#elk head woman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

familyvideostevie · 3 months

Text

you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?"

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell.

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says. "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain.

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on.

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch."

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #just and just as

1K notes · View notes

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 months

Note

Reading that female beastmen are mostly stronger then males, this got me thinking that Ruggie sister when in desperate measures she go hunting with some of the hunting group to get food

I liked to think Ruggie mention when asked a question that how his sister went out and came back home with two water buffalo for the family to eat as she can't always used her unique magic during the dry season

And the camping event she did the same habit and brings in a giant elk to share and eat

Leona, Jack, Rook, Sebek,Vil, Azul

Seeing Ruggie sister brings in their hunt and apologize for letting their instincts get the better of them as she just wanted to provide the best she can

Fun fact: Hyenas have the strongest bite force that they can able to break bones, and they are very social animals and they are more related to cats then dog

Ruggie’s Sister Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

It's the modern era hunting animals with your hyena features isn’t exactly as accepted nowadays. Not to mention Ruggie’s comfortabiltiy; if you're the original little sister you’re not supposed to be too intimidating. That’s part of the reason you and Ruggie get along so well. You’re not threatening and you still rely and respect him. In a world of bold beastwomen you're his little ray of gentle light. He’s going to protect that no matter what! But it seems he not the only one:

Leona Kingscholar

“How do you expect to get anywhere in life, without me?”

He knows what makes Ruggie so protective of you

He respects that

But he’s going to have to swoop in and steal your heart

He’s sure Ruggie will appreciate it

Or the massive wedding dowry in his bank account

But no worries you’re not like everyone else and neither is he

So you two just happen to be perfect together

Jack Howl

“I know how special they are…that’s why I’m going to protect them too!”

He means it

Even willing to help his senior if he needs an extra pair of hands

When burying your enemies

He knows he’s got a long way to go

But he’s going to make it work

After all a mate as special as you deserves a worthy partner

Rook Hunt

“Oui oui mon amour est là grain de sable spécial!“

That’s exactly why he so dutifully follows you and monsieur dandelion

Such a curious couple of hyenas are always wonderful to admire hunt

You’re no anomaly

You’re the diamond in the rough

The one he will no doubt have

Sebek Zigvolt

“LOOK! THIS IS THE CALIBER OF A TRUE BEAST WOMAN! I SHALL FIX IT!”

You make him blush

You make him think about you

You fill his head with thoughts of you about how to keep you

Perhaps its because of your abnormal behavior

He really loves it

He’s going to correct this behavior

Even if that means eliminating all distractions

Vil Schoenheit

“But of course, the one I love is a high profile candidate. Too bad though they are mine.”

Such a gentle flower

He’s decided to pick you

Even if he has to poison the surrounding weeds

Maybe even a dandelion if he becomes too much of a problem

Azul Ashengrotto

“Their behavior isn’t at all like most beastwoman…I may open an investigation.”

Investigation…paying to have a thousand photos of you

Or convincing you to earn a few at the monstro lounge

Where he can watch you without restraint

He knows your special no doubt a high commodity for most

Well until he gets into a proper position to woo trap you

He’s willing to string those interested in a harrowing contracts

461 notes · View notes

wingedjellyfishflight · 1 month

Text

Hunting Trip

"Have you even ever been hunting?" Ghost opens his mouth. "Animals, not people." His jaw snaps shut. "Yes, you can come with, but it's not like a mission. And you have to be nice. My dad and my brothers will be with us all week."

"I will play nice with your family, promise," he says, smirking down at you.

"I don't believe you when you say it like that, but I know it's the best I will get. You should be excited, though. I pulled really good tags. Moose, elk, and a black bear. I was not expecting the moose, or else I wouldn't have gone for the other two, but I can't turn down moose." He happily listens to you chatter away about the upcoming trip, your eagerness palpable.

"What will you do with the meat? And furs?" He doesn't really care, but he wants to listen to you talk.

"Oh, we have a guy that cuts it all up, and I'm old friends with a taxidermist. If I had more time, I would cut it up myself, but Captain said he can only give me one week, so butcher it is."

"Wait, wait, wait! You know how to cut up an animal? Why are you so bad at using knives in the field?"

"I hate using it against people. It's... too similar," you say with a small shudder before focusing back on the mission.

You catch a military flight back home three weeks later. You spend the trip curled up in the webbing and trying your best to nap after the week you had. Barely had time to clean up from the mission before you ran to the tarmac. Somehow, Ghost made it there long before you. Must be excited, you think, smiling up at the big guy.

Wrapping your arms around your dad and your big brothers doesn't feel like home, you realize with a pang. Not now that you are across the pond with the team. Price's gruff hug after a mission feels more comforting. Of course, part of it may be the glares they are shooting the "strange man" who walked in the door with you.

Introducing him isn't a disaster, per say, but for some reason, they had assumed you were bringing a woman when you told them a friend was tagging along. Luckily, tags haven't sold out since they assumed a woman friend wouldn't actually want to hunt, and you are able to get an elk tag for Ghost.

Your brothers mock him for living in a country without guns. The ribbing ends when he takes the rifle he is given apart for a thorough cleaning before putting it back together in record time. You know he is showing off and you also know that you won't have to clean the guns by yourself this year, which is a relief as your brothers and dad never seem to remember to clean them.

Your oldest brother talks about the moose he is going to get and the recipes he is going to make with it. You congratulate him on drawing a moose tag, too. He stares at you for a long moment before saying that he will be filling your tag and keeping the meat since you won't be able to take it all back.

"News to me. I got special permission and certification to bring back everything. I will be filling my tags and keeping what I get." Your brother looks like he's been slapped and opens his mouth to argue, but your dad steps in.

"Enough. You were supposed to ask, not make assumptions. She will be keeping what she kills, just as we have always done in this house."

The next morning, you wake up to see Ghost sitting and waiting in the chair next to your bed in the dark. The two of you sharing a bed had been an argument and a half the night before. It had only ended when you threatened to leave and stay at a hotel. You're more than capable of platonic sleeping, and you are old enough not to need to put up with their shit. It's still another two hours before the rest of the house will wake and three before you leave for hunting camp.

"Run?" You ask Ghost sweetly.

"Run," his deep voice responds. You manage good time, clocking in several miles before heading home, showering, and making breakfast. The bacon is finishing just as your dad ambles into the kitchen, dressed to go and yawning, but a smile on his face when he sees you cooking in the kitchen.

"You're up early, dear. Didn't need you to make breakfast for everyone," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Oh, I didn't. Bruvs are on their own. Asshats kept opening my door to look in last night. They're gonna oversleep, I'm sure," you say with a frustrated smile. Your dad chuckles and claps a hand on Ghost's shoulder in good spirits.

"Ready to put in some miles, son? Could be a long day."

"Lamb warned me. We did a short run so we wouldn't be too worn out be day's end," Ghost says politely. You shoot him a glare at the use of your nickname.

"Yeah, so we-" you try to interject.

"Lamb? Like what? Lamb to slaughter? That doesn't sound..." Your dad flounders on what to say.

Before you can salvage it, Ghost jokes, "More like a lamb sending men to slaughter. Your daughter can hold her own in the field." Your elbow to his side doesn't even slow him down.

"Field? You are consulting in the field now? It's too dangerous to be around all those amped up men, sweetie," your dad admonishes you gently as the three of you sit to eat a quick breakfast.

"Just sometimes. You know how much I love my desk, dad. If I didn't work out with Ghost, I'd get fat," you joke. You know your dad is skeptical, but he worries enough without knowing the true nature of your work. You miss the glance the two men exchange. Breakfast finished, you rope Ghost into loading the last of the gear with you, trying to keep him away from your dad.

It's only minutes before time to leave when you see your brothers stumbling out of the house to the truck. You make sure to sit between your middle sibling and Ghost. Annoyingly, your brother manspreads, squishing your legs over despite your protests. Ghost is nice enough to let you rest your legs against his, giving you a little more room. At least it's only a few hours to hunting camp. You made sure to bring your own tent and gear, so you and Ghost will be cozy the entire trip. You knew from the start that you didn't want your family to see your newly acquired scars, especially the burns on your back from last year's incident. Roasted pork had been permanently removed from your menu after that one.

"So, you two fuckin or what?" Your middle brother asks out of the blue about an hour into the trip.

"Or what," is your flat answer. No matter which is true, you're not one to kiss and tell.

"You ever hunted an elk before, boy?" You grimace at your brother's terrible mouth filter.

"Not elk, no," comes the answer from your other side.

"Oh, sheep? Antelope?" You try to intervene, but you're not fast or loud enough to drown out Ghost's answer.

"People." The rest of the ride is mercifully silent with your brothers seemingly absorbed in staring out the windows.

Reaching camp, you and Ghost work as a well-oiled machine. After so many months and especially after the time spent together in the last month in the field, you work silently and smoothly. You help your dad set up their tent, your brothers gearing up already to hunt instead. Between the three of you, camp is set in record time. Your dad begs off hunting, claiming he is going to take a nap after the early morning and long drive there.

Having pre-selected your hunting areas as a safety measure, the two of you set off into your designated zone. You let your brothers pick what they considered the prime area, hoping they would bag out early and give you time to fill your own tags. Luck is in the chilly air, though, as you see sign of a black bear not far from the trailhead. Stalking it, you realize it is stalking a herd of elk itself.

Setting up a shot can be difficult. It's even more so when you are hunting a predator. When you shoot your bear, Ghost takes down a big bull elk, too. You send him back to camp to grab your dad and get the animals ready to move. Your dad switches off with both of you to help pull the game back. You load them in the back of the truck and hug both of them excitedly, happy with the quick start to the trip. Two tags done and two to go. Your brothers have no such luck, and they are less than thrilled with your first day success.

You almost laugh when your brothers corner you later, demanding answers. "How could you bring someone like him?!" Your oldest brother is indignant.

"It's not like I work with fucking girl scouts. What did you think spec ops guys do?"

"You never said-" your brother starts.

"I said he was a coworker. The fuck do you think that means, idiot."

"All you do is push papers, course we assumed he did the same," your younger brother interjects.

"Whatever. He's here now. Deal with it and stop being rude to him," you growl out.

The next morning, you get up early and drive into the local butcher to drop off the elk and bear. You come back and set off on an all-day scout to find a moose. You find mostly older evidence of them around, but also spot another elk herd and sign of deer. Your brothers get one deer between them, and they celebrate as if it was a world record animal.

The third day, you roll out of bed antsy. "Run?" Ghost asks with a grin. "Run," you answer easily. This time, you push nearly ten miles before calling it quits. Coming back, sweaty, and flushed gets your brothers riled up. Your response is simple. "Keep your hair on, lads. We just went for walkies. Haven't been getting enough exercise in and eating too well with dad feeding us."

They both bristle at your casual use of British slang and storm off to hunt again, unwilling to even talk to you. Your dad shakes his head. "They'll never see anything crashing around like that."

"Nope. Dad, you take our section today. We are going to push further up and try to glass a moose, and we saw some good elk out our way." By the end of the day, you're tired, but you did find fresh sign, which is encouraging. Just as your dad had predicted, your brothers didn't see anything all day. Your dad, on the other hand, had opted to be picky and didn't take any shots, but saw many animals.

Day four, you decide not to go for a run. It could be a tiring day if you get a moose and have to haul it down. With that in mind, you stage extra gear partway up to be able to move a moose back to camp more easily. You finally glass the moose you've been tracking near mid-day, getting eyes on it for the first time. It's a huge bull, well over the minimum horn size. Your hands shaking slightly, you take the shot. The bull goes down after just a few steps. Processing it takes longer than any other game you've done, but with Ghost helping, you get back to camp not long after dark. Your brothers managed to shoot an elk today, and you celebrate with them, happy that they are happy.

That night, you wake up to a hand pressed to your mouth and a gentle voice shushing you in your ear. Another nightmare, you realize. Your whimpers had woken Ghost, and he covered your mouth before the screams started that would have woken up the entire camp. You thank him with a shaky voice, and he moves his sleeping bag next to yours, wrapping around you. It's what the team has done for months when in the field as a warm body next to yours staves off the screaming and whimpering. Though it doesn't help with the nightmares themselves.

You get up extra early and drop the game off at the processor before heading back to camp. Today is your last chance to fill tags if you want to bring the meat back, so you move fast tracking an elk herd. It takes most of the morning, but you manage to find them and drop a good-looking bull. Hauling it back, you are elated to have filled all of your tags in time.

When you reach camp, you see that your dad has finally gotten his deer, but your brothers were empty-handed again. They complain about not seeing anything. Unable to help yourself, you say, "Maybe if you didn't sound like a pair of trucks crashing through the woods, you'd see something." This sets them off. They think you are making shit up, again, and talking down to them.

You decide they are a lost cause at this point, but Ghost offers to show them a few tricks on moving silently through the forest. He jokes that he isn't as good as you, but he's good enough.

"That's just because she doesn't move. She just sits there waiting for someone else to do the work." Ghost just shakes his head, knowing he can't tell them any stories. Your dad watches you closely, realizing that there is something more going on here, but unable to pinpoint exactly what that something is.

The next morning, Ghost goes with your eldest brother, and you take your middle sibling into your section. You hope that separating them will help increase their chances of filling tags. Your brother pays closer attention than you'd thought he would, and his walking quiets tenfold. He keeps trying to talk to you until finally you snap at him.

"Please shut up. You can talk after you shoot something." Mercifully, he is quiet. You spot the elk herd you've been tracking and move him to set up the shot. He tries to silently argue about where to move to, but you glare until he follows your directions. He settles in and nearly spooks the herd, stepping on a stick as he shifts his body around. Thinking quickly, you almost perfectly imitate a young bull's call, which settles the cows and brings the bull closer to where the two of you are standing, looking for the challenging bull. Your brother successfully takes the shot. And he is ecstatic, whooping and hollering as the cows all take off into the surrounding forest, leaving you far behind.

You help your brother break the bull down for packing out. He looks a lot nervous at the size of one of the packs, clearly not looking forward to carrying it out, until you shoulder it easily. His surprise doesn't surprise you, though. Your brothers hadn't paid much attention to you after they moved out, and basically, none once you enlisted in the military. Upon reaching camp, you find that you are the first ones back. You help him load the elk into the back of the truck and make lunch silently. He looks like he wants to say something, but he never gets it out of his mouth. He spends the time simply standing around, thinking hard and barely interacting with you, though he is watching you closely.

When you hear heavy footsteps coming through the woods, you hurry to meet your dad, helping him drag his big elk back to camp. "Surprised you hauled it back yourself, old man," you tease.

"I've been dragging elk out of the woods for twice as long as you've been alive, girlie." The grin on his face couldn't be matched though when you load it up by yourself, waving him off. The last to return were not successful. It seems your older brother decided that he would show Ghost a thing or two and refused any advice or tips. Thus, he didn't see anything all day. You shoot a look of sympathy at Ghost. That couldn't have been easy to handle silently. He just rolls his eyes back at you, tapping his fingers on his thigh. You tap your fingers back at him and go back and forth in Morse Code. He tells you about how many deer your brother missed seeing sign of or scared off because he wouldn't shut up.

You share how your other brother did, and he smiles at the success you had with him. He tells you that you should take your older brother for one last morning hunt on the sixth day. Maybe you can make him shut the hell up.

Sighing out loud, you say, "Bro, I'll take you out tomorrow morning instead of Ghost. We will get your tag filled." Your brother agrees and mentions that he will show you how it is done, which makes everyone laugh at him.

"Bruv, we are filling your tag. I filled all of mine already. Seems I need to show you how it's done."

He sputters, and your younger brother adds, "It took us just two hours to find a herd of elk. She knows what she's doing, bro. Better hunter than me, for sure." This makes your oldest brother glower, but he finally shuts up.

In the morning, he tries to tell you what to do, and you finally tell him to knock it off after about twenty minutes. He growls, "I'm the oldest. I'm in charge."

You laugh quietly and respond, "Whatever, if you think age is all that matters, you're an idiot. Let's go, and if you want that deer, you'll listen to me. Ghost told me how many you missed or scared off by being too loud and cocky yesterday."

