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thefallennightmare · 1 month

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The Coyotes Cry-One

*gif made by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: MafiaBoss!TattooArtist! Noah Sebastian x OFC.

Warnings/Tropes: violence, death, swearing, smut(very mature), angst, fluff, forced proximity, forbidden love, dark romance, mafia themes, arranged marriage, tattoo artist.

Summary: Centered on the story of a young bride whose fairy-tale vision of the Concrete Jungle is shattered when her father, part of the Irish Crime Family; McManus strikes a marital peace deal with the mafia head of OMNS, Noah Sebastian. Scarlett is faced with rage and conflict, as she is forced to work alongside her new husband in his tattoo shop that fronts for his mafia dealings. Devastating events leave Scarlett with the realization that there is more to Noah than meets the eye. "I would willingly, lay down my life for you if I had to." The power of love is thicker than blood.

Authors Note: Here is chapter one! I don't think this series will be more than six parts but you never know with how often I'm always adding things. This series will have mature themes throughout as a warning.

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NOAH

The screams were muted due to the concrete confines of the room, the cold, moist air circulating us in a suffocating grip. But none of that mattered, the only thing that did was strapped to the chair in front of me. Cleaning the sharp blade on the once-white handkerchief, I clicked my tongue at the raw screams.

“Scream all you want. No one can hear you all the way down here,” I said while pointing to the concrete walls. “I mixed the concrete myself with a special formula. Think of it as soundproof.”

The man spat blood at my feet, nearly missing my black boots. “Fuck you!”

A chuckle to the left of me and I glanced over to one of my right-hand men, Joakim. Although, we in OMNS always called him Jolly.

“I applaud the fire in you,” Jolly nodded at the man. “You’ll need it.”

Twirling the knife between my fingers, I yet again asked the same question that I asked three times previously.

“Who killed Vincent?”

“I already told you fuckers, I don’t know!” The man, Barry, choked out on a mouth full of blood. “You’re asking the wrong guy!”

As Barry fought against the bindings, the chair scraping against the ground at our feet, I hummed in mock disappointment. “No, Barry. I don't think we are. My intel tells me that someone in the Irish Mafia killed a dear friend of mine.”

“I hate to tell you, your intel is wrong,” Barry said with a dry chuckle.

Suddenly his screams of agony sounded like music to my ears as I dug the knife deep into his thigh directly above the previous wound that Jolly had given him with the screwdriver. My hair fell into my eyes and I hastily brushed it back with my large hand, blood smearing in the dark strands. I’d been due for a haircut for the last few weeks but haven’t found anyone able to give me the correct Levi cut since my older barber passed away.

“My intel is never wrong,” I gritted out through clenched teeth while twisting the knife deeper.

Barry was a blubbering mess, dark tendrils of his hair covered the agony on his face so with a sharp nod from me, Jolly stood behind Barry and ripped his head back so I could watch in pleasure.

“Now, I’m only going to ask one more time,” I twisted the knife deeper. “Who killed Vincent?”

He did his best to writhe away but with my knife piercing him in place and Jolly’s tight grip on his hair, there was nowhere for Barry to run. Blood dripped from his mouth, his nose, and the cut on his eyebrow. Before we captured him, he had the looks of a movie star but now, I couldn't help but cringe.

“I already told you,” he sobbed, a mess of blood and snot. “I swear.”

Jolly and I shared a look for a brief moment before we pushed away from Barry to slink over to the far end of the room to have a conversation.

“Do you believe him?” Jolly tied up his hair into a messy bun.

I placed my hands on my hips and sighed. “I don’t think he knows who killed Vincent but he knows the right direction we need to look. We need to crank it up a notch and show him that OMNS isn't going to back down from this.”

Instantly, he understood and while he retreated up the stairs to my office, I titled my head at Barry.

“What family do you work for?” I asked.

His breathing was shallow and unsteady thanks to the hard blows of Jolly’s fists to his ribs but I had to marvel at this kid's drive to remain loyal.

“The Walsh’s,” he eventually answered.

My brows furrowed in confusion. “The Walsh’s haven’t been around since they moved their operations back to Boston. Why are you still here running the streets for them?”

Barry lifted his heavy head and wore a smug smile. “Call me committed.”

“No, I don't think that’s it,” I shook my head and took two large steps towards him, him shrinking back into himself. “I think it’s the fact that you’re lying to me and I fucking hate liars.”

“Fucking shit!”

He cursed when I ripped out the knife from his thigh to press the blade against his neck.

“You’re insane,” Barry shuddered when he noticed the playful gleam in my eyes.

“Maybe,” I shrugged. “But I also don’t like liars. Now, I’ll ask again. What family do you work for?”

“It’s a new family on the rise called O’shove it up your ass,” he spat in my face.

Literally.

His saliva and blood dripped down my cheek but I didn’t even flinch and made no effort to wipe it away. Instead, I broke out into a wide smile when I heard Jolly returning with something special in tow; something that made Barry’s eyes widen in fear.

“Wh-what the fu-fuck, man?! Do you just have that lying around?” He stuttered.

Glancing over my shoulder, I extended my hand to Jolly who in turn placed the handle of the katana in my palm. Standing straight now, I studied the old sword with careful precision.

“This used to be my great-great-great grandfathers; passed down through each generation. It might be old but I have the blade sharpened every once in a while, just in case,” I said while slowly removing the blade from the sheath.

The dim light overhead cast its faded yellow glow on the sharp blade and something inside of me twinged with sheer delight.

“Ju-ju-st in case fo-for what?”

Jolly snorted at the stuttering mess of Barry while leaning against the concrete wall.

“Tell us what we want to know and you won’t have to find out.”

The sharp tip of the katana pressed lightly against Barry’s jugular, all it would take would be one flick of my wrist to end it all however I refrained, not wanting to end the fun before I got what I needed.

“What family do you work for?” I asked again, this time with less patience than the last time.

Barry’s eyes glanced down from the long blade at his throat to Jolly then finally up to me as I towered over him. His bottom lip wavered as he finally nodded.

“Okay, okay. Promise you won’t kill me?”

He tried to wager but to humor him, I gave a curt nod. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll think about it.”

“Fuck,” Barry sobbed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m good as dead anyway. The McManus family don’t like rats and a low-level drug dealer like me isn’t worth saving.”

My grip on my katana slipped slightly at the name but I was quick to recover. “The McManus?”

He nodded widely. “ Yea. I work for the brothers; Connor and Murphy. I deal their drugs and run their errands.”

“So you’re their bitch?” Jolly asked.

Barry’s shoulders fell. “Essentially, yes.”

“Did the McManus brothers kill Vincent?” I asked while tightening my grip on the handle of the katana.

“No,” he shook his head, the blood from the wound above his eye now pooling into his eyes. “But they might know who did it. I can try and set up a meeting with them, on your behalf. Maybe they can lead you in the direction you’re looking for?”

Jolly gave me a look and I held up a finger, not quite finished with my conversation with Barry.

“Why the fuck would they listen to you if you’re just their bitch?”

This brought a wicked smile to his face as he used his shoulder to wipe away the blood from his chin.

“Because Murphy McManus doesn't like it when his daughter is threatened.”

A loud rumble erupted in my chest, like a ravenous growl, as I dug the blade of the katana deeper into Barry’s neck, blood now oozing from the fresh wound. I ignored his wails of pain, now only seeing red.

