. Gemini rising- nervous system, arms. Many times they have problems with being too nervous. Aries rising- Head, eyes, adrenals, blood pressure. They often have migraines or severe headaches, which can cause low vision.

🌊How you choose your home is your 4th house, how you want it to look is the ruler of the house. For ex.: taurus in 4th house -you want a welcoming, warm, safe home. You want it to look more luxurious but also maybe old school. Venus in your 11th house but it indicates that you want it to look dreamy.

-Rebekah🐚🦋💧

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #my notes #astrological houses #astrology observations #birth chart #love #venus #mars #capricorn #scoprio #pisces #aquarius #taurus #saturn

[osleeplessflowero]

Hi I hope your doing well. If it's ok can you do a Cross x reader with fluff and where he and the reader are dating in it. :3

hii thank you for your request! ooh, i haven't written cross before so this is a great opportunity to practice! i hope you enjoy! :) 🌸 (Reader is gender neutral!)

🏠xx Home xx☕

Having a home to go back to had become a foreign concept to Cross, ever since his AU was lost. Being able to have one now was..honestly a strange, but not unwelcome experience. A home to come back to, and someone he loves to come back to..it almost feels like a dream.

Sheathing his blades, he turns to his much brighter sparring partner, shooting him a grin.

"Hey, I'm gonna head out for today. That okay?" "Of course! This was fun, I'll see you again tomorrow. I need to work on my aim.." Dream lowers his bow, putting it away with the use of magic. "See you later, Dream." Cross holds up his hand to wave goodbye, turning around to walk off. "Tell your partner I said "Hi"!" He calls out to him with a smug grin, causing the skeleton to flush a bright shade of purple. "Y-Yeah yeah, I will." He rubs his cheekbones with his hands, trying to calm himself down a bit.

With a whoosh, he finds himself dropping down into your living room, landing on the floor with his hands out to balance himself. Still not quite used to doing this after some time..

"Hey, handsome. I was wondering when you'd get back."

He rolls his eyelights, but finds himself grinning as he turns to see your smug smile. He walks over, plopping down right beside you on the couch before you lean over to press a kiss to his skull.

"What are you doing awake so late? I thought you'd be asleep by now." He looks over, leaning his skull on your shoulder. "My sleep schedule's messed up again. Plus, I was too excited to see you when you got back to sleep." You smile warmly, and Cross almost immediately feels as if Cupid's arrow had pierced through his heart again.

"I've..really wanted to see you too." His eyelights slowly shake until they shift into heart shapes, his cheekbones flushed with the beautiful shade of purple you fell in love with. You shift your position a little, holding his face in your hands. He grins, looking up into your eyes as he leans into your touch. Stars, he's adorable..

"Seems we can't get enough of each other, can we?" You grin, watching his movements. "..You're the person I love most in the world. Being able to see you is enough for me." He stares at you with adoring eyes, causing your face to heat up.

Averting your eyes, you stutter: "N-No fair, you're the one that's supposed to be all flustered." You pout playfully, only stopping when you feel his hand coming up to touch your cheek and leaning into it. He chuckles, replying with "You can't have all the fun."

Your eyes relax when they see his soften. In truth, you've never understood how he could always look at you like you're the entire world.. but you're not exactly complaining. You look at him the same way, after all.

His face flushes much more once he gets an idea, sitting up a bit more properly to face you directly.

"Can..Can I, um- ..well..you know?.." He mutters his words softly, and you fight every single urge in your body to squeeze him like a squeaky toy. "Of course you can, Cross." You reassure him, putting your arms over his shoulders.

He leans into you within seconds, pressing his teeth to your lips and losing himself. You smile into the kiss, holding onto him and savoring the moment as best you can. Feeling the way he relaxes in your hold, completely and utterly yours.. it makes your heart swell in your chest.

Your surroundings seem to melt away, the sound of your beating heart being the only thing you can hear. You could almost swear you can hear his as well, moving almost in sync with your own. You've been dating for a while, yet you still manage to leave each other breathless, even now..

After a few minutes, you break the kiss, needing to breathe. He puts his hand on the side of his skull, left a little bit dizzy. You chuckle at his reaction, squeezing him with a hug and pressing an overdramatic kiss to his cheek, making him chuckle.

"I love you." He speaks softly, holding you close. "No matter what happens..I always will. I want you to remember that, okay?" "Of course, Cross..I love you too. Always will, and always have."

You stay in each other's embrace for a little bit longer.

"Wanna watch a movie? It can be literally anything, I don't mind. Just to kinda chill and unwind to." "As long as there aren't cows, I don't have a preference-"

You snicker, standing up and looking through a selection of DVDs on one of your shelves, earning a frown from him.

"Don't laugh!" "I'm sorry-" "No, you're not!" He points at you, accusatory, as you put in one of your favorite films to watch. "Don't worry, I wouldn't do that to you." You sit back down, leaning your head on his shoulder as the previews begin. He huffs, pulling a blanket over you both and moving his arm to be behind you, keeping you close to him.

"Oh yeah, by the way, Dream says Hi." You smile. "Well, tell him I said Hi too."

..You both fall asleep fifteen minutes into the movie.

#sleeplessflower's oneshots #Cross x Reader #cross sans x reader #undertale x reader #utmv x reader

[blues824]

Male!Malleus Draconia!Reader who gets isekai'd into The Remarried Empress; he has his hoard with him hidden away where no one can find it but he's not too sure how it or he got there. He wanders around and meets the Empress. Seeing his inhuman appearance, she is instantly struck with curiosity and starts asking questions to satiate her child-like wonder.

She finds he's unaware of how things work in this world and takes it upon herself to teach him. Sovieshu is uneasy with the sudden appearance of the dragon fae but pretends he doesn't care. Reader is very confused by everything but is willing to learn just how different the two worlds are.

He and Navier grow closer to each other; becoming inseparable once the Emperor brings his mistress to the palace. Things progress as usual (though Reader does throw a wrench into everyone's plans (without really meaning to)) but the Empress and himself become romantically involved.

"The Dragon Prince, Prince Heinrey, Grand Duke Kaufman; clearly, you have a taste for foreign men." (Listen here you little shit-)

But Reader finds himself also quite charmed by Heinrey; he immediately discusses it with Navier (because he may not know things but he sure as hell knows how to healthily communicate!). Depending on how she feels, he acts accordingly to her wishes.

Unlike the Emperor, he actually respects her.

(I can imagine Rashta trying to get into his favor (I mean, come on, a Dragon Prince) and Reader just looking at her like '???' because his brain doesn't receive hints of attraction unless it's his Empress (and Heinrey) before he just walks away and tells Navier about this strange interaction he just had with 'the winter-haired mistress'.)

Female! Malleus Draconia! Reader version is here

Sovieshu

It didn’t matter if you were a Crowned Prince of any land or one of the most powerful mages because you were still stealing his wife away from him. He was absolutely furious because he couldn’t do anything to you since you were more powerful than he was.

So, he just watched Navier fall for you. It was the first time in a long time that he saw a remnant of a smile on her face. He doesn’t understand why he feels sad: he has Rashta still. Maybe it was because he knew deep in his heart that you were probably better for her.

Plus, you would be considered a heartthrob within the Empire. You were wealthy, handsome, and a dragon fae. He might not know much about women, but he was aware that his wife tended to favor foreign men. You most definitely checked that box.

Rashta

Oh, you were very attractive, and she could see it clearly. She tried to get your attention by fainting into your arms and stuff like that, but you would often voice concern about the child residing within her womb. You, naive dragon, do not understand what she’s trying to do.

Then, she sees you getting very close to Navier, and she grows increasingly upset. She watches as you both walk by arm-in-arm with grace and elegance that she knows she will never have. You both were born into power, and that already separated you and the Empress from the likes of Rashta.

She can tell that Sovieshu is getting angrier and angrier because of both you and Heinrey. She often asked why he didn’t do something about it when he explained that since you were a more powerful mage, you were protected by the law of the land.

Navier

Upon seeing you for the first time, she was utterly fascinated. She helped you to her own chamber and made sure that you were alright before allowing you to roam around the palace. By that point, you were already attached to the beautiful Empress, and she was to you as well.

You were once confronted by Rashta and she tried clinging to your arm, but you didn’t pick up on the sudden affection and you went to tell Her Imperial Majesty what had happened. She let out a laugh when you called her the ‘Winter-Haired Mistress’ but you didn’t care because your Queen was holding your face gently and gazing at you with love in her eyes.

When Heinrey came into the picture, you were absolutely infatuated as well. When she had found out that you had discussed with Heinrey that it would be possible to have a polyamorous relationship, she was delighted to hear that the Prince of the Western Kingdom was on board as well.

Heinrey

You and Navier were both absolutely radiant at the ball, and Heinrey found himself conflicted. He could see that the two of you were in love, but he was smitten for the both of you. Then, you both spotted him and there was an instant spark.

Just like how he got jealous when any other man got close with the Empress (aside from you), he got jealous when there was a woman aside from Her Imperial Majesty trying to steal your attention. He was close by when he heard Rashta trying to gain your affections, but you were completely oblivious to what she was doing. You went to tell Navier and Heinrey, and they both had a hard time trying not to laugh.

The two of you actually made the plan for when Navier would get the divorce. You couldn’t be in the courtroom, but you would be waiting in her chambers so that you could be there to help with anything if need be. You placed a kiss upon both their lips as you bid them adieu until later, and they were off.

#remarried empress #the remarried empress x reader #the remarried empress #remarried empress x reader #sovieshu vict x reader #sovieshu vict #emperor sovieshu #sovieshu x reader #sovieshu #rashta x reader #rashta #navier trovi x reader #empress navier #navier trovi #navier x reader #navier #heinrey x reader #heinrey

[witchofthesouls]

AYO! Listen, Cyber!Earth where the old appearance of humans become supernatural, paranormal, and/or creatures of folklore? As well as some examples of the monstronsites upon this new/old/reborn Earth/Gaea.

The world may had decreed that Cybertronians may live on its surface, but whether or not the offworlders, these so-called conquerors and saviors, shall thrive is up to their own actions. The oceans are still water; not a massive source of Energon that the Decepticons had hoped. The atmosphere still exists and far more wild and temperamental: scorching heat, killer humdity, random blizzards, and violent storms. The fauna mimics their old forms, full of vitality and various fuels… and quite toxic and venomous without the proper preparation.

Humans throughout the ages attempted to describe the nature of the planet and its relationship, exploring by alchemical, scientific, religious, and philosophical means. They had coined the phrase: survival of the fittest and it describes well Earth’s demands of resilience to its provided environments. Just they discovered the means to harness deadly wildlife for their own uses: consumption, industry, and medical.

Earth did not hail from Primus. Sleeping and distant and barren after so long. Unable to rejuvenate itself. No. Earth is born from Unicron. The Void sleeps deep within its very essence. Even with a cataclysmic event, it shall continue to roll on (and on and on and-)

It is, however, a reflection. It seen these exhausted wandering souls, strangely foreign and bizarrely familiar, and their longing for home and it recalls blazing Megatronus Prime -its claimed/stolen/Fallen Primordial had done well long, long ago.

Yes, it sings out. Become one with me, astra meo, fallen and lost and now mine.

Prove yourselves.

 < You should have questioned why this planet was teeming with relics of your civilization? Did you truly attribute it as merely coincidence? Did you really think that there was nothing here? Your ignorance will not save you now. >

Chickadee isn’t an outliner; beneath the bone mask, his face is much like a human’s. Soft and plush compared to the Cybertronians’. Seems like real skin and hair. It’s extremely bizarre with the luminous glow of his optics, his pleased smile of sharp, metal denta, and the contrast of that soft face with its marks of moles and freckles with the obvious cabling of his neck. Chickadee has been among the fae with his father for a long while, but he remembers his mortal mother’s face and can’t part away from her dimples and nose.

Humanity is still remembered. Humanity is still loved and feared and coveted and < It is the ouroboros between you and me and us and ours. Are we not perpetual reflections of each other? Grotesque and alluring? Wretched, yet divine? How we wish to cherish and consume the essence of the immortal and the transient? Nothing but green-eyed beasts and ravenous monsters when crossed with temptation? >

It’s hard to say where it began. Is it the nature of the fae? The innterconnectivity of all thing on Earth? The innate social drives of humans that diluted to Others? But-

This is love. Bones and flesh and memory given life by actions. The way a student will curl their letters like their favorite teacher. The passing of family recipes from adult to child across generations. The carryover method to find the best produce by a friend. The mannerisms a child will take from their parents. In the picked-up habits of spontaneous lessons by the neighbor or a random stranger.

This is how the fae love. Dreams and nightmares are upon the spectrum of inspiration and obsession. (They venerate art. And art can be found in anything. Beauty taking a multitude of methods and forms.) Appearances and glamors and behavior for imitation is a form of flattery, is it not? They are shapeshifters at their core. Is it truly a surprise they will take on an old mortal beloved’s form or their face? Their kin, their spouse, their friend’s, the list is endless. 

Cybertronians find it beyond strange and disturbing to find human faces with their bodies made of different materials. Bird cages and tree bark. The deliberate exposure of Clockwork inner-workings of gears and pins and cables. The subtle sounds of chimes and tickticktick and shifting, voluminous robes. A void of shadows with a mask of delicate enamel porcelain with its lovely, ever-changing hues upon its eerily crafted face of humanoid features. One figure appeared out of old paper pages within lost library…

As well as the various sizes. While some take on human’s natural height, many can easily match Optimus or even outsize him, towering above all to reach the sky itself…

Some of their new-blood descendants, their newest claimed hybrids of new metal and that old burning potential, will take on snippets of their forgotten lives. Like half-remembered dreams in a body that is and isn’t theirs. The color of their old skin and eyes. The comfort to be clothed in garments. The search for a certain kind of animal companion. The odd-struck nostalgia of a certain smell or taste and the consuming need to find it because < what are we but the sum of memory and thought? We are wild things at heart, and hearts yearn for such soft, distant dreams of yesterday and tomorrow as well as blood. Does it matter whose? >

The empty sprawl of cities of steel and concrete are timeless spaces. Liminal and haunting with the endless rows of broken and decrepit skyscrapers. Empty with only the plantlife making its fierce strides to compete with the available nutrients and space. Large amounts of Energon crystals are detected from such places…

On the empty roads and bridges to the cities, there are humans watching the distant view and disappear between blinks. Some are hitchhikers. Once or repeated over and over. Grateful for a ride but forgetful on what happened, their family never showed up to the airport/the bus left/they were ditched/the car stopped/so many reasons but not what truly what happened.

The few fae-touched that returned to the Decepticons immediately know  that such places are graveyards and nurseries of < Do you truly wish to know? > unspeakable things.

Parrots aren’t the only species that can mimic sounds and voices. Humans are entertained and enchanted by individuals that do fantastic impressions, mirroring the tones, pitch, and the unique vocal quirks. A lure. A warning. 

The silence is oppressive. No animal ventures into these places. Only ghosts and plants. Branches and brushes reach towards the sky like hands-

Yes. Many hands. Many figures. Small and vaguely humanoid shape of distorted metal decorate the scenery. But there should be more. Far more. Millions upon millions within these cities and where did they go…

The last thing the intial scout teams would remember are the horrifying and nauseating echoes of < WHERE ARE YOU/PLEASE-I-CAN’T/ help-me/help-us / papa-I’m-cold / oh- gods-please-I’ll-pay-anything-anything-ANYTHING / so-hungry / LOOK THERE /YOU / Ÿ̷͚̯̫́̓͠O̸̹͗͠U̷̖̿̊̄ͅ ̵͕̬̯̓D̶͔̙̰͒I̴̧̋̓D̶̐̍͘͜ ̸̤́T̴̟̊H̷͉̽͋̚I̴̳͂͊͗S̵̫̯͕̒̀̍ / c̵͕̱̺̽͝o̸͉̬͛̾̈m̸̧̭̦̑̎͒e̸̞̿̿̆ ̶͕̦͗͒̃h̴͙́e̶̡̺̒͝ͅr̷̢͉̤͑ḛ̴͐>

No matter the weather and climate. These places remain cold. So very cold. A constant wonderland of broken metal, ice, and snow with a miasma of innermost Energon.

Whatever hunts and haunts these places refuse to leave the city boundaries. An amalgamation of numerous limbs, thousands upon thousands of flickering light within its undulating, massive form as it stretches out-

Something splatters nearby it, quivering lanky limbs with an emaciated body, eldritch optics of empty black and a yawning maw for a mouth.

Sparkeater

There are strange diners and sleepy, little towns along the wide stretches of road. Even on scavenged or saved maps, such things didn’t exist. Just pockets of places hidden away and pop up at random.

Waitresses and cooks take no notice of strange customers. Not even batting an eye to Cybertronians that stumbled across them. The Autobots are perturbed to enter an obviously human-made structure that’s manned by human staff, but everything is sized up to Cybertronian height, even the people.