"He what?! Why didn't he tell me? We could have filled my tag yesterday!"

"Probably because you're being such an asshole to him." You shrug like it's the clearest thing in the world because to you it is. Grumbling, your brother follows you. Gradually, he picks up on your mannerisms and his walking quiets, but it still sounds like a moose shoving through a bush most of the time. You stop suddenly, and he nearly runs into you, not paying attention. Grabbing a bit of hair from a bush, you show him silently before walking on quieter than before. Slowly, sign becomes more frequent, and finally, you spot the deer herd. Your brother gets his deer, a big buck, and you help him break it down and load it into the packs. You add both hindquarters to one pack, and he complains that you're trying to load him too heavy. When you shoulder the heavier pack, he then jokes meanly that you're just showing off.

"Just give me that one. I don't want to have to switch off partway down because you're tired," he crows. You ignore him and set off down the trail, too annoyed to even respond to his rudeness. A grunt follows you as he shoulders his pack. At the halfway point, he is nearly wheezing with the added weight of the head on his pack.

"I need... to... stop..." he huffs. "This pack... is too... heavy..."

You wave at him to stop, and when he does, you walk around him and unhook the head from the top of his pack. Hefting it over your shoulders, you use the antlers to keep it in place at the top of your pack. "Let's go. We don't have all day," you call back to him. You can feel his stare as you hump down the mountain, moving faster now that he isn't slowing you down as much. Luckily, it's only a few miles to camp because you're exhausted after hauling so much on your back. Your dad scolds you that you should have sent someone back to get the rest of them to help, and you shrug it off.

"No sense in wasting time, dad. We got it down just fine." Happily, the three of them already have camp broken down except for the makeshift shower area. You've mostly avoided using it, just wiping down with a washcloth, but the deer head bled on your neck and down your back the whole way. "Ghost, can you help check me for ticks," you ask quietly as you strip off your gear before walking to the shower. Your brothers grumble about the two of you showering together, but you don't care as Ghost is the only one you trust to do it and the only one that knows why you won't wear tank tops very often anymore.

When you're nearly finished, Ghost convinces you to put lotion over your burn scars as they are flaring up from the lack of it in the last few days. He walks out in just a pair of shorts and shoes to dig through your pack, ignoring the suspicious stares of your brothers and their stares at his scarred torso. You manage to bite back the moan when Ghost swipes over the first scar, but not the whimper of pain when he brushes the second, which is severely inflamed. He whispers an apology and continues, knowing that you hate pausing part way when treating them, even if it hurts badly.

When you walk out fully dressed and he is still in just shorts, your brothers shoot him similar dirty looks. "Couldn't keep it in your pants a minute longer, eh?" says your younger brother angrily.

"You're disgusting! Havin sex with my sister feet away from her family," adds your older brother.

"Shut up, idiots. He was rubbing lotion on my s-back. I needed it done, and I can't reach the dry skin there easily," you growl at them.

"We know you're lying. You're disgusting. Can't believe you, seriously."

Your dad sees the stubborn set of your eyes and the hurt beneath. His sons have gone too far, he knows. "Knock it off, boys. You've been nothing but rude this entire trip, and I'm sick of it."

"But dad...!"

"Sugar, just tell them. You've been stepping around questions and hiding yourself long enough," Ghost's voice cuts through the air.

"You gay or somethin? Would make sense, but you know we don't care," your oldest brother says as he just can't help himself. It makes you mad enough to about face away from them and rip your shirt off angrily, showing them your back.

"No, bruv. He means I should show you why I couldn't make it on the trip last year. The things I hide by telling you that I consult for the Task Force rather than telling you that I am a member of the task force. I... I haven't wanted to worry you, dad." You nearly whisper the last in the complete silence that follows. Ghost rests a hand on your shoulder, watching their reactions carefully. Their eyes trace up and down the burns that mar the middle of your back and dipping down below the waist of your pants.

"You called from the hospital," your dad says finally. The pieces are clicking into place for him. "I remember hearing the beeping in the background, and you sounded... stressed."

"It was a long recovery. They had to harvest donor skin, but luckily, I got to be a guinea pig on a new treatment that sped things up," you say quietly.

"How did this happen? Why weren't we notified? You didn't let us visit or anything?!" You're surprised to hear your middle brother sounding upset. You take the time to fix your shirt, thinking about what to say.

"I was on a mission. There was a complication, and it bollocksed up the whole thing." You pause as you think back to it. "Anyway, I got caught under some burning shit and yea, this happened."

The glare Ghost gives you has you rolling your eyes at the intimidating man. "You forgot the part where you held a burning timber up to save someone and crawled out on your own, refusing to medivac until the mission objective was completed. I think that adds a few important details to the whole thing."

"And...what were you doing when this happened," your oldest brother demands.

"He was shooting anyone who tried to come near us. Saved my life, he did," you say with a grateful smile up at Ghost.

"So, you've been lying to us about your job and getting hurt, and what else? How do we know what to believe now? You only make it back here once a year, after all." Your oldest brother sounds betrayed, his tone accusing.

You just shrug and shake your head, ignoring his questions and accusations. "You gonna shower before we go, or can we break camp and head home?"

"Let's go. I want away from you as fast as possible," he sneers, turning away from you angrily.

"Fine with me," you say in a flat voice. You take down the last few tarps and drain the water with Ghost's help. The trip to the processor and back home is silent in the car, your dad and brothers thinking heavily on what they learned today while you and Ghost simply enjoy the peace and quiet. As soon as you get home, your oldest brother leaves, tires squealing as he takes off in his truck. You just shake your head, disappointed that he's still got his head so far up his ass after all this time.

You pack the meat from the butcher into coolers for the trip home to London. "You should probably call Captain and tell him to pick up another freezer or two," Ghost jokes as more and more coolers are filled and packed into the back of the truck you rented.

"I had three delivered while we were gone," you grin up at him. "Good thing I got my permission ahead of time. Captain is dying to try this stuff."

"You think they'll let you on with it all? It's more than I expected, and I thought I had a pretty good idea of what to expect," he says, a little worried.

"Oh, I grabbed bribe jerky from the butcher. They'll be excited enough not to care once I pass it around," you say with a knowing smile.

"You know the way to a man's heart, luv."

"Yes, ordnance and explosives," you quip with a loud laugh, making him grin down at you.

Telling your middle brother and dad goodbye the next morning is hard. They both hold tightly to you, and you nearly have to pry your dad off when you go to leave, his worries making him want to hold you tight and keep you safe.

"I'll be back next year, I promise. We probably will need to hunt extra, knowing how much the team will love this meat," you assure him with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You drive back to the air strip, happy to have ended things on a better note.

"So, yer dad is the dog's bollocks. Brothers are shite though," Ghost says as you drive away. You laugh. It's all you can do. When you show up with a pallet of coolers, the flight crew is ready to deny you until you hand over your certificates and small box of jerky to share between them. They eagerly call over the forklift to load the pallet, and you spend the whole trip listening to hunting stories from their childhood and telling your own with Ghost listening quietly at your side.

Captain Price is there waiting on the tarmac when you land. His eyes bulge when he sees how many coolers you brought back. "I take it the hunt was successful then," he teases.

"Yeah, just a bit. Bet you thought the freezers were overkill, eh?"

He laughs, "You know I did. Set them up anyway. Welcome home, kids," he says, ruffling your hair as he wraps you in a hug and gripping Ghost's arm in a friendly squeeze. You smile up at him, happy to be home with your team.

#ghost cod #cod #cod fluff #cod x female reader #simon ghost riley

71 notes · View notes

pennumbra · 1 month

Text

I thought it would be fun to try designing some coats of arms/heraldry for the Centaurworld characters! Here's the Mysterious Woman, the General, and the Nowhere King.

More thoughts on each below the read more-

Mysterious Woman: Probably the simplest, but I think that fits for royalty? Hers is split right down the middle to reflect unity and two halves. The yellow shape is actually the head of the Key in spear/staff form! Happy coincidence that it looks kind of like a lily or fleur de lis to me!

The General: I think the General would probably fight under the Mysterious Woman's banner and use her existing coat of arms, because he was a nobody before marrying in? I also think appropriating royal symbols would lend him authority, but I wanted to design something for him anyway.

If he did want his own crest (or perhaps a logo for his army?), I'm not sure if I could see him incorporating elk or deer in any way... On one hand, I don't think he'd want any reminders or association with his true nature/past. But I could also see him egotistically liking something that reflects the narrative he's crafted in his mind, symbolizing what he views as triumphing over the lesser part of himself.

The Nowhere King: He gets two because I couldn't decide which vibe I liked more. Especially in AU contexts, I tend to imagine the Nowhere King leaning into the 'King' part of his title and styling himself as a ruler over the minotaurs- viewing them as his subjects and trying to create a place where they can belong, legitimizing their 'kingdom'. A flag featuring their kind would make sense to me, but I also really liked the idea of a crest featuring his antlers, because they're so distinctive. I think the green leaves would only feature in a more peaceful AU.

#centaurworld #centaurworld mysterious woman #the nowhere king #the general #the angular style on the elk was a lot of fun to play with! I'd like to draw like that more #also no one get after me for using coat of arms/crest/heraldry interchangeably I know they're technically different lmao #my art

79 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 2 months

Text

Midnight | Chapter 17 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Luke arrives in Crested Butte and meets some locals. Spencer has his own problems to deal with.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - drinking, brief mentions of sex, swearing, bribery, false allegations, sexual abuse. WC - 5.8k

Chapter 17 - Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

You didn’t remember much about returning to the cabin last night as upon arriving back in Butte you and Spencer had indulged in one two many drinks at The Eldo before finally stumbling home well after midnight.

Judging by the fact your body was sore and you were naked, you’d probably had sex more than once and your head was throbbing when you opened your eyes, but you felt at peace.

Spencer stirred next to you, pulling you closer to his body and kissing your messy hair.

“I swore I’d never drink that much again.” He grumbled.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a freight train.” You agreed.

“I think that was more my fault than the alcohol. I’m fairly certain we had sex at least five times. And from memory it got pretty rough.” He pulled you even closer.

“Worth it.” You smiled sleepily, resting your head on his chest. “I feel like shit, but I also feel on top of the fucking world.”

“Hmm, me too.” He agreed, nuzzling his face against your head.

“Don’t get excited, I don’t think my body can handle anymore sex right now.”

“Trust me when I say I don’t even think I have the energy to get it up.” He chuckled.

“That is music to my ears right now.” You giggled.

“Give it time, I’m sure there’s only so long I can lay next to a beautiful, naked woman before it happens of its own accord.”

“Fair enough.” You giggled again. “I can handle that. But I never want to drink again in my life.”

“Agreed.” Spencer exhaled before adding. “You know, until next time.”

You snuggled into him, wrapping your arm around his waist and slinging one leg over his. In that moment you felt invincible.

***

McGill’s Diner on Elk Avenue had a traffic camera positioned between the ground and first floor windows, capturing every car that passed by. It was the same camera that had witnessed the little blue Nissan purchased by Andrew Burnett in Franklin County, Virginia, drive up and down the street multiple times over the last week.

With no better place to start, Luke parked up at the curb and headed inside. He was under strict instructions from Prentiss that he was to not treat this like a federal investigation, they had no idea what they were dealing with and they didn’t want to alert the townsfolk to FBI presence. He was simply a concerned friend.

To stave off temptation, he left his creds in the hire vehicle he’d driven the forty minutes from Gunnison-Crested Butte Regional Airport. He did however keep his firearm visible in his holster on his hip.

A little bell chimed above the door as he entered the diner. It was late enough that the breakfast rush was over and early enough for the lunchtime crowd not to have surfaced yet so it was reasonably quiet. There was an older couple in a booth over the back and a younger man and woman sitting at the counter.

Luke made his way over to where a guy around your age was fixing a pot of coffee behind the counter. He looked up when he heard Luke approached and offered him a friendly smile. He wore a green flannel shirt over a black tee which had some kind of stain down it.

“Hi there,” he put down the coffee pot and gave Luke his full attention. “Can I get you a table?”

“No, thanks. I’m actually looking for some people. My friends, I think they might be here.” Luke dove straight in.

“Sure, I might be able to help. Most people come through here even if they're just in town for a day or two. Our coffee is pretty good.”

“Is this your place?”

“No, my dads.” The man wiped his hand on his jeans before extending it towards Luke. “Jesse McGill.”

“Luke Alvez.” Luke shook his hand. “So like I said, I’m looking for my friends. Rose and Andrew Burnett. I can show you pictures if you like?”

“No, that’s ok.” Jesse rolled his lip between his teeth. “I know them. Well, I know her better than him, never really spoken to him but I’ve seen him around.”

“They still in town?” Luke asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, I guess so. Haven’t seen them for a few days so I can’t be sure. People come and go, you know? This place is a bit of a tourist trap.” Jesse shrugged.

“A ski resort isn’t much of a tourist trap in spring time.” Luke narrowed his eyes on Jesse, feeling as though the man was hiding something from him. “You know where they’re staying?”

Jesse straightened his back, running a hand through his thick beard while he contemplated how to answer that. Luke could tell he knew exactly where they were staying but for whatever reason, didn’t want to share the information. He knew all it would take to get it out of him would be to flash his FBI badge, but of course Prentiss had ordered him not to.

Jesse was mulling over what you’d told him the other night about Rose not being your real name and not really being married and now a stranger had shown up looking for you, that couldn’t be good.

Something happened and we had to leave our jobs, our homes, that’s what you’d said to him. Were you running from someone, someone like this man in front of him? He didn’t want to risk your safety or betray your trust. He didn’t get a good vibe from this Luke Alvez character.

“No, sorry I don’t.” He shrugged again. “Like I say, haven’t seen them in a few days, they may have already left town.”

Luke wasn’t buying any of this. Jesse knew exactly where you and Spencer were but he wasn’t going to tell Luke. Why, Luke didn’t know, but without his FBI creds to back him up he knew he wasn’t going to get much further. Maybe he’d reassess, call Prentiss and tell her that no one was talking to him and he needed some authority on his side.

“Well, you also said most people come through here right? So I’ll take that table now and a cup of that coffee and I’ll wait.” Luke smiled smugly at him and subtly put his hands on his hips to draw attention to his firearm.

Jesse glanced down at it and the fear he’d felt for your safety only doubled. What the hell kind of trouble were you in and how could he alert you to it without arousing suspicion? For now he nodded, motioning Luke towards a table and following him over with the pot of coffee. He left him alone after that but kept a watchful eye over the stranger in his diner.

Luke pulled out his phone and texted Prentiss to let her know that he’d arrived in the Butte but hadn’t had much luck yet. He sipped the coffee, which he couldn’t deny was pretty incredible and stared at the door as if it would magically open and you would stroll in.

He was only sitting there for about a minute before a young girl with bright red hair who had been sitting at the counter slid into the booth opposite him. She had a curious look in her large green eyes as she leant on the table with her elbows.

“I know Andrew Burnett pretty well.” She cut to the chase.

“Really?” Luke cocked his eyebrow at her.

“We hooked up a few times.” She shrugged, her words causing Luke to pull a face.

“You and S…Andrew?”

“Yep.”

“How old are you?” Luke’s brow furrowed heavily, thinking there was no way Spencer would sleep with this girl.

“Twenty seven.” She sat straight and puffed out her chest but Luke’s disbelieving look caused her to huff. “Fine, I’m twenty two.”

“Yeah, uh, no offence but I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t sleep with a twenty two year old.” Luke clucked.

“Well, he did. More than once.” She smirked smugly. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything because of his little wifey, but he couldn’t keep his hands off of me.”

“Wifey as in Rose?”

“Uh huh, between you and me she seems kinda like a stick in the mud.”

“That stick in the mud is my friend.” Luke scowled at her.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s no better. She might be boring but he has some anger issues.” She picked at one of her nails.

“Anger issues?” Luke frowned, it wasn’t the first time someone had inferred that about Spencer recently.