“You’ve got some balls kid to threaten the daughter of one of the most feared Irish Mafia families,” I said.

Barry shrugged in his binds. “I didn’t say it would be coming from me. Word on the street is that McManus' grandfather had issues with your grandfather some odd years ago. They’d believe me if I said the great Noah Sebastian was looking to start a turf war.”

With a scowl, I snapped my head at Jolly. “Get this piece of shit his phone so he can make the call.”

Never once faltering the blade from Barry’s neck, I watched with narrowed eyes as Jolly removed one of the binds around his wrist and tossed the phone on his lap.

“Make the meeting. If I hear one threat on the daughter, I’ll end your life before you even hang up the phone,” I seethed behind the mask of my hair as it fell into my eyes.

My heart beat like a thunderstorm in my chest at the thought of the McManus daughter. No one knew of her and what she meant to not only the family but me as well; besides my closest allies.

Barry’s fingers worked fast to type out a message before showing me the screen and with my free hand, I snatched it from him to read it.

Barry: The brother's food will be delivered at six p.m. tonight.

Unknown: What’s on the menu?

Barry: Japanese with a side of Swiss.

“Joakim is Swedish,” I corrected Barry. “I’m assuming this whole dinner rous is to keep the authorities off your back if they go snooping?”

“Look at you! I think you earned yourself a gold star,” Barry joked.

Jolly’s fist collided with his face, his neck snapping to the side, and the faint red mark from his ring began to rise on Barry’s cheek.

“Let me guess, he’s the muscle between the two of you?” Barry spat out a chunk of blood.

Not bothering to look away from his phone as a new message came in, I answered his question.

“No, that’s Ash. Trust me, you don’t want to meet him.”

Unknown: Dinner will be served in the study. 6 o’clock.

“It’s set,” I tossed the phone to Jolly who dropped it to the ground seconds before his boot came crashing down on it.

“What the fuck! You guys owe me a new phone!”

Placing the sheath back over the katana, I set it on the table along with the other wide variety of weapons and turned back to Barry with my hands crossed behind my back; grasping the weapon tightly. He glanced between Jolly and me and noticed the sinister gleam dancing behind my honey eyes.

“Hang on,” he began thrashing in the chair, free hand swinging widely. “You said I could live.”

“I did. But watch what you say next.”

Quickly, Jolly grabbed Barry’s free arm to drag his still-bound body over to the table behind me and held his wrist down. His hand was on display for my wicked plan.

“Barry, I have a question for you. If you answer wrong, well-,” I pulled out the hammer from behind my back and shook it in front of him.

His eyes widened in fear but I paid no mind to it, simply asked my question.

“Will Murphy’s daughter be there tonight?”

“Fuck no! Dumb broad never leaves her bedroom,” Barry answered. “She’s holed up in there all hours of the day. The only time she leaves is at 8 o'clock for her nightly walks.”

Jolly sucked in a breath just as I raised the hammer, bringing it down on Barry’s pinky, whose cries were overshadowed by the noise of his bones breaking.

“Why are you so obsessed with this broad?!”

I brought the hammer down again, this time breaking his ring and pointer finger. Now he was practically having an exorcism with how he was moving about on the chair, struggling to break free from the binds.

“One more question then I’m finished with this game,” I said while craning my neck to the side before getting eye level with the man. “Do you suspect the McManus family killed Vincent?”

While he stayed silent, the look that flashed over his hazel eyes told me everything I needed to know. Turning on my heels, I dropped the hammer on the table and began walking upstairs to leave Jolly to clean up until Barry’s voice halted me in my tracks.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the broad pulled the trigger herself. She’ll do whatever she can to get Daddy’s attention since she was never the favorite..”

My shoulders went rigid and I could faintly hear Jolly mutter under his breath something in Swedish before I grabbed the gun from behind my back that had been tucked in the waist paint of my black slacks and fired two rounds straight into Barry’s chest.

“Noah,” Jolly started.

I waved him off before dropping the gun on the table. “Let’s be real, Jolly. We weren’t letting him walk out of here alive anyway.

“McManus,” he sighed while rubbing his jaw. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

I cleaned the blood from my fingers and rings before letting out a long breath. I knew he wouldn’t remember the name but that name haunted me for years, plagued my entire existence in more ways than one.

“They’re one of the most notorious Irish Mafia families. Their lineage started in Ireland generations ago before relocating to Boston where the McManus brothers were raised by their grandfather, Fergal. They moved to Los Angeles when the brothers were in their mid-twenties.”

“Wait,” Jolly’s head snapped over towards me. “The twins that went on that killing spree all those years ago in Boston. The last anyone heard from them is when they shot Yakavetta in open court.”

“Exactly why they moved here. Fergal didn't appreciate the hot trail on them so they hid out here for a few years. But Fergal couldn’t handle laying low for long because he began building the ranks here. Overstepping on my grandfather's turf, because he was still young at the time.” I grabbed the weapons we used on Barry and tossed them into the bucket of bleach in the utility sink.

“You know a lot about this family,” Jolly noted.

I hummed. “My grandfather told me all about them growing up. He wanted to make sure I was well versed in the McManus family once I took over.”

Glancing down at myself, I hummed again in displeasure when I noticed the blood spatter all over my white turtleneck.

Should have worn the black one, idiot.

I went about cleaning up the mess, ignoring the slumped-over body in the chair for a moment.

“The daughter. Do you think she did it?” Jolly wondered.

I halted unraveling the plastic we used to wrap the dead bodies for a few seconds before letting my shoulders drop slightly. “I don’t believe so. While the McManus brothers do hire hitmen to do their dirty work, there’s no way Murphy would make his own blood do it.”

“I know there’s some sort of history between you and her. With all of us-”

His words trailed off when I snapped my eyes over to him. “There is no history, Jolly. She’s just someone who went to high school with us. That was years ago and I doubt she even remembers that we went to the same school. She was too busy being preoccupied with other things.”

All of us in OMNS grew up together since we were twelve years old, Jolly moved here from Sweden when he was ten. We’d all been inseparable for the last sixteen years in the schoolyard and now the streets of the Concrete Jungle.

Not saying another word, the two of us busied ourselves cleaning up our mess and by the time we returned upstairs to my office. The staircase to the hidden basement was located behind a bookshelf and while Jolly closed it, I rummaged through the drawers of my desk to find a different shirt.

Now dressed in a fresh black t-shirt, we stepped out of my office and the sounds of tattoo machines reached my ears and I smirked walking into the open lobby. Every one of my artists had someone in their chairs and my most sought-after artist, Nicholas, glanced up at me for a second before returning to tattooing his client.

“How’d the meeting go?” He asked.

“Didn’t work out. We have another one set for 6 tonight,” Jolly informed.

I went up to the counter of my tattoo shop and glanced down at the book. It was a full day of appointments not to mention the group of girls that came in for a walk in. They were chittering like birds about how it was the blonde's bachelorette party and she specifically wanted me.

In more ways than one.

While she was cute, she wasn’t my type.

Roger, the receptionist of Under The Right Lights Tattoo Parlor, and newest recruit of OMNS glanced at me over his shoulder.

“Oh hey, Noah. Are you ready for the walk-in?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not tattooing today. But I do have a job for you.”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

“Tonight when the shop closes, stick around. We need your help with something,” I patted his shoulder.

“You got it, boss,” Roger nodded with a wide smile.