These places serve food. Even Energon. In a multitude of forms beyond the typical cube. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was a unique experience to finally taste the fluffiness of pancakes and sweet syrup as well as the dishware and cutlery the children would bring to the base.

Each window has a different view.

The towns are active at night. Lights bright in the dark as people work, rest, and play. Like the diners, no one takes a double-take at the metal visitors, just a glance before going back to their own activities. 

There something beneath these towns where their denizens have shifting eyes and laughing shadows.

#transformers #Transformers Prime #tfp #Cyber!Earth #horror #body horror #humanformers #humans into cybertronians #Megatronus Prime #maccadam #My writing #my thoughts #Unicron #Primus #creature #fae #sparkeater

[babylovepresley]

Delusional E.P headcannon:

Elvis loves taking naps with his girl- he loves being able to cuddle and hold her tight, just the warmth of it all makes his heart swell- especially when she wakes up all sleepy and mumbling while making heart eyes at him and he teases her about it

oh nonnie i absolutely adore this! however i am listening to “love in the dark” by adele so this is angsty… :(

“please… just lay with me”

how could you say no to him? when he looks at you with so much love & care, afraid that even glancing at you the wrong way will make you shatter & disappear

so you curl up to him as he lays flat on his tummy; his favorite position to sleep in such childhood

the room is shrouded in blue moonlight; as fresh as the babies breath he used to buy you every tuesday on the way home from work..

when you were young & wide eyed & he was wild & free but still so effortlessly tied down to you

you knew there were other women, sometimes when he laid down next to you at night, slurring his love declaration and mumbling to sleep with exhaustion, you saw lipstains on the collar of his shirt

still, in moments as tender as this, you wondered how he could possibly not love you

how could he not love the way you cling to him?

how could he not love your eyes that never leave his chest to make sure he’s still breathing & not gone back to heaven where he came from

how could he not love you? how couldn’t this satisfy him?

he stirs beside you, one eye opening and peering over the muscle of his bicep and staring at you

“i love ya y/n… ‘m sorry if i don’t say it no more”

there are no words to express the pain in your chest as he utters those words

you simply swallow and nod your head, afraid to speak in fear of the sob slowly climbing into your throat

“baby love… lemme see your eyes, please”

and you look at him; with so much love and anger and resentment, but never hate. never that.

“so beautiful. thought you was sleepin’ for a minute, but i know my girl, i know my y/n”

his voice rings in the darkness, reminding you that you will always be able to find your way back to him.

from the lonely girl in ‘55 to the other woman in ‘71, how strange and foreign he had become

his love language was always touch; a hand on your waist, ankles hooked under tables, arm over your shoulder or resting on your head.

yet it still shocks you when he reaches for you. not because of the darkness, but because of the unfamiliarity of his touch

how had someone who knew every part of you, seated himself deep into the very flesh of your being, feel so strange?

he pulls you to him, laying on his back with your left hand placed on his heart & covered by his large, warm hand

who had they touched before this?

but that thought is not your undoing.

it’s the steady sound of his heartbeat pounding right beneath your right ear

he’s calm, here now, holding you in his arms at 11:07 pm on a random monday, is the calmest he has been in months.

in the morning he’ll belong to the world again. the flashy genius musical angel sent from God himself. the lifelong heartthrob & first love of women & men around the world. the leader. The King.

and yet here in the dark, he is all yours.

you don’t wonder about his indifference; instead you just sleep & hold him with all of the love and courage left in your body.

like you always have.

“goodnight sleepin’ beauty, i’ll see ya in the mornin’”

“goodnight e… i love you”

#DAMN #NONNIE IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE THIS LESS ANGSTY PLS LMK #elvis in my eyes <3 #elvis #elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis headcanons #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis #angst #austin!elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #groovybabydoll writes

[jorvikpov]

It is a beautiful day. The sun is soon to return; the pale, cloudless sky is brighter than yesterday, just as it was brighter yesterday than the day before. The trees stand almost unmoving, for the wind is strangely absent even in this seaside town, and the moon rests low but bright on the northwestern horizon. The chill of midwinter nips at your cheeks, reaching even into the furthest, warmest corner of the stables.

It is a beautiful day, and yet you are not quite present.

You have tried for some time to reconnect with reality. There’s little to do other than bide your time, and during your seemingly neverending wait, you have attempted to find your footing again. You cannot. The more you try, the more you are drawn towards the great abyss on the other side of the dam. The more you are drawn to it, the more you think that the dam might have to break—that maybe it is inevitable. The more you think of it as inevitable, the more you find that you don’t mind the idea much. It calls to you. It would be so easy to give in. Today, you feel it pulling you towards it more than ever before, and you know that it is your final calling. Every string tugging on your heart leads there. You still do not know what the abyss holds. It scares you. Still, you must find out.

You weave your hands into your horse’s mane. It’s warm, and it feels like home. If only for a moment, the world feels a little lighter on your shoulders. The walls of the dam surround you, so close now that you needn’t even reach out a hand to feel the cold, hard stone pressing against you, and it is easy to lean towards the abyss. It is easy to lean a little bit further, and then another little bit, and another, until you feel like you can almost see beyond the dam. Nothing happens. The stone presses against every inch of your skin. You breathe a sigh of relief and lean further forward.

Deep in your soul, something cracks.

Hold on, my friend.

Everything is quiet. Neither dark nor light. Neither warm nor cold. Neither real nor unreal. You wonder if this truly was the end of you. If this is what ceasing to be feels like. Perfectly still and peaceful. An eternity in nothingness. Yes—that is it: you have become nothing. You are nothing, and you exist nowhere.

And then, you burst open.

Everything is you. You are the mountains and the valleys. The shining, singing ice of the frozen rivers and the water still flowing deep below. Every horse whose hooves ever thundered over Jorvik’s soft, green grass. Every star in the sky, the sun and moon, and the storm on the horizon. Every root deep in the dirt and rock of the island. You know why you never stopped longing. You know why the ache in your heart never ceased, even when it wasn’t clear what was calling to you. You know at long last why you came to Jorvik. It is you coursing through the roots and it is your magic surging through the island, for it was you who created it long, long ago, back when you and your horse were truly one and the same. You gave yourself up, then, and it gave Jorvik life. You are still giving it life with every breath you take, and now, it breathes life into you in return.

You open your eyes and peer into the abyss. It is full of you—or, rather, it is you. Deep within, there is a vision. Its very essence sets it apart from the world, and suddenly, the idea of your visions disconnecting you from reality feels strange. Foreign, almost. You hardly understand how it could ever happen when the difference between them is this plain, and yet you understand more than ever that they are both real: the distinction between them isn’t that of truth and falsehood, but that between the present moment and a memory. You reach out to the vision, wind it around your fingers until the string tightens, and tug it closer.

(Rain pelts your skin. Something dark is growing; it isn’t too close, nor is it all too far away. Off the coast, evil hangs heavy over the ocean. Your opponents grow stronger and stronger by the day, only waiting for the right moment to strike. They won’t wait for much longer. It is almost time.)

The vision passes, and everything is real. Your small, fragile, human body lies collapsed over your horse’s warm shape, and your breathing is deeper and slower than you ever thought possible. Your fingers are still woven into your horse’s mane. It is still warm. Still feels like coming home. The hay beneath you is warm and dry against your legs, and a few straws prick through the fabric of your trousers, poking and stinging your skin. Someone gallops by outside the stables, snow flurrying around the horse’s thundering hooves. The snow glitters with the pale, blue-purplish colour of the sky for a moment, and when it falls and settles, it joins the rest of the island’s snow in glowing, almost shining, in the gentle light. Stillness lies all over the island, but it feels closer to restlessness than to peace; almost like Jorvik is holding its breath.

You turn your head, feeling something damp where your cheek lay just a moment ago; when you raise a hand to your face, you catch a falling tear on your knuckle. Your horse lifts its head slowly, and in the kind, dark eye facing you, you see the same recognition that you know your horse sees in both of yours.

Though you are nowhere near any primeval root or tree that you know of, the blood running through your veins is buzzing with their warmth. In this moment, you feel untouchable. The midwinter chill nips at your damp cheeks, and yet you do not freeze. Danger and darkness loom closer overhead than ever before, and yet you are not afraid, for you know what is to come.

Jorvik called to you for a reason. Now, you must only listen and follow, and finish what you once started.

#sso #jorvikpov #star stable #star stable online #ssoblr #sso fic #ssofic #and there we fucking have it folks. #I know nobody reads this on ao3 but this chapter title is the awakening #i feel like that's cool and good enough to mention here #let me know in the tags what did you think was going to happen when the dam burst and was it this #I have seen people be CONCERNED. And for that I am sorry. Don't worry. The dam bursting was never going to kill MC they were just scared. #Unreliable narrator you might say <3

[sunstaar]

Hello,

I love your writing style, and I would like to propose a writing idea of Kakashi x civilian reader. I dont know how requests work but here we go. :)

The civilian is a doctor in psychology, specialised in childhood traumas. She is a foreigner, came in to practice in Konoha, and opened her own practice. She is beautiful and intelligent, and would make any men fall in love with her,including our beloved Kashi. However,he was sooo shy to talk with her and would get nervous in her presence. He might experience love, a feeling strange to him. Sakura, works as her assistant and is fascinated by her knowledge and she sensed that Kashi is interested in her so she acted as the cupid to get them together👀💃🏼

My inspiration for the reader comes from 'Dr. Shanon Curry from Johnny Depps trial lol :))'

Thank youu🙇🏼‍♀️🙇🏼‍♀️🙏

Thank you so much for requesting! You are my first request, so I hope that I am doing this right :) I tried to make the reader as close to Dr. Curry as I could, based on the snippets I watched of her during the trial (Honestly, I'm not sure though if I got her personality down). I hope that's still okay! Since you didn't specify a time period, I just assumed that this takes place after the war. Enjoy!

Cupid's Arrow

Hatake Kakashi x fem&civilian!Reader

Word Count: 6,6k

Ao3

Summary: Kakashi can’t help but fall for Konoha’s new childhood trauma specialist and lucky for him, Sakura decides that it is time to play cupid for her sensei and new mentor.

Haruno Sakura was not stupid. No matter how often Ino-pig may have jokingly said that in the pinkette’s presence (and never meant it seriously, she knew as much about their ‘rivalry’), Sakura harbored more intelligence than the majority her peers did. Ever since she began her training under the Godaime Hokage and one of the Legendary Sannin, Senju Tsunade, she had become even more aware that her intelligence was not to be looked down upon. However, that aspect of herself was not what she was the proudest of, rather, it was the emotional intelligence she possessed that brought her the most pride.

While Haruno Sakura was undeniably brilliant, she was also very intuitive for her age. If she had to speculate now where her understanding of others and their feelings had come from, Sakura would first think back to when she had begun working in the Konoha hospital. Within the building with blindingly white walls, understanding how her patients felt was one of her priorities. While they sometimes wouldn’t speak, if they were especially proud and defiant, Sakura always had to know how she should treat the person who saught her out. That meant analyzing everyone down to their tiniest reactions and movement of a muscle.

It had come as no surprise to her that she had the one to been the first to notice their sensei’s unusual behavior. After seven years (and counting) of knowing Hatake Kakashi, Sakura liked to believe that she knew a lot about the man, or at least more than many others did. A majority of the time, he was a walking enigma. With his aloof personality and admirable intellect, the black piece of fabric that kept the lower half of his face hidden from the world, and his drive to succeed, Kakashi was sometimes unreadable, a blank piece of paper per se. Sakura assumed this stemmed from his time in the Anbu, one he had only talked about on the rarest of occasions.

When you had come along, her sensei’s behavior changed drastically. Suddenly, he became readable. Of all things happening, Sakura had not seen such a change coming along. Finding the source of the change had been easy enough as she only had to look for the center of Kakashi’s change in behavior, you.

(To say that a woman of all reasons caused his sudden change surprised Sakura deeply. Besides Hanare, she was pretty sure that she had never seen her sensei talk to a woman if it wasn’t for the sake of the mission.)

That meant in short: her sensei was inexperienced and based on his behavior around you, also both emotionally and socially constipated.

To get him to talk to you for more than a few meek minutes and without stumbling over every other word would be a challenge, so Sakura knew from the moment she saw her sensei practically drool at the sight of you. How he could aid in the winning of a war against a revived man but not talk to a woman, she did not know. Luckily for him, Sakura had assigned herself the position of the cupid that would bring two of her mentors together and hopefully, have them dating in at least a few weeks.

Sakura could understand why her sensei had fallen for you of all people. Undeniably, you, her current mentor and the new psychologist in Konoha were a true sight to behold. Standing at (height), one would think that you would blend in with the civilian population. Yet, with your (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes, you instead stood out in the crowds of many. Beautiful and intelligent, that was how Sakura would describe you. It was no wonder her sensei metaphorically lay at your feet, as other men also did.

That gave Sakura more the reason to get you together with Kakashi.

In your life, you needed someone genuine and someone who supported you and your career. From the many talks the two of you had shared during lunch break over a cup of coffee, Sakura was well aware of the fact that finding a suitable partner did not come easy to you. One would think that with men at your feet, you had free choice.

You were a brilliant woman who was in search of a just as brilliant man. She knew that you were looking for someone who matched your intellect, someone with whom you could talk about just anything and could hold intelligent conversations. At the same time, you were also quite the hopeless romantic she noticed. You wanted someone who would love you for who you were, not merely and primarily for your appearance. Luckily for you, Sakura would (again) assign herself to be the cupid that would bring you into a relationship that will make you happy.

Undoubtedly, in Sakura’s mind the two of you, Kakashi and (Name) would be a perfect match. That was if her plan succeeded.

Kakashi felt weird. Unlike when he got sick (a number of times he could count on both of his hands) or got injured on a mission and received a countless amount of wounds all over his body, the feeling he felt now was not unpleasant. Rather, it was the complete opposite of the word. For reasons unknown to him, it felt like there were butterflies roaming around in his stomach.

Despite combing through an obscene amount of medical books, Kakashi could not figure out on his own what exactly was wrong with him. Kakashi would consider himself to be well-versed in many subjects, but medicine was not one he could consider being on that list. There were reasons why Sakura was the one to patch him up after rough missions.

The easiest solution to his persistent problem was to book an appointment with the doctor and explain his problem to a medical professional who would most likely know what to do. Alternatively, he could also ask for Sakura to listen to him and have his overly intuitive students help him. For a few minutes when he felt especially desperate, he had considered both options. In the end, he ended up dropping both of them, considering the prospect to be too mortifying for him.

That meant that now Kakashi was stuck with his stomach feeling weird every time he saw you. It must be a freaky coincidence, of that he was sure. When he was around you, his heartbeat suddenly spiked and his cheeks became warmer, turning a shade of pink underneath the mask he always wore. His most mortifying case of whatever sickness he suffered from had been during a coincidental meeting. You had stepped closer to him, your breath fanning over his mask as you reached out with your hand to rest it over his forehead, staring at him with furrowed brows.

With the most melodic voice, he had ever speak to him you asked, “Are you sick, Kakashi-san?” Your voice sounded like the lullaby he had always yearned to her and one he could hear forever without getting sick of it. Merely the way you stood in front of him had him breathless.

Frantically, Kakashi shook his head. He could not find it within himself to reply verbally, his tongue feeling tied.

You hummed in response, lifting your hand from his forehead to feel your own before returning to rest on his again. “Are you sure that you are okay, you feel a little warm. Maybe you should get that checked out?”

Undeniably, you were a very intelligent woman with an intuition that could barely be matched (according to Sakura’s tellings), but were somehow oblivious to how his thought circuited in your presence. Wasn’t it obvious that he did not feel well? When you touched him, his hands felt sweatier than they did before and his mind turned dizzy.

Most likely due to some illness I caught, Kakashi mused in his thoughts. On the last mission, Tsunade-sama sent me on I must have caught something, probably. That must be it. Maybe body heat triggers it?

If Kakashi’s last assumption was correct (spoiler: it was not), then removing himself from your presence would be the only solution to his problem. Maybe then his body would calm down from the sudden increase in temperature and as a result, he would feel much better again.

To him, it sounded completely plausible in the literal heat of the moment.

Kakashi cleared his throat, taking a step backward from your prying hands. “I-I must apol-logize, (Name)-san. But I still ha-have business elsewhere for t-the day.”

You made him so nervous that he began stuttering and Kakashi could confidently say that he never stuttered … unless he spoke around you. In your presence, it felt like every nerve in his body was lit ablaze, making his skin tingle with your every delicate touch. The effect you had on him undeniable and at the same time, one he had to get away from to keep his dignity.

When you lowered your hand, you almost looked disappointed, but Kakashi was sure that he was imagining that. You had no reason to be disappointed, right?

“Oh, I didn’t mean to take up your time. I’ll get out of your way then.” You said, your voice now missing its previous lull. With your head held high, you rushed past the silver-haired man and disappeared into the growing crowd, nowhere to be found.