“Yep. I think he controls Rose, she always seems a little timid round him. And then there was the time he practically threw me against a wall.”

“He…are you sure?” Luke was frowning so hard he felt a headache pinching at his temples.

“Yeah that’s not the kind of thing you forget. He couldn’t keep it up, tried to blame me for it. So I told him he probably couldn’t keep it up because he was old…no offence.”

“None taken.” Luke pulled a face.

“Anyway so he just freaks, gets me up against the wall and yells in my face and I swear he’s going to hurt me.” She finished with a shake of her head.

“Did he?”

“No, but I think he wanted to.”

Luke pulled out his phone and got up a photograph of Spencer which he turned to show the girl.

“Is this the man you’re talking about?”

“Yep, that’s him.” She nodded. “You say you know him, you must know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, see that’s the thing, I don’t know him to be an angry or violent man. So what I’m wondering is maybe you had a little crush on him and he rebuffed you and so you’re making up stories to tarnish him and make yourself feel better.” Luke picked up the coffee mug and lifted it to his lips.

“I’m not five.” She spat. “I know what happened. I was just trying to help but if you don’t need-”

“Ok, Mary, that’s enough now.” She was cut off by a hand on her shoulder and she looked up to see Jesse standing over her. “You can leave now.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed, sliding out of the booth and sulking away. Jesse soon took her place, sitting down opposite Luke and exhaling through his nose.

“Look, I don’t make a habit of agreeing with her, but I think she might be telling you the truth.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Rose told me something bad happened to them and that she had get away and when you strolled in here looking for them, I thought maybe you were the something bad, you know?”

Luke nodded slowly, sitting forward in his seat.

“But you don’t think so now?” Luke narrowed his eyes on Jesse.

“No.” Jesse shook his head. “You’re a cop right? Shoulda noticed that before, you scream law enforcement.”

“FBI.” Luke whispered so no one else would hear. “I’m not here on official capacity though, I worked with Y/N and Spencer, they’re my friends and I really am just trying to find them.”

“Y/N and Spencer?” Jesse frowned. “She told me Rose wasn’t her real name but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. They’re FBI?”

“They were, until a while ago when they just skipped down.” Luke ran his fingers through his hair, knowing he shouldn’t be telling Jesse any of this. “You said you thought that kid was telling the truth? Why?”

Jesse exhaled again, looking sceptically at Luke as though he still wasn’t sure he trusted him. He ran his fingers through his beard and pulled a face that Luke couldn’t place.

“When I first met Rose…Y/N, she told me her “husband” was a drunken bully. I got the impression she was scared of him. I asked her if he hurt her and she said no but she did say that he had a temper. He’s a skinny dude but there’s something about him that makes me think he wouldn’t hesitate in kicking someone’s ass. He doesn’t strike me as stable, if that makes sense.” Jesse looked uncomfortable sharing this information, like he was betraying you in doing so.

“It makes absolutely zero sense, but if you knew Spencer Reid, it wouldn't make sense to you either.” Luke shook his head.

“I’m scared for her.” Jesse admitted, leaning on the table and lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “They’re staying on Gothic Avenue, big cabin right at the end. Come out of here and go straight up 4th, take the second right onto Gothic. Keep going for about a half mile and it's the big one on the corner right before the large rec.”

“You did the right thing.” Luke smiled at him, reaching into his pocket and subtly sliding his card across the table which Jesse quickly took. “If you see either of them, please call me.”

“Sure.” Jesse nodded, soon sliding out of his chair and walking away.

Luke downed the rest of the coffee and got to his feet, making quick work of getting outside and back into his hired car and following Jesse’s instructions, drove towards the Gothic Avenue cabin.

But he wasn’t the only one on that particular mission and he didn’t notice the redhead following him outside and heading the same way on foot.

***

It was just before lunch time, after some extremely lazy sex that you finally dragged yourself out of bed, your hunger getting the better of you. But you soon came to find the cupboards were empty.

Spencer bribed you with sexual favours you probably would have gotten anyway, to go down to Scout’s as he physically couldn’t prise himself away from the bed. Reluctantly you’d agreed, taking a quick shower to wash the stench of sex off of you before dressing and heading outside.

You got about a third of the way down Gothic Avenue when you suddenly felt as though you were being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention and you felt something was wrong in your gut. You picked up your pace, partially wishing you’d had the forethought to bring the Colt with you.

Just before you made it to 4th Street a hand clamped down on your shoulder. You were trained for this. You knew exactly what to do.

Without even so much as taking a breath, you spun quickly on your heels and sent your fist flying into the face of your potential attacker. They stumbled backwards with a loud groan of pain, hands flying to where you’d just punched them in the nose.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” He yelped, glaring at you as he held his nose.

You stared at the man you’d hit wide eyed as the air felt like it escaped your lungs.

“L-Luke?” You stuttered, wobbling on your feet. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” He grumbled. “I should have known better than to sneak up on you.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You repeated.

“Where’s Spencer?” He let go of his nose and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You didn’t miss a beat.

“Sorry, I meant Andrew. Andrew Burnett, your husband.” He nodded his head towards the wedding band.

“Goddamnit.” You growled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How did you find us?”

“We’re profilers, Y/N. Come on.” He rolled his eyes. “Garcia found Reid’s car. We tracked you to a used car lot and the car you bought with Spencer’s fake licence. We put out an APB on the Nissan and found it had been picked up on cameras in this town several times.”

“Are the rest of the team here?” You folded your arms across your chest.

“No, just me. We’re shorthanded, remember?”

“Good. You need to leave, you have no idea what you’ve walked into.”

“Y/N,” he softened, stepping towards you. “Has Spencer done something? Has he threatened you?”

“What? Why would you think that?” You scoffed.

“I spoke to some people in town and they seem to think he’s this violent, angry man.”

“Who told you that?” You frowned at him.

“That doesn’t matter. You need to tell me what’s going on. You understand that this looks bad, right?” Luke pleaded with you.

“We just wanted to get away. Spencer’s been struggling since prison and I was feeling stifled at the BAU. So we decided it might be a good idea to just get away from it all for a while.” You tried to insist but you knew Luke wasn’t buying it.

“I might believe that if it wasn’t for the burner phones and fake IDs and burnt out cars.” He spat. “You were an FBI agent for a long time, you know what that looks like, don’t you?”

It looks like two criminals on the run. It looks exactly like what it is.

“What are you implying, Luke?” You frowned heavily at him.

“If Spencer has done something, to you or to anyone else, you can tell me, Y/N. You can tell me anything.” He looked deep into your eyes and you felt for a brief moment that bond between the two of you.

You could tell him anything, you knew that much. Luke Alvez had done nothing but stick by your side through everything and you knew this would be no different.

You reached up and fiddled with the rose gold heart pendant around your neck. Did you love Spencer enough to protect him from this? Or was this finally your way out?

***

Spencer threw the pillow over his head and groaned deeply as a heavy knock sounded on the front door. The alcohol from last night that still seemed to be drowning his brain cells meant it felt like whoever was knocking was doing so directly against his skull.

His plan had been not to leave this bed all day. His drive to and from South Dakota plus an exuberant amount of sex had drained his energy and the scotch he’d consumed left him feeling dizzy.

The knock came again, followed in quick succession by the doorbell. Whoever it was clearly didn’t plan to go away easily. He groaned, his head spinning as he forced himself out of the comfort of the plush bed. His eyes were blurry and made trying to find any semblance of clothes almost impossible.

As a third knock sounded he managed to locate his boxers and stumbled trying to put them on. His legs wobbled frantically as he slowly crept from the bedroom and down the stairs.

His stomach lurched as he walked and he briefly thought he might throw up but thankfully it passed. He continued through the living room towards the door as the doorbell rang once more.

“Jeez. Alright I’m coming.” He belched rather unceremoniously. “Jesus I’m still drunk.”

He threw open the door, keeping hold of it to help steady himself. He blinked a few times against the bright red assault of colour on his retinas before focusing on her face. He groaned, suddenly wishing he’d made an effort to put more clothes on and that he wasn’t standing here in just his boxers with her on his front porch.

“Fucking hell, what do you want?” He leant against the door jamb, not trusting his wobbly legs to stand unaided.

“Well that’s just rude.” Mary smirked at him and there was something menacing to it. “I just want to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” He stood back up, moving to close the door in her face only in his state she was faster and she shoved her hands against the wood to stop it from closing.

“Oh I think we have a lot to talk about.” Her smirk grew. “Why don’t you invite me in, Spencer Reid?”

***

“You can tell me anything.” Luke repeated when you were silent for some time.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“Oh please, Spencer couldn’t hurt a fly and you know it.” You shook your head.

“So he didn’t give you those bruises on your neck?” Luke looked quietly smug.

You unfolded your arms and one of your hands went to your throat. You’d gotten used to them being there if truth be told and didn’t think much of them most of the time.

“It’s not what it looks like.” You brushed your fingers over the bruises.

“Oh really? Because to me it looks like he tried to strangle you.” Luke hissed.

“Fucking christ, Alvez,” you spat back, grinding your teeth furiously. “You really want me to stand here and tell you I like it when he puts his hand around my throat when he fucks me?”

You swore you saw the exact moment Luke’s heart shattered in his chest. His eyes softened and he stumbled backwards, his mouth falling open as a pain washed across his face. You instantly regretted your harsh choice of words but it was too late.

“You’re…you’re sleeping with him?” He couldn’t hide the upset from his voice despite how hard he tried.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “We’re, uh, together I guess.”

“You are aware he’s sleeping with some young redhead, right?” Spencer spat.

“What? How do you know about Mary?” You glared at him.

“I met her! She told me that Spencer got aggressive with her when he couldn’t get it up. I didn’t believe her at first but then that McGill guy said you’d told him that your “husband” was a bully.” Luke sounded exasperated.

“You talked to Jesse?” You spat. “Luke, you had no right! You had no right to follow us here in the first place. We’re happy here, just let it go.”

“Happy? Happy?” He scoffed, stepping towards you. “You’ve got a fucking trail of bruises around your neck and I’m starting to think they aren’t the only ones.”

Before you could reply, Luke was grabbing one of your hands and pushing the sleeve of the pink wool sweater up your arm revealing more finger shaped bruises circling your wrist.

“Goddamnit, conejito, really? You’re happy? You’re happy being abused?” He dropped your arm and stepped back, sadly shaking his head.

“It’s not abuse, jeez. We like rough sex Luke, so what?”

“Oh my god, please stop talking about you and Reid’s sex life.”

“Are you jealous?” You scowled at him. “Are you jealous because he’s got all you ever wanted?”

He frowned at you, looking at you like he didn’t recognise you anymore, like he was standing in front of a stranger. He took a step back, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Maybe once this is what I wanted, yeah. But you aren’t the same person anymore, are you? You’re not my conejito.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“I was never your conejito, Luke.” You spat. “You need to leave, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain to me what’s going on. What has Spencer done? What are you scared of, Y/N?” Luke begged.

“Spencer has done nothing but love me! We wanted a fresh start, away from the BAU and all the bullshit. I don’t need you anymore Luke, I don’t need you protecting me. Let me go, for the love of god just let me go!” You raised your voice.

“I think something happened,” he stepped closer to you. “I think Spencer did something really bad and you’re covering for him because you’re scared. You don’t need to be scared, Y/N. Just tell me what he’s done and I can help you.”

He reached for you but you slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me. Spencer has done nothing wrong, Jesus just because you’re an FBI agent doesn’t mean you always have to think like one. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. And in this case it’s as simple as we wanted to get away and we knew we’d never be able to do that as Y/N Y/L/N and Spencer Reid.” You growled at him, your back well and truly up.

“You’re lying.” He bit back. “I know you better than you know yourself and I know when you’re lying. We’re the best goddamn profilers in the world and I swear to you, Y/N, we will find out what he’s done and we will come for him. Don’t let yourself become collateral damage.”

“Burden of proof.” You shrugged, a wry smile on your face. You remembered so well having a conversation with Spencer in his apartment about the same subject not so long ago. “You say you’re the best goddamn profiliers in the world, but so are me and Spencer. And if, hypothetically, he'd done something, do you really think he’d leave behind any evidence?”

“You could save yourself a lot of trouble if you just tell me what I need to know.” Luke continued to plead with you.

“You need to know nothing, except for the fact Spencer and I love each other and we are in this together until the bitter end. So why don’t you hop back on the jet and leave us the fuck alone.” You spat so venomously that Luke was actually a little scared of you.

“You’ve changed.” He shook his head sadly.

“And you never will.” You pushed past him on the sidewalk, deciding to forgo Scout’s in lieu of going home.

Your blood was boiling in your veins as you marched back towards the cabin, furious at the BAU for tracking you down, angry at Luke for coming all the way out here.

But it was only the beginning.

***

“What do you want from me?” Spencer sat on the couch while Mary stood over him, wishing he weren’t still tipsy and clouded by last night's scotch.

“I want to know why two FBI agents are hiding out in our town using fake names.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to insist but he wasn’t able to control his facial expressions the way he normally would.

“Does the name Luke Alvez mean anything to you?” She scrutinised him and Spencer fought with his expression not to give anything anyway but the scotch was in control.

“No.” He shook his head, swallowing thickly.

“Hmm, I don’t believe you.” She spoke in a sickly sweet tone. “Because I met him and he seems pretty convinced that you and Rose…or should I say Y/N are FBI agents who just dropped their whole lives and ran off without a trace.”

She met Luke? Luke is here? Why the fuck is Luke here? What the hell is happening?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He folded his arms across his bare chest.

“Let’s try this again,” she came closer to him. “And I swear to god if you’re not honest with me…”

“What? You'll do what?” He scoffed at her.

“I’ll tell everyone the truth about who you are.” She shrugged.

“And you think they’d believe you?” He chuckled. “You think they will believe a story as convoluted as this? Sweetheart, they will think you’re crazy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mary shrugged. “Fine, I’ll tell everyone I know that you sexually assaulted me.”

Spencer stared at her in utter horror of what she was saying but she looked nothing by smug. His heart started hammering so hard in his chest he felt even sicker than he already had done. He searched for a sign she was bluffing but saw none.

He was taken back to an interrogation room at a woman’s correctional facility. He could see her so clearly in front of him, Cat Adams telling him she was pregnant with his child. He could hear her wicked voice in his ears.

I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instructions to get you in the mood.

“W-what?” He stammered. “That’s not the kind of thing you lie about.”

“Tell me the truth then.” She shrugged.

“I’m not telling you shit.” He shook his head, pushing himself up to his wobbly legs.

“Well then, I guess I’ll go. Who should I start by telling? My dad? My brothers?” She started towards the door but Spencer quickly moved and grabbed her roughly by the wrist, somehow able not to fall flat on his face.

“Listen you little bitch,” he shook her by her arm, growling in her face. “Do you have any idea how many people are actually assaulted every day? How many don’t report it because they’re scared they won’t be believed? And you want to use their real pain for your own sick gain?”

“You know you’re not helping yourself right? If you bruise me it’ll only make my story seem more believable.” She glanced at his hand on her wrist and he quickly let her go. “And don’t think I haven’t seen the bruises on your lovely wife. I’m sure she would back up my story.”

“The only story she would back up is the one where you’re a desperate little whore who shamelessly wanted to fuck a man you perceived to married.” He snapped at her.

“Well I guess we’ll see won’t we? Who’s going to believe the strange out of towner over the young, innocent girl.” She pouted.

Stop being the boy who cried rape, Spencie. It’s not a good look.

“What do you want? Why do you care who I really am? Fine, if it’s going to shut you up, yes, my name is Spencer Reid. I was an FBI agent and so was Y/N. We changed our names and left town. Why do you even care?” He sighed in exasperation.

“I guess FBI agents make pretty good money, right?” She mused and Spencer felt his stomach coil into knots at the insinuation.

“That’s what this is about? You want money?” He scoffed.