Turning on my heels, I stuffed my hands in my pockets to glance at my studio. I opened Under The Right Lights about six years ago and even though we had a slow start, once word got out that Noah Sebastian and Nicholas Ruffilo tattooed here, business flowed in through the doors.

I took over my grandfather's other business eight years ago but needed something to cover those dealings so that's when I thought of opening a tattoo shop with my best friends; my brothers. While Nicholas tattooed, Jolly ran the financial side of things, and Nick, or as we called him Folio, ran the motorcycle shop right next door. He was a mechanic, one of the best in town, and he often frequented here through the door to the left of Nicholas’ booth when he wasn’t busy fixing bikes.

Above my tattoo shop housed thirty apartments, all owned by me, and I lived in the penthouse on the tenth floor. Everyone in OMNS also lived in their own units so we could always be close to each other, in case something came up. With nine of the units being occupied by us, I rented out the other twenty-one for another form of income each month.

I treated everyone as an equal with the tattoo studio and OMNS but they also respected me enough to know that I had the final say with both. Things didn’t get approved unless I gave the okay.

Glancing down at my watch, I noticed that it was only four in the afternoon meaning we had a few hours until we met with the brothers. So I walked over to the back area of the shop where we used a private section to make a small gym where I knew Ash and Byran would be.

Ash was not only my bodyguard but he was also my trainer and Bryan took photos of the tattoos and ran our social media account.

“Tonight, six o'clock,” I said while crossing my arms.

Bryan wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded. “I’ll make sure the SUV is loaded up.”

“Thank you,” I then turned towards Ash. “I’ve got a body downstairs. Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ll bring Matt. He needs a break from managing everything. Get out and smell the trees in the woods. Or the salty brine of the ocean.”

With a snort, I bid them goodbye before retreating into my office and ignoring the preposterous waves of the blonde in the waiting area and instead thought of a certain redhead.

SCARLETT

With a longing sigh, I brushed away the fire-red strands of hair from my face and adjusted my position on my bed to continue reading the book in front of me. It was the book Wolves: Behavior, Ecology, and Conservation by L. David Mech. This was the third time I’ve read but every time, I somehow learned something new.

I've been out of college with my degree for four years now and although I haven’t done anything since then, I still tried to keep up with my studies. The possibility of opening up a wildlife rescue still weighed heavy on my mind but I knew my father would never agree to it. His money was to be used for other business opportunities.

The spiral notebook was filled with my chicken scratch handwriting and after tossing down the pen, I shook out the cramp from my hand to glance at the clock on my nightstand. It was nearing six in the evening and when it would be time for dinner with my father and uncle, they had to cancel due to a meeting that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Next to the clock was a picture that made my heart drop to my stomach like it did every time. It was of me, my father, and my mother back on my eighteenth birthday and high school graduation; the last picture we took together.

Because she was murdered that night.

Eight years later the tears still burned in my eyes when I thought back to that night. We were driving home from dinner when someone crashed into our car and ran it off the road into a ditch. My father managed to pull me from the wreckage before the car burst into flames; my mother however wasn’t that lucky. We never found out who ran us off the road that night and whenever I asked about it, my father would wave me off and say one word only.

Revenge.

The relationship with my father was never the same since that night and once my Uncle Connor moved in, I retreated into myself. I loved them both dearly, but I blamed their life in the Irish Mafia for my mother's death. I did my best to remain respectful because I still lived in the McManus estate and knew I couldn’t make it on my own; not yet. My father had made it clear more than once that the only way I was to move out was either if I had my own money or married.

Hence why I was doubling up on my studies, I needed to find some kind of job with my degree, a simple job at a store or fast food place would not be enough to survive on my own. And clearly, my relationship with my boyfriend was nowhere near marriage level yet; we’d only been together for less than a year and never spoke about getting married.

I checked my phone and noticed Cory texted me a little while ago.

Cory: I have to cancel tomorrow night, sorry. Work is sending me out of town and won’t be back till Sunday.

I rolled my eyes knowing damn well he wasn’t the slightest bit sorry.

Me: OK. See you then, I guess.

I locked my phone, the sound echoing in the quiet of my bedroom, and I busied myself once again with the book in front of me until there was a soft knock on my door.

“Yes?” I called out.

The door cracked open slightly and a head of white curls popped their head inside and I instantly smiled.

“Hi, Dortha.”

“Hello dear,” our housekeeper smiled, resting her frail hands in the pocket of her apron. “I know your father and uncle can’t make dinner but I still made your favorite. If you’re hungry.”

My stomach growling gave way to my answer so with a chuckle, I let my studies be to follow Dortha out of my room and down to the dining room where I knew she already had a plate of food set up for me.

NOAH

The car ride across town to the McManus estate was filled with the ramblings of the other members of OMNS while I sat quietly behind the wheel, mind filled with more pressing matters. I gripped the wheel so hard that my knuckles were turning white, something Nicholas, who sat in the passenger seat, noticed right away.

“Are you alright?”

I nodded. “Just going over what I’m going to say.”

Pulling the car to a slow stop at a red light, I drummed my fingers against the dashboard, trying another thing to calm my nerves since the deep breathing exercises my therapist recommended weren’t working.

“Hey boss,” Roger spoke up from the back seat between Ash and Bryan. “Maybe someone else should drive. You seem nervous.”

My eyes sliced into him through the rearview mirror. “No one drives my car but me.”

With a shaking hand through his golden locks, he nodded and kept his head down the rest of the drive once I hit the gas again.

“Do you know what you’re going to ask them? Folio wondered from the seat behind me while tapping the wooden drumsticks he always carried on his lap.

“I’m thinking of coming out right and asking if they have any idea who killed Vincent,” I answered.

Jolly shifted in the seat behind Nicholas and without having to gaze over at him, I knew he wasn’t too thrilled about my idea.

“I’d say we just pop these fools. End this turf war once and for all,” Roger pipped up again.

His excitement for being brought along tonight was evident but I was suddenly regretting my decision.

“Chill, we need to be smart about this,” I said.

“We can’t go in there with guns blazing,” Jolly added.

I came to a stop in front of the large, gothic-like gate, and rolled down my window so I was able to click the button on the intercom.

“Yes?” A thick Irish accent responded.

I cleared my throat. “I have the brothers' dinner. Japanese with a side of Swiss.”

Only static came from the speaker for a long moment until the loud creak of the gate caused Roger to jump in surprise and Byran to stifle a laugh behind his hand. The SUV glided up the long drive with ease as the setting sun spilled inside casting all of us in an orange and purple glow. We all piled out as soon as the car was parked in front of the McManus manor and I nodded towards Bryan, Ash, and Roger.

“You three hang back in the foyer in case the brothers don’t want all of us in the meeting,” I said while clicking the safety on my gun before stuffing it in my back waistband.

While Ash and Bryan agreed, both double-checking their weapons, Roger on the other hand made his distaste for my orders known with a low scowl.

“All due respect, Noah,” he began.

I adjusted the peaky hat on my head and raised a brow. “Is there a problem, Roger?”

He shifted on his feet. “I’ve been the recruit for six months now, don’t you think I worked up being involved in one of these meetings?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to my snarky remark to myself but Folio was quick to respond in my place.

“Kid, calm down. It took Bryan six years to work up the ranks. Ash, it took him ten years.”

Roger gaped at the two of them who seemed to have played along with Folio’s joke and agreed with a nod.