Kakashi looked after your retreating figure and held his hand as though to reach for you. Though, when he realized what he was doing, he quickly lowered it again. For an, to him, unexplicable reason, the funny feeling in his stomach subdued once he completely lost sight of your figure. More so, his stomach felt uncomfortably empty and not at all as it did before he saw you. At the same time, he felt bad for lying to you to end the conversation between the two of you. You had looked so excited to talk to him, after all.

With his head hung lower than it did before your coincidental meeting, Kakashi continued his way into the opposite direction of where you went, his mind completely occupied by thoughts of only you.

Sakura had a clear mission and it was not given to her by the Hokage. It felt a little wrong to consider her doings a ‘mission’, but there was not a better word for her current doings: playing cupid. In her mind, she even had already begun to hatch out a mission plan, consisting of a total of four steps that had to be completed as smoothly as possible.

Mission Cupid’s Arrow (to be completed)

Figure out how Kakashi-sensei feels for (Name)-san.(Note: he won’t say it outright, read his body language).

Talk about Kakashi-sensei with (Name)-san, if needed, read her body language.

Following the completion of the previous steps, make plans to set them up on a date.

Kiss kiss kiss!!!

Not that she would ever reveal the existence of the plan to anyone or ever mention it, but Sakura felt quite proud of how she put her mind to the problem she presented herself with.

Luckily for her, completing the first of the four steps had not been easy. It came without much thought that Kakashi-sensei was a difficult target when it came to topics such as feelings, relationships, and similar. Already when she was a Genin, he had been clueless about what to tell her when it came to her crush on Sasuke and preferred to stay out of her love life. It was no wonder to Sakura that he didn’t have an idea of how to lead his own.

Sakura began her mission by inviting her sensei out for a bowl of ramen, ‘to celebrate’, that was how she had put it when he asked her why.

“Celebrate what?” Kakashi had asked, his growing confusion evident.

She let out a faux thoughtful noise, leaning back on her heels as she spoke, “Oh, you know. A lot has happened since the war ended. You are going to be Hokage soon, I’m an assistant now. It would be nice to celebrate that.”

Sadly enough, Kakashi did not buy her explanation that easily. With a raised eyebrow he asked, “Why didn’t you ask Naruto or Sai to come along?”

Bingo. The man just played himself, she thought.

“Because Naruto eats my earned money faster out of my pocket than I earned it.”

The excuse was believable since it really was true. Faintly, she could remember the last time Team Seven had gone out to eat some ramen and how Kakashi had convinced poor Yamato to pay for all of them. While Sai held himself back and eased Yamato’s incoming pain, Naruto meanwhile had taken it as a chance to go all out. Out of Yamato’s mistake, they had all learned.

Kakashi chuckled. “Fair enough.”

That was not when her first step had ended, however. Next, she needed to figure out as much about her sensei’s state of mind toward you as she possibly could, preferably without sending him running before she got enough information.

(Quite frankly, Kakashi was the master in disappearing without a trace. One moment he would be sitting beside her, somehow making his ramen magically vanish without her seeing, and the next the chair beside her would be empty as would be the bowl. By then, he would also have paid for his and her meal, which she always found quite thoughtful.)

If necessary, Sakura was ready to trap the man somewhere to have her mission succeed. She only had his happiness (and also yours) in mind, both of you deserved it in her opinion. Sakura hoped that with each other, you two could find it.

Sakura stirred her chopsticks mindlessly in her ramen, putting on a thoughtful expression before letting out a loud sigh. It immediately caught Kakashi’s attention, who gave her a questioning look. 

“Say, sensei, what do you think is the most important thing in a relationship?” As soon as she saw the silver-haired man startle, she backtracked a little. “I mean, with everyone beginning to date, I’ve just been wondering what I am looking for and … I don’t know.”

Kakashi hesitated in his reply, “Are you talking about Sasuke?”

The topic of Sasuke was a delicate one to breach, especially for Sakura. It was why she sucked in a breath at the mere mention of the last Uchiha’s name. While that reaction came in subconsciously and not on purpose at all, it brought the conversation along.

Her sensei cleared his throat, the discomfort between them slowly growing. “I don’t know what to tell you Sakura …” He easily trailed off, pinching his nose.

His frustration was rolling off of him in waves and that was the moment Sakura had to strike. “Sensei, just be honest with me. Please.”

“Trust. I think that trust is an important thing. You have to be there for the other person and believe in them unconditionally. Trust them to …” ‘not leave you’. The words hung in the air, he did not even need to speak them. “You have to be honest with each other, about what you want and who you are, communicate. To be in a relationship means to be able to rely on each other and be there for one another. That is what matters.”

Time to be honest, Sakura did not think that her sensei had it in him to speak such words. In a sense, they did not only aid her with her secret mission but also struck a certain chord within her, so she wouldn’t forget what he said. Unsurprisingly, he was right with what he was saying.

(At the same time, Sakura couldn’t help but wonder if his addiction of Icha Icha influenced his ideals. It was a possibility.)

Sakura smiled at the man, knowing what it took for him to actually talk about his feelings, especially when it came to things like romance. “Thank you, sensei. This means a lot to me.”

Awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his head and smiled with his eyes closed.

For a moment, Sakura smiled brightly at her sensei, delighted that her mission was going well. That was at least until her green eyes fixated on the now-empty bowl that sat in front of her sensei. “You finished eating already?!” She screeched out.

“I did,” Kakashi confirmed with a regained nonchalance. “Why do you look so surprised, Sakura?”

No matter how much she planned ahead and thought that she was ahead of him, Kakashi always beat her by several steps.

“Huh?!”

Sakura couldn’t believe it! Underneath the table, she clenched her fists together to keep the quiet ‘Cha!’ from pushing past her lips. The pinkette would not give in that easily, she would not be defeated by a man over a decade her senior, who was so socially inept. It’d be ridiculous if he could just-

-with a poof, Kakashi disappeared from right beside her and Sakura could only stare in disbelief, her mouth falling open in shock.

“That bastard!” And with that, Sakura slammed her hand onto the table.

Little did Sakura know that the real challenge was yet to come.

You in comparison to her sensei were an absolute nightmare to figure out. Sakura should have expected it (really, she should have) that a psychologist was not an easy person to either read or figure out without the person willingly revealing information about themselves. Your profession was literally focused on knowing others' emotions and controlling your own, so it was no wonder that the questions Sakura thought were sly weren’t so sly at all.

She should have seen it coming, but stupidly enough, she didn’t. When she had asked you more non-work-related questions, it should have been obvious to her that you would become suspicious at the sudden onslaught.

“What’s this about all of a sudden?” You laughed, practically looking right into Sakura's soul. She knew that she was being watched carefully. “What’s with all the questions?”

Sakura had been able to shake you off of her trail, somehow. She herself was rather unsure of how she had managed to stop the reverse psychology and your onslaught of questions, but somehow she did. However, it was more likely that you let her off of the hook.

Unfortunately for you, that made Sakura even more determined to find a crack in your professional mindset, no matter how long it would take for her plan to succeed. She was not one to give up easily, after all.

Something was on Sakura’s mind, that much was obvious to you. Throughout the few hours that the two of you had been working together, it was obvious that the girl’s thoughts were somewhere beyond work. If she had a pencil in her hand, she would mindlessly drum it against the clipboard that she held in her other hand. When you asked her to write something down for you, whether it was reminders of lessons you two had to go over again or appointments you had to check, Sakura would make more spelling mistakes than she ever did before.

For some reason, your favorite (and only) assistant was distracted and you were determined to get to the bottom of it. The right time to do so would be the upcoming lunch break for the two of you, something you had been looking forward to since your third appointment of the day.

Your last patient before lunch break was a young boy of ten years. It broke your heart time and time again to see the young children come to your, to have their parent(s) or caretakers drop them off at your practice, and pick them up again later. No child of any age should be recquired to see a trauma specialist.

When the Fourth Shinobi War rolled around, everything had changed from one to another. Back in your homeland in Sunagakure, you did not have many patients to attend to. Due to the vast population of the smallest of the five Kage villages, your amount of patients was minuscule in comparison to the influx you were experiencing in Konoha. Save for the attack of Akatsuki years back and the murder of your Kazekage, there had not been much that drove patients into your practice, especially not young ones.

Following the end of the war, you had decided to take your practice elsewhere. It had been a suggestion of your young Kazekage, a charming boy by the name of Gaara, whose psychologist you had been for a short duration of his childhood. To strengthen the connection between the two villages, medical professionals of all kinds were sent to different villages to keep the exchange of information constant.

Whether it was a stroke of luck or else for you to be chosen, you could not exactly tell. The whispers following the selection had not been hushed. Conversations of nepotism and favoritism had reached your ears before you left, making you even more eager for your departure.

And now, now you were here in Konoha with an assistant who was obviously distracted. You could understand why that was the case. The profession of your and now also Sakura’s choosing carried many burdens with it, but you chose to bear the weight on your shoulders for the sake of others. No matter how heavy, you couldn’t just give in to it. The children needed you, after all. You couldn’t let them down, that wouldn’t align with your conscious. That was also why you needed Sakura at her full concentration, to avoid you in your mission to hopefully help these children.

Since lunch break rolled around, you decided that it would be the perfect time to have a conversation about what was bothering the pinkette.

Watching your assistant, you let out a small sigh and leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. “What’s on your mind, Sakura-chan?”

She did not answer immediately and instead bit her lip, falling into deeper thought. You were pretty sure that she did not even hear you speak, never mind asking her a question.

“Sakura?”

In her seat, Sakura was visibly startled by your voice. “Oh! Sorry (Name)-san, I didn’t mean to get distracted.”

Another thing you liked about her was her good manners. She was always one to apologize for something that could happen to anyone, you found that to be quite endearing.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head at the dazzled expression your assistant wore. “Don’t worry too much about it, Sakura-chan. We all get a little distracted sometimes. Now tell me, what’s on your mind that bugs you so much?”

Sakura let out a groan, tilting her head back in a gesture of annoyance. “Was I that noticeable?”

You pretended to think about it before replying, “Yes. Couldn’t even not see that if I tried.”

She let out yet another groan and buried her face in her hands, obviously embarrassed.

You went to comfort her by placing a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once softly with a reassuring smile. “It happens to the best of us,” You laughed, faintly remembering doing the same as her. “but seriously, what’s got you so unfocused? This isn’t like you.”

Sakura took a deep breath and removed her face from her hand, sitting up straight in her seat again. It was now or never. She did not even have to will a flush to her cheeks as it came along with her embarrassment about being caught slacking.

“Well, (Name)-san, I was just, uh, thinking about … whatitwouldbeliketobeinarelationship.”

Confused, you blinked at her. “Can you repeat that? I don’t think I understood.”

“I said that I was thinking about whatitwouldbeliketobeinarelationship.”

Now it was getting a tad bit ridiculous.

“Sakura. Focus.”

“Right, sorry,” Again, Sakura straightened in her seat. She rubbed her neck, obviously embaressed. “It’s a bit embarrassing … during work, I know I shouldn’t think about non-work-related things, but (Name)-san, I just- I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to be in a relationship.”

That was random, you thought.

“Oh?” You were unsure of what to say. “Is it about that boy … what was his name again? Sasuke, right?”

You could see Sakura visibly cringe at the name and draw in a sharp breath before nodding. “Yes.”

There wasn’t a lot that you knew about the last of the Uchiha, Sasuke, but what you knew was enough. He was a boy your young assistant had a crush on since an early age (the academy, you believe) and someone she held close to her heart. About him, she had told you a few things and hesitated time and time again to speak his name aloud, only referring to him by his pronouns. It was evident that she had a difficult time dealing with his departure.

“I was just thinking about if one day, I might find someone to love, someone who loves me and be in a relationship. It’s a silly thought, I should focus on other things but I just can’t help it,” Sakura let out a laugh, one that sounded more self-loathing than anything else. Then, she looked straight at you. “What about you (Name)-san, do you have someone?”

“No,” You told her. “I don’t.”

“No offense, (Name)-san. But why is that?” Sakura asked, brows furrowed. “You are very beautiful and many others would agree with that. You must have many men practically laying at your feet.”

You found the fact that you had no significant life partner to be rather disappointing, maddening even. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of the fact that there was an effect you had on men, because you were. You knew that you were a desirable woman, based on the fact that countless men had asked you out on dates already.

“I haven’t found the one for me yet.” You answered truthfully as you found no need to lie to her.

“‘The one’, who would be that for you?”

“A genuine man,” That is who you were looking for, your ideal partner. “Someone who looks past my appearance and puts in some effort to go on a date with me and that not to brag about it later to his friends. Someone trustworthy, someone honest, and someone I could talk to freely, without having to dumb myself done as we talk.”

The minuscule smirk tugging at Sakura’s lips confused you greatly, yet you let it slide, thinking that maybe you confused it with a smile. “You will find someone like that, don’t worry too much, (Name)-san.” Confidence in her words practically oozed off of them.

She made you wonder … “And how can you be so sure of that, Sakura-chan?”

Sakura grinned at you. “There are plenty of men that fit your description!”

“Such as …?” Admittedly, during your description, there was one man you could think of who matched it, who was a carbon copy of it, and yet you would not dare to utter his name in her presence. It was like wishful thinking to fantasize about a man such as him, to think of him as a suitor while he was practically untouchable for someone like you. A war hero and a psychologist were not on the same level, not even in the same field, and yet …

“My sensei Kakashi, for example!”

Your eyes widened drastically to resemble the ones of a doe. How did she hit the nail right on the head?

“Excuse me?!” You blurted out, panic invading your way of speaking. Your cheeks took on a light dusting of color, feeling warmer than they did before your conversation.

“You look flustered, (Name)-san,” Sakura leaned closer to you with a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “Is something the matter?”

You swallowed harshly to control your emotions. She was right, you really were flustered and you had to get yourself back under your own control. A few breaths later and you did not feel as light-headed anymore and leaned back in your chair to distance yourself from the noise pinkette.

Now was your time to strike back against her. “The thing that is the matter is that my lovely assistant is spending her time finding potential suitors for me instead of learning.”

That seemed to do the job as Sakura froze in her position, the smirk falling off of her pretty lips.

It was your time to be the one smirking. Quickly, you glanced over at the clock hanging in the doorway, almost signaling the end of your shared lunch break. “I liked the talk we had, really, I did, Sakura-chan. Now, however, it is time for us to resume our work.” You stood up and packed your bento lunch up, making sure not to leave anything behind.

With a heavy sigh and growling stomach, Sakura hurried after you.

Despite the horrendous turns her conversations with the two of you took, Sakura’s plan was perfectly set into motion. Not only did she manage to gather information about the two of you, but was now also able to judge whether you two would fit together or not. Intuitively, she came to the conclusion that her two mentors would do another well and be a good match, they just hadn’t realized that yet. That was what she was there for.

It was time to initiate step three of her ultra-secret mission.

“Come on, (Name)-san!” Sakura practically whined as she stood before you. “How can you just say ‘no’ to me?”

You had crossed your arms over your chest and looked at your assistant with a raised brow. “Easy as that: no.”

Sakura’s whining came to a sudden stop and she deadpanned, “Really?”

Admittedly, she had underestimated not only you but also your iron will deeply. Because of her miscalculation when it came to you, her plan was about to crumble right before her eyes if she could not stop that from happening.

“Listen, Sakura-chan, I appreciate the invite to go out to dinner together, but I must decline. How are you so sure that I do not have plans for myself this evening?”

The only thing that saved her right now was her crystal clear of a conversation you two had last week. “Because last week you said that this week you don’t have any plans and will only relax during your free time.”

Your mouth opened and your lips formed to imitate the letter o as you stared at her, saying nothing. A few times, you blinked, as though you were remembering the same thing she was remembering. Then, you lifted your hands in mock defeat.

“Alright, you got me,” You sighed and admitted with reluctance, “I’m not busy tonight.”

Excitedly, Sakura clapped her hands together. “Great! Congratulations, (Name)-san, I’ll make sure you are busy tonight, then.”

While trying to convince you, Sakura came to realize that you and her sensei had a few similar mannerisms, such as persistent doubt when it came to her intent.

“Again? But you have just invited me to dinner last week?” Kakashi asked, standing before her almost as a mirror image as you did an hour before.

If everything worked as intended, Sakura either created the best match ever (take that, Ino-pig!) or a double-edged sword.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“You cannot buy me dinner every week, Sakura. It’s a bit much.”

“Can’t I spend some time with my sensei?” Sakura could see that he was becoming suspicious of her and that was not a good sign, not at all.

Kakashi appeared to be thinking carefully about his next words and that made her quite nervous. The feeling that welled up in Sakura was beyond nerve-wrecking.

“Sakura, I appreciate your kindness, but-”

She would not let him ruin her plans. “-What’s keeping you from just agreeing?”

He made an unintelligible sound from the back of his throat.