“I told you I want out of this town. I work three jobs and I am nowhere close to having enough. Finding out your little secret is the best thing that could have happened to me. So if you don’t give me what I want, I will disgrace the former FBI agent Spencer Reid and tell everyone that you raped me. Ten grand should do it.” Her smirk grew tenfold and Spencer felt the anger rising throughout his whole body.

But his brain was still clouded in a thick fog of alcohol. If he’d been at full capacity he would have easily been able to figure a way out of this, but right now all he could think of was killing Mary. The only problem with that was his guns and hunting knife were upstairs.

He could strangle her to death, feeling as she took her last breath. But he knew better, even in his state, that killing someone close to home would only come back to bite him in the ass. He’d been so careful up until now and he couldn’t ruin everything because of this stupid bitch. There had to be another way.

Mary was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, much like he was. He’d tricked everyone in this town into thinking he was just the mild mannered Andrew Burnett here with his wife to escape the big city. But in reality he was a violent killer, an injustice collector of sorts. Maybe Mary was his karma and now was his time to pay up.

“Let’s just talk about this, please?” He begged her, eyes flickering somewhere off to the side as he sensed a movement by the kitchen.

“No, no more talking.” She shook her head, clearly not noticing he was distracted. “You pay me now or I will go straight to the cops.”

If she heard the sound of the gun being cocked, it was too late. And then suddenly the reverberation of a single gunshot filled the room and the bullet pierced straight through the back of Mary’s head, exiting between her eyes and continuing into the wall next to the front door.

The last sound Mary made was a small gasp as she collapsed on the floor in a pool of her own blood at Spencer’s feet. The shock was written all across his face as he looked up at you, still holding the smoking gun in your hand.

You tucked it in your waistband and strolled closer to Spencer whose mouth was hanging open and wide eyes glared at you in a stupor.

“W-what did you…? Why did you?” He croaked out as you stepped closer, not a single hint of remorse in your eyes.

“Karma’s a bitch.” You shrugged simply. “And so was she.”

Hahaha, this is about you.

Beware, beware, be sceptical,

Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold.

Deceit so natural,

But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning.

Baa baa, black sheep, have you any soul?

No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals?

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,

Jill's a little whore, and her alibis are dirty tricks.

So could you,

Tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

Aware, aware, you stalk your prey,

With criminal mentality.

You sink your teeth into the people you depend on,

Infecting everyone, you're quite the problem.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, you better run and hide,

I smell the blood of a petty little coward.

Jack be lethal, Jack be slick,

Jill will leave you lonely, dying in a filthy ditch.

So could you,

Tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

Maybe you'll change,

Abandon all your wicked ways,

Make amends and start anew again.

Maybe you'll see,

All the wrongs you did to me,

And start all over, start all over again.

Who am I kidding?

Now, let's not get overzealous here,

You've always been a huge piece of shit.

If I could kill you, I would,

But it's frowned upon in all fifty states.

Having said that, burn in hell, yeah.

Oh, oh, oh.

So tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom

#spencer reid #unsub spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

93 notes · View notes

literary-illuminati · 2 months

Text

2024 Book Review #8 – The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham James

This has been on my tbr for long enough that I entirely forget what originally put it there – the only thing I actually knew going in was that the author was ‘the My Heart is a Chainsaw guy’ (I have not read My Heart is a Chainsaw yet either). Given the genre, that was honestly probably ideal. As was the fact that a blizzard hit a couple days after I started it and I’ve been reading it looking out on a frozen snowscape – it’s very much a winter sort of story.

The story’s told in five parts of wildly varying lengths, each with it’s own endearingly cheesy b-horror movie title and each following a different protagonist. The first four each follow one of a friend group who, as a bunch of fuckup teenagers, trespassed on hunting grounds that were really supposed to be reserved for elders and shot a bunch of elk they had no right to – including a pregnant young cow who was for one reason or another special. Ten years later, the Elk-Headed Woman drags herself back into the world, and begins getting her vengeance for the death of her and her child on each of them (and everyone they care about) in turn.

I have a longstanding opinion that a full-length novel is just too long to sustain a real horror story – by 300 pages things have fairly reliably collapse into urban fantasy or action or farce. The breakup into different parts solves this very well – they’re all very much connected and interwoven, but each feels like its own distinct narrative unit with its own tension and rising action.

And this is very much a horror story in the classic, just barely short of shlocky sense. A trespass against vague but understood sacred laws that leads to horrific and bloody retribution against everyone involved is as close to archtypal horror as you can possibly get, after all. The last section is even focused on a Final Girl! Specifically, it’s a subgenre that I can’t really name but feels very familiar to me – and one I’ve always been a huge fan of, anyway. It’s somewhere downstream of The Count of Monte Cristo, a story where the agent of supernatural doom spends the majority of the story consciously working in the background, manipulating events and exacerbating the protagonist/victim’s flaws to lead them to a contrived but tragic end? Think the netflix Fall of the House of Usher, but like about the exact opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum.

Class is very much something the book cares about. All four protagonists grew up poor on a reservation with little in the way of wealth or opportunity, and by the time they’d turned eighteen all four of them were the kind of young asshole who made life just a little bit worse for everyone around them dealing with the same shit. Ten years latter the three of them who’ve survived that long have gotten over themselves and matured in their own way (and to their own degree), but none of them are exactly flush with cash or living lives of bourgeois respectability (though Lewis comes close). The precarity and only tenuous connections to the society around them just make them better prey for what’s hunting them, of course – in every case, death comes after the (either metaphorical or very viscerally literal) destruction of the few close ties they have, and the only one to survive is also the only one who could really expect people to come rushing to their rescue.

Speaking of close ties the protagonists have – the book’s conception of gender is fascinatingly weird, or at least fascinating in the sense that I’m not at all sure how intentional it is. Of the four main victims, one dies alone at eighteen, and the other three who survive the next ten years are all pretty much explicitly saved (or at least improved and uplifted) by a relationship with a woman who, if not flawless, is basically strictly his moral and practical better. Even the most consistent fuckup of the group has a redeeming feature of being willing to do just about anything for his daughter (despite having lost the chance to really be a big part of her life several times over). With one exception, these women all then die, messily, entirely and explicitly to fuck with and ruin the lives of their men. It’s like someone read Women in Refrigerators and went ‘well there’s an idea...’. It’s blatant enough that I feel like it’s got to be making a deliberate point, but (unless it’s just genre emulation) what the point is does escape me slightly.

Also on the note of stuff I’m quite sure is going over my head at least a bit – basketball! It’s a pretty vital thread running through the entire book, to the point that one of the big set pieces of the final act is literally a basketball game with the monster. Which, like, I watched enough bad anime as a small child to find contrived game-playing under unclear mythic rules with things that really want to kill you instinctively endearing, but I can’t really do anything with this except just point at it.

So as the title might imply, this is a novel that’s concerned with race – all but I believe exactly one character is either is either Blackfeet or Crow, more than half the book takes place on a reservation, and a chunk of the rest is spent having to deal with racist assholes of varying severity. Now, I admit that I have at this point a probably overly cynical view of books that end up on breathless ‘socially conscious horror’ or ‘s/ff from diverse creators you NEED to read’ lists online, but I was still rather pleasantly by how matter-of-factly this was handled? I suppose the best way to put it is that culture, upbringing and racialization deeply inform everyone’s characters, but it never feels like the book is preoccupied with providing some assumed naive and impressionable audience any Important Lessons or provide Good Representation to valourize or emulate? Which is probably just a sign I need to raise and re calibrate my expectations, but.

The monster doesn’t exactly work as, like, a coherent character in terms of her skills and abilities, but as a monster the Elk-Headed Woman is great. But then I love contrived fucked up tragedies and am a longstanding partisan of Spooky Deer Horror, so I suppose I would say that.

So yeah, fun read!

#book review #sff #horror #the only good indians #stephen graham jones

59 notes · View notes

ghostheartfelt · 10 months

Text

*:･｡☆ tags: damsel in distress!reader, reader will have a father daughter relationship with dutch, slowburn romance, no use of y/n, reader is nicknamed "Miracle" once she settles in with the gang. THIS IS SET BEFORE THE FLEE OF BLACKWATER.

*:･｡☆ warnings: mentions of kidnapping/attempts of kidnapping, blood and gore (mostly js people gettin shot n shit 🙏🏼 it's rdr afterall.) period typical undertones of sexism. canon typical violence. mentions of animal abuse/neglect

〔☆〕 desc: during a little break at the saloon, you're interrupted by an O'Driscoll who presses a gun to your back and forces you out of the saloon for a kidnapping. the Van Der Linde group comes to your rescue.

.. ☆ next part | masterlist (tbe)

—✩ A WOLF’S BANE P. ⅰ ✩—

word count — 2.3k

a/n: hey! this is part one of my arthur morgan x fem!reader slowburn series. i know it starts off a little funky, but i promise you’re in for a treat!! feedback/ideas are greatly appreciated! 🤭🪭 this part is mostly focused on the reader developing relationships with the other members of the gang. (p.s i promise reader isn’t a mary sue 😭 this is just for build up!)

Your hands stay busy loading and spinning the barrel of your duel Widowmakers. They were beautifully customized, and you just purchased a brand new cylinder from the gunsmith. There were elk carvings on the wood handle—your holsters having the same stitching as they rest on your waist under your coat—and freshly polished metals.

You were quietly listening in on the discussions that swarmed at every angle in the Saloon. You’d traveled from Strawberry to Valentine to receive your prescription from Doctor Calloway.

Smithfield has tried a fair amount to ask you out for a dinner, or a horseback ride to Saint Denis, and as much as you loved horseback riding, you declined kindly.

He mailed you a letter asking that you come to his office to obtain it. You caught a stagecoach and paid five dollars for the ride, then took yourself to the saloon first for a quick lamb heart stew, which was something you always made sure to grab upon visiting Valentine, making you a familiar customer with the owner, Mr. Smithfield.

As you stood and adjusted your skirt while stuffing your revolver into its holster that stayed hidden under your coat, a barrel of a gun pressed against your back. Your eyes shot open and you refused to turn your head to see who your threat was.

The man stunk of alcohol, cigarettes, and pure grime, and the scent only grew stronger as you felt his face press against your hair to whisper in your ear.

“Act natural, pretty thing.”

His body closed in against your back with his hip bones digging into your waist. He wasn’t very tall, nor muscular, perhaps about five foot six.

“Do you always greet a pretty woman like this?” You hiss quietly as he twists the gun into your back, guiding you out. He makes sure to snatche your purse from off the table you were seated at—which you didn’t mind too much since you were struggling financially with only about thirty dollars to your name—you didn’t even get to pay your tab off. You hoped Smithfield would understand.

“Shut up and move, girl.” He rejoined.

Undoubtedly, your heart raced in your chest as you both stepped out of the Saloon. There’s another stagecoach with a few other men seated, causing your eyes to widen. This is a kidnapping, not a robbery, you thought, and that was when sweat began to head down from your scalp.

“She’s a good one, Welts!” one snorted. He had crooked and several missing teeth, a lazy eye, and his brown hair was greasy, and he just looked downright disgusting.

“O’Driscoll will be real happy!”

That was when you froze in your place as you were turned around and patted down for any extra goods; the male in front of you had managed to find a pearl necklace from the depths of your dress pocket, and you scrambled to try and grab it from him.

“Please, don’t take that, take anything else.” You were surprised to find yourself pleading to this man. To an O’Driscoll.

Welt’s head tilted and he let out a loud laugh before he took his revolver, slamming the barrel and cylinder rough against your cheekbone, immediate pain and heat surged as it quickly began to swell, and your body twists, landing on the ground with your palms flat in the dirt below you.

You reach one of your hands—that had grains of tiny rocks stuck in your bleeding skin—up to touch your cheek, a quick feeling of regret causing you to yank your head away from the pain.

“You’re a scum!” you try to turn your head, yet he grabs a full fist of your hair and unsheathes his knife, cutting off a thick chunk of your locks. You gasped weakly.

The men above you bursted into laughter while instead tears stung your eyes. “Speak when spoken to, woman,” he grimaced. You feel for the hair he sliced, and your lip quivers. These were definitely Colm O’Driscoll’s men.

Welts gripped your upper arm, and pulled you onto your feet. Accidentally, you rip your dress from your feet getting caught in the fabric as you struggle to stand with the man swinging you around like a lasso.

You feel his revolver get pinned into your back once again as he taps the barrel against you, gesturing you to walk towards the coach. You hesitated, which he didn’t take kindly. You heard the hammer click, and that’s when you caught yourself walking.

“Hello, gentlemen!” an exuberant voice joins in, and you turn your head to look at the man. He was neatly shaven, besides just a bit of clean stubble along his chin. His hair seemed slicked back at the top, even with a black hat, and he was in a long-sleeved white and blue striped shirt, a black vest, and black slacks.

His boots were black with brown spurs. He had his hand on his belt, though not over his holsters that you think were home to dual revolvers. You were just about tired of seeing men with guns.

Guns. You thought. I’m as dumb as a rat—you shimmy your arm down to press against your waist, feeling for your Widowmakers. You felt the hardness with your wrist, playing it calm, and cool. Welts was just as dumb, if not more—he hasn’t even realized you were armed, not that you knew how to use them, anyway. Your hand drags away. Most likely, you wouldn’t be able to beat the man in a sharpshoot.

“Now, a little birdy told me you were being not so nice to this innocent woman, is that true?” The black-haired male, being passive aggressive, sends you kind eyes that leave you feeling skeptical.

You notice his friends.

One was in a low ponytail, and had a sombrero on his head, and the other had olive skin and a hat with a small feather in it’s band.

“She’s my wife, she’s drunk, and these men have offered to take us home. Go along with your business.” Welts snarled as he pushed your shins into the step of the stagecoach. Never in a million years would you even think to date or marry an O’Driscoll—especially not him.

His hair was greasy, and there was collected dirt behind his ears. With his gapped teeth, and his uncared for eyebrows. You wanted to murder the ratbag for laying his dirty fingers on you.

“You tellin’ me the little birdy is a liar?” the man asks, his tone lowering.

“Hell is your problem?” Welts’ eyebrows furrowed.

His gun against your back was starting to feel like it was forming a circular mark on your back from the muzzle.

“I surely don’t remember a time where I saw a loyal man pinning a gun to his wife’s back,” another one of the man’s friends appeared. He had darker skin, Native American features, and a braid running down his own back.

His arms were folded against his chest that was covered in a brown long-sleeved tunic.

“Do you know this man, miss?” His eyes drag to yours with a softer expression creasing his features.

Once you open your mouth to speak, you’re silenced with a quick shoulder shove forcing you into the coach.

“She does, now leave us be.” He sat himself down next to you. Your head turns to look at them as your face twists into fear.

There were five men; the black-haired one, the one with the braid, the male with the ponytail, the scarred Scottish man, and another male who was a bit taller and quieter. His hair was more brown, his face was scruffy, and he wore a black gamblers hat.

“Come on now, hold your horses, compadre!” The one with the ponytail waved his hand in the air, though the man standing in the front seat of the stagecoach flicked the reins against the hinds of both of the gray and black horses, causing them to squeal and chase out of Valentine.

Panic surged through you, raising your adrenaline. When you try to crane your head to see if the men decided to leave, your chest is pushed back against the seat by one of Welts’ companions. Suddenly, the one who’d exchanged you the soft look—which you now have come to believe was the leader—yelled out, and all the men followed his command. “Saddle up, boys, we got ourselves a couple’a maggots!”

You heard two, or three, or four, of them whistle a call to their horses and moments later, they were chasing down the stagecoach. You felt a tinge of hope, and trusted that these men would save you.

“Can these sons’a bitches go any faster?!” Welts hands gripped the seat the driver sat on with his head turned over his shoulder.

When the shooting began, you quickly ducked and let out a distressed noise. Bullets flew all around you, and you covered your ears. You looked up, and immediately the driver had a bullet pierce his skull. You screamed, some of the red paste splattering onto your face. The driver fell off the front of the coach, and you gasped as the wheels ran over the body, the lump making you wobble. You lift yourself up, and take a hold of the seats to stabilize yourself.