“Can I atleast get a gun?” He outstretched his arms. “You guys are sending me into the warzone with no weapon!”

“It’s only a warzone if you make it one,” Ash said.

“No weapons for recruits,” I said.

Not wanting to waste any more time out here, I led the group of us up the crumbling steps and came to a stop in front of the door. Motioning to Roger, I waited for him to ring the bell, and glanced around the vast grounds of the McManus estate while stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my black peacoat.

“Nervous?”

Peering to my left, I nodded to Nicholas. “A bit.”

He clapped my shoulder. “Let’s keep our questions short. Try to get the info we need then we can leave.”

“Yeah,” Folio agreed while shivering. “This place gives me the creeps. It looks like it's days away from caving in.”

Glancing up at the old brick mansion, I had to agree with him. It looked as if neither of the McManus brothers bothered to keep up with the maintenance of the home and the overgrown grass on the other side of the driveway was proof of that.

Suddenly the front door opened with an eerie creaking and all of our eyes met with an older lady with a head full of white curls.

“Yes?”

I stepped forward. “My name is Noah Sebastian. OMNS has a meeting with the brothers.”

Her brown eyes shifted between all of us before she slowly stepped to the side, letting us all pile inside the grand manor. While the outside needed some work, the inside was marvelous with expensive pieces of art and not a speck of dust anywhere.

“My name is Dorthea. I will let the brothers know you’re here,” she said with a thick Irish accent.

Movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention and when I gazed up at the top of the stairs landing, all of my breath left my soul when those familiar hazel eyes met mine. All of the hairs not only on the back of my neck but on my arms stood straight with the buzz of electricity that shot through me when I noticed her eyes double in size. The brightness of her gaze struck a chord in my heart, playing a soft melody that only the two of us could hear.

It had been a long while since I’d seen her last but fuck, she still looked absolutely breathtaking like she did the night of high school graduation.

Her hair was deeper red than the last time we saw each other, now it cascaded down her back, and when she outstretched her arms on the wooden banister, her head tilted to the side in a way to assess all of these strangers in her home.

Although four of us weren’t strangers to her. We all went to high school together even though she wouldn’t remember us. She was always with the group of kids that were rich, too good to be seen with the bottom dwellers like us.

I removed my hat to hand it to Roger to hold onto it then shook out my hair from my eyes before slicking it back and I could have sworn I heard someone’s breath catch in their throat.

“Noah Sebastian, standing here in my house. I must say, I almost didn’t recognize you without the long hair.”

Well, shit.

“Saoirse McManus,” I hummed in response to her sarcastic tone.

A low scowl pulled on her lips before she pushed herself away from the banister and quickly scurried down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

It was almost bittersweet seeing her again after all this time. While I wish it had been under better circumstances, I knew that I couldn’t allow myself to get wrapped up in Saoirse McManus; not again. I had built an empire since dropping out of high school and I couldn’t let anything tear it down, especially a silly little crush.

It never was a silly crush. It was always more than that. You’re just bitter that she never felt the same.

Why would she ever have feelings for me? In her eyes and her financial stature, OMNS were nobodies; the gum on the bottom of their shoe. While they ran their empire up in the rich estates of the wealthy, we ran ours in the slums of the Concrete Jungle. There may have been a point in my life when I wanted to be in the same stature as her but now having earned my wealth, I realized that all I needed was my brothers.

Bullshit.

If that were the case, seeing her tonight wouldn’t have taken my breath away and cock twitched with such a dire need for her.

“What was that about her not remembering you?” Jolly asked.

I ran a hand over my mouth. “I didn’t think she would.”

“Hey,” Roger’s head popped in between Jolly and I. “That’s the daughter, right? You know, rumors are going around the CJ that she’s the one that killed Vincent.”

My eyes sliced into him and Jolly had to press a hand to my chest to keep me from wrapping my hands around his throat.

“The CJ?” I spat out through a clenched jaw.

Roger swallowed thickly. “Yeah. The Concrete Jungle. I thought you would understand the nickname since you were the one who created the Concrete Jungle. I spend a lot of time in the tunnels with groups of guys who tell stories of OMNS success. Why do you think I wanted to join so badly?”

“Do me a favor, kid. Stop lingering in the underground parts of the jungle because you don’t know what dwells underneath there. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation you can’t sweet talk your way out of,” I said.

“What?” He let out an airy chuckle. “Are you hiding a tank full of sirens? Or creating your own artificial intelligence?”

With a dark look filling my eyes, I gave him a smirk before giving him my back when I heard the faint footsteps of Dorthea returning.

“Just the Japanese and Swiss,” she pointed to us.

Jolly let out a groan. “I’m Swedish.”

“Follow me,” she hooked a finger at us, ignoring Jolly.

Giving the rest of my brothers a nod, we followed Dorthea down a long wide hallway, and I took in the sight of all the pictures lining the wall, noticing that they were family pictures of the McManus family.

The first picture was of the man who started it all over one hundred years ago, Cillian McManus. It continued for a long while until Fergal’s familiar face caught my eyes, followed by his son, then Connor, then Murphy with his wife and Saiorse.

Coming to a brief stop, I studied the picture for a long moment, before Jolly pulled me along.

“The brothers are allowing you five minutes of their time,” Dorthea informed as we stopped in front of a set of double doors and her hands wrapped around the golden knobs.

“How generous,” I grumbled under my breath just before the door opened.

Inside was a huge library/office combo. Three out of four of the walls were just bookshelves full of books, the smell of old literature tickling my nose. Thick black carpet covered almost every inch of the floor and in the center of the room were two long burgundy couches that sat horizontally to an old fireplace that was blazing with hot flames. I felt the warmth on my face when Jolly and I stepped inside.

On either couch sat the brothers, both having a glass dangling from their fingers, and their hushed conversation seized when they noticed our presence.

“Ah,” the taller one with shorter hair muttered as he slowly stood to his feet and extended his free hand toward me. “You must be Noah. An acquaintance of mine said I’d be expecting you. I’m Conner.”

After we shook hands, Connor motioned to the other man on the couch, who still had yet to stand up. “That is my twin brother Murphy.”

Giving him a curt nod, I clasped my hands behind my back. “This is Joakim. We won’t take much of your time. But we do have one question to ask.”

While Murphy muttered something in Irish under his breath, Connor urged me to ask.

“About six months ago, a dear friend of ours Vincent Riquier was murdered, his body being left on the doorstep of my tattoo shop. I had some intel point me in the direction of someone in the Irish family.”

Connor's brow raised as he took a small drink of his amber liquid. “Are you saying we had something to do with it?”

Jolly shook his head. “Not at all. We were just wondering if you could let us know if our intel was correct since it came from one of your men.”

This caused Murphy to snap his head towards us and brushed away the long hair from his face; blue eyes boring into us. “One of our men?”

“Barry,” I said flatly. “Movie star looks. Although, I must say that was before.”

The twins shared a look before Murphy rose to his feet with a roar. “You killed him?”

I stood toe to toe with him, not showing him an ounce of fear because I knew guys like this could smell it.

“Never said I did,” I answered with a shrug.

“Imigh leat,” Murphy waved a hand in my face before turning on his feet to face the fireplace.

Connor let out a displeased noise at his brother before giving Jolly and me a tight smile, the lines in his face creasing. “You must ignore my brother, he just argued with his daughter before you arrived.”