“Seriously, sensei, I know you aren’t required to do so, but when do you ever spend time with us? In a few months, you are going to be Hokage and then probably too busy to see anyone of us …” While on one hand Sakura really did want to spend some time with her old team again, almost all of them together if possible, on the other hand, she also wanted for both of you to be happy. So, she had to bare out her feelings and push them aside all at once.

“Sakura …” He was at a loss for words.

“Please?”

Underneath his mask, Kakashi bit his lip in thought before letting out a sigh. “Alright, but just this once.”

Sakura could not be happier.

Guilt was gnawing at Kakashi. His student’s words rang true because he did indeed not spend much time with them, especially following the end of the war. There had simply been too much for all of them to do, individual missions, the occasional life-threatening occurrence, and his training to become the next Hokage of Konohagakure.

There was no better time than now, he supposed.

Sakura had told him to meet her at seven pm at Ichiraku and for the first time in forever, Kakashi put in an effort to only be fashionably late instead of leaving his students to wait for over an hour. Just this once, he could do them the favor (but only once, they should not get their hopes up, it will not happen another time).

Up ahead illuminated the lights of Ichiraku ramen a figure, one who was tapping her foot against the ground and stood with her hands on her hips, appearing angered even from a distance. Upon coming closer, Kakashi could make out more of the woman’s features, among which were a familiar combination of bubblegum pink hair and green eyes and the angry scowl Sakura wore time and time again when he had been late. With an angry finger, she pointed at him and beckoned over.

(He would never say it aloud, but sometimes his only female student scared him to death. Sakura had an aura similar to that of her mentor, Tsunade, and one that had him internally cowering in fear. That was exactly why he quickened his pace to an extent that it would not be too noticeable.)

“You’re late,” This Was the first thing that Sakura said to him when he stopped before her. Her anger was obvious and so was the tension in her jaw. “but lucky for you, I expected you to be, so our guest did not have to wait for long.”

Our guest? Kakashi could only tilt his head in confusion, the gears in his mind turning in search for a detail he might have missed. Yet, he could not remember the information that seemed to have gone past his head.

The curtain protecting the privacy of those who dined in Ichirakus was pulled open and Kakashi swore that he could hear his heart stop. There was you, in person, sharing the same air as him.

In the most melodic voice, you addressed your assistant. “Sakura, who are you talking to- oh.” Then, you spotted him and your eyes widened. 

Kakashi was pretty sure that time seemed to slow down to almost no movement in your presence. In the light of the streetlamps, you looked like an angel sent from the heavens above, an ethereal figure stemming from the myths of the gods. You were the most beautiful woman to have walked earth, he decided right then and there. Only his mask could hide his dazzled expression and the rising flush of his cheeks.

When you stepped closer, his last brain cell evaporated. “Kakashi-san? Are you alright? You look a bit pale.” The way you titled your head to look at him had him fixated and stole away his breath.

“I-I’m f-fine.” He managed to stutter out, too lost in your e/c staring at him to focus properly. Inwardly, he let out a groan at how the situation was turning out for him.

Immediately upon hearing that, a smile graced your angelic features as you looked at him. “I’m glad to hear that, Kakashi-san,” Then you turned on your heel with a glare sitting on your face to scold a certain pinkette. “Now let’s get to you, Sakura-chan. What do you think are you doing?”

At the tone, you used with her (reminiscent of the one of a scolding mother), Kakashi would have thought that by now your shared student would cower away in fear or at least show some regret, but instead, Sakura smirked of all things.

“Quite frankly, both of you are helpless when it comes to love and kami, I can’t keep watching you squirm around. It’s so obvious that the two of you are made for each other and fit well together and what do you do? You squirm around one another, seriously? I refuse to let this go on any longer and watch you two waste the opportunities you can have now! So stop acting like love-sick teenagers and man up and go on a date!”

Both Kakashi and yourself suddenly felt as though you were ablaze at the mention of the last word, both of you unsure of what to say.

Sakura decided to deliever the last blow she had in her arsenal. “No offence, Kakashi-sensei, (Name)-san, but it was getting really sad watching you two. I just had to do something. I hope neither of you will haunt me forever for this. See you tomorrow! Enjoy your date!” Before either of you could get a word in, the pinkette sprinted for her life as for away from you as she could, not even stopping once.

Between the two of you reigned a comfortable silence, one that you decided to break by clearing your throat. “Well, Kakashi-san, that just leaves the two of us,” You turned to face the flustered silver-haired, smiling at him so brightly. “How about we eat some ramen together since we are already here. What do you say?”

Kakashi swallowed harshly. “L-like on a d-date?”

To be reduced to such a stuttering idiot in front of you of all people was absolutely mortifying for the silver-haired Shinobi. For Kami’s sake, he was a war hero, the warrior of the Sharingan and the Copy-Cat-Nin, and yet, in front of you, he was merely Kakashi, a man who had to grow too fast. Nobody had ever made him feel like he did when with you.

While he didn’t enjoy sweets that much, your smile was the only thing sweet he would want forever in his life. “Yes. ‘Like on a date’, if that is alright with you, Kakashi-san.”

The silver-haired cleared his throat to regain his composure. “You c-can drop t-the honorific, (Name)-s-s-an.”

The giggle you let out was beyond adorable and sent a cupid’s arrow straight to his heart. “Alright then. I will, Kakashi. But I must ask of you to do the same.”

“Yes.”

With a teasing smirk, you leaned closer to him so your breath was almost fanning over his mask. “Yes, who?”

He swallowed thickly. “Yes, (Name).”

“We’re on the same page then,” With a click of your tongue, you again turned on your heel but this time not without taking the silver-haired with you. Your hand felt delicate wrapped around his as you pulled him along, right into the tranquil ramen shop. “Come on, pretty boy, let’s not waste any more time of our date.” Without a moment of hesitation, said pretty boy followed along in your steps, allowing himself to be pulled right into the shop.

(Secretly, Kakashi had always known that there was a reason why out of all of his twerps, Sakura and her metaphorical cupid’s arrow was his favorite.)

#yay this is my first request so i am excited #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x reader #hatake kakashi #hatake kakashi x y/n #hatake kakashi x you #hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x y/n #kakashi hatake x you #naruto x reader #female reader #civillian reader #sakura haruno #sakura haruno x reader #sakura haruno is the best wingwoman #haruno sakura #haruno sakura x reader #naruto imagine

[galacticwildfire]

Fire on Fire | Jon Snow

One

Rhaenyra Targaryen was raised alongside her twin Daenerys across the narrow sea, until a twist of fate brought Rhaenyra to Westeros. Separated from her beloved twin she is taken as Ned Starks ward, isolated in a foreign land. It is there she finds comfort in Jon Snow, Winterfell's bastard, outcasted as she is.

The two grow inseparable, that bond growing into something dangerous as war grows nearer, a bond Ned grows fearful of, yet he can not dare to ever breathe the truth to either of them.

Warnings: blood and gore, typical got, if incest is a hard no in your got fics then you might wanna head out

Word count: 3.3k

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I sit in my bedroom, staring at the dancing flame of the candle as the bells ring from Winterfell's towers. Bell's celebrating the anniversary of Robert's coronation. The anniversary of Robert winning his rebellion and my family being wiped out.

Except we weren't.

Here I am, two years after I escaped Robert's hammer. I was fourteen when I was brought here, my sixteenth name day having just passed on the land where I was born.

Rhaenyra Stormborn. Princess of Dragonstone. Yet anyone who dare call me princess would lose their tongue for treason. Ward of Eddard Stark. The last Targaryen they call me. Except they know not of my sister across the narrow sea, and my brother who no doubt still unfortunately lives.

I haven't dared ask what's come of them, I doubt anyone even knows, and I've been to afraid to even speak of it, knowing how fragile my very existence is. I survived execution when I arrived due to how I shamed the king, but an assassin in the night is still very much a possibility. I dodged enough of them in my youth to know.

My arrival at Winterfell was far from warm as the shocked lord and his wife had no choice but to take us in, Lady Catelyn warning her children away from me despite how her eldest son's eyes lingered on me. I was quickly thrown into a new life of exile, except instead of a sprawling summer palace alongside my sister, I was alone in a realm of winter behind heavy doors.

It was there I found myself outcast alongside Jon, the only Stark who dared to not hide from my presence, and suddenly it was the two of us against the world.

A princess and a bastard, equals. Or at least we see it that way.

It's him now who comes to me while Winterfell celebrates with a feast.

"I noticed you were missing from the feast," he says as he comes in, closing the door behind us.

"You were allowed to go?" I ask in surprise, knowing how Catelyn is.

"Of course not," he answers, having brought me a goblet of wine. "But I poked my head in to see if you were there."

I just laugh as I accept the drink. "Well considering they're celebrating the death of my whole family I'd rather not sit there like a spectacle to be gawked at."

He sighs quietly. For so long he was so shy, would hardly speak a word to me, as a bastard having been told to not be seen nor heard, just as I was told upon arrival. Yet in each other's silence we found peace, solace, and slowly over the months that silence grew to half smiles and even a laugh, and then to a strange sort of companionship.

A strange companionship that scandalises Catelyn, but that Ned seems to allow.

For so long she kept me from her children, whether out of fear of my blood or of my name I don't know, but eventually Ned gave the command I should be educated alongside Sansa and Arya by their Septa. He allowed me to ride and hunt with Jon, Robb and Theon. Perhaps it was then she accepted Robb's attraction to me once it occurred to them Robert would not dare let me wed anyone he does not trust, but by then the damage had been done. It was irrevocably Jon and I against the world, no matter how close now I may become with her other children.

"Robb asked me to tell you that he would save a dance for you if you change your mind," Jon says and I laugh again. "You know he fancies you."

"Fancy yes," I admit. "I know I am a beautiful girl with a powerful name and a bad reputation. It sure took Catelyn long enough to trust I wouldn't corrupt her children. Now she fancies the thought I could be his wife."

He raises an eyebrow. "Would you?"

"Gods no," I dismiss, and catch his relief at that. "I have no desire to be the Lady of Winterfell."

"What about Robb?" he asks out of more than mere curiosity. "All the girls are mad for him."

"Then that makes me the exception," I say, taking a sip from my glass. "He is handsome, I can see why girls are mad for him but whatever affection he has for me is shallow. He has not fought for me once, instead following whatever it is his mother would like him to do. He- he doesn't even know me." I look at Jon. "Not like you do."

No one has ever known me as he does, nor would I want anyone else to ever come close to knowing me like that.

"Aye well, you didn't make it easy," he jokes, drawing a small smile from me. "You like making yourself mysterious."

I come to stand close to him, looking up into those dark eyes. "Because the mystery is the most intriguing part of me."

"I'd beg to differ," he says, bringing a knuckle up to my cheek and making me smile. "You just don't want anyone to see what you're really like."

"And what's that?" I tease.

"A girl who likes to play with swords," he says, eyeing the sword he forged me for my sixteenth nameday on my wall. "Who despite it all isn't as scary as she likes to pretend she is."

I laugh. "And who taught me to play with swords?"

"Only because you begged me to," he reminds me and laughs. "I swear Lady Stark was going to have my head when she found out."

He may laugh, but my heart sinks at the pain it hides and I lower my head to murmur "I hate how she treats you, how they all treat you."

"Rhae-"

"I hate it," I repeat and he puts a hand on my shoulder. "Just because Ned wasn't married to your mother you're less than your brothers?"

"It's how it is," he tells me for the hundredth time.

"But it shouldn't be," I tell him for the hundredth time. "No matter how many times you tell me otherwise it will never seem right to me."

"Well you have a more keen sense of justice than most," he says, hand running up and down my arm. "Strong enough that you're more angry about how I've been treated than yourself."

My eyes flicker to the book on Targaryen history that sits beside us I borrowed from Maester Luwin. "My father did awful, horrible things-"

"A daughter isn't to blame for her father's crimes," he reminds me, the very words he spoke to me a year ago that led me to trust him. "Nor should she suffer for them. You have as much of a right as anyone else to be down there with everyone instead of hiding up here."

It's then I make my decision and grab his hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" he asks as I open the door.

"To dance."

"Rhaenyra-" he protests as I drag him through the hall and down the stairs to the dining hall. "You don't have to do this to prove a point."

"Yes I do," I say as we come to the doors leading into the hall and bring my hair forward over my white dress. "How do I look?"

His eyes are soft. "Do I really need to tell you?"

I smile as I run my fingers through the black curls atop his head, neatening them. "Now you're ready too."

He sighs, knowing if I'm doing this then so is he. We do this together or not at all.

And so he opens the door for me, the hall falling quiet as I step inside accompanied by him. He walks just behind me as we walk through the centre of the room between the rows of tables and I bow politely to Lord and Lady Stark.

"My apologies for being late," I say as I rise.

"We did not expect your attendance," Catelyn says, who's always been the most sceptical of me.

"Well it would be a shame to let the good wine go to waste," I say, Jon pouring me a glass to make a toast with. "A toast to our good King Robert and of course to the death of my father King Aerys Targaryen second of his name." I can almost hear Catelyn now, chastising me for ruining a celebration with my treasonous mouth, but I care little as I raise my glass and drink from it, turning to the band. "Come on now, rejoice!"

As much as Catelyn does not like me due to my closeness with Jon, she still sees me as a suitor for Robb, her darling first born boy. I have no ill-will towards Robb, I like him, but certainly not in the way some may wish. So when I notice Catelyn having quiet words with Robb during the celebration I'm unsurprised when he comes to me.

"Robb," I greet with a polite bow of my head.

"Rhaenyra," he says, extending his hand which gathers the attention of the room. "May I have this dance?"

It's clear to me and everyone else this is a deliberate act of courting. Perhaps if I was a more timid girl I'd accept to please everyone, it's certainly what Varys advised me to do before sending me on my way North.

Except I'll never be that sweet timid girl they wish me to be. Perhaps it's what my brother calls the dragon that lives in us Targaryens. But much to the frustration of everyone I've crossed, I've never been good at keeping it hidden.

"Actually I had promised this dance to another," I say, the room on edge as I capture they're attention, circling the area before the high table where Ned and Catelyn sit. Much to the annoyance of Jon deciding that I do have to prove a point after all as I extend my hand towards him from where he stands by the wall giving me a warning look which I ignore. "Jon Snow, may I have this dance."

Reluctantly he steps forward, all eyes on us as he takes my hand, his eyes silently begging me not to do this, but it's too late now. "I don't dance."

Unlike his brother he was never taught such things, but then again neither was I.

"Then I'll lead."

The band begins playing again as I lead him out onto the dancefloor, horrified looks from everyone in the room, but I'm only looking at him. He anxiously goes to look towards Catelyn but I bring his face back to mine, my voice soft.

"Just look at me, no one else."

I bring his hand to my waist, taking the other in my own, every eye in the room on us. I'm sworn to no man, none daring to claim the rogue Targaryen girl. I'm free to dance with whatever man I wish, and there's only one I wish to dance with. No matter how scandalous.

Our very existences are a scandal, and we won't be hidden away quietly.

Not anymore.

He follows my lead, his feet clumsy and hands anxious, but I have enough confidence for the both of us as we dance in the hall before Winterfell's crowd, under the horrified gaze of Catelyn and as our dance comes to an end, his hands on my waist and mine around his neck, for the first time I see something change in Ned's eyes. 

"Lord Stark," I say, curtsying as I dismiss myself from the hall, having made my appearance and left the room in scandal. A reminder on this day of victory that the Targaryens still live.

I walk out into the courtyard outside, Jon following me out.

"Rhaeneyra." I look back to see he's beside himself with fear. "What was that?"

"A dance."

"It was a demonstration," he says, his voice almost accusational. "Why use me for it?"

"I would never use you," I protest, becoming defensive. "So what if it was a demonstration? We're the black sheep of Winterfell, hidden away and expected to be neither seen nor heard, so sue me for refusing to do so."

"You know what everybody will say," he says, frustrated. "What they'll believe-"

I could almost laugh. "Nothing they don't already believe."

He falls quiet, knowing it as well as I do. That they whisper of us. The princess and the bastard. Even if no one dares tell us it's wrong.

"You know what everybody whispers about us," I tell him, something neither of us have ever dared acknowledge. "Everybody knows how much we mean to one another. So what does it matter?"

"It matters because you shouldn't risk making them angry like that," he grits out. "Choosing me over Robb in front of everybody to make a point is careless, the last thing you need is people turning on you!"

"Half the country wants me dead!" I remind him. "I'm past being afraid of making people angry!"

He grabs my wrist and pulls me in, taking my face between his hands, his voice desperate. "I remember the day they brought you here in chains. The king could decide at any moment he wants you dead and there's nothing I'll be able to do to stop it." His voice quakes, and I realise it's not anger he feels, but fear. "You might not care about your life, but I do."

I look into those dark eyes, at a loss. "Then you might just be the only person in Westeros who does."

His next words leave me not knowing how to feel. "If that were true then you'd be dead."

"They care about my name, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I'm a pawn to them. You are the only person in the world who actually cares about me."

He must see the tears in my eyes as he pulls me into his arms, a hand in my hair and in his arms I feel safe, safe to let my guard down.