The horses stressed, unsure what to do, and you looked around frantically. Another one of the men attempted to cross over and take hold of the reins, but he received the same fate, instead his body leaned over yours, and you pushed it off the edge before it toppled on you.

“Girl!” One of the men yelled, catching your attention. “Do ya know how to drive that thing?!” His accent was thick, and his voice was deep with a slight rasp. You’d gotten a more clear look at his face now that it wasn’t half-covered with his hat. “I said, do ya know how to drive it?!” His horse sped up along the side of the coach, and you frantically nodded your head. You used to be a Stagecoach Taxi at fourteen. You just hoped you still had it in you.

You tore the fabric of the hem of your dress some more until the fabric stopped just above your knees, then hopped over before you’re pulled back by the neck; a man’s arm choking you and smashing both sides of your head as he squeezed his arm making you fall back onto the floor. “Stupid bitch,” the man huffed and grunted, shooting off a few rounds.

“Arthur, Arthur, no!” the leader yelled from behind. “You’ll risk shootin’ her! Put that gun down!”

He was right; the coach was teetering from side to side, and would be sure to tumble off the edge of a cliff if it were to get close enough.

They’d be sure to go off-road with the horses only knowing to go in one direction at the speed they were currently.

These horses were abused, whip welts covering both their hinds and backs, it was disgusting.

You sputtered out a few coughs as the man cut off your entire circulation, your fingers to pry at his arms and your nails scratch at his skin.

He drops you and you slump onto the floor. You hit your head on some metal, yet quickly recover. While the man is distracted, you throw your head at his pants and bite on his groin through the slacks, immediately, he lets out a yowl and accidentally pulls the trigger of his Litchfield Rifle as he falls off the carriage, which ricochets off a steel base, and strikes your shoulder.

A cry leaves your throat and you slap your hand over the wound. Blood seeps through the cloth of your ruffled top, but you swing yourself back over and take hold of the reins.

You feel your head pounding, but you pull back the reins and attempt to slow the horses down, though they don’t abide. The horses are panicked, unsure how to react.

“Don’t stop the coach!” the man with the feather in his hat, shooting over his shoulder.

”Well, what the hell do I do then?!” Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s more! They just keep comin’!” you turn your head at his words, and your eyes widen to see more O’Driscoll men trailing behind on coaches and horses.

“Jump on my horse!” The man with the striped shirt yells in your direction, and you look at him as if he’s crazy. “I’ll grab you, don’t worry about falling, but hurry it up!” His voice booms, going rasp.

“Now! Now!” He pulls back the reins of his horse, causing it to halt, and with a running start, you jump off the coach and onto his horse, his arm pulling you up as you almost fall off the horse’s hind to sit upright.

The horses to the coach attempt to stop at the edge of the cliff they ran too, though the coach pushes them over. You gasp, and turn your head as your hands grip the man’s jacket that was in front of you.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sweetheart,” he clears his throat, and turns his horse around. His friends caught up, and their horses skidded to a stop.

“Dutch! What the hell was that for?” The male, who had directed you to not stop the stagecoach, his face was twisted with fury.

“Do you trust me, or not, son?” The man, who now is identified as Dutch, questions him, then elbows you lightly. “John Marston, he’s the hothead if you couldn’t tell, ain’t that right, boys?” He let out a humorous laugh. “Damn straight.” The one with the sombrero howls.

You had to keep yourself from passing out, which failed miserably. “You alright back there, miss?” He nudged your body again. Your eyes began to shut on you, and you slumped against the man’s back, then began to slide off the horse and onto the ground.

“Shit, shit!” Dutch took quick notice of your wounds. “Ain’t any of you tell me she was shot!” He wheezed, rushing off his horse. Everything faded to black.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan is sexy #ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing

204 notes · View notes

femfaetarot · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

let me saturate your mind with the message of spirit. let the cards communicate an experience deeper than word of mouth, something you feel, and not hear. something you understand, better than you can force. take a second, breathe, and ask that what you perceive is unwavering. look for the hidden messages tucked between the lines where spirit wishes you to explore, deeper.

everything you hear has meaning, and value. allow yourself to find that meaning, to you, and value it, for it is just for you. It is a gift. say thank you, and find something to be grateful for today. spirituality, and not materially.

feedback is most appreciated

You may be feeling overwhelmed, scared, or even challenged by something in your path. It feels too big to bare. Too strong. Too sturdy of a challenge. Call to the Elk, find these dark pieces of yourself, and release. Know that the problems you perceive are only as bad as you make them to be in your mind. There is a bright side, no matter how faint, there will always be a ray of light.

You are mighty my love, as an Elk. Bare your antlers and understand that there is a gentleness to your little doe eyes. Find the balance. Call to the spirit of Elk.

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨

The Eel and The Iris; safety XLII (reversed). Eels are furtive creatures, often burying themselves in murky depths. The idiom “slippery as an eel” refers to eel’s ability to escape from harm.

The Butterfly and The Snowdrop; Hope XLVI. Two symbols of spring, remind us that winter will soon end, and hope is on the horizon. Butterflies develops through metamorphosis, transforming from a and egg into a larva, then becoming a pupa or chrysalis, and finally, hatching into an adult. The egg stage is so humble, and the full-grown butterfly so astounding, the process can feel like magic.

Your insect is butterfly. What do you need in order to feel safe? A period of hardship is coming to a close l, and better days are ahead. Take hear in signs of the coming thaw.

I have miraculously pulled two cards for you, pile 2. Here I see that the butterfly is of extreme importance here. A period of transformation. The Eel is you, and the butterfly is the insect that will guide you.

Some situation has violated you, and has made you recluse into yourself. I see a woman, caressing gently a beautiful blue butterfly. Blue may be of significance. It does not speak, but the fluttering of its wings communicates safety. “Have hope” it says “allow me to guide you through with light and warmth.”

Change can be a beautiful thing. This sudden reclusion can be given beautiful purpose. Take this time and find love within everything that surrounds you. Engulf yourself in people, places, and things that support you. Find trust in your heart that all is well. Understand wounds will scab before they scar. Resist the urge to pick. They will scar, and then they will heal. There is peace in silence and self-acceptance. Accept this situation has violated you, and cause pain to the soul within you. Fall in love with the process, for it is the now.

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

The Quail and Gooseberry; anticipation LI. The Quail anticipates danger by hiding among low-growing vegetation. From its obscured perch, it keeps careful watch, monitoring for predators.

Your animal is Quail. How can you balance vigilance with a healthy openness to risk? There has been a thought plaguing your mind. Wether in the back of your head, or persistent like a fruit fly, it is there. An outcome you have expected is to come true. The Quail asks you to release yourself to what you know to be true. Surrender to the knowledge and prepare for the outcome in which you see clearly in your minds eye. Do not jump to conclusions, fore it may be the conclusion to a story you did not know was playing as prevalent a role in your journey as you’d imagined.

All the while, it is there

Do not, however, allow this forewarning to become the plague in which infests your mind. There is no good or bad, only what you chose to do.

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

The Eel and The Iris; safety XLII (reversed). Eels are furtive creatures, often burying themselves in murky depths. The idiom “slippery as an eel” refers to eel’s ability to escape from harm.

The Vulture and Asphodel; upheaval XIV. The vulture and indicates an upheaval regard mourning, grief, and regret. The vulture is often associated with death, and in many ways this is relevant: the harsh wounds caused by one can lead to the death of a connection, time, or love shared — but Vultures also play an important role in our ecosystem. Their consumption of Carrion prevents the spread of disease.

Your animals are Vulture and Eel. These two animals wish to bare you love and guidance. A situation has caused grief and heartache for you, dear star. A death, of any kind, is painful. A trauma has occurred recently that has left you wounded. I see someone has hurt you.

Fear not, my beautiful angels, for I have a message. Take care of yourself. It is okay to grieve, mourn, and feel violated. It is okay to just feel, and the vulture asks you to do just that. Grieve, and cleanse your wounds so you may stop this spread of disease. This cycle of hurt.

The Eel asks you to set healthy boundaries. This, although painful, is the chance of immense enlightenment. Wether or not others are accepting of the lines you draw in the sand, the Eel asks you to stand firm in yourself and keep persistent for what you know to be best for you. The Eel and Vulture stand with you, and support you in your healing.

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

The Frog and The Lotus; metamorphosis VI. This card reminds us that change is natural, rebirth is possible, and a healing balance can be achieved. The frog, developing as it does from a tiny tadpole, symbolizes transformation.

The Raccoon and Sycamore; curiosity XXXIII. The Raccoon calls us to explore a thrilling new interest, idea, or opportunity. Raccoons are intelligent creatures, dexterous, and eager. Often likened to bandits due to the mask-like markings around their eyes, they are quite loveable rascals — rarely seeking to cause harm.

Your animals are Raccoon and Frog. The message most clear is that something is ready to die. The auspicious spirit of Raccoon gives you the courage to try the little things you’ve always wanted. Explore, and discover new parts of yourself within these new hobbies you never knew existed.

The frog considers the things that need changing. What can I get rid of for the betterment of my personal change? Old clothes, habits, thoughts, and books? Toss it all out and embrace the new you. You are a butterfly.

What new hobbies or interests do you want to explore, little butterfly?

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐱

channeled song — “ moment ” by Victoria Monét

The Ladybug and Sweet Pea; Happiness XXXV. Symbols of good luck and fortune, ladybugs are wonderful insects known to keep garden pets like aphids at bay.

Your insect is LadyBug. The LadyBug wishes to bare you the news of happiness, positivity, and good luck. A great deal of fulfillment from life is on your way, and the LadyBug asks you to share the contentment from which will come into your heart during this time with others.

Do not simply give — there must be balance — but know you are blessed, and there is to be no fear of lack. You are abundant my little star! So shine! And scream from the high heavens in which the love in your heart demands.

It is also coming through that you resemble a lady bug. I’m seeing large eyes. Perhaps some significance in the face here somewhere…you are beautiful. Others view you that way.

#thirdluck #pac reading #pac tarot #pac #pick a photo #pick an image #pick a card #free tarot #free tarot readings #free tarot reading #tarot #tarot reading

515 notes · View notes

sad-sweet-cowboah · 8 months

Text

The Heart of Your Home Pt 1

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing in this chapter, eventual canon-typical violence, eventual smut.

Word Count: 6,250

A/N: I have been working on this on the wayside for the past few months. I'm excited to continue working on this, so please sit tight!

The steady trot of the beast was all that filled Arthur’s ears. Bright sunshine warmed the otherwise cool air that blanketed northern New Hanover. His stallion’s hooves kicked up slight clouds of dust as they traveled the well-beaten path stretching out before them. The swaying trees of Cumberland Forest waited up ahead, teeming with life.

It’d been a few weeks since he’d last come up here; originally traveling up this way to clear out a group of O’Driscolls, like flushing foxes out of a den. He intentionally kept away in case any stragglers decided to return in revenge of their fallen brethren. Not that a man like him would have trouble disposing them just as well as the former assault, however, his goal was different today. Pearson needed meat, and the northern forest was rich with elk.

A strong gust of wind swirled around him, sending a chill down his spine and reminding him of those bitter weeks in Colter. God forbid they’d be driven into the snow again.

As the wind calmed, a different sound carried across the terrain. An unmistakable chorus of wolves howled. Arthur tensed, knowing that was their signal of easy prey, and he glanced around while his horse’s head shot up and began to squirm apprehensively.

No pack in sight, the haunting melody seemingly originating from the plateau to his right. It would take any man or animal more effort than it was worth to stagger down the jagged path to even reach him. He was safe, sliding his gloved hand along the stallion’s neck to soothe.

“Easy, boy,” he cooed. “You’re alright.”

No sooner did those words leave his mouth, a shrill scream pierced the otherwise still air. A scream of pure, utter terror. The scream of a woman. The desperate cry for help.

He knew better than to meddle in other’s affairs. Why should he care if some stranger became a predator’s next meal?

Perhaps he cared more than he liked to admit.

Turning his horse toward the nearest pathway up, he snapped out a command to go, his steed jolting forward despite its previous anxiety. The stallion expertly navigated the steep, rocky terrain until the land smoothed out, peaking to a flat expanse that seemingly went for miles with the cloudless azure sky.

Another sharp wail. His head turned, spotting the culprit just a few yards away. A pack of three timber wolves, all facing away and slowly stalking toward their prey beneath a large tree.

Arthur had no time to waste. He whistled loudly, catching the attention of the closest. It spun around and stared at Arthur with fierce amber eyes, lips curled back to bear a hungry, toothy grin.

A deft hand was on his revolver in a split second, drawing it from his holster and landed a bullet right between its eyes. The gunshot alerted the other two, turning away from their original prey to now target him as well.

He didn’t give them a chance. Expertly wielding his firearm to dispatch them, their now lifeless bodies falling limp to the grass, the surrounding forage painted a deep scarlet. The gun slotted back to its home.

The air was silenced again, barren of songbirds and woodland creatures, undoubtedly frightened by his interception. His eyes shifted, scanning the open area for any additional threats.

There was a squeak, as timid and frightened as a mouse. His gaze settled upon its origin, the woman that was just seconds away from being mauled to death.

Dressed in a simple button-up blouse and a vibrant skirt and hair tied back into a neat bun, you were more out of place than a rancher was in the city. Your eyes were wide with terror, hands up in attempt to defend yourself, though one fist clenched and full of what appeared to be leafy sprigs.

“Are you okay, miss?” Arthur quietly asked.

He watched as you slowly lowered your hands, your gaze fixated on the dead wolves. “I...” you started, before taking a shaky breath and looking to him directly. “I-I'm okay...thank you.”

He nodded in response. With the deed done, he should be on his way, but the curiosity was beginning to gnaw. It wasn't his business why you were out here, and he should just leave it at that. He should turn and continue along his path.

However, the thought of a woman alone and defenseless out in the wilderness didn’t exactly sit right with him. “This ain’t exactly the safest place to be,” he commented. “Why’re you out here?”

Your eyes averted immediately, and your head hung, reminding him of a child being scolded. “Looking for herbs,” you say rather quietly, your left fist opening to reveal more of the leafy stems laden in your palm, before tucking them into a small leather satchel attached around your waist. “I don’t normally venture so far from home, but—”

The glint of a silver ring on your finger caught Arthur’s attention. “Your husband don’t help?” he guessed, leaning onto the horn of his saddle.

“My husband? Hah!” your demeanor changed immediately, tilting your head back in a scoff. “Please, my husband doesn’t know a dandelion from a daffodil! No,” you sighed, shaking your head in disappointment. “As the dutiful wife, I keep the house clean and our bellies full.”

“So...you came out here jus’ to look for ingredients?” Arthur asked. “With no proper protection?”

Your brow furrowed into a scowl, the corners of your lips wrinkling. “Had I known there were wolves out here, I wouldn’t have bothered. Like I said, I don’t usually venture from home. But our herb garden died after last week’s frost.”

“There's supplies right in Valentine,” Arthur pointed out. “Would be much less dangerous than bein’ out here.”

“Ah yes, that muddy little farming town,” your nose wrinkled in disgust. “We arrived there by train when we first moved out here...” you shook your head and sighed, turning to gaze across the plateau. “Guess I have no choice now...” you glanced around wildly and frowned. “Those damn wolves scared away my horse!”

Arthur held back a sigh. The last thing he wanted to do was to traipse around New Hanover in search of a frightened steed. Poor thing is probably halfway to Ambarino by now or got cornered by something else.

That didn’t solve the matter at hand, however. To leave you alone even after killing those mongrels would fill him with unnecessary guilt. He didn’t have to continue, but that small part of his conscience convinced him otherwise. “Would you, uh, like a ride back to town?” he offered.

Your gaze fell to him immediately, your expression brightening. “If you would, please.”

Arthur nodded and held his hand out, and you stepped forward to grab it, using the freed stirrup to hoist yourself onto the back of his Andalusian. As you settled behind him, Arthur took a glance at the wolf carcasses, making a mental note to return here later. Pearson surely would appreciate having some extra pelts on hand.