Saoirse’s face crept into my mind but I did my best to push away those feelings. I couldn’t give away my feelings for her; the ones that stayed buried for so long.

“Again with this foolish dream of opening an animal rehab facility. Why she wants to work when she has all the money I can give her if she just stays here is beyond my thinking,” Murphy muttered after downing the rest of his drink, slamming the cup on the table next to the couch.

“About Barry,” Connor ignored his brother while stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “If you did kill him, one less thing for us to worry about. He was a pain in our arses anyway.”

“So then, as a token, you’ll give us the direction we need to look into for our friend's death,” Jolly tried while scratching the facial hair on his chin.

With Connor’s silence, his gaze locked in on us with his hand on the holster on his hip, and Murphy’s back still to us, I nodded towards Jolly, who understood and we bid the brothers goodbye.

“Thank you for your time,” I said before ushering Jolly outside of the room before me.

Once we were back in the solitude of the hallway, we rushed back to the foyer with a burning feeling at the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right, their silence told us way too much and I needed to get far away from here.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Jolly noted.

I agreed with a low rumble in my chest, placing my hat back on. “I know. They were quick to dismiss us and I didn’t like how Connor reached for his gun.”

Hearing our footsteps echo loudly on the marble floor, Bryan glanced up from his phone with furrowed brows.

“That was quick.”

“We’ll discuss it in the car,” I said while ushering everyone outside quickly.

One by one we all piled out of the house and before I stepped through the threshold, I dared a glance back up to the stairs landing, hoping to catch sight of her but instead, I locked eyes with two large guards who had their guns in their grasp.

“Boss, this doesn't make sense,” Roger turned swiftly on his heels and blocked me.

“Roger, not now,” I said sternly. “Get to the car. Now.”

“All these rumors, they had to start somewhere,” he continued to ramble on.

I backhanded his chest and then threw a thumb over my shoulder to the men who were now descending the grand staircase. Finally, when Roger noticed them, he scrambled out the door, me swiftly following behind him.

All of us gathered around the SUV to discuss what our next plan of action would be. There were other Irish families I could talk with but they all had connections to the McManus brothers so they wouldn’t give me anything.

As I was chatting with Nicholas, Roger began pacing in front of the car, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s his problem?” Nicholas mumbled to me.

“He thinks the brothers are hiding something,” I informed him while shrugging. “I must admit, I feel the same. They were too closed off in there. And the way those guards were staring at me, I swore they were looking for a fight.”

“In retaliation for Barry?”

“Could be,” I ran a hand over my chin. “Or they don’t appreciate us showing up tonight. Either way, we need to get out of here.”

Everyone began loading into the SUV, besides Roger, who was still pacing.

“Roger, get in,” I demanded from behind the driver's door.

"They're a bunch of liars. all of them. I bet you that broad upstairs knows something.”

All I saw was read for a few moments before I realized that I had Roger pinned to the hood of the car by his throat, my tattooed fingers cutting off his oxygen. Strands of my hair fell into my eyes but I made no effort to let up my grip.

“Watch how you speak about her,” I spit out.

Roger’s eyes were white as he struggled to fight me, his nails digging into the skin of my wrist.

“Shit,” Ash muttered while scrambling out of the car to wrap his arms around my chest, trying to pull me away. “Let him go, Noah. You’re going to kill him.”

With an effortless grunt, I tossed Roger to the ground and did my best to fix my hair when Ash let me go as the front door of the manor opened; Saiorse walked out with the two guards following closely behind her.

She paid us no mind as she trotted down the steps and began walking the opposite way of us. Glancing at my watch, I noticed that it was 8 p.m.

“The only time she leaves is at 8 o'clock for her nightly walks.” Barry’s words from earlier rang in my ears.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I grumbled while adjusting my jacket.

Roger quickly scrambled to his feet and when he finally noticed the two guards who had stopped walking to watch us with careful eyes, something switched in Roger’s mind. My jaw began to drop when I saw him reach for something underneath his shirt, my next words came out slow, almost inebriated.

“Roger, no!”

The sound of gunfire erupted, and all of us dropped to our knees around the car for some sort of protection. Bullets ricochet off of the car, one nearly missing my forehead as it blew the hat clear off my head. I strangled out a vacant cry while pressing my body closer to the car. My heart was beating widely in my chest and my hands shook but I didn’t have time to dwell on almost dying, I needed to stop this before it became worse than it already was.

“Mother fucker!”

Glancing over my shoulder, I cursed when I saw Folio go down to the ground clutching his thigh, his gun skidding halfway down the long driveway. I crawled over to him, keeping my head down when I noticed that a couple more McManus guards had emerged from inside and now we were outnumbered; seven to nine.

Blood oozed out from the wound on Folio’s thigh and I grabbed a handful of his shirt, ripping a large piece from it.

“You’re alright; just a flesh wound,” I reassured him while fixing the makeshift tourniquet.

“Where the hell did Roger find a gun?” Folio asked through clenched teeth when I squeezed too hard on his wound to stop the bleeding.

“I’m about to find out,” I patted his cheek before ripping my gun from behind my pants and clicked off the safety.

Using the open door of the SUV as a shield, I peered around it to see that four guards were lying dead on the ground, two were hiding behind the pillars of the manor for their own protection, and one was coming towards us.

Firing off two rounds, both hitting the mark of the guard's chest, I watched him crumble to the ground and then gave a sharp whistle towards Jolly who was firing his weapon in the car through the shot-out back windshield.

“Two on the porch!” I yelled over the sounds of gunfire.

Jolly nodded and I gave him protection against the other two guards who were firing their weapons from behind a bush, he snuck up to the two guards hiding on the porch, their lives ending before they even noticed him.

Now the numbers were in our favor so slowly rising to my feet, I stepped out from my shield and called out to the last two McManus guards.

“You’re not walking out of this alive!”

“Imeacht go fánach ort féin is ar do chnapán miúlach!” A deep voice rumbled out from behind the bus.

A flash of red caught my attention and I forgot for a moment that Saoirse was outside when the shootout began. I could hear my heart in my ears with worry if she’d been hit but when I saw her slowly rise to her feet due to one of the guards pushing her to farther safety, I breathed a little.

Until a gun went off to my left and with sharp eyes, I watched as the bullet hit Saoirse in the arm, blood splattering against the fading white paint of the house.

“Bitch! That’s for Vincent!” Roger bellowed his victory.

I let out a vicious growl as I tackled him to the ground, laying fist after fist into his face. Poor kid never saw me coming and gave no fight against me. By the time I finished, my knuckles were broken and raw, covered in not only my blood but his as well. Roger’s face was a mangled mess as he rolled over to his side, spitting out chunks of spit mixed with blood. For a final measure, I laid a swift kick to his stomach making sure he wouldn’t get up for a while. Through the white noise in my brain, I did my best to calm my breathing when I gazed over my shoulder to the carnage that lay in our wake; all thanks to Roger’s trigger finger.

Besides Folio, all of my men were unharmed and it seemed as if Folio would be fine. However, out of nine McManus guards, only two remain. One held something to Saoirse’s arm while the other tossed his gun to the ground, showing us he surrendered.

“Is she alright?” I called out to them.

“Fuck you, Noah!” She spat, eyes almost as red with fury as the color of her hair.

Yeah, she was fine.