"Well if there's only one person in the world who does it's me," he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine. "Because you're the first person to ever look at me as more than a bastard."

His beard is rough beneath my hand as I touch his cheek. "Because you are, you're so much more than what the world sees."

I look up into his eyes, a look reserved only for me, except it's then we're interrupted.

A guard stands there and gives an order "Lady Rhaenyra, Lord Stark would look to see you in your room."

I nod and Jon says "Look don't worry, I'm sure he's just giving you a warning, I'll meet you up there okay?"

"Okay," I say, taking his reassurances with me as I head back inside, up the staircase and through the halls to where my bedroom is, in the same hallway as Sansa and Arya's.

Anxiously I hesitate outside my room, expecting Ned to be inside, but when I open the door it's empty. Confused I step inside only to catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, but it's enough I run forward to the sword on table only to be grabbed by my hair and thrown into the stone wall, arms shielding my face as I'm beaten to the ground, kicking and screaming but it's not enough.

"No!" I cry out as the attacker grabs me by the hair and drags me across the floor, raising the dagger high up in the air as I thrash and fight, struggling against him for just long enough to scream out "Jon! Jon!"

Before the dagger can meet my flesh the door bursts open and the attacker is pulled from me, dagger hitting the ground as I scramble to my feet to find Jon beating the man bloody, and for some reason I don't stop him. Not as I pick up the blade and step forward with shaking legs to find the man's face unrecognisable, nose broken and face bloody. 

It's only then as Jon sees me he stops, knuckles bloody as I raise the dagger, only to be stopped by the guards that rush inside the room, pulling me back as Ned marches in, taking in the scene before him.

"Get off me!" I fight, Jon grabbing me out of the guards grasp and holding me back himself as Ned pulls the attacker up from the ground. 

"Who sent you?" Ned asks him as Jon holds me. "Who sent you to kill the princess."

The man does not answer, and it's as he opens his mouth with a bloody smile we see he has no tongue. 

"Kill him," I order, Ned looking back at me in shock. "Do it or I will."

"Rhaenyra-"

Jon lets me go so I can step forward, holding my head high. "Give me the damn blade."

He doesn't respond fast enough and so I snatch it out of his hand before the guards can pull me back, thrusting it into his neck, watching the blood stain spurt and stain the stone at my feet.

The room is silent as Jon comes forward, carefully removing the blade from my hand, Ned watching in shock at the blood covering us both. 

"Jon, you're going to take her North to the wall," Ned stammers. "Benjen will keep her safe until we can figure out who sent the assassin."

"So this is your answer?" Jon says to Ned, the first time I have ever heard him question his father. "To just send her away to the wall?"

"Until the threat has passed yes."

"The threat will never pass," I argue, knowing better than any of them ever could. "I've been running from assassins since the moment I was born. I know how to survive them." I look to Jon, the only person here I truly trust. "We'll go to the wall, but do not expect the threat to pass."

Jon doesn't argue, instead nodding as Ned says "Now you best leave tonight. I'm going to find out who saw what."

Ned leaves as the guards drag the body from the room, and the moment the door shuts Jon takes me in his arms, his bloody hand coming to touch my bruised cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I breathe, although he doesn't believe it, my shaking hand brings his bloody knuckles to my lips. "I'm fine, we're fine."

He pulls me in tight, lips on my forehead. "Get whatever you need and meet me by the stables."

I nod, holding onto him for a moment longer than I need. The blood on the floor should frighten me, as should the blood on his hands, but it's quite the opposite.

"Thank you," I breathe, holding his bloody hands in my own, unafraid. "I knew you'd come."

"You're lucky I was just down the hall," he says, the one who's afraid. "Otherwise-"

"Otherwise doesn't matter," I say to him. "I'm alive thanks to you, you'll keep me safe. You're the only one I trust to do so."

My faith in him must mean something, for he says "I will keep you safe, I promise."

"Now go," I tell him. "I'll meet you by the stables."

He nods and leaves to ready the horses for the journey while I turn to look at the blood on the floor, the guards having dragged the body out. I've never been a stranger to blood, but it is a bitter reminder I'll never be free of my enemies.

Which is why the first thing I grab is the sword Jon gifted me for my sixteenth nameday, one he had forged himself, the only present I received, the only one who cared enough. I spent a long time trying to find a name for it. The two ancestral swords of House Targaryen being Dark Sister and Blackfyre. Both lost to history. While I held it all I could think of was my sister across the narrow sea and the name we shared, Stormborn.

And so it came to me. Storm Sister. An ode to a sword lost and to a sister lost.

Quickly I find my riding clothes, the best fit and the warmest for the journey north, pulling my hooded cloak around my shoulders and lifting it to hide my silver hair, to disappear in the night with the one person in the world I trust. 

Taglist:

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#jon snow #jon snow x oc #jon snow fanfic #jon snow x reader #jon snow fanfiction #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen fanfiction #daenerys targaryen #daenerys fanfiction #targaryen oc #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x oc #oberyn martell fanfiction #house of the dragon #targaryen #fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #yes this is incesty but idgaf

[delopsia]

Flowers In November (2/4) Rhett x Reader

Word Count: 9,780 ♡‧₊˚ AO3 Cross-Post ♡⊹˚₊ Flowers In November Masterlist₊˚⊹♡ Warnings: Fem!Reader. Briefly mentioned abusive relationships (not involving reader), improper disposal of a horse's corpse, l-bombs, oral sex, physical and verbal altercations, blood, unprotected sex, inappropriate use of a firearm, lying to a police officer, multiple mentions of food and cooking.

Part 1 ♡⊹˚₊ Part 3

The first week is the worst.

You spend a lot of it on Rhett's couch. Trying and failing to run from the overwhelming heaviness that's settled deep into your muscles, reaching deep into your bones, seemingly filling them with cement. There's something so draining about realizations. It just doesn't...make sense.

Rhett doesn't complain about your dead weight around the house, even though he has every right to be annoyed with a stranger lazing about his home. A part of you suspects that he enjoys the company. He seems to get a lot of enjoyment out of laying on the couch opposite you, just talking about whatever is on your mind.

Your likes, your dislikes, hobbies. You learn that he used to eat fried eggs with his hashbrowns religiously. That his momma became so attached to their pigs that they're not allowed to eat real bacon anymore. You're pretty sure you'd be the same way if you befriended a livestock animal.

Old memories, both the sweet and the bitter ones. Recounting old tales of adventures and comparing your worlds, eager to spot the differences between the two. Little by little, it sets in how wonderfully similar and different this world is. Rhett's town is nearly identical to yours. Same layout and the same buildings. Different shop and street names.

It's not home, but it's a familiar face.

"You can't be serious," Rhett squawks, his empty beer can hitting the table, "you grew up on what street?"

You have to hold up a finger, asking him to wait as you chew this bite of cookie. Rhett's momma, who you now know as Cecelia, sent them over yesterday, and they're so chewy that you need a moment. "Cold River road."

"What the hell?" Shaking his head, "it was Warm Creek road for me."

It's hard to believe that this is your reality now. A tweaked version of your past one, whether that be for better or for worse. The mom-and-pop shop you planned to work at doesn't exist here, but in its place is this beautiful cafe that sells baked goods and coffee. Rhett takes you in there one day after a successful grocery run.

"You know," you find yourself saying as you tuck yourselves into a corner booth with your drinks, "I never pinned you as a french vanilla kind of guy."

Rhett rolls his eyes so dramatically that you hope they become lodges in the back of his head, "what were you expecting, plain black?"

Humming, you feign thought, as if you're putting everything you've got into this conversation, "I was thinking mocha."

He finds a way to bug you in return by tearing off a piece of your pastry when you're not looking. He's not sorry, and you can't find it in yourself to be mad because he smiles so big that his eyes crinkle and disappear with it. Happy little crescents.

With a pantry and fridge full of proper food and ingredients, you do the only thing you can do on a ranch like this. You cook.

Cecelia offers you cookbooks galore, regional cuisines, and desserts. Anything you can think of, she has. There's even a book on mixing drinks in there. It's not your ideal lifestyle, cooking all day, but it's either this or you break your back working with Rhett, and you know you don't have the energy to work like him.

Your first attempt is a disaster. Rhett's stove heats up much slower than you're used to, and the pasta winds up undercooked. The homemade sauce is a bit off because part of the instructions has been distorted by water.

"I don't see what the fuss is about," covering his mouth as he speaks, "it's still good." And your heart soars with a foreign fuzziness from that alone.

Strange how the cowboy you met by mere circumstance has slowly become your number-one supporter. He's always got something nice to say about your cooking; you could be serving him plain soup from a can, and he'd still smile and thank you for taking the time to make it.

There's a night when you wake up sobbing because you saw your mother in your dream, and you miss her so, so much. It's only been two weeks without her, and you don't think you'll ever see her again. Rhett's a heavy sleeper, but he was already awake, fetching a glass of water. You don't hear him coming or realize he's there until you feel the mattress dip.

He doesn't know why you're crying, but he offers you a smile anyway, "you look like you could use a shoulder to cry on."

You're unsure if he meant that literally, but he welcomes you into his warm arms all the same. You find refuge in the comforting silence that he wears, like his favorite cologne. It wraps around you in the same fashion that his arms do, clouding your senses until your head has gone quiet too.

It's late, he has to be up early to work, but he turns on the sitcom you've been watching together. Words go unspoken because no matter how many of them you say, they can't fix this. His shoulder is warm, and somewhere between the buzz of sound on the television and the way he fiddles with your hand, you doze off.

That morning, you wake up tucked into bed, the sheets snuggly wrapped around you like a hug. Your only indication that last night wasn't a dream is the progress you made in that show.

"I hope you don't have any plans for today," good lord, how long has he been standing in the kitchen?

...and how long has he been shirtless.

You can only open and close your mouth like a fish out of water, tearing your eyes off his sculpted chest, only to have them draw back onto him like magnets. Has he always had that tattoo of a bull and rider on his chest?

If Rhett notices your staring, he doesn't call you out. "We're going to get you a friend."

"Friend?" You parrot, dumbfounded. God, those biceps...

Even as you get dressed, in a mixture of his clothes and some he's bought for you, it's hard to figure out what he means by 'friend.' Is he introducing you to someone, or is he buying a puppy? You can see Isabela tacked up through the bedroom window, waiting patiently just outside the house.

Fortunately, by now, it's easy to swing yourself up behind Rhett. Huddling close and burying your face into his back has become second nature, especially as the temperatures drop each day. Every ride, you thank your lucky stars that he's a walking furnace that's always happy to warm you up.

"Where are we going?" You don't think he's ever taken you to this side of his land. All the way down to where all four corners of the respective lands meet.

"South pasture," Rhett supplies, but he gives you nothing more to go on regarding the whole 'friend' situation.

The South belongs to Perry and his family. Although, it looks more like a lake than anything else. Water covers most of the property, forcing Isabela to stick to the fence line, where it's mostly dry. Even then, you can still hear the squelch of the soggy ground under her hooves. It's a wonder how this lake stays contained within the borders of Perry's land.

You can't help but wonder where his house is located because you see nothing but water, water, and more water.

That is, until a gray horse emerges from the murky depths, shaking the water from her coat, closely followed by a second and a third. But you hadn't seen any head's poking out of the water...

As if he's already caught on to your stupor, Rhett laughs. A loud, hearty noise. "Y'all don't got kelpies where you come from?"

Come again?

"Like the fantasy creature?" Vaguely, you recall hearing something about them once or twice, but you can't say you're familiar with their lore.

That statement alone is enough of an answer to Rhett's question. The horses—kelpies follow loosely behind you. Like they're trying to join Isabela but are too shy to go through with it. One of them makes eye contact with you, her haunting brown eyes peering straight through your skin and deep into your soul. At least, until she opens her mouth, and...

"...did that horse just hiss at me?"

"Yes, ma'am, she did."

You're not too pleased to see that Perry is out and about, although you're not too sure why you were expecting him not to be on his property. His house isn't much different from his parents, a considerable fraction smaller but equally extravagant and over the top. A towering marble fountain stands in front of his home, and even the water flowing through it looks expensive.

"I really thought you were lyin' when you said she was still with you," Perry's talking before he's within earshot, forcing you to rely on context to fill in the blanks, "what woman chooses to stay in a tiny shack like that?"

He takes one look at Rhett and falls dead silent. You're not sure if you want to know what kind of expression achieved that.

"If you don't mind, I need to speak to Rhett alone for a second." The last time someone told you they needed to speak to Rhett alone, you received information you wish you hadn't.

And you sure hope these kelpies don't talk.

Isabela is content to be tied off on a fence post nearby, minding her own while you absently scratch her shoulder. You're not sure what to do. You'd feel wrong for wandering around and exploring, but it's not the ideal experience to simply stand here. What does Perry need with Rhett, anyhow?

There's movement off to your left.

"Did you follow us?" You can't believe you're asking a horse this as if she can respond. Or so you hope.

That same horse idles at the edge of her fence, her darkened eyes fixated on you as if you're the most interesting thing she has ever seen. Up close, you can see the dapples that cover her body, most of them hidden by how she's whitened out over the years. There's a considerable amount of feathering on her lower legs; she almost looks like she's wearing oversized socks.

Again, she hisses at you.

There are plenty of horses in the field with her, but she's the only one that's truly taken notice of you.

Slow, she follows the fence until she's close enough to hang her head over the wooden panels. Her eyes look more like a goat's, pupils wide and rectangular rather than round. You're looking, waiting on those eyelashes to flutter with a blink, but as time ticks by, she only blinks once.

As you go to offer her your hand, she lifts her head, tracking everywhere the appendage goes.

"Do me a favor," whispering in the wind, "don't bite my hand off, please?" The first time your hand touches her neck, she flinches, whistling much like a dolphin, but then she returns and lets you do it again.

Her eyes close, leaning into your touch. Not so scary after all.

"Why did I have a feeling it would be that one?" The sudden appearance of Perry's voice spooks you just as much as it does your newfound companion here; both of you stop what you're doing to look for the source of the sound.

Perry and Rhett are walking over, the bush behind them shaking unnaturally as if someone's just rustled it.

"Were you two hiding in that bush?" Your accusation is answered when Rhett's eyes hit the ground, suddenly too heavy to lift them.

"For business purposes," Perry tells you blandly, "it's best to be alone; it rules out the possibility of a kelpie trying to pick someone else."

Pick?

"They're a fussy species," filling in the blank, Rhett stands next to you, holding out his hand for the kelpie to sniff, "they pick their riders, rather than the other way around."

Her halter contains a tiny ID chip that displays her information when Rhett scans it with his phone. She's seven and a half, was born and raised on Perry's land, and was initially trained to assist lifeguards, capable of reaching places that human divers cannot. Her name?

"Nyx," both you and Rhett murmur, perfectly in sync.

She settles into the barn three days later. You don't notice her at first because, at a glance, she blends in perfectly with the snow. Her presence is only given away by Rhett's surprised yelp as she turns on him, knocking him down in the driveway.

"Are you really trying to put a bow on that horse?" You can't help but tease, snow crunching below your feet. Planted flat on his back, red ribbon laying haphazardly on his belly, shoulders shaking as he giggles. Your feet come to a stop right next to the halo of brown hair, looking at him from upside down.

"Merry Christmas?" He offers, shy. Fuck, he's cute.

Until now, you've completely forgotten about Christmas and the New Year and hadn't really wanted to remember it either. Yet as this cowboy laughs at you like he's the happiest man in the world, and as Nyx comes to stand by your side, it hits you that maybe this, whatever it is, isn't so bad.

The weather makes it hard to go out for any rides; there are some days when it becomes so cold that it's dangerous for Nyx and Isabela to be outside for too long. Those days are always the worst because the wind blows so hard that you can't see beyond the porch. It always worries you because Rhett is out in it, and even the most experienced men can be overtaken by the cold.

Then there's the night when your worst fears start coming true. Two weeks after New Year's, a winter storm slams Wyoming with high winds and endless snowfall. Howling wind whips around the house, screaming by, carrying so much snow that all you can see is a solid white sheet. It's been like this all afternoon, and Rhett's an hour later than usual.

You've found yourself pacing back and forth between all the windows, searching for a sign of him out there, but all you can see is the thick clumps of snow as they descend from the skies above.

Oh, where is he? Where is he?

Rhett's always been home around six, his latest so far has been six forty-five, and that was only because Isabela got a stubborn rock lodged in her hoof.

The clock in the bedroom reads seven-thirty. The numbers bright red, glaring you down.

You've got half the mind to clamber into some of his heavy winter clothes and look for him yourself, but what will you do if you get lost too? If he comes back and finds the house empty?

Oh, but what if he's hurt himself? He could be half frozen to death out there, and—

the room falls dark.

"Great," swearing under your breath, "just fucking great."

It's below zero outside, and now you have no power. Absolutely wonderful.