He turned the horse around, spurring it into an easy lope back toward the pathway.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this, mister,” you say. “I can’t imagine the thought of having to hoof it to Valentine on foot after that ordeal. My poor horse…I hope she’s okay.”

“Jus’ don’t make it a habit of makin’ trips out here, at least without somethin’ to protect yourself with,” Arthur pointed out. “It’s more dangerous than you’d think.”

“I think I got plenty of that in one day,” you sighed. “You might see me as some foolish woman, and I know I am. My husband and I have been out here for two months, and I still haven’t completely adjusted,” you laughed dryly. “See, we’re from out East, him and I.”

Arthur didn’t respond. Easterners, civilized folk that had no business being out here. Businessmen led out West with the promise of opportunities, reaping the land of its riches.

“Was all his idea to move out this way,” you continued over his silence. “I tried to make the best of it. It’s not like back at home, some days I do miss my cozy apartment...but as my husband said, there’s no point in returning when there’s something better out here for us.”

From the tone of your voice, Arthur could tell you rolled your eyes. “That’s what a lot of folk say,” Arthur mumbled. “In the end, it don’t always work out and they go back, tails tucked between their legs.”

“You don’t know my husband then,” you respond with a dry laugh. “Ambition is his game, and he’s one smart gambler.”

“For your sake, I’d hope so,” Arthur said, peering ahead to see Valentine’s rooftops appear in the distance.

The remainder of the trip fell silent. Arthur was thankful you hadn’t strayed too far from town, since this minor detour would still allow him ample time to return to his original trip.

The offending scent of the stockyards was the first to hit his nose to announce their arrival into Valentine. Mud slopped around the horse’s hooves as they trotted further into town, sidling along the edge to clear the path for the stagecoaches rolling past. He turned right, facing the bustling street. He stopped at the nearest post, avoiding the rest of the traffic.

You slid off and landed delicately, smoothing your skirt out before looking back up to him. “Thank you, mister,” you say with a smile. “Um...would you mind if you took me home too? I don’t live too far from here.”

Well, shit. Seems like this detour would take longer than he’d anticipated. He’d already done enough and removed you from any immediate danger. “Sure,” he answered, waving his hand with a half-hearted flourish.

Your smile only widened. “Thank you again, I won’t be long!” You hurried along, excitedly popping up onto the wooden walkway and disappeared into one of the shops.

Arthur sighed, dragging a palm across his face. He truly had no business escorting folk, especially someone who seemed so out of her element. However, he felt the need to at least carry through, provide you with safe passage home to your foolish husband. Perhaps today may be a lesson for you to stay safer, or even compel the two of you to move back East.

Just as you promised, your venture into the shop did not take long at all. A mere five minutes passed before the door creaked open and you reappeared, making a beeline toward him. The relief was plain on your face.

“Find what you needed?” Arthur asked.

“And much more!” You exclaim. “I think I’ll be set for the week.”

Arthur nodded in approval and held his hand out for you to take. Instead, you placed your hands along his horse’s rump and hoisted yourself up with one smooth motion.

You settled behind him once again and pointed westward. “We live that way, couple miles out of town.”

He didn’t hesitate to follow your direction, wasting no time to leave Valentine in his wake. The buildings gave way to an open field with trees in the distance, leading off to the mountains of West Elizabeth further out. It’d only taken an extra twenty minutes at a steady trot along the path until you instructed him to veer off into the trees, following a much narrower path. Up ahead, the forage began to thin out to a small field with what appeared to be a small house, and an even smaller barn sitting quaintly behind it.

He emerged from the tree line, allowing full sight of what he presumed was your home. The outside seemed to be kept neat and orderly, with an immaculate fence offset from the porch full of greenery. As he approached closer, he realized they were half-wilted.

“Home sweet home,” you sighed as you slid off the horse, stepping toward the house. Only to pause and look back at him. “Thank you so much, again. You’re the kindest person I’ve met out here so far.”

Arthur chuckled humorlessly at your comment. “Ah, I don’t know about that, ma’am.”

“Nonsense,” you brush away his refute. “You showed up at just the right time, I’m sure anyone else would have left me to the wolves, all for some stupid plants...” you glanced back toward the garden with a grimace before turning your attention back to him. “Hey, won’t you join me for dinner? I’d like to repay you.”

Arthur hadn’t expected that. Heading back out would be ideal, at least to try and hunt before evening settled in. He also hadn’t eaten since breakfast back at camp. Even though he had some fruit in his back, it would not be enough to satiate him for the next few hours.

Another thought crossed his mind. “Your husband won’t mind the company?” he carefully asked, knowing a face like his appearing in a comfortable homestead may be unsettling.

“Oh, he’s not home tonight, out doing business as usual,” you sighed. “I always make more than enough, just in case, but I’m tired of letting some of my hard work go to waste.”

Something about that statement irked Arthur. From the information you’ve told him so far, it seemed your husband was painfully oblivious to what life really was like out here, most likely having no inkling of his wife ignorantly exploring the wilderness just to make a tasty meal.

The rumble of his stomach cut his thoughts short, and he pressed a hand to his abdomen. It’d been at least a half-day since breakfast, and with the past hour or so spent on a detour, the opportunity for a hot meal was difficult to pass.

“Sure, why not?” he finally said. “I’ll have a plate.”

You flashed a beaming smile at him. “Excellent. Here...” You pointed to the small barn behind the house. “You can put your horse in there for a bit, I’m sure he’s just as hungry as you are. You can come in when you’re done.”

You turned on your heel, bounding up the porch steps to disappear behind a door. Arthur did as he was told, dismounting his horse and leading him toward the barn. He shoved the door open, peering into the tiny, two-stall building. One stall stood completely clean, devoid of any sign of use, while the other had a mess of half-eaten hay, most likely from the horse you’d claimed ran off earlier. He led the stallion into this stall, and the horse immediately dove into the hay.

Arthur patted the horse’s neck with a small smile. It wasn’t too often that a stranger’s hospitality also extended toward his steed as well. He left the stallion to enjoy the hay, stepping back out and heading toward the house.

He stepped onto the porch, panels creaking beneath his weight. The door opened easily, and he stepped inside, greeted by the cozy, bright interior. It was almost as if he stepped inside a dollhouse.

You were at the stove directly opposite him, leaning over a large pot, sprinkling a few leaves into what seemed to be a sort of stew. Upon his entrance, you turned and gave him another smile. “Won’t be much longer. If you’d like to wash up, there’s a wash basin in the next room,” you gestured with a flick of your head towards the right.

Arthur once again wordlessly followed your direction, setting his sights toward a door standing ajar in the corner. He absorbed the scenery before him as he moved. If he hadn’t known you were in the middle of the woods, he would have guessed he was somewhere like Blackwater. It was evident you were not ready to transition from your previous life, as almost every surface seemed to be meticulously kept and covered with décor.

He pushed the door open to reveal a bedroom that was oddly plain compared to what he’d just witnessed in the kitchen. The bed was neatly made, an oak armoire sitting directly across from it. In the corner next to him sat a small porcelain and golden wash basin, already filled with water.

He took caution when washing up, not to spill any dirty water upon the swept floors. Though he supposed it didn’t matter, given how much dust coated his worn leather boots. Once finished he made his way back into the kitchen, just in time to witness you ladle stew into two bowls. The small table was the only thing separating the two of you, and Arthur took a seat.

Placing a bowl in front of him, you moved to sit opposite. “It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it.”

The savory aroma only made his stomach gurgle again. He peered down to observe the dish. The browned liquid swimming with a medley of vegetables and meat, with speckles of whichever herbs you’d added. He took a spoonful and placed it in his mouth, his tongue delightfully greeted with rich flavor.

Enjoying it was an understatement. He would have shoveled the whole damn thing into his mouth if maintaining politeness wasn’t a factor. “No complaints here, ma’am,” he said after swallowing. “This may be the best stew I’ve ever had.”

Your smile was bashful, but the light in your eyes told him how you appreciated the praise. “Glad to know my husband doesn’t lie to me when he says he likes my cooking,” you giggled lightly. “I appreciate it, Mister...” you trailed off, giving him a hopeful look for a proper introduction.

“Arthur,” he answered.

You nodded and gave him your name in response. “Thank you for not letting this go to waste.”

Offering a small smile, Arthur then took another bite. It was tempting to ask for the recipe to pass along to Pearson for ideas. “It’d be a shame, especially after almost gettin’ eaten.”

You giggled again, your voice ringing melodically. “Well Arthur, I’m glad you could join me for dinner after that nonsense. It gets quite lonely living out here sometimes.”

“Your husband often leaves you alone like this?” Arthur asked.

There was a pause. The open and friendly demeanor you possessed suddenly vanished as you sat up straight, giving him a cautious stare. “Don’t mistake my hospitality as vulnerability, Arthur. My husband may be away, but I promise you my intentions are not what you're assuming.”

Arthur was taken aback by this, having not realized his words might’ve had another meaning. “Oh no, ma’am!” He dropped his spoon and held his hands up defensively. “That ain’t what I meant at all, believe me. My intentions ain’t nothin’ of the sort.”

You seemed to be satisfied by his answer as the rigidity of your body eased, though the look of caution remained. “I’m no fool to the desires of men,” you say. “Doesn’t matter where I am, they’re almost always the same.”

As unfortunate as the statement was, Arthur had to agree with you. He’d witnessed it more times than he’d cared, though never taking part for himself. It was often those who held a position of power, abusing it as such to have their ways. He despised men of the sort. “You don’t have to worry, I swear I ain’t like that,” he responded.

The gaze you held on him was steady and scrutinizing, as if searching his face for any tale of a lie. Soon the lines of worry began to soften, your lips hinting the ghost of a smile. “I suppose I should believe you, otherwise you would’ve had me after taking care of the wolves. You’re a man of honor, Arthur.”

A dejected chuckle left his throat as he shook his head. He cared little to argue, as you’d only seen just a fraction of what he truly was. Had you known he was a wanted outlaw, your perspective would change in a heartbeat.

Still, he’d come across a myriad of people from different walks on his travels. Those who either welcomed him with open arms or pointed a gun to his face, most of which didn’t know his true identity, and they never had to, to determine what sort of person he was.

Without a reply, he settled into a comfortable silence to finish his meal. You simply followed suit, leaving the conversation to rest.

Arthur took his time with the stew, savoring every bite knowing he may not receive another one just as delicious. The sun settling through the west-facing window indicated just how much time has passed since this initial diversion. It had to be late afternoon now, had those last few hours flown by that quickly?

With the bowl empty and his once withering stomach now satisfyingly full, Arthur leaned back in his seat and gave a content sigh. “I suppose I should be gettin' back on the road,” he said to catch your attention.

You looked back up, and Arthur caught a flicker of emotion on your face, but you smiled before he could determine what it was exactly. “Of course, seems to be getting late,” you glanced at the window. “I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.”

While it certainly took away a few hours' worth of hunting, he couldn’t readily admit that. You were kind enough to offer hospitality in return to his decided kindness, much different than a few billfolds or a piece of jewelry that would normally accompany these rare occasions. A full stomach and a rested horse, however, that was rare.

“Nothin’ too important,” Arthur assured you. While the camp’s coffer was low, there was no immediate need for fresh kill that same day. He could attempt to make it back up to Cumberland before nightfall and set up camp for a fresh start tomorrow.

You escorted him back to the barn where his horse was still working through the remnants of hay. The stallion left it rather reluctantly as Arthur pulled him back out into the open. As he mounted and glanced up at the sky, making a note of the time. It wasn’t quite sunset just yet; the bright blues were beginning to fade into a fiery orange.

“Thank you, again, Arthur,” your voice drew his attention. “Not just for helping me, but providing me with some company as well.”

Arthur nodded to you. “Try to stay outta trouble, miss.”

You giggled and shook your head bashfully. “I think today was enough trouble for a lifetime, I’ll be sticking to the safety of stores from now on.”

Arthur offered you a half-smile. “Good luck to you.” He bid his farewells and turned his horse away from the homestead, making his way back to the worn path.

---

The wooden shops and stands of Valentine were bathed in a slight golden glow, tale of the sunset to Arthur’s back by the time he’d reached the town again. He could travel just a little bit further and set up camp for the night for a fresh start tomorrow morning, but his mind had been elsewhere since he left your house.

The idea of a woman out of her element living away from civilization without protection didn’t sit right with him. He wondered how long it’d been since you settled out here, and how often your husband left you to your own devices. Had he not been there to rescue you today, how much time would have passed until your husband came home to an empty house, without a clue what happened?

How could that damn fool not know what he was getting himself into? A businessman had no business trying to adapt to the ways of the rugged.

Arthur shook his head to himself. The vulnerability you presented yourself with today would hopefully harden with more time spent out here, and preferably before you landed yourself into trouble again.

He sighed, skirting around the town rather than subjecting his horse to trot through that muck a second time. It was best to not worry about the affairs of strangers, especially those he may never even see again.

His thoughts occupied most of the remaining journey. The sky steadily darkened as the hour grew later, and the familiar reaches of the emerald pines that outlined Cumberland once again came into view. He considered taking the path back to those wolves, if scavengers hadn’t already begun to pick.

A yawn stopped that thought in his tracks. The day stretched longer than he intended, and the stew still sat heavy in his belly. It would be best to set up camp now.

He pulled away from the main path to disappear beneath the canopy of pine, locating just a clearing just large enough to hold a tent. He dismounted and immediately got to work, having his campsite completed just as the last of the daylight was swallowed by the mountains further West.

With his small tent set up and a meager campfire a striking amber against the inky landscape, fatigue began to settle in. The vestiges of stew finally departed his stomach, announcing its emptiness with a slight grumble. He wished he could have another bowl, but instead helped himself to a can of beans dug out of his satchel.

It was nowhere near as filling, but it was enough to draw out the tendrils of fatigue, and he turned in soon after to be lulled by nature’s melodies.

—-

Arthur awoke with an early start; the sky a pale gray with the hint of dawn. A perfect time for hunting, he thought, and with a quick helping of coffee, he grabbed his bow off his horse and set deeper into the woods.

He thanked Charles for the lessons in tracking; broken twigs and overturned leaf litter would have gone unnoticed by someone with an untrained eye. The trail was fairly fresh, and the wind carried the distinct echo of an elk’s call. He continued onward, ensuring his footfalls were light and as soundless as possible. It wasn’t much longer until he came upon a small clearing, a small herd of elk peacefully grazing and unaware of his presence.

Carefully removing the bow and an arrow from his back, he set it in place and drew the bowstring back, aiming for the closest. He had a clear shot straight to the head, and—

The elks’ heads suddenly shot up, ears pricked and eyes wide. At first Arthur thought he’d somehow startled them, but their attention was drawn in another direction. Within a heartbeat they turned and ran, heading deeper into the forest.

“Shit,” he hissed, standing up with frustration and regretted leaving his horse behind. He wondered if he could head back quickly to grab his stallion, perhaps he could pick up the trail again without the herd wandering too far ahead.

A flicker a movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head, opposite where the elk ran. With a start he expected a predator. Instead, it was a horse.

Wild horses were not an uncommon sighting, especially further away from civilization. As the beast trotted into the clearing, its head held high, and ears pricked forward in alert. Arthur spotted a saddle on its back, a bridle with broken reins dragging through the brush. Its black and white coat stained a cool brown with mud.

He wondered what happened, and what poor soul was out there looking for their steed, if they were even still alive. As the horse slowed to a stop and dipped its head to graze, Arthur caught a glimpse of what looked like bundles of drying plants hanging from each side.

Something pricked in his mind. It was a sense of familiarity about it, even though he’d never seen this horse before. Something about the plants it carried...

And then it hit him. His encounter with you yesterday, you were gathering herbs and you mentioned your horse ran off, frightened by the pack of wolves. The chance of it belonging to someone else would be slim.

It made sense to find the steed out here, but he was surprised it hadn’t been cornered by other predators. It’d only been a day, though it would not last much longer with the weight of the saddle and the reins dangling so dangerously low.