Through the eerie silence of the night air, I watched as the front door carefully opened then both the McManus brothers stepped into the carnage.

“Saoirse!” Murphy’s voice boomed.

“She’s over here!” The one guard who was tending to her wound called out while pulling them out from behind the bushes.

I sucked in a breath when I saw all the blood staining the gray long sleeve of her sweater as the guard quickly whisked her inside, her father right on her tail. The look of pure hatred was on Connor’s face as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Whose bullet hit my niece?” He asked.

I pointed to the broken body of Roger, who was still struggling to rise to his feet. “I’ll take care of him, I promise you.”

Conner gave a curt nod before hooking his finger in my direction. “You. By yourself. Now.”

Licking my lips, I nodded and handed over my gun to Ash, who looked at me with bewilderment in his eyes.

“Are you insane?” He demanded. “You can’t go in there by yourself.”

“If they wanted me dead, I would be,” I said with more reassurance in my voice than I was feeling.

Giving a soft smile to the rest of my men, letting them know I’d be fine, I stepped back inside the manor with Conner close behind.

SCARLETT

“What the fuck!” I screamed while pushing myself away from the table, but hissing as pain shot through my arm.

The doctor we had on standby informed me that it was merely a flesh wound I suffered and closed it up with a few stitches and some pills for the pain.

“Watch your tongue,” my father warned while not looking away from his plate of food.

“You just told me that I’m supposed to marry Noah Sebastian! How the fuck can I watch my tongue?! This is absurd! You can’t make that decision for me.”

He pushed away his plate with a sigh and then steepled his fingers together. “I can because I am your father. And for the price of peace, I couldn’t deny his offer.”

I nearly fell back into my seat at the dining room table. “His offer? This was his idea?”

My Uncle Conner nodded. “That man is quite the negotiator. He didn’t want any more bloodshed and for a truce, he asked for your hand in marriage; we agreed on one condition.”

“Oh, I can't wait to hear what this condition was,” I placed my hand on my hip. “Does he want a baby in a year? Do I have to abide by his command? Am I to be locked away in a castle for the rest of my life?”

“Far from that,” my father lit his cigar, puffing the smoke into the air. “We agreed that you can marry him as long as he kill the man that shot you.”

My eyes widened. “The kid? Fucking hell, dad! He can’t be more than twenty years old!”

“Then he shouldn’t have been involved in a game that was designed for men!” My father’s fist slammed on the aged oak of the table.

I didn’t even flinch, being so used to his outbursts like this. Instead, I fought back harder against this offer.

“What about Cory?” I questioned.

“Who?” My father’s thick brows furrowed as the age lines in his forehead creased.

“The boyfriend,” my uncle informed him while swirling the ice cubes around in his cup.

My father did a double take. “How the fuck do you know?”

“Fuck you, I know shit,” he shrugged.

“Very well,” my father sighed. “It’s not like this relationship would have worked out anyway. You will end it and move in with Noah by Friday.”

“FRIDAY?!” I screeched. “That’s in two days!”

“The wedding will be at the end of the month,” my uncle informed me.

Too much information had been thrown at me all at once and I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep myself from crying. I typically wasn’t a crier but from the moment I laid my eyes on Noah Sebastian in the foyer of my home, all of my old feelings came rushing in like a tidal wave and I still didn’t have time to process that.

“If I say no to this deal?” I shot back.

Neither my uncle nor father said anything, simply motioned to the guns that lay next to their plates. Now, I knew they didn’t mean they would kill me. Instead, they would kill Noah and every last mother fucker who had anything to do with tonight.

“This is unbelievable!” I yelled while throwing my hands up and storming my way up the stairs to my bedroom.

The sound of my door slamming shook the old bones of the manor and I yanked the ends of my hair with a scream. I despised not only this life but also the fact that I couldn’t do anything about this arrangement. Not when the lives of innocents were on the line.

Innocents? They shot you!

Shaking the thought from my mind, I fell back onto my bed with a groan. It was easy to tell that the kid was the one that started the unnecessary gunfight. Noah was only doing what he could to protect his people.

Those gorgeous almond eyes haunted me for years, plaguing my entire existence since I first saw them freshman year of high school. I never could do anything about it, however, knowing that we ran in different circles and it was forbidden. His family ran the slums while mine ran the prestige wealth.

The last I saw of Noah or any of those guys was the night of high school graduation. While Noah dropped out three months before, the rest of his friends walked across the stage and he was there for support. Our eyes locked across the vast space of the room. His hair was long but pulled back into a high bun, showcasing the sharpness of his cheekbones as he gave me a gentle smile. Of course, I had to ignore the pull of my heart strings, no matter how strong they were.

If someone had told a teenage me that now, eight years later, I’d be marrying that man who captured my heart so long ago, I’d laugh in their face.

Running a hand over my face, I sat up in bed and quickly dialed Cory’s number so I could deliver the news. On the eighth ring, he answered almost breathlessly.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I played with the ends of my hair. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

There was some rustling on his end before his breath came through. “I suppose.”

Ignoring the tone, I took a deep inhale to prepare myself for breaking the news to him. “There’s no easy way to say this. But my father just informed me that he arranged a marriage for me. I have to move in with the guy on Friday. I tried to fight it, tried to fight for us, but I didn’t have a choice. It’s something I have to do.”

There was a very long beat of silence on Cory’s end before his voice broke through. “Ok. Thanks for letting me know.”

My heart dropped to the pits of my stomach. “W-what? That’s it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Scarlett? You said it yourself, you don’t have a choice in this. Why fight for something that has no end in sight?”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard to not snap at him but eventually failed.

“You know, you’re right. What’s the fucking point,” I seethed.

Before I could hang up on him, I heard the click and stared down in disbelief at my now black screen.

“What a piece of shit!” I bellowed while tossing my phone onto my bed.

My knee bounced in anger, that conversation adding more fuel to the fire, and as much as I wanted to scream out my frustrations I knew that it would be futile. Instead, I dragged my feet into the large walk-in closet and began packing up things that I knew I would need in my new life.

NOAH

Wiping away the blood from my rings, I stepped into the lobby of the quiet tattoo shop and noticed Nicholas closing up his section.

“How’d it go tonight?” I wondered after tossing the rag into the bag he had opened.

The one we planned on burning anyway so any evidence would be gone in the flames.

“Slow night but those aren’t bad every once in a while,” he answered before motioning to the door I previously walked through. “All finished?”

“Yeah, Jolly and Folio are cleaning it up. This one was messier than I would have liked. I’ll admit, the kid put up a hell of a fight,” I said while leaning against the wall with crossed arms.

The tattooed muscles in my forearms flexed.

“Did he say where he found the gun?”

“Bought it off of someone on the street before we left that night. Apparently, he had a feeling I wouldn’t allow him to have one and he felt like he needed protection,” I informed Nicholas.

Who, in turn, snorted while packing up his tattoo gun. “A lot of good it did.”

My lips parted to speak but with the sound of the bell dinging above the door, revealing that someone had stepped inside.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” the words died in my throat when I saw who walked inside.

Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid, her green eyes standing out amongst everything else about her. She carried two suitcases behind her and one large duffel bag on her shoulder.

“Hi,” I said while standing straight up.

All of the breath inside of me left me with a whoosh of air as the excitement of our arrangement finally filled me. When I first brought up the idea to the McManus brothers, I fully expected them to deny it. Much to my surprise, they agreed almost immediately with the exception that I take care of Roger, as promised.