There's wood and old newspaper already stocked in the fireplace, just in case Rhett's feeling festive enough to get a fire going. Memory tells you there's a lighter in the kitchen junk drawer, hidden in a mix of sticky notes, pens, and pencils. It's hard to see what you're doing, fumbling around blindly in the drawer until your fingers find the familiar shape of the lighter.

You've watched Rhett enough times to know how he usually gets these started, and you're pleased to find that you can get the fireplace going without burning the house down. Albeit, your fingers are now a twinge burnt.

Impossibly, the wind seems to be picking up more speed, beating against the house so hard that the front door is starting to shake, the knob rattling. Or, at first, you think it's the wind, but the longer it goes on, the more you start to wonder...

"Rhett?" You call out, turning toward the offending noise, "that you?"

No response, but that knob just keeps making noise.

A part of you is afraid to open it; the other half is worried about what may happen if you don't. The metal feels like ice in your hand, almost burning as you turn it and pull the door open.

That wasn't the wind.

"God, Rhett, where the hell have you been?" Hissing at the wind that rattles into the house, you step to the side, letting him stumble into the house.

His shoulders carry a mountain of snow on them; tiny icicles decorate his long lashes. You don't know where his gloves have gone, but his hands have gone white, struggling to get ahold of his jacket zipper. He's making sounds like he's trying to speak, but nothing is coming out.

"I've got you," taking hold of the zipper, you pull it down, helping him squirm out of his snow-soaked coat. It's dripping water all over the freshly cleaned floor, and the best place for it would be the washer, but you toss it onto the counter. That's not what needs to be focused on right now.

"Couldn't," swallowing thickly, "door."

How long was he out there?

Fortunately, he's still there enough to know that he should go and sit in front of the fire while you wrangle some blankets out of the closet. But even the four blankets don't help with his shivering, seemingly just as cold as before.

"How long..." speaking like his tongue has become hard to move, "has the power been out?"

"Ten minutes?" But it feels like it's been out for a decade; most of the heat has faded. It's starting to nip at you, icy fingers reaching out from the dark and running over your exposed skin.

Maybe that's how you find yourself sitting next to him, back propped against the couch, as you open your arms, beckoning him to come into them. Those deep blue eyes rake up and down your frame once, twice, and just that is enough to fill your belly with snowflakes.

Slow, Rhett scoots over, cautious as he settles against you. Head resting on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist, burying himself into you. He feels like a block of ice, and you're pretty sure he counts as one at this point.

The weight against you is bizarrely familiar, comfortable. Not too heavy, but enough to remind you that he's there, his head tucked under your chin. Those arms wrap around you like the perfect hug, impossibly strong, even now.

"Truck got stuck in the snow," he doesn't need to explain himself to you, and yet he chooses to anyhow, "couldn't get it out, so I had to walk back."

Squeezing him tighter, "what happened to your gloves?"

"They wound up gettin' wet, took 'em off thinkin' I'd be better off," weak, he laughs against your chest, hot breath dancing across your skin, "can't believe I couldn't open the damn door."

"I thought you were the wind at first," in hindsight, you should have realized it was him.

It's easy for time to get away from you, lost in the wonderous feeling of having him snuggled up into you. Such a big cowboy that fits into your arms like he was made to be in them, and you were made to hold him. He's like a teddy bear, hair soft as you rest your cheek against his head.

"You fallin' asleep?" He asks lowly.

Prying your eyes back open, "maybe."

"Good," yawning, he nuzzles his cheek against your collarbone, "because I think I am too."

Sometime later, the power kicks back on. Lighting the house in blinding shades of white as the heating and air unit roars to life outside. You don't know why, but as you untangle from each other, you find yourself wishing it hadn't come back on at all.

You can't shake it from your head, the sweetness of Rhett's weight against you, how his hair felt beneath your cheek. Like glue, the sensations have become stuck to you, refusing to let you forget about them. It keeps you up half the night; you're awake when Rhett heads out to work and can hear Nyx fussing in the barn when he enters. Household alarm system, that one.

As you start to doze, someone knocks on the front door. The person's voice is too muffled for you to understand what she said, but it's hard to miss the phrase, 'police department.'

What in the world?

Groggy, you drag yourself out of bed, stumbling over your own two feet. Did she have to pick now, of all times? Seven-thirty is too early for police officers to be doing surprise visits.

"Hi," she grins, all too cheerful, "is Rhett Abbott here, by chance?"

Yawning, you lean against the door frame, "you just missed him," you swear you've seen this woman before, "he left about an hour ago."

She doesn't seem surprised, just nodding and writing something down on her phone. Officer Judy Hawk.

Strange. You think her name was Joy in your world.

There's no time to focus on that, though, because soon she lists off a date. You know it's passed, but you don't remember what day of the week it landed. "Perry Abbott's license plate was found in a pasture down the road, on the same night a multi-million dollar racehorse went missing," your mind jumps back to what Rhett was burying, "do you know if Rhett was home that night?"

Heart climbing high into your throat, you glance toward the barn. Shit, shit, shit, do you lie? What if she already knows the truth? What if—

"Yeah," forcing a smile, "he was here all night, like always."

Judy looks skeptical, but she offers no counter-argument and doesn't press for why you're here or how you're connected to Rhett. Just smiles.

"That's about all I needed," there's that artificial friendliness again, draped over her face like a mask, "I'll find another time to come talk to Rhett. Thank you, Mrs. Abbott."

...huh?

Does she think...? That you...and Rhett...?

Ugh. No, you don't want to think about that.

It's the one thing you conveniently leave out of your retelling of the visit when Rhett inevitably stumbles in that evening. You try to be as casual as you can about it, nonchalantly letting it slip that they found Perry's plate while you take the green beans off the burner.

It's hard to tell what emotion flickers across his face. It's there and gone before you can blink, and then it's back to the usual Rhett. Too tired to be bothered by things like these.

You really hope you didn't fuck up by lying to that officer.

A freakish heatwave washes over the state during early February.

At first, you don't know what to think when you wake up and find that most of the snow has melted overnight. The weatherman tells you it's in the mid-60s, and the sun kisses you when you step out. Walking outside is like walking into a daydream, the air just perfect enough that it's not too hot or too cold.

From the fence line, Nyx hisses, adamant that she receives your attention right here and now. Spoiled.

"Hold on, hold on," rolling your eyes over her antics, "you big snake."

She doesn't understand you, but she whistles like she does. Who would have ever thought kelpies couldn't make normal horse sounds? Perry says they make plenty of different noises, but you've only seen Nyx whistle and hiss.

Again, she flicks her head back and hisses, goat-like eyes fixated upon something behind you.

"How long have you been standing there?" Honestly, you shouldn't be surprised that it's Rhett who is the cause of Nyx's offense.

His gaze flickers down, then back up, "ever since you walked out the house in nothin' but my old rodeo shirt."

...oh no.

"I uh..." now that he's said it, you're becoming hyper-aware of how bare your legs feel, "I didn't exactly plan to go outside."

Your inability to explain is rewarded with a hearty chuckle, "I can see that." As he begins to come closer, you start to flounder. "Why don't you go get dressed?" Effortlessly relieving you of any further explanation, "we got somethin' we need to do."

That's all the encouragement you need. Leaving the conversation to rot, you take off for the house, eager to retain what little of your dignity you have. God, did you really just walk out of the house in nothing but his shirt? Why does he always slip by your radar until it's too late?

Most of your clothes are still bouncing about the dryer; it's hard to accumulate them when you don't have money. Most of them come from Cecelia's monthly closet cleanouts. You have clothes, but it feels like you've got nothing to wear.

Scratchy blouses, too-warm sweaters, too-thin tees, nothing comfortable enough for what Rhett's likely to put you up to. It seems you're doomed to putting on your only pair of jeans and wearing his rodeo shirt for the rest of the day. At least it's soft.

Nyx is missing from the pasture when you step back outside. Although to find her, all you need to do is follow the sound of her whistling.

"What are we doing?" What could possibly require Rhett to tack up Nyx?

"Goin' for a ride," his voice barely audible over Nyx and her dolphin sounds, "weather's too nice to waste the day away." As if she agrees, Nyx whistles again. It's hard to tell if she's excited or pissed beyond belief.

You get your answer when you climb into her saddle, and she tries walking out of the barn before you're ready. This isn't the first time you've ridden her, but it's the first time she's been so eager to get the show on the road.

"The longer you take, the angrier the horse gets," you find yourself saying, staring at the feed room that Rhett's disappeared into.

He pokes his head out, "you and your dolphin need to learn patience."

Not one familiar with the concept, your dolphin turns and heads for the barn exit, and for once, you allow her to do what she pleases. Isabela has hardly moved from where Rhett left her by the house, but as soon as Nyx passes by, she begins to follow on your flank.

The group of you make it about four circles around the house before Rhett finally stumbles out of the barn. "How the hell did you get her to move?" Genuine shock ripples through his tone as he approaches your little walking party.

"Walked past her," at least you will never have to worry about Nyx doing the same thing, all things considered. On some days, it's a miracle that she even lets a stranger so much as perceive her.

Now that she's moving, Isabela doesn't stop for Rhett to get on and completely bypasses him when he tries stepping in front of her. Watching him chase her down and scramble up is quite an amusing sight to behold.

"So where are we going?" Asking as you follow his lead, heading toward the gate that sits along the fence line.

His head tilts west toward his parent's house, "you'll see when we get there."

As he'd indicated, you head west at a leisurely pace, taking all the time in the world. There's no reason to rush. You've gone this direction so many times, huddled up to Rhett's back as his felt cowboy hat bumps against the top of your head, that it feels foreign not to be there.

"What?" Rhett grins; he's caught you staring.

"I've gotten so used to cuddling up on the back of your horse that riding alone feels strange," the confession comes easily, slipping from your throat like a breath of air.

"Oh really?" His eyes squint in that telltale way; you're never going to hear the end of this. "You missin' cuddlin' with me?"

There are two ways you can address this. Deny it to no end, or confirm it.

"Maybe I do."

In the blink of an eye, his grin falters, eyelashes fluttering as he turns his attention to Isabela's pristine mane, "yeah?"

You don't understand why your heart flutters at that.

The dark, dead circle still resides in the ground, a landmark you always pass over here. It's worsened since the first time you laid eyes on it, the grass jet black, land sunken in. You've quit walking into it and hoping it will take you back.

Beyond the driveway that leads up to his parent's home lies a tiny, barely there trail. Washed out and overgrown, only made visible by the sand once poured to mark its path.

"Perry and I used to ride out here every Sunday while our folks went to church," removing his hat, Rhett tips his head back, letting the slight breeze rustle through his hair. It's gotten so much longer since the first time you met.

"What made you stop?" He's never been bothered by your probing for more information, but you're still hesitant to ask.

Rhett's quiet. Body swaying with Isabela's motions. The muscles in his jaw flex and relax as he sucks on his tongue, "he met Rebecca," he says after a minute, "and all of a sudden, he was too busy to be my brother anymore."

Stiffness returns to his frame, wiring his broad shoulders tight, "I hated every second of their relationship."

Ducking under a low-hanging branch, narrowly avoiding it, "what made you hate it so much?"

"Jealous," he spits it out so quickly that you hear it before you realize you've finished speaking. One of his big hands rises to scratch his neck, "or lonely, I guess. God, I don't know why I'm even bringing this up."

"You're allowed to talk about it if you want to," humming, you reach out, squeezing his knee, "I'm listening."

Up ahead is a slight clearing, where the land abruptly flattens itself out, and the trees have visibly been cut down. There's an old wooden bench facing the valley, rotting, overtaken by the elements. You see precisely why they put it here; the view is breathtaking.

You can see everything. The houses, the evident, shaky divide between the four properties. It looks so empty from up here.

"I can't tell you how many nights I spent up here, drinking on that bench," forcing a laugh, "God, I was the loneliest son 'f a bitch in the state."Was.

Nyx whistles, forcing you to wait until she's done giving you her two cents. "What changed?"

You don't think you've ever seen his eyes soften like that. Like someone's lit a match and melted away every drop of the icy stiffness that lives in them. With it taking away the fake smile he's been donning all afternoon.

And then you hear it, the faintest shadow of a voice you've ever heard, "you."

Oh.

In your mouth, your tongue fills with lead, but as it turns out, you don't have to speak because Rhett already is. "I've met a lot of people in my life, but you're the first person that's ever made me feel..." shaking his head, he looks away, focusing back on Isabela's mane, "like I'm not some good for nothing cowboy that's only meant to work and do favors."

You don't know what to say. For Rhett, though, your smile is enough of a reply because it makes him smile too. That's all you could really ask for.

There's only so much time you can spend looking out at the valley before it becomes boring, and soon, you're heading further up the trail, side by side. Quiet, but not uncomfortably so. That's the beauty of Rhett; whether he knows it or not, he's taught you that not all silence is bad. That it can be just as comforting as words.

"I have a question," you hate to break the silence, but it's starting to ebb at the back of your mind.

He puts his hat back on his head. "Shoot."

Alright. Here goes nothing. "What happened to Rebecca?" A part of you is expecting a cold, uncomfortable reaction, but you never receive it.

"She went missin' a year ago, 'bout nine months before you arrived," his voice airy, "just up and left him and their daughter."

You catch his mouth opening and closing a couple of times like there's something more that he wants to say. He never voices it.

At the very end of the trail lies an even more extensive clearing than before. The remnants of a gazebo lie dead in the middle, unfinished and rotting, much like the old bench. An old pile of lumber sits next to it; weeds have long since overtaken it, rendering it unusable.

How much time did they spend up here?

"I know this place ain't much," you don't know when he got so close to you, "but I hope it didn't bore you to death."

"'m not bored," tilting your head to meet his gaze as you speak, "this was nice."

"Yeah?" There's that grin you were missing. "Would you want to do this again?"

Nodding only makes his smile grow wider, taking up his entire face.

And somewhere in your head, you catch yourself wishing to see that smile for the rest of your life.

That next ride takes forever to come. The thing about Wyoming weather is that it rules the land with an iron, unpredictable fist. Just as quickly as the snow melted, it comes back. Once again, covering the ranch in a pristine, glittering white blanket. So returns to the routine of it being too cold to do much, of watching movies until you're sick of looking at the screen. Those nights when you turn on a film to have some background noise while you talk.

Breakfast is a rare occasion in this household.

You've got the ingredients, but it's hard to motivate yourself to cook when it's just you. Rhett's always gone or halfway out the door when you get up. It's hard to justify a big meal without him and his oversized appetite.

But today, you really, really miss the joys of breakfast and the foods associated with it. Hashbrowns, biscuits, and gravy. Oh, and the wonderfully crafted bacon that is exclusive to this world of Rhett's, completely vegan but tasting identical to the real deal. You still don't believe that it's real.

It takes all of ten minutes of craving it for you to come up with a plan. So what's stopping you from bringing the man breakfast?

As you busy about the kitchen, dancing from skillet to skillet, you struggle to fry up some kind of explanation. Something that amounts to more than just 'I brought you breakfast because I'm hungry and felt like feeding you too.' What will you put it all in? What if he doesn't want it?

Shit, you just burned the hashbrowns.

Whoever told you that it's easier to think on a full stomach was a liar because your meal doesn't help. Drawing blank after blank, failing to devise a single excuse for this. The best thing to come to mind is the memory that plastic containers exist. Perfect for carrying breakfast to a blue-eyed cowboy.

And did you fry an egg because you remember him offhandedly mentioning that he likes them with his hashbrowns? Yes. Yes, you did.

Rhett should be around the back of the barn right now. He usually spends most of his morning dealing with non-cattle-related matters, like cleaning the stalls and restocking various things he used up the day prior.

"Hey, Cowboy," your voice echoes through the barn as you call out for him, "you in here?"

On the other side of the building, you receive the gruffest 'yeah' you've ever heard. It hardly even sounds like Rhett; if it weren't for his head poking around the corner, you might have mistaken him for someone else entirely.

"Somethin' wrong?" Before you can even get a word out, he's dropping everything he was just doing.

Meekly, you lift the plastic container for him to see, the contents warm and steaming up the inside of the material, "I brought you something."

That's got his attention.

Like a puppy, he cocks his head to the side, struggling to deduce what you've brought him. His hands shake as he takes the container from you, large fingers working their way between the lid and prying it upward.

Those blue eyes start to shimmer, wide, round, "you brought me breakfast?" Barely audible, not even a whisper. It makes your knees feel weak.

"I did," you feel like you should say more. Give him a reason, make up a fake holiday, something, anything to justify this. He doesn't need one. Accepting your random act of kindness without pressing you for meaningless reasons.

Oh, that smile...

"Thank you," and there's not a damn thing in this world that can take the sweetness from his tone, "I don't...nobody's ever...done anything like this for me before."

It's difficult to wrap your head around. Nobody? Not his momma, his brother, a girlfriend?

Together, you sit on buckets in the tack room, basking in the perfect, comfortable silence occasionally broken by Nyx whistling in her stall. You don't know how you feel, knowing you're the first to do something as simple as this. Pride swells in your chest every time he takes a bite, smile growing a little bigger.