He sighed, silently cursing himself for what he was about to do. He should just ignore the thing and continue hunting, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind told him otherwise. Securing the bow to his torso, he slowly stepped into the open.

The horse must’ve sensed him, as its head shot back up, its wide blue eyes directly onto him. Nostrils flared, expelling a loud snort, almost as if it were a dragon from a story book.

“Easy there,” Arthur cooed, his voice low and even. He watched as every muscle tensed, ready to turn and sprint off. “Easy...” he repeated.

The horse stared unblinkingly as he approached, inch by inch, hands reaching up slowly. Arthur silently willed it not to run. He was just a few feet away, and he went to reach for one of the reins still on the ground.

The horse flinched, and Arthur froze, holding his breath. Thankfully, it didn’t take off.

“You’re alright...” he said softly, waiting for another second before moving again. With a stroke of luck, he swiftly grabbed the broken rein. The horse didn’t offer another reaction, though still watched with wide eyes as Arthur patted its sweaty neck. He took a cursory glance underneath, and said, “Good girl.”

The mare seemed to relax at his touch, and Arthur finally noted the sheen of sweat against her dirty coat. A layer of foam outlined the breast collar and the girth. It seemed the poor girl was running for a while and had only stopped just at the right moment.

He ran his fingers against her velvet muzzle, feeling her hot breath as she attempted to sniff him. “Why don’t I take you home?” he said to her. “I’m sure there’s someone that misses ya.”

—-

A gentle breeze stirred the surrounding treetops, filling the air with a soft rustle of leaves and branches. It was a crisp wind; something you had yet to get used to. The grip on the shawl upon your shoulders tightened. As beautiful as your home was, you wished it would just be a little warmer.

You stood up from the rocking chair perched upon your porch, itching for something to do. Boredom occupied most of your time since moving out here, between washing windowpanes and cooking with the same ingredients day in and day out. You insisted on possibly finding a job, a seamstress or a maid perhaps, but your husband Frederick detested this, adamantly reminding you he would earn more than enough to support the two of you.

Oftentimes you would cure your restlessness by taking a short ride with your mare, but even that was ripped away by yesterday’s escapades. Frederick paid a pretty penny for that Criollo coming from the beautiful livery in Saint Denis, stopping when only learning she was imported straight from South America. That mare had quickly bonded with you and became your only friend since the move.

But now she was gone, most likely enjoying her sudden freedom, or worse—

Slamming your hand onto a pillar severed that train of thought. You instead focused on the meager herb garden, once leafy green stalks now an ugly brown and wilted. You sighed; gardening was never your forte and prior to last week, you were quite proud of your crop. The adjustment from comfortable civilization to a homestead in the middle of the wilderness wasn’t a smooth transition. You longed for your old home, your old town, and your mundane yet comfortable life.

A shudder rocked through your body. Until recently, you’d been immune and willfully ignorant of the dangers lurking in the shadows, stalking in the trees, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. Though you often wished for something exciting to break the otherwise monotonous day-to-day, having nearly died at the salivating fangs of those wolves was enough excitement for a lifetime.

You were beyond thankful for that man, Arthur, for coming to your rescue. He had no business helping you the way he did, and you weren’t ignorant of that. You caught the hesitation in his voice, the flicker in his eyes, the judgmental tone he held when you explained the situation. He most likely saw you as an inconvenience. Regardless, the pity he bestowed on you was enough to ensure you were safe.

Although unlikely, you hoped you would see him again at least once. He was the first person to show you true kindness and didn’t dare to take advantage of yours. It was a true rarity to come across someone to possess such redeeming qualities.

The faint rustle of bushes caught your attention, but only for a brief second. Wildlife was plentiful around here, usually in the form of squirrels, rabbits, and the occasional deer or Pronghorn. The coyote yips and yowls often sounded off in the distance during the night, but you never once saw them cross the threshold of your property while you or Frederick were outside.

A flicker of movement swept your gaze to the side. Too large for a coyote or even a deer, your heart skipped a beat in apprehension. Was your husband home? Or worse, more wolves somehow tracked your scent?

From the tree line stepped out a horse, its dappled gray coat standing stark against the emerald shrubbery. Its rider was an unexpectedly welcome sight.

“Arthur?” you said in surprise, allowing yourself to relax. He seemed to have something in his hand, and what followed surprised you even more.

Your horse.

Your mouth fell open in pure shock. You blinked multiple times, as if the sight before you were a hallucination. But surely enough, Arthur gave you a small smile and stopped just a few feet before your porch steps.

“Hope you don't mind the intrusion,” he said. “Found this girl up in Cumberland Forest.”

You bounded down the steps wordlessly, your mouth still gaped. “What—” you took a sharp breath. “How did you know...” That was my horse? You finished the question without speaking.

Arthur shrugged, turning to look at the mare. “I saw her lookin’ a little distressed, like she’d been runnin’ all night. Then I saw the bundles of herbs on the saddle, could only guess who she belonged to,” he held out one of the leather reins, which you took instantly, running your shaking free hand along the mare’s painted coat.

You truly thought the worst for this poor creature, and if it hadn't yet again been for this kind stranger, your fears might as well have manifested one way or another. “T-thank you Arthur, thank you!” You gave him a wide smile. How could you repay him this time? The remaining stew from yesterday had been almost completely diminished throughout the bitterly cold night following, and you were sure he wasn't going to wait around for another batch, as much as you saw that he enjoyed the first.

Your eyes wandered to the now dried bundles of leaves still strapped on either side of your saddle. While the shop trip from yesterday was enough to replenish your pantry, this addition would keep you from venturing out again for a while. Yesterday’s events definitely gave you a more wary eye.

Eyes on him again, quickly observing the faded tan jacket and the even more worn hat concealing his gaze. A bow was strapped across his back, and the gleam of a silver revolver shone from the holster adorning his waist. This was a man well-traveled, well versed and not afraid of life’s dangers. A spike of envy roiled in your stomach, wishing you had half the nerve he did.

It then occurred to you that it’d been a moment since you last spoke, and as if Arthur read your mind, he cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder.

“I oughta start—”

“Wait!”

Arthur froze, turning to look at you again. You surprised yourself, having uttered this word without even thinking. Quickly, you composed yourself and continued, “Thank you again, Arthur. You’ve done more than you realize...” you paused as your mare nudged you gently, as if pressing you on. “I...I don’t have any stew prepared, but you’re welcome to stop by anytime if you’re hungry. I can whip up something.”

His hand raised as if to wave away the offer, but you continued before he had the chance. “I insist,” you add. “Between saving my life and my horse’s, it’s the least I can do! And your horse...” you reached over to pat the gorgeous Andalusian. “Is welcome to take a rest in the barn as well. I don’t mind.”

Arthur looked as if he were going to argue, mouth opening, but paused. For a few long seconds he seemed thoughtful, and finally said, “That’s real kind of ya, thank you.”

You smiled widely at him. Shortly after he bid his goodbyes and turned around, you watching until the silvery swishing tail of his horse disappeared into the trees once again. You turned to your mare, relieved to have her back and simultaneously avoiding that awkward conversation for once your husband came back home as to why she was missing.

“We’re lucky Arthur came to our rescue, huh?” you say to her, running your hand along her velvet muzzle.

#Arthur Morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

145 notes · View notes

themotherofhorses · 1 year

Text

- last of her house no more: I

Series Summary: She was born to Daenerys Stormborn and Khal Drogo on the Dothraki Sea, the youngest of their dragon brood. Known as the Seven Kingdom’s Delight, she trains with swords and arakhs, studies philosophy and history, and takes immense pride in the woman she is becoming. But her life is forever changed when she comes face-to-face with her long-deceased Green ancestors, including the man the maesters refer to as the one-eyed kinslayer. Now, this princess faces a future not even her mother could foresee in her dreams

pairing: aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

warnings: none.

main masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

Chapter One:

Targaryens

It was nearing the early afternoon sun when the young princess parted Winterfell for King's Landing.

Waving goodbye to the Starks, she held tightly to Drogon's scales as he took to the sky, massive wings stirring up the surrounding snow and dirt of the land. Throwing one final look over her shoulder, she spied a look of awe on Arya's face and smiled. She greatly enjoyed the second youngest Stark's company and would be counting down the days until their next gathering.

It would be some time before she arrived home. Dragons were faster than horses and ships, but still, a great deal of the day would be stolen during the journey. Drogon was a fast flyer and smooth like the summer winds. He also despised the cold and would be sure to put enough distance between them and the North as quickly as possible. From that hour onward, she allowed herself to get comfortable, stretching her arms and legs and laying her head down close to him. It was her favorite thing to do while on dragon-back. This way, she could hear her eldest brother's heavy breaths as he glided across snow-capped mountains, farms, and riverlands, and then the bluest waters.

Small fish, of hundreds of colors, leaped out, maybe to greet them, and a few fishermen paused to watch them sail overhead.

These were the reasons why she enjoyed flying, this young Targaryen princess.

It was exhilarating and peaceful, unlike no other thing in the world. The old maesters in the Citadel would never be able to truly record it in their scrolls. Her mother was the first dragon rider in over a century, and she became the second on her sixth name day, when Drogon grew large enough to be ridden and allowed her to climb on his back. As a gift, he took her to see the nearby lands, where great elk and bears and direwolves, as well as other creatures, wandered in the woodlands. When they returned, Ser Jorah said she reminded him of Rhaenys Targaryen, the sister-wife of Aegon the Conqueror, and how she rode her she-dragon Meraxes. But her ancestors used saddles and ropes and horns for holding onto, and the princess had no such thing.

Her mother would not allow it. Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor, Daenerys Stormborn would remind her every time they mounted the dragons. A dragon is not a slave.

"Drogon, do you feel different?"

She had suddenly felt a tug in her chest, not but a second before. It was strong, with some pain. It lengthened over her ribs and up to her heart, almost choking out a breath within her throat. Drogon chirped but made no other noise. The tug felt weird. As if it was trying to tell her something. But as soon as it arrived, it left her body, and she was left feeling fine but confused. "Something felt wrong, but only for a second. Maybe it is the cold? We are not used to it, after all," she decided.

But it was no longer cold around them. The snow clouds fell apart for blue skies long ago, and the sun god followed the two closely. She rested her head against his blackened frame and closed her eyes. She thought about the previous conversation she had with Sansa and Arya Stark.

Would you ever take a husband? They asked her over hot tea and baked delights. There are plenty fine Northern men; perhaps a marriage between one and our Targaryen princess would strengthen our alliance. Sansa leant closer, and said, After all, the North remembers, with a wink.

The sun god was closer to the land, and farther from his woman wife the moon goddess, when King's Landing appeared below them. The smallfolk were bustling in the streets as the two broke from the clouds and flew overhead. Some stopped to watch, craning their heads to catch the slightest glimpse of their Delight, while others cried out, tossing their hands up towards her. A few laughing children raced after the dragon's shadow, trying to touch it.

Adjacent to the Red Keep was the private courtyard, large enough to fit three dragons. It had been around since the years of King Viserys I's reign, almost two centuries before the princess's birth, and was used for their own dragons. Several nearby kingsguards stepped back as Drogon landed on the cliff overlooking the yard. Ever the largest of the dragon brood, Drogon favored making an entrance wherever he went. He screamed a piercing screech that rattled the close walls and chariots and left some of the knights clutching their ears before descending downwards. The princess held on tightly, jerking forward to meet his movements. Off in the distance, two similar roars rang. Rhaegal and Viserion. And to the side, Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan stood watching them, and to her front, her queen mother entered the courtyard with Missandei and Tyrion rearing behind. She failed to take notice of the strangers hanging back towards the Red Keep's doors.

Drogon touched his shoulder towards the ground, and she slid off with great ease.

"Welcome back, princess. I trust your journey was both safe and pleasant?" Ser Barristan asked.

She smiled as she ran a gentle hand up Drogon's neck to his face, receiving a purr in return. "Peaceful as usual," she said, slipping her gloves off with her teeth. "One day, you ought to join me in the sky. I believe Rhaegal or Viserion wouldn't mind treating you to such magnificence." He laughed, shaking his head, "Thank you, princess, but I am quite content in staying on the ground."

"And you, Ser Jorah?"

Ser Jorah smiled as well, "I leave the sky to you Targaryens."

Both men were uncles to her, having watched her mature from a small babe following her mother's conquest for the Iron Throne to the proclaimed heir of the lands. And she loved them dearly for that, though they never took her invitation to ride. "But I believe your mother is nearing, princess. It seems as though she has come baring us some news."

She turned as Daenerys came upon her, dressed in a long black gown. Their house sigil was embroidered with scarlet stitching on her chest, and her long silver locks were held together with multiple, elaborate braids and a three-headed dragon pin. "Hello, mother!" she called out, moving to greet her with a hug. She smelled of rich spices and the pretty perfumes the merchants sometimes sold by the docks. Despite being gone for no more than two mornings, she missed her. "House Stark sends their regards and best wishes."

"And how is Lady Sansa?" Tyrion asked, coming to stand next to them with Missandei.

"She is well! In fact, she was the one that received me when I arrived, next to Arya. Showed me how her people are faring; I am afraid they are prepping for yet another harsh winter, but that is nothing new for the North. Perhaps we can visit them before the season ends?" She looked at her mom, who smiled and nodded. "That would be wonderful."

"Maybe we should send her next time to broker with the Baratheons and Lannisters?"

She glanced at Missandei, who had said that. "I have just returned home, my dear aunt. Please allow me some time to rest and prepare myself to be fed to the lions."

They shared a laugh, and Tyrion shook his head with the shadow of a grin. "Has anything changed while I was gone? Ser Jorah said you come bearing news?" Her mother seemed hesitant, a worrisome glint in her lilac eyes. And it was then that she noticed the Red Priestess standing only a few feet away. Such was an unusual sight; it made her remember the feeling she felt while returning home. Something has happened, she thought. I fear something is indeed different. "Red Priestess Kinvara," she bowed her head.

"Hello, princess," Kinvara smiled. "It is a lovely sight to see you again. I take it you have been well?"

"Yes, Priestess. The Gods continue to bless me with good health and fortune, and for that, I am thankful."

Beside her, Daenerys shifted and took her daughter's hand in hers. "I am happy you have returned today, daughter, and in good spirits and health as well. Kinvara, in her graciousness, has brought several…guests for us to entertain, my dearest love."

"Guests? Oh, if I had known, I would have been home sooner. My apologies.”

Kinvara angled her body towards the Red Keep's door. “Do not fret, princess. You had no way of knowing. I believe no one did. Consider these guests a gift from the Lord of Light.”

The princess followed her gaze to a family settled at the steps, clustered around each other as if cattle. From the light of the setting sun, she saw that three of them were silver-haired, like her and her mother. The other two wore green and were stiffed in their posture, and had features that marked them not of her noble house.

“I do not understand,” she said, confused, looking at her mother. It made her remember the times Tyrion would join her at the table whilst she studied history. The two quickly discovered they were quite fond of the war between Aegon II Targaryen and his half-sister, Rhaenyra. Many days they sat over scrolls and notes regarding Aegon the Usurper, his sister and queen consort Helaena and their mother, Alicent Hightower. And of their damned brother Aemond One-Eye, the Kinslayer. Long deceased before this time.

She did not understand.

Standing before her were her ancestors, the ones belonging to the days of the Dance of the Dragons.

notes: everyone say thank you to my dear sweet lovebug @dothrckis, who is helping me with this series and is quite literally the backbone.

tag list: @dothrckis @dudfahsn @xcharlottemikaelsonx @animusxy @nsainmoonchild @rosaryos @xceafh @winxschester @trshngyn @aemcndtargaryen @hightidelowmood @theroyaldixon @hotleaf-juice @sustisama @filmelunar @brezzybfan @khaleesihavilliard @averagethottie @babyblue-chaos @nomugglesallowed @letsloveimagines @queenofterrasen418 @persephonesportal

(if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know. if ur name is crossed out, i was unable to find you to tag! message me so we can fix it :)) reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated <3)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #house targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #daenerys targaryen #mother of dragons #game of thrones #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

1K notes · View notes

echantedtoon · 19 days

Text

Househusband Upper Moons: Kokushibo

(This is inspired by @rottencoreflesh101's Househusband Upper Moon posts. (Warnings: Their blog does contain NSFW elements and themes that not everyone may like or be comfortable with AND is only for 18+ folks. Just a heads up. But this WILL STAY Sfw.) I did link to the post in question down below. If enough people like househusband Kokupuffs drabble I'll do a second one based on their headcannons of Househusband Gyutaro. This is probably not gonna be very long and it's from the perspective of a female reader.