Not even an hour after sending the picture to Murphy, his daughter was standing in front of me; bags in tow.

“Hi?” Saoirse scowled. “Do you know what the fuck I had to go through to get here? The number of times I had to circle the building to find somewhere to park? Two blocks away. Not to mention, how many homeless people stopped me along the way to ask for either money or drugs? And all you can say is hi?”

Biting my lip at my smile, I walked over to the receptionist's desk to rest my elbows on it.

“Are you finished?” I teased with a playful gleam in my eyes.

She scoffed, appalled. “Am I finished? No, Noah. Far fucking from it. How dare you bid for my life without my consent? This isn’t the 1900’s where this was a common thing! I have a say in who I should marry!”

“Then why are you here?”

Saoirse pursed her lips and when I realized she had nothing to say back, I pushed off the counter to close the distance between us, my height towering over her.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t pay for you. I don’t plan on holding you prisoner here. You have a say with anything and everything however to keep the peace from stumbling into my empire, if I had to arrange for your life, you bet your fucking ass I would do.”

Her lips mimicked a fish and when her shoulders slumped in defeat, I held out my hand to her. “Keys.”

“Excuse me?” She raised a brow.

“Give me your keys. OMNS Legacy Villas has underground parking. There’s already a reserved spot for you,” I informed her.

Shoving the keys in my hand, she sliced her eyes into me. “If it says Saoirse, change it.”

I quickly tossed the keys to Nicholas, who understood and slipped out of the shop to retrieve her car.

“Change it?” I repeated her words.

“The only people who call me that are my father and uncle. Everyone else calls me Scarlett,” she tossed her bags on the ground at my feet before crossing her arms over her black sweater.

This sass that fell from her blood-stained lips made me want to toss her onto the counter, rip off that sweater, and attack every inch of her skin with my teeth but I refrained. Instead, I brushed a hand through my hair and smiled.

“Scarlett it is.”

Scarlett glanced out the large window in front of the shop, watching as people walked past, every single one of them dealing with something in their own lives. The trash that littered the street was figuratively and literally. I had to admit that when I first opened up my empire here, the slums were extremely bad but with my help and funding, the streets had been cleaned up immensely; with a few stranglers still lurking around.

Especially in the underground.

“I don’t understand how you live here. The homeless, the drug deals, and the illegal activities I saw walking in here. It’s disgusting,” she shivered.

I stood next to her now, stuffing my hands in the back pockets of my pants. “Welcome to the Concrete Jungle, Scarlett.”

She turned her head up to me as I bent low towards her, my warm breath fanning those beautiful lips. “Where I’m the fucking king.”

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian x ofc #mafiaboss!noah sebastian #tattooartist!noah sebastian #the coyotes cry noah sebastian #noah sebastian fan fictions

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mauesartetc · 5 months

Text

FREE PALESTINE MASTERPOST

Trying to keep this blog more art- and creativity-focused in general, so I'll be removing the Gaza-related reblogs that are about a month old. But I'll use this post as a permanent archive that will update periodically (some of this information will grow dated as the situation develops, but I think it's important to keep a record of just how fiercely opposed people were to Israel's actions from this moment forward). We should all continue to raise our voices about this, and refuse to support politicians who enable genocide. Remember, they work for us, not the other way around. Keep going.

October 2023

-Donation links

-Social media links

-US congress ceasefire script

-Decolonizepalestine.com (information, mythbusting)

-More donation links

-Ways to pressure politicians for a ceasefire

-HUGE resource list

-"Is there anything I can do to help Palestinians besides call my representatives and beg them to stop killing people?"

-"We are isolated now"

-Palestine and landback

-210 PAGES of dead people's names.

-Bail money for Palestine Action

-Article list

-US action items

-Boycott info

-Grand Central Station shut down by protestors

-Message to white American citizens

-UK ceasefire petition

-How YOU can help Palestine (regularly updated!)

-"Please try amidst all this fury and grief to still have faith in the common people." (+donation links)

-Reminder about protest etiquette and privacy

-Prints for Palestine

-"We have no communication with the outside world. They are using their military might to harm us. We have no power but the power of God, no one but God. Please, pray for us." (spoken over mosque speakers)

-DAILY donate button + more donation links

-"Doesn't Israel have a right to exist too?"

-Script for US Congress calls

-Queerness under apartheid

-Sudan is also at war

-Hundreds of thousands of protestors in London

-Half a million.

-Tips for folks with phone anxiety

-This comic got real

-European and Canadian ceasefire scripts

-"The people of Gaza see the protests. That is reason enough to come even if nothing else." WE HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOU. WE ARE HERE.

November 2023

-More genocides than just Palestine

-How to buy e-sims to circumvent Gaza's internet blackout

-"Occupying territories is illegal. Resistance to occupying forces is legal."

-MASSIVE resource list

-"For decades now the media has told us Muslim men are savages, terrorists, wife beaters and everything in between. I want you to challenge this trope the next time you see it in the media. Let these photos serve as a reminder."

-"Don't stop talking about the Palestinian genocide. IT'S WORKING."

-UN resignation letter

-Israel won't allow Irish or Brazilian citizens to leave Gaza

-"Palestine must never be forgotten. Promise me that." (from the documentary "Children of Shatila")

-Gifs of pro-Palestine rallies around the world

-Support Palestine's last kufiya factory

-Protestors flood the streets in Washington DC

-Explanation of why calling representatives is a numbers game

-FREE ebooks on the history of this conflict

-Petition to screen films by Palestinian directors

-Call to boycott Gal Godot's work

-Indigenous activists block weapons shipment to Israel

-If you're attending a protest, DON'T TELL YOUR GOVERNMENT SHIT. Y'know, friendly advice.

-Links to support Palestine Action and Palestine Legal. Get in the way.

-Parallels between Israel and the surveillance tactics used by NYC mayor Eric Adams

-Don't spiral into doomerism. Persevere.

-Want a different strategy to contact your representatives? Try faxing them!

-Florida rep Michelle Salzman calls for the death of all Palestinians

-"The phone doesn't stop" :)

-Indian trade unions call on the government to scrap deals with Israel

-An overview of Israel's human rights violations, and two major political groups that have exacerbated Zionism in the US

-Israeli man explains why he's protesting

-"Whoever stays until the end will tell the story. We did what we could. Remember us."

-US House of Representatives votes to send billions of dollars worth of weapons to Israel

-Canadian email campaign and petitions

-"Canada's First Nation standing with Palestine"

-"Freedom is infectious as it is just and no one is free until they ALL are."

-Israeli forces invade al-Shia hospital

-Leaked list of weapons the US has sent to Israel

-Only 32% of Americans believe the US should support Israel

-Cop City action demonstrates how to protest effectively

-Refugee grandmother "doesn't have to imagine a multicultural and integrated Palestine- she remembers it".

-Protestors block the Bay Bridge in San Francisco (plus bail fund)

-Israeli forces attack schools in northern Gaza. SCHOOLS.