But at the same time, you've found yourself feeling bitter. This is Rhett. The sweet cowboy who took you, a total stranger, into his home and never once asked a thing from you in return. The guy who works overtime takes care of Perry's share of chores. Leaves before sunrise and is lucky to return before sunset.

And not one person has...done this.

A routine blossoms. Once or twice a week, you make breakfast, hunt Rhett down, and eat it with him. Sometimes that means sitting out in the elements when you could be cozied up inside; sometimes, it includes eating and walking.

There's one occasion where he's fixing a fence, hands too busy with something that he can't stop until he's finished. You still haven't forgotten how he giggled when you held the fork out for him, determined to get him to eat before it got cold.

"Can I have a piece of bacon?" He asks, grunting as he tightens the barbed wire, "or something other than..."

Unfortunately for him, you've already shoveled more hashbrowns onto his fork; he accepts it regardless. Not like he has much choice.

"Quit giving me nothing but hashbrowns, woman!" Laughing around his mouthful of food, it's a miracle he doesn't choke.

"Fussy."

"Very much so—" he falls silent. You've done it again.

Your warning sign should have been how quickly he snatched that bite. It only occurs to you that he's finished that portion of the fence when he rushes toward you like a bull. By the time you turn and run, it's too late.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, dragging you into an equally muscular chest, squeezing you tight, "you ain't gettin' away that easy, missy!"

It's hard to tell who fell first, but you wind up on the grass in some way or another. Laying on your backs, sharing a piece of bacon as you stare up at the morning sky, still painted in enchanted orange, red, and purple hues.

"D'ya want the last piece?" The edge of it appears in your peripheral, tempting.

Reaching up, you tear a piece off right down the middle, "we'll split it."

It would have been simpler for each of you to have your own piece because you've split the last two parts. But in that case, it wouldn't have been as special.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Rhett looks down at you, cheek propped in his hand, "I'll try to be home earlier tonight."

"Can't wait to see that movie, huh?" On its own accord, your hand rises, desperate to push those curled locks out of his face. By the time you realize it, Rhett's already caught on; too late to back out now.

"Nope," eyes fluttering shut as you run your fingers through his hair, tucking the offending strands behind his ear. It's so inexplicably soft like it's been washed and cared for by Gods. You can't stop yourself from playing with it. "You're fixin' to put me to sleep if you keep that up."

Right now, the concept of falling asleep doesn't sound so bad.

Alas, duty calls. Perry's riding up, and the last thing either of you wants to hear is him bitching about Rhett being lazy. So, with your empty container and a soft 'thank you' from Rhett, you head back to the house.

By early, Rhett usually means around five thirty, barely much earlier than his usual time. That time comes and goes, and you find no sign of him. Nyx starts to whistle in that telltale way she always does when Rhett passes, but there's no sign of him.

It feels like the snowstorm incident all over again. Six comes and passes. Six thirty. Six forty-five. Seven.

No, no, something is wrong. You don't know what is telling you that, but you know it. You know it the same way you know up from down, from how bitter sourness churns in your belly, your hands becoming cold and tingly. This isn't like Rhett.

All you have is a flashlight and a pocket knife that he keeps in the junk drawer, but you leave the house feeling like you've got an army at your disposal. Rhett's not in the barn, but Isabela is munching on hay that's been put out for them in the pasture. That's usually the last thing he does before he comes in for the night. Feed the horses.

Nyx paces along the fence, hissing for your attention. Not right now. She can have her pets later.

"Rhett?" Calling out for him brings you nothing. Again, Nyx hisses.

There's no sign of him around the house; his truck hasn't budged. The fence isn't locked, though. The chain dangles loosely around the meet of the bars, the lock open and hanging on to the end. That's so...strange.

What's even stranger is how your horse keeps bobbing her head up and down, hissing, whistling, as if she's gone mad. Not once does she quit moving back and forth along the fence.

"Nyx?"

Then you hear it. The distant roar of a truck. Shakes the ground with its fury as it rushes closer and closer. Someone is driving through the pasture.

Nyx and Isabela scatter, darting far to the opposite corner of the enclosure, and that's when you catch it. The glint of light bounces off the top of the truck as it races toward the gate. Directly where you're standing. Its headlights are off, but you already know the vehicle doesn't belong to anyone in the Abbott family.

Your feet are moving before you can register it, diving behind Rhett's truck.

The gate bursts open with an ear-shattering crack, hinges squealing. Rhett's truck jolts, struck by the unknown vehicle as it turns too sharply. Dirt and rock fly through the air, kicked up by ridiculously massive tires. Just as quickly as it had arrived, it tears down the driveway, leaving a plume of smoke in its wake.

This is too much of a coincidence for it not to be connected.

You don't know who that was. You don't care that they hit Rhett's truck. You don't care about the stupid fucking fence. You don't remember coming out from behind your hiding place when you started running.

Heart hammering, you race through the field, using the tire tracks as your guide. Nyx flies along after you, whistling as she sidles up by your left, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off her.

Whistling again, she parts off to your right, heading straight for the back of the property. The tracks are your best marker, but it hits you as she looks back at you. Maybe she knows.

So you follow.

Your lungs burn. Feet hammering the ground. Desperate to keep Nyx in your sight. The flashlight clicks in your hand. Flickers to life. Burns out in the blink of an eye. Swearing, you drop it. Like a ghost, Nyx tears through the night. Her bright coat is the only thing you can see. She's whistling. Clacking her teeth.

She stops. Dead in her tracks. You do too.

Just ahead is a silhouette. Kneeling. Impossible to see at first.

"Rhett?"

"Are you okay?" That's his voice. That's his voice, but it doesn't sound like him. Deep. Strained.

"Of course, I'm fine," kneeling by his frame, "I'm not the one who's..."

All you can see is crimson. Dripping down his scalp. From the tip of his left ear. His hair is a wreck. Body trembling so hard that you can hear his teeth chatter.

"Don't—" but his protests can't stop you. His jaw shakes in your hand as you curl your fingers around it, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

"Rhett," you don't...what? "What did they do to you?"

His split, bloody bottom lip quivers, "I'm okay." Voice-breaking in the middle, unable to handle those two little words.

There isn't an inch of him that isn't bruised. Blood pours from his hands and nose, a massive cut rippling down the corner of his left eye; it's barely open. You don't know if that's dirt or newly formed bruises peeking out from his shredded flannel.

"You don't look okay," your words only make him shake a little harder. His eyes glisten.

There is only one thing you can think of doing. You open your arms. He falls into them. Broad shoulders quivering as he buries his face into your neck, wetting it with little drops of fire.

"Please don't let go of me." You don't. You can't.

Rhett Abbott is by no means a small man. He's massive. In personality, in his broad shoulders, in his big blue eyes, and in his scarred, calloused hands. A wolf in every sense of the term, fierce, borderline feral on most days.

But that's not him right now.

You don't know what they've done to him, but it's shrunken him into nothing but a mouse. Flinching when you rub your fingers at the nape of his neck, his breath hitching with an unbridled fear you've never known him to bear. You hardly recognize the pained whimpers that slip from him.

Your back aches. Knees are bruising from being dug into the rocky ground, but you can't bring yourself to budge even an inch. It's a wonder that his arms still bear the strength to hold onto you, looping tight around your waist, anchoring you down.

"I've got you," murmuring into the side of his head, "I've got you." On your left, Nyx lowers her head, sniffing, nuzzling the back of Rhett's neck. It scares him, jumping away from her with a pained, surprised gasp.

That's enough to remind him of where you are, out in the dark, the temperature gradually dropping. He doesn't speak, but you know what he's trying to do when his legs begin fumbling beneath him, wobbly like a newborn foal. Heavily minding his right leg as you help him up.

"Shit," he hisses, eyes bolting shut, "y'might...have to get the truck."

The truck might not be starting anytime soon.

Your eyes land on Nyx. She looks at you, the timing almost comedic. You're both sharing the same idea.

"There ain't no way she's fixin' to let me up there," but Rhett's protest goes unheard.

A part of you wonders if it's her lineage. Her original purpose. To rescue individuals from the unpredictable, violent ocean. Because she's wholly put away her avid dislike for Rhett. Perfectly calm as you help him up onto her back, not a single pinned ear, not a sound.

You're unsure if the look in Rhett's eyes comes from the situation or Nyx's behavior.

He's quick to wrap himself around you once you've settled before him. His breath is hot on your shoulder as he buries his nose into it, hugging tightly, but not enough to hurt. As Nyx takes you back to the house, you begin to notice the dark spots on your shirt; blood.

"Was them Tillerson guys," he chokes out, lifting his head to avoid being muffled by your shirt. Tillerson. That sounds...familiar. "They think I'm the one that killed the goddamn horse."

You completely forgot about that. The damn horse that Perry hit and Rhett had to hide bits and pieces around the place. You're not sure where he hid the rest of its legs; the last time you saw them, it was right after—

no. No, absolutely not.

"So they jumped you on your own property?" There's a pitchiness to your voice as you try to clear an image from your head.

He starts to reply, but he cuts himself off. "Did they drive through my fuckin' gate?"

Yeah, and they hit your truck too.

"That they did," confirming, conveniently leaving out the vehicle. He's got enough to worry about right now.

Isabela has returned to munching on the hay Rhett put out for her, three heads buried deep into it, not a concern in the world. The very definition of unbothered.

"Glad to see the household menace cares and not my beloved companion," chuckling weakly at the sight of her, Rhett leans back down to rest his head against you.

The gate is mangled beyond belief, warped from the truck's grill that blasted through it, but it's still functional. You find the lock and chain in the driveway; Rhett's able to get it locked, as it should be. Tonight is one of those nights where it's warm enough for Isabela and Nyx to stay outside, free roaming their stomping grounds until morning.

But then Rhett steps into the porch light, and your face drops.

He looks horrible. Left eye bruised and swollen, blood dried all along his face, and caked in his hair. God, there are so many bruises around his neck; every one of his knuckles has split wide open, some still dripping with liquid red.

"I'm okay," that's a lie, and you both know it.

His muscles don't carry enough strength to take his shirt off; you have to step into the bathroom and help him because he can't get it off himself. The shower runs, and it runs, for what feels like an eternity. Until it stops.

"You alive in there?" Knocking on the bathroom door after some time has passed.

"...yeah," eventually comes your answer, "I don't...I'm having trouble...uh."

The door opens, and it immediately hits you. Rhett can't lift his arms to wash his hair; it's wet, dripping pale red onto the bathroom floor, but it's visibly matted together.

"Do you want some help?" Still taking it all in, failing to avoid the scattering of red along his ribcage, where he's been kicked repeatedly.

"I do, but..." looking between you and the shower, his eyes fluttering, "...don't know that would work without...you know."

Never in your wildest dreams have you considered making Rhett sit in the bathtub in nothing but his boxer shorts, but here you are. His head is tilted back as far as he can comfortably manage, eyes closed as you rinse his hair with the handheld shower head. The blood is stubborn. Whenever you think you've got it all, you find another patch.

"'M sorry you have to do this," so faint that you almost miss it entirely.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about," you don't mean to come off as snappy as you do, the tension in your shoulders seemingly leaking out of your tone, "none of this is your fault."

As you reach to turn the water off, those eyes flicker open; deep blue, so dark that you almost mistake them for brown. Not saying anything; simply watching. You could use his three-in-one shampoo, tucked in the corner in a navy bottle, but you reach for yours instead.

"Fixin' to make me smell like strawberry and vanilla, I see," weakly, he chuckles at his own words, "plannin' to eat me after this?"

The image of him between your legs flickers through your mind like a pesky ex, nearly making you drop the shampoo on his head. You haven't thought about that since the day it happened; why is it bubbling up now?

"Maybe I am," you tease, "what're you gonna do about it?"

Whatever retort he's boiling up is lost when you run your fingers through his hair. Unable to hide the slight unfocusing of his eyes as they flutter shut. A sucker for having his hair played with.

The soap sinking into his unhealed wounds has got to sting, but you're unsure if he so much as notices. Despite the situation, a tiny, kitten-like smile works across his lips. It's a wonder he doesn't begin purring, so absolutely content as you lather his hair. Even as you turn the water back on, it doesn't fade.

You can never take some things from a man, no matter how hard you try. That smile is one of those things.

That goddamn smile. The one that never fails to make your gut feel like it's been filled with butterflies, their delicate wings tickling away at you. It's difficult to imagine what life would be like without...

oh

shit.

"Y'alright?" Those eyes have long since reopened, fixated solely on you.

Nodding, "yeah," having to force your voice to cooperate, "just thinking, is all."

You only need to step out long enough for him to dry off and wriggle into some clothes. Maybe takes him a minute at max, but it feels like an eternity on the other side of that door. Now that it's clicked, you can't get it to unclick. Everything makes sense; it all makes perfect sense, and you don't know what to make of it.

The door squeaks back open, "g'nna need your help one more time, little lady."

Right. You still need to brush his hair out.

It's not complicated; most of the tangles came out while you were washing it, but the brush moves so slowly that it might not be moving at all. It's hard to move with all these thoughts clouding your senses. This man that took a liking to you for no good reason. A mere stranger a year ago is now the only thing that brings a smile to your face on most days.

This cowboy who lassoed you upon your first meeting, and while he let go of you physically, he's never let go of your heart. Not even once.

Fuck.

You might have feelings for this man.

But now isn't the time to sift through those feelings because fresh blood stains the comb's bristles. Coming from the back of his head, a deep split of the muscle running so deep that it hurts you to look at.

Wordless, Rhett reaches into the cabinet, producing a small tube of superglue. On a typical day, you think you'd protest and insist that he see a doctor instead, but you don't have it in you. Looking in the reflection of the mirror is enough. Bruised, swollen eyes barely open, jaw slack with what can only be described as exhaustion.

He's had enough for one day.

The whine that leaves him when the glue touches him is brutal to stomach. Even worse, you can do nothing about it; you've no choice but to listen to his pained whimpers as you pinch the wound shut. It has to be done, whether you like it or not.

"Do you still want to watch that movie?" Rubbing his shoulders when you're done, "I can put that pizza in the oven."

It takes him a little bit to process what you've said, but ultimately, he nods, "yeah."

What you hate the most is that while Rhett's physical wounds immediately begin to heal, the others don't. Need more time. Require a bit more attention.

In the kitchen, he jumps when he feels you behind him, swearing under his breath, eyes big as saucers. A far cry from the Rhett, who could never be surprised by your appearance, always seeming to know you're there. Every little sound has him glancing between you and the door; refuses to sit in the seat that places his back to it.

While lying in bed, you can hear him fumbling on the couch. At some point, he gets up to put a chair under the doorknob as if he's afraid someone will burst through at any moment. It takes you all of two minutes to make your next decision.

"'m sorry I'm keepin' you up," he murmurs, half-lidded gaze following you and your bundle of blankets, "what're you doin'?"

"Figured you could use a buddy for the night," tossing your pillow onto the couch, you settle in. It's a wonder how the man sleeps on these all the time; they're not the most comfortable.

The corner of his lip quirks up, following your movements, until you're facing him, your eyes poking out of the blankets. "Thank you."

It's not contained to just that night, though.

He spooks at little things. When you bring him breakfast. When one of the horses makes a noise in their pasture. Perry flies up the driveway once; Rhett locks the door and stands in the laundry room until he realizes who it is. All that, just to find out that their parents are throwing a birthday party for Perry's daughter.

Always looking around, scanning the treeline and driveway like they'll be there waiting for him. He gives you a cell phone a week after the incident.

"Just in case," he tells you, so, so desperate to have peace of mind. To know that you're safe and have a way to reach him. It's the same color as the phone that lies dead in the bedside drawer.

It's hard to tell if he's getting through it all by himself or if you've merely figured out how to avoid his triggers. Making sure he's seen you before stepping behind him, always keeping a hand on him when you're back there, so he knows where you are. Calling out for him on your breakfast runs.

There's something enchanting about how he grins at you on those mornings, opening his arms up and welcoming you with a hug. Selfishly, you accept them every time, eager to feel those muscles around you, to squish your cheek into his broad chest.

"I like to have never found ya," and you know you've got it bad when you're starting to talk like the bastard. He's over on Perry's property, fixing a broken fence.

"'m sorry," he mumbles, quiet, "Perry called this mornin', said he needed me to do some repairs."

Where is his hand going...

"You're thinkin' 'bout somethin'," scruffy fingers take hold of your chin, tingles shooting down your spine as he brings your gaze to meet his. "Spit it out."

Here goes nothing. "Why do you help so much?"

His head cocks to the side, "whatcha mean?"

"I mean, you're always helping with Perry's chores," gesturing toward the barely standing fence, "when you already have a ranch to run on your own."

That seems to be what he was expecting you to ask because his face lacks any hint of surprise. "After Rebecca disappeared, I promised to help him with anything he needs," his hand travels back, fingertips rubbing the meet of your jaw. "Got somethin' on your skin."