Househusband Upper Moons Concept- @rottencoreflesh101

Demon Slayer- Koyoharu Gotouge

Original Post:

The thunderstorm I'm the distance between the roof and sky haunted the eardrums as the storm drew ever closer in the darkness.

There truly was nothing but the warmth of the small fireplace within the cozy small house in the middle of the woods. A cozy small hideaway nobody knew about but himself and a select few individuals. It would shield him well from the harsh elements and keep him safe and sound from the outside. It was his own little safe haven. Just himself to worry about now.

The bubbling pot of soup on the stove wafted in waves making even the most stuffed person desire to eat it as he smelt it. A hum of satisfaction left his throat as he nodded and let go off the soup ladder after stirring it a few times. This would surely last a few days. Cooking enough food to last a few days was always good. Having leftovers only meant you didn't have to cook over a hot stove for a good while. It left time to focus on other things. Speaking of other things- Multiple eyes turned to the door as thunder drew ever closer and closer judging by the sounds in the distance. Now where was she?

She should arrive back any minute now. After all her workplace wasn't that far from here, and it was simply only a matter of walking and returning to the home. Strong hands wiped themselves on a nearby cloth he slipped from the countertop and removed the remains of elk blood from his hands. The rest of the body that couldn't be used would have to be disposed of later otherwise wild animals would be coming up to the house and wondering the garden and animals. No. He couldn't have that. A fox already made off with one of his wife's chickens she'd be upset if it happened again. As if on cue, his head immediately perked up at the distant sounds of approaching footsteps small and dainty. A smile grazed his mouth and his head turned to the door in wait as the footsteps approached closer and closer. The door slid open after the footsteps paused a brief moment outside of the house.

"Ah. Welcome home little lamb," a man's voice greeted smiling widely at the figure of the woman walking inside. "You've arrived...just in time for dinner."

You smiled from the doorway slowly and moving to take off your sandals. Your feet sore from the long walk to town and back where you worked for a company making clothes to then be shipped to various places across the country. Your feet were sore from walking so much, your hands sore from threading the needle for hours, and your body aches with tiredness from a long day. Upon walking into the house your senses were hit with the beautifully delicious smells of meats, fried potatoes, and a few other things. You were only free of your shoes for more than three seconds before someone much larger was standing over you. Six eyes met yours-

A pair of lips met your temples. "How was ...work?"

You smiled up at your husband. Usually someone would be pretty intimidated by a six foot something demon with fangs and six eyes staring down at them so closely like this, but you couldn't see it. Especially when he wore the cloth around his head keeping most of his hair from his face and the large apron drapped over him. He looked very alluring and domestic.

"It was business as usual. Im sure I pricked my finger more times in one day than you've swing a sword in your entire lifetime."

"I doubt that."

"Smells good. What's for dinner?"

"Elk stew. ..I caught it just early this morning." Ah. Most likely when the sun wasn't up yet and you were still asleep. A strong arm pulled you forward into the house and the door was closed. "Eat. Your body's strength... needs to replenished with rest also."

You didn't fight it and only leaned into his touch. "Sounds great. Aren't you hungry though?"

"My hunger shall be... quenched within an hour." Which translated to him waiting for sunset to hunt for his normal food source. "Did you...have a pleasant day?"

You nodded sighing. "Just a bit tired. Big orders means lots of work, but it's my fingers that really hurt." Your hands flexed as you pouted remembering all the times you pricked yourself today.

A much larger hand grabbed the smaller one bringing it to the demon's eyes. Six orbs examined them closely before a gentle kiss was placed onto the skin. "If your hands are sore....then I just might..have to feed you..myself."

"N-No you don't." Despite it he chuckled deeply and making your own face red. "I can still take care of myself."

"If you insist...Now sit and rest... Your body needs it."

#demon slayer #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo x you #kokushibo demon slayer #kny kokushibo #kokushibo #kokushibou #kokushibo x y/n #michikatsu x reader #demon slayer michikatsu #michikatsu #tsugikuni michikatsu #kny michikatsu #michikatsu tsugikuni #Kny #kny fanfic #kimetsu gakuen #kimetsu no yaiba

34 notes · View notes

soralinklokidottirofmirkwood · 1 year

Text

My little kitten: Yandere Thranduil x baby neko reader part 1.

Age: 3 week old newborn. When Thranduil visits the queen of a neighboring kingdom he wants the queens newborn daughter. Takes place after BotFA and shortly before FotR, Thorin, Fili and Kili lives.

Warning: death, poison, a little gore, kidnapping, Yandere.

King Thranduil is riding his elk to the kingdom of K/N to meet up with Queen M/N who had recently lost her husband.

Later in the kingdom of K/N:

Thranduil and a few of his guards are standing before a woman with thigh length H/C hair and E/C eyes her most noticeable features were her ears and tail that matched her hair. He walks up to her and kissed her hand "It's been awhile M/N." He said to the younger immortal being who smiled "It has Thranduil." M/N said her H/C ears twitching and her tail swaying.

(What M/N is wearing)

The two rulers are in M/N's private study discussing their kingdom trades, wine, weaponry etc until a maid came in "I'm sorry your majesty but the princess is awake." The young woman said. "Thank you Noelle. You can take the rest of the day off." (Not Noelle from Genshin.) The queen said with a smile and got up with Thranduil who had confusion on his face. "Daughter? I didn't know you and F/N had a child." He said as he followed M/N to the royal wing where her Bed room is at. They walk into the room, Thranduil sees a crib next to M/N's queen size bed and she gently picks up the most beautiful baby he's ever seen “Yes she is three weeks old, her name is Y/N.” Your mother said gently cradling you in her arms. You looked just liked your mother same hair color and same eyes. Thranduil felt something he haven't felt for his own son 'obsession.'

(What your wearing)

You looked at the elven king in curiosity and gurgled "That is king Thranduil dear." Your mother said while rubbing your soft H/C ears gently making you purr happily unaware of the envious Woodland King 'She will be mine!' Thranduil thinks to himself determinedly.

Later Thranduil's POV:

It was near time for me and my men to leave but M/N proposed a toast to our alliance after she put "My" Y/N down for her nap which gave me the perfect opportunity. When she left I poured a vial of poison in her wine and waited for her to return. After she finally came back we lifted our goblets "A toast to our alliance." She said as we both drink our wines and made our way out of the study as soon as we did the poison took effect and in minutes M/N was on the floor dead. I smirked to myself but was thinking on what to do with the body until I saw two passed out guards drunked an idea pop in my head. I took their daggers, stabbed M/N twice (carful not to get blood on me), smeared the blood on the guards, put the daggers in their hands, went to the bathroom and washed my hands but I heard a maid screaming "QUEEN M/N!" I looked out to see that Noelle girl from earlier trying her hardest not to scream and wake Y/N up soon other guards and servants saw the whole thing. "This is good." I say to myself I managed to sneak over to M/N's room, grab my little kitten from her crib, found a torch, threw it on the ground and made the palace catch on fire. My men managed to get out but the servants and guards from inside M/N's palace didn't making me smirk and look down to Y/N who was purring in her sleep 'cute!' I think to myself "What should we do with the child my lord?" A guard asked me. "She comes with us of course. I will raise her as my own." I said cradling Y/N in my arms and adjusting the F/C blanket she was wrapped in.

In Mirkwood no one's pov:

Thranduil makes his way to the throne room with you in his arms passing guards and servants who are surprised to see you in Thranduil's arms making him smirk more.

He arrives to the throne room, sits on his throne with you resting in the crook of his arm he gently rubs your little ears but as he did you woke up with a squeaky yawn making him smile "hello little one." He said making you coo and stare at him in curiosity. "You are never leaving my side and if anyone tries to take you they are dead." He said gently kissing your forehead "You are mine and mine alone my little kitten." He said still holding you as you cooed in wonder.

At night:

Thranduil is now in his bedroom. After bathing and feeding you he managed to get you to sleep. He lies down with you on his chest and your soft purring making you more irresistible "Good night Y/N, my little kitten." He said kissing your head and falling asleep never ever letting you go.

#yandere #mirkwood elves #platonic #the hobbit #thranduil #neko reader #baby reader #middle earth #yandere father

131 notes · View notes

mr-grizzed · 4 months

Text

I LOVE HOW THE NOWHERE KING IS WRITTEN.

the title says it all!

but lemme go more in depth. centaurworld spoilers under the cut.

OK. so let me get started. basically where it starts is only being mentioned by name maybe TWICE before the season finale? and you forget all about it by the time you get there, due to the shows Wacky Antics and what not… but hes never truly elaborated upon? which i really like? its just a really vague lullaby that sounds really nice and then you hear the lyrics and ur like "Oh Yeah Ok i guess." and then you get to the rift, horse and rider meet up and for like 2 seconds ur like "HOORAY!" and then the GOOP starts dripping and ur like "oh nah." and then one of the hardest villain designs in fiction just APPEARS? and hes IMMEDIATELY on their ass about the key. standard villain affair after that, but he gets WAY more interesting later. trust. something that rlly sticks out to me abt the rift pt 1 and 2 is the line of "i intended to spare you all." which IM PRETTY SURE I DIDNT HALLUCINATE BUT STILL. thats just so????? What did he mean by that. also i like how when the woman appears, he IMMEDIATELY kneels and says "i never stopped thinking about you." we LOVE foreshadowing.

and then she DOES end up stabbing him, just not fatally. he escapes to the human world after they "smash his skull" and "kill him", while they all head to centaurworld. so far Yeah I Guess It ain't much but it does set up something later.

after this, in season 2, we're introduced to the general (He will be important.)

hes not rn but he will be. anywho, the nowhere king goes back to the human world, and starts amassing more of his army. he begins doing some Crazy Ass Shit fusing animals together to make super minotaurs, and just. villain affair yeah.

his story doesnt really pick up until the last episode, where horse uses her backstory magic to see whats inside of him. and as much as she sees, its just a black void.. til she does something and.

WHAT THE FUCK. normal ass elk in his brain ig?

so he introduces himself, and comments on how similar him and horse really are. horse asks wheres the nowhere king and hes like "oh. thats me. im a part of him." and then he gets hit with the "nowhere king is nothing but evil and you seem really nice!!! what do you mean youre a part of him?"

and then HERE WE FUCKING GO.

im doing this chronologically in order of timeframe when it all happened, not in timeframe of the show.

so its revealed that he USED TO BE A CENTAUR. particularly an elktaur, who was a mechanic who worked on the rift.

^ look at him.

and he kind of HATES it. he wishes he wasnt a centaur because as humans travel in and out of centaurworld, they always have to make some passing remark about how centaurs are seen as lesser than humans, to the point where he Literally Just Shoves someone through the portal to get them to stfu which. That was so fucking real of him. not to mention he literally just fixed an interdimensional portal from bugging out which ungrateful??????????? wtf u couldve died?????

then he meets this human princess.

standard love at first sight affair. he IMMEDIATELY becomes flustered as soon as shes like "we'll tell him the reason we were able to get back at all." while smiling at him.

(hi elktaur.)

ANYWHO she then leaves centaurworld, and throws a party for him at the human world for. Securing the safe travels of everyone between dimensions.

this booboo ass cake.

she then points out how hes missing his antlers, and rather has a hat on. to which he replies, "they fell off!" Oh we'll get to that

do they know how to eat a fucking cake. Sorry im getting too offtopic anyways

he then presents her with 2/6 key pieces, to which she fuses them together and makes one whole. she comments on how shes learned a lot about magic from being in centaurworld, and how you need to respect "both sides" which is going to be a MAJOR theme for these two.

he does feel, that the love isn't real though, or that it wouldnt work, due to the way he was. which was, a centaur. And we will get to what he did dont you worry

this is where we find out what happened to those antlers of his.

HE FUCKING SAWED THEM OFF. to appear more human.

he then tests the magic of the key by taking a turnip to the rift, and firing some sort of blast at it. and what hes resulted with is

it being separated into 2 things. Naturally you can see where this is going so ill cut to the chase. he blasts it at himself, hoping hell lose the side of him thats a beast, and hell be fully human, but then..

THATS RIGHT. THE FUCKING GENERAL IS THE "HUMAN HALF" OF HIM. when i saw this shit for the first time i YELLED.

the elk then proceeded to have a perfectly understandable panic attack. to which horse tries to comfort him, only going to another memory.

the elk and general confront eachother, with the elk saying "we made a mistake." and the general just absentmindedly going "yeah i shouldve invited you to the wedding lol" because he DID in fact marry the princess.

he tries to convince the other half of himself to undo the mistake theyve made, saying "we didnt even try. she couldve loved us how we were." only to be followed with, "no, she loves ME." and he straight up STARTS DROWNING THE ELK????

fortunately, it doesnt end up working.

theyre still connected. whatever affects one, affects the other. meaning that he dies if he kills the elk. so what does he do instead? well, captures him of course.

and its never shown on screen, but its stated he put him in the castles deepest dungeon, a windowless cell, which he couldnt even STAND in, for a decade.

by the time he escapes he. is a LITTLE screwed in the head. understandably. so he thinks to make his own family, by fusing humans and beasts.

he's made the first minotaur.

and this scene is especially rough because you can just SEE his slow decline into the nowhere king.

this is accentuated with him telling himself "i don't belong anywhere."

the self hatred fucking GOT him.

and he just starts to look worse and worse every time he spins that key.

Oh hey look at that hes starting to look kinda familiar

THERE WE AREEEEEEE!!!!!!

then we're brought to a scene where the princess takes the key out. to which she reality checks the FUCK out of the general.

"whatre you doing? put that thing down! havent you seen what it's done to him?"

"you locked him away in the dungeons. did you think there would be no effect?"

the princess then shatters the key, being thrown into centaurworld, with the general being thrown into the human world, and the elk -- now, nowhere king, being locked in the rift, as both doors close.

then stuff happens w rider and horse ig but this aint abt them sorry whats important is that the general tries to kill rider for shooting at the nowhere king

the princess, then appears and the general tries to counsel with her. "i had to do it! i had to do it so i could stay with you!

(images stop here bc i put too many above)

the princess then SNAPS and has her horse kick general off a cliff, to which the nowhere king follows him down.

the princess also follows them down, and uses the key, saying "let me see you how you were. one last time."

she tells him she would have loved him the way he was, after all.

and then.. she brings back the key scepter, and starts SINGING A REPRISE OF THE LULLABY FROM ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE BEGINNING, AS SHE WINDS UP AND..

ending the tale of the elk and the general, for good.

in conclusion, i am REALLY obsessed with the character and how they handled the nowhere king. the feeling of being a hopeless romantic, but having that feeling that youd NEVER be accepted, so fundamentally changing yourself and ripping yourself in half, ending up in fucking up both you, and the one you just wanted to be with, for good. not to mention the allegories for internalized racism, self-hatred, and dissociation, and GOD man hes just so fucking well written. this entire story is so well written and heartfelt, and its just. so surprising for a joke with such. Ehhh humor at points that theres this story thats so. heartfelt and dealt with so much care in the final episode thats been built on over the course of the series.

tl;dr hopeless romantic who gets racially profiled splits himself in half. shocked to learn he hurt his lover as well and gets killed for it.

tl;dr tl;dr elktaur rolls "Worst Idea Ever". asked to leave mortal plane.

#centaurworld #nowhere king #elktaur #elk #general #god hes SO fucking cool.#i needed a way to speak abt him #ill add the other images later im tired #i just spent an hour writing this #spoilers

28 notes · View notes