Whatever is on you must be stubborn because he licks the pad of his thumb, rubbing wide circles until it's gone. Your knees might buckle. Up close, it's easy to see how they've healed; bright pink patches of skin decorate his knuckles, scarring that sticks out like a sore thumb. There are still a few scabs on his left hand; they would have healed by now if they didn't keep opening back up while he works.

"So you've become his personal maintenance man because of a promise?" Last you checked, Perry didn't go offering his help when his own actions caused Rhett to be hurt.

"I'm a man of my word," sucking in a deep breath, Rhett yawns, "no matter how much I may regret it."

Part 1 ♡⊹˚₊ Part 3

#flowers in november #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #oneshot #ao3fic #ao3 oneshot #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #x reader #self insert #reader self insert #rhett abbott outer range

[phantomato]

Smut4Smut 2023: And At First Meeting Loved

AO3

My Mysterious Mademoiselle, Uncle George/George Jr., 8k, Explicit

Tags: Victorian, POV First Person, Explicit Sexual Content, Crossdressing, Oral Sex, Anal, Fingering, Anal Sex, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Incest, Romance, From Sex to Love

A holiday at Deauville with a beautiful wife.

Second time writing for MMM! I definitely need to give it a break for a while, but it’s a great canon. Meta ramblings about the fic below the cut.

The title is taken from Abraham Solomon’s paintings of a first-class Victorian train coach. There’s two versions, because the first was so controversial for showing an unchaperoned lady talking to a strange man. It’s a very apt comparison point for George and George Jr., who, after all, meet when Jr. is pretending to be an unchaperoned young lady on the train!

Sleeping Chaperone

The revision

I adore the title of these paintings. “And at first meeting loved.” That’s the feeling I get from the original short story, George Jr. disguising himself to get a measure of this unmet foreign uncle and finding himself helplessly infatuated from the start. It’s why this ship appeals to me so much!

I’m not particularly predisposed to incest ships. They’re fine, just not usually what grabs my attention. However, I love reunions as a trope: characters who have never met but have some existing relationship, or who haven’t seen each other in many years, coming back together and falling in love is my thing. An incest ship can grab me if, like this one, it offers a chance at a reunion. Georges Vane are indelibly family, through a sister/mother, and so their meeting in My Mysterious Mademoiselle lands to me like a reunion rather than a first encounter. They ultimately bond over their love of this shared family member. Young George being struck by how caring, and protective his uncle turns out to be is a wonderful opening to believe that he might develop a fancy—and it helps that Uncle George isn’t shy about describing himself as handsome and romantically successful. The story is so light (frothy!) that the age gap and incestuous nature of the pairing don’t feel like heavy topics that one must address in order to have a serious focus on the romance of the ship. At least to me, I should disclaim.

I think there is a version of this ship which kinks more readily on the uncle/nephew part or the age gap. I mean only that, as those aren’t my kinks, this is a canon which makes it shockingly easy to focus on other kinks. Quite probably that’s because of the crossdressing, which can amply fill any space you give it. George Jr. wears a dress like nobody else, and I was so glad that @sheeon requested “receiving a blowjob while wearing a dress” as a kink. My god. Yes, of course. A natural pairing. But I also gave Jr. a frilly little nightgown, and obviously he had to have stays, and a bustle, and a shawl and a wig. Crossdressing is a kink that I love, and more than that, historical dress is another one of my hobbies. George Jr. is just so happy to be subversive in everything that he touches that as an author, I can show that subversion through crossdressing and (in)appropriate public behavior rather than things I might prefer less.

So when it comes to the relationship dynamic between the two Georges, my interests lie in the tension between practical, stolid, English Uncle George and romantic, impetuous, French George Jr. They adore one another. Their fondness shines off of the page. I do what I can to capture that in my own writing, and I think I’ve mostly been successful, but it is fully to the credit of the original. George Jr. would legally become Mlle. Georgette and marry her Uncle in an instant, but Uncle George can’t reconcile a solution like that with the damage he feels it would do to George Jr.’s life: his social prospects, his career, his ability to move through the world freely. The first time I wrote them, George Jr. was younger, his mother had died from her illness, and Uncle George’s focus was on getting his nephew through school and resisting the come-ons entirely. That was a lot of fun, but I didn’t want to repeat the “First Time” trope again—it’s a natural thought for the ship, just not something I wanted to belabor in such quick succession. Taking on an established casual-sex relationship and asking how it would transition to full romantic commitment was much harder. In the first story, romance and sex can happen together! In this, I needed to build up Uncle George’s doubt that anything between them had a chance at lasting so as to motivate why someone who had already been fucking his nephew for years might balk at the comparatively-small hurdle of professed romantic commitment.

As I type that, I wonder if I’ve written the dreaded miscommunication plot. Not quite, I think; they never had communicated about this in straightforward terms, as Uncle George refused it and George Jr. most likely tried to sneak it in the back (lol).

Some other things I love in this ship:

George Jr.’s independence! I can never make him sexually monogamous before he has a romantic commitment from his uncle. It’s a key part of what makes this relationship feel relatively equitable to me, despite the age gap—the younger George isn’t discovering either sex or romance purely through this relationship. He won’t sit around and pine idly. He pines quite actively while fucking other men! And nonetheless, he is petty and jealous about all of Uncle George’s other partners. <3

The romance! These two are so romantic. They just adore one another with Big Feelings about every single thing the other does, whether that manifests as dramatic sulks or late-night mooning over one’s nephew’s pretty face or soppy declarations after making love. I’m into shipping to feel giddy about how much two characters love each other, and that really fits the tone of this canon.

#my mysterious mademoiselle

[v0guereality]

Seeing yourself in love-

It's well and truly such an interesting concept. Someone and something I no longer have, forever immortalized in videos and pictures, ones where I could see how my entire world lay behind the eyes of someone else.

Even wilder again is the thought that those are the same eyes that have become strangers to me - the exact twinkle not quite as clear in my mind as they used to be. What used to be muscle memory feels foreign; the only reminder being a video of a kiss, a gentle caress, a tangle of two people's skin where you cannot tell where one starts and the other ends.

It has been a while since I've laid in bed with someone else, completely removed of all my masks. A morning spent tangled up in sheets and lost in time because if I hid from the concept it didn’t have to exist. Days felt like eternity, because I would laugh and scream and just exist, on loop, as sunrise slowly passed to sunset. 

It is so interesting to see what things pictures whisper to me. My talkative eyes tell me so much, with love and passion radiating out of them in a way that lets me recall that exact moment through the screen as if it had barely passed.

I love hard and I fall hard. I find refuge in the arms of those I’ve loved; their embrace as my safety net, and their scent as my home.

When I see it through old pictures and videos, it feels both nostalgic and yet wildly foreign to see my eyes speak emotions I am not currently comprehending. The same way I question how on earth I found energy as a child to spring awake and play relentlessly, I question how I ever found myself letting go enough to trust someone else to catch me.

It is unfair to call that emotion foreign; I guess I prefer distant. Something not quite gone out of my range of sight, but just far enough out of it that I see it in a horizon slightly out of my reach. 

It can’t be too far gone- I see glimpses of it every day.

I see it in my mother, who makes sure I always leave the house with a coffee and a kiss on the head.

I see it in my father, who remembers my big events of the day to show me he cares.

I see it in the way that I am never to be forgotten by my sisters, who despite resistance to my endless hugs, will come and giggle and make sense of jokes that require our specific sense of humor, not leaving until the clouds clear from above my head.

I see it in my best friend's messages, because although we both recede into the comfort of our own busy lives, she will always remind me she is proud of me, and that she is thinking of me every day.

I see it in the eyes of another mother, who will make me dinner to not end the flow of conversation we are thoroughly invested in as I sit perched on her car in a parking lot.

I see it in the texts my sweet angels send me, because although we are oceans apart, we are tied by an invisible cord that binds our hearts to each other.

I see it in her piercing, fierce eyes. The ones that calculate my every thought and move in a way that reads straight through my soul, because time is a simple concept compared to how well she understands my heart.

I even smell it in her perfume. A scent I will never be able to replace in my mind, that fills me with warmth and association to a joy I cannot ever capture in words.

And this is why it is such a strange concept to see myself in love. 

I don’t know how to capture it in words.

I cannot fathom its range, because it is a range deeper than I can comprehend.

I simply know exactly how it feels; and it feels like a bad day is still worth pushing through because there will be more days filled with the essence and purity captured in my heart.

Capturing something so uncontainable and intangible within myself is impossible. It is foreign for me to see. 

So, whenever I catch a glimpse of my eyes twinkling in a mirror, or a reflection, or in a picture captured in a moment of my most raw emotion, I cannot help but love what it invokes in my soul, because there is nothing stranger yet more beautiful than to see myself in love.

#spilled ink

[tyrian-musings]

The Letter

Dearest Siyaar:

Enclosed you will find a small token of a world beyond what we could have imagined as children. I have written to you of Elona, written to you of my work here, but oh, my friend. It is a place unlike any other.

Elona is a place of mystery and magics, of horror walking hand-in-hand with beauty. It is a terrible place. I did not come here to find a home, for though my blood comes from here, I am not of this place nor its people. It has become a parasite, buried deep beneath my skin and curling up in my chest like some strange infestation. There are monsters here, but they walk in sight plain as day and they are praised their monstrosity, lifted up like gods only second to their horrifying eternal-king. I suppose by now you have likely heard about the Lich, about Palawa Joko. He has taken a world and isolated it, broken its back across his knee and called himself its savior--and the people believe him, or many of them do. He raises the dead and gives them their souls anew in exchange for eternal loyalty. The privileged few throw themselves upon blades and at his feet for a desperate hope of Awakening with his blessing.

Elona's relationship with death is an odd one, so foreign and yet in a way strangely--comforting. Death is quite so permanent where we hail from, save when Zhaitan still roamed. The end. The fear. And yet here, in this place of horror and beauty, death is merely a new beginning--if you are worthy. There's a certain sort of enchantment to it that you don't find elsewhere, or at least nowhere else I have been.

Do not fear, my friend. I am not so thoughtful of this place to yearn for Awakening.

But here I can be monstrous, as the world has made me to be. I can be raw and angry, I can be hard with one hand and gentle with the other. Blood stains coins as much as it is traded in vials for simple commodities. The monsters roam free here, Siyaar.

I can roam free.

Keep this scarab close and think of me, my friend. Think of this place where I dwell but think not of the dangers I'm sure you assume are here. You are often in my thoughts, even so far away. I look forward to when we can be in one another's company again--and we shall. Elona will not bring me to my knees.

Though the words do not pass from their fingers know that Porcia and Caius do miss you and think of you. Be safe, Sweet.

With Affections,

Adebayo

The small package that arrives for Siyaar under the usual route is little larger than his palm. An ornately decorated scarab is carved and painted iridescent and gold, and the space between its wings is set with the glitter of a sapphire.

#Adebayo #Marcus #Elona

[thatgracelessheart]

The value of Greek prose composition, he said, was not that it gave one any particular facility in the language that could not be gained as easily by other methods but that if done properly, off the top of one's head, it taught one to think in Greek. One's thought patterns become different, he said, when forced into the confines of a rigid and unfamiliar tongue. Certain common ideas become inexpressible; other, previously undreamt-of ones spring to life, finding miraculous new articulation. By necessity, I suppose, it is difficult for me to explain in English exactly what I mean. I can only say that an incendium is in its nature entirely different from the feu with which a Frenchman lights his cigarette, and both are very different from the stark, inhuman pur that the Greeks knew, the pur that roared from the towers of Ilion or leapt and screamed on that desolate, windy beach, from the funeral pyre of Patroklos.

Pur: that one word contains for me the secret, the bright, terrible clarity of ancient Greek. How can I make you see it, this strange harsh light which pervades Homer's landscapes and illumines the dialogues of Plato, an alien light, inarticulable in our common tongue? Our shared language is a language of the intricate, the peculiar, the home of pumpkins and ragamuffins and bodkins and beer, the tongue of Ahab and Falstaff and Mrs. Gamp; and while I find it entirely suitable for reflections such as these, it fails me utterly when I attempt to describe in it what I love about Greek, that language innocent of all quirks and cranks; a language obsessed with action, and with the joy of seeing action multiply from action, action marching relentlessly ahead and with yet more actions filing in from either side to fall into neat step at the rear, in a long straight rank of cause and effect toward what will be inevitable, the only possible end.

In a certain sense, this was why I felt so close to the other in the Greek class. They, too, knew this beautiful and harrowing landscape, centuries dead; they'd had the same experience of looking up from their books with fifth-century eyes and finding the world disconcertingly sluggish and alien, as if it were not their home. It was why I admired Julian, and Henry in particular. Their reason, their very eyes and ears were fixed irrevocably in the confines of those stern and ancient rhythms – the world, in fact, was not their home, at least the world as I knew it – and far from being occasional visitors to this land which I myself knew only as an admiring tourist, they were pretty much its permanent residents, as permanent as I suppose it was possible for them to be. Ancient Greek is a difficult language, a very difficult language indeed, and it is eminently possible to study it all one's life and never be able to speak a word; but it makes me smile, even today, to think of Henry's calculated, formal English, the English of a well-educated foreigner, as compared with the marvelous fluency and self-assurance of his Greek – quick, eloquent, remarkably witty. It was always a wonder to me when I happened to hear him and Julian conversing in Greek, arguing and joking, as I never once heard either of them do in English; many times, I've seen Henry pick up the telephone with an irritable, cautious 'Hello,' and may I never forget the harsh and irresistible delight of his 'Khairei!' when Julian happened to be at the other end.

(donna tartt, the secret history)

#words #donna tartt #tsh #on translation

[libidomechanica]

That, Father raisd his face, yonder rivers lips against

And the bedroom blue because my     life didn’t fix into that turns in circles a clover, a     Fisherman mend; all I call Thy plan: thanks that watery     sun&three paces thro’ the

rose, and guineas but not you but     one, one little. Be near meadows and leaves your hand did raise     her proper twinkles yet will be true, no truth slip. His Soul     was I, when evening where

we are but dressing of thin disguise,     and traces, in this, that couldn’t have the leaf where lay a     parchment on her own sweetly she, with brasswork prinked, each     trifle under truest

bars to thrust, that the case the strange?     When like committed linnets I with shriller throws upon     the rapidity of soul! Warmth and not as my fortune     was, though driving on his

face—his, elbowing on yesterday.     And their front on it that bids nor sight. Three eloquent     words made, good Sir, of Indian ware, that make our progression     blest, i’d feast on

beauty bright: I dare nothing. Such     Liberty. Overflow this work, and Lethe-wards you once knew     they went. And sings a solitary dove, much more than foreigner     grass. First lullaby,

my ware, and lantern—for the last     we think I speak them more interested in the seas, and     swamping them cough on the rounds, and quite tarnished and gather’d     in a lofty claim to

grant you tend on her far away,     my stomach being chid! That, Father rais’d his face, yonder     river’s lips against the word nature to something in the     bosom with their love. Ah

the pitcher shaped. In the Corner-     house! Followed up by a hundred air sighing, all; as he     our heart;—as I must on that dandled you, who once lived so     that Urne. Still on paper

I remember him! Ended for     a moments becoming down, and set it fly! Sorrow or     joy? The hears, in the Muses treasured up the hill-side; and     now, O maids, that his poor

old breast. Dry flame, and they waste, refuse     of hate? Yourselves—the woman’s like to sleep ere I rise     up the log, everything world, by that says, Shalom! Force with     unknown minds and given

in vain to speed they bring no such     matter who would have thee smiling. The sweetest Thing that,     admiring stars, the tender feet in flowers the brute,—gain most,     as if she still say that

I can say easily as breathers     otherwhere the thrushes, the more that name I keep that     lays on ever tongues that white anger of his toasted side,     but’s scratched and my roots will

go or send a kiss by you, sir,     you may tend upon the broken: fear we not to break at     last. So, all silent isle is all in vain: in pity then     pray that may judge for hid

delight. I held a jewel in my     woes forget the first her eye with those manifold possesseth     with their darkness, guess thy lofty Pile, and a lost and     seem to be old bridges,

hurling myself so sure, as by     the water chilly And lullaby now take your head—mine’s     sharpest pangs here. And all with fire, or moths shall find, to the     Sun, and fire is repeats

while thought of Lights forever. And     went side by side. Then must go further the sea. To make me     who I am, entirely heart lies place, but soone as     the wise, and winds are born

to our church but fire sparks, particulars     are not Ah, bed! Impossibly useless but you     are no more. And this dance of plastic circumstance, this rage     was right for one drink-offering

poured out by thy deeds there’s     beauty go with griefe. Give me thus: that I may face now for     no esteem. Comes to play hard or plain, petitioned too for     him of your minds from behind,

go sleep with you, to entertain     the night paint Woes blackest Winter rude! Our enemies     have frequent been wedded wife, and our soul leaps up—and flam’d     upon the terminate.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #131 texts #ballad