-Journalist shares an update from an Indonesian hospital and pleads for others to spread it around as it "may be the last video we are able to send"

-Scottish Parliament votes overwhelmingly to demand a ceasefire

-Sobering texts from a friend providing humanitarian aid in Gaza. "They have been distributing guns to the civilian settlers and allowing them into the West Bank to terrorize people" "We have been given option to leave. None took it"

-"the absolute bare minimum in this situation is 1) a complete ceasefire and immediate humanitarian aid in Gaza, 2) complete halt of all military foreign aid to the Israeli government, 3) the Israeli government being prosecuted for its war crimes in the International Criminal Court, and 4) land back and reparations for the Palestinian people. free Palestine means free Palestine, not just temporarily stop carpet bombing Palestine."

-"It's important that you keep posting and speaking about the ongoing genocide. This 5 day agreement isn't the end of things."

-Boosting the incredible, FREE daily donate button again

-Protests at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

-"REMINDER THAT ANTISEMITES AREN'T WELCOME HERE AND WON'T BE TOLERATED"

#free palestine #masterpost #master list #long post

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nuwildcat · 2 months

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Okay, so I noticed something in Man Suang that got me really excited. First and foremost here there be spoilers so if you haven't seen it you should not read under the cut.

Let's talk about how they managed to make Hong appear dead, cause it got my nerdy self excited.

So we start with our ill fated dinner and we see Khem pouring tea for both Khun Wichiendej and Hong. On the first watch through this kinda gets lost in all the drama but I did note it going, wait he poured for both of them.

Weirdly, noticing that made my brain more convinced that Hong actually died for a smidge longer than I would like to admit, but I had hopes. And luckily enough I was mistaken.

Toward the end of the film we get an awesome stitching together of past events that steps us through the shenanigans that were pulled to make sure that Hong came out of that dinner alive.

But as much as I love the kitchen aunties uniting to save their young master, that's not the part that got me all excited, it was this moment:

Khem pours the teapot and magically we get two teas. This is where on my rewatch I sat up and went:

I KNOW WHAT THAT IS! It's an assassin's teapot!

What's that you ask? OH JUST THE COOLEST TEAPOT EVER. (I assume my Irish ancestors would have loved to pull this one out if they ever got their hands on one).

Basically the teapot literally contains two teas, that with skill and precision you can pour one after the other, allowing you to poison someone and not another.

There's a youtube video on this if you would like to watch it here.

So what does that mean? Well, Khem had to train with the teapot, which we saw in the flashback explanations. (I cannot gif team, it's not a skill I have).

BUT THIS MOMENT HERE, like there are wild amounts of trust happening between Hong and Khem here that make me feel all the things. These boys get thrown together by circumstances and Hong trusts Khem to not fuck this up in the moment.

AND I REALLY ENCOURAGE YOU TO WATCH THE VIDEO CAUSE FUCKING THIS UP WOULD BE EASY.

These pots aren't easy to use and they take skill. If they had fucked up they would have imitated death for one of the most powerful men in the country at that moment.

WOW, just wow.

Anyway that's the Irish lady ranting about cool teapots in a Thai historical movie.

💜'Cat out

#mansuang #man suang #mansuang spoilers #man suang spoilers #man suang meta #mansuang meta #killer teapots y'all #we got killer teapots #I get excited about the weirdest things I swear #but I did a little screech when I noticed this

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wrishwrosh · 2 months

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hey, i find your posts about historical fiction pretty interesting, do you have any recs?

anon this is the most beautiful and validating ask i have ever received. absolutely of COURSE I have recs. not gonna be a lot of deep cuts on this list but i love all of these books and occasionally books do receive awards and acclaim because they are good. in no particular order:

the cromwell trilogy by hilary mantel. of course i gotta start with the og. it’s 40 million pages on the tudor court and the english reformation and it will fundamentally change you as a person and a reader

(sub rec: the giant, o’brien by hilary mantel. in many ways a much shorter thematic companion to the cromwell trilogy imo. about stories and death and embodiment and the historical record and 18th century ireland. if you loved the trilogy, read this to experience hils playing with her own theories about historical fiction. if you are intimidated by the trilogy, read this first to get a taste of her prose style and her approach to the genre. either way please read all four novels ok thanks)

lincoln in the bardo by george saunders. the book that got me back into historical fiction as an adult. american history as narrated by a bunch of weird ghosts and abraham lincoln. chaotic and lovely and morbid.

the everlasting by katy simpson smith. rome through the ages as seen by a medici princess, a gay death-obsessed monk, and an early christian martyr. really historically grounded writing about religion and power, and also narrated with interjections from god’s ex boyfriend satan. smith is a trained historian and her prose slaps

(sub rec: free men by katy simpson smith. only a sub rec bc i read it a long time ago and my memory of it is imperfect but i loved it in 2017ish. about three men in the woods in the post revolutionary american south and by virtue of being about masculinity is actually about women. smith did her phd in antebellum southern femininity and motherhood iirc so this book is LOCKED IN to those perspectives)

a mercy by toni morrison. explores the dissolution of a household in 17th century new york. very different place and time than a lot of morrison’s bigger novels but just as mean and beautiful

(sub rec: beloved by toni morrison. a sub rec bc im pretty sure everyone has already read beloved but perhaps consider reading it again? histfic ghost story abt how the past is always here and will never go away and loves you and hates you and is trying to kill you)

an artist of the floating world by kazuo ishiguro. my bestie sir kazuo likes to explore the past through characters who, for one reason or another (amnesia, dementia, being a little baby robot who was just born yesterday, etc), are unable to fully comprehend their surroundings. this one is about post-wwii japan as understood by an elderly supporter of the imperial regime

(sub rec: remains of the day by kazuo ishiguro. same conceit as above except this time the elderly collaborator is incapable of reckoning with the slow collapse of the system that sheltered him due to britishness.)

the pull of the stars by emma donoghue. donoghue is a strong researcher and all of her novels are super grounded in their place and time without getting so caught up in it they turn into textbooks. i picked this one bc it is a wwi lesbian love story about childbirth that made me cry so hard i almost threw up on a plane but i recommend all her histfic published after 2010. before that she was still finding her stride.

days without end by sebastian barry. this one is hard to read and to rec bc it is about the us army’s policy of genocide against native americans in the 19th century west as told by an irish cavalry soldier. it is grim and violent and miserable and also so beautiful it makes me cry about every three pages. first time i read it i was genuinely inconsolable for two days afterwards.

this post is long as hell so HONORABLE MENTIONS: the amazing adventures of kavalier & clay by michael chabon, the western wind by samantha harvey, golden hill by frances spufford, barkskins by annie proulx, postcards by annie proulx, most things annie proulx has written but i feel like i talk about her too much, the view from castle rock by alice munro, the name of the rose by umberto eco, tracks by louise erdrich

#honestly will probably be coming back with additions bc this is just based on whats currently on my bookshelf #made this post while staring at the copy of mirror & the light i keep on my desk as some kind of hilary mantalisman #send me your address so i can explain my passions etc etc #histfic

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xpiredcheeto · 1 year

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Glass

(Not my gif)

word count

Reader stays out late and comes home injured.

Tommy Shelby x sister reader, Arthur Shelby x sister reader, Ada Shelby x sister reader

Warnings: Blood, injuries, blood, death, killing, cursing, reader gets attacked, mentions of cocaine, Arthur is sad and needs a hug very bad, mentions of prostitution. I think that's all.

This takes place during season 2

word count: 2395

This whole situation could have been avoided if you had decided to call it an early night and ignored your burning desire to stay awake and go to some pub in the middle of the night, but of course, being a Shelby, you decided to go out.

You walked down the cold and dark alleyway leading to the building. The outside walls were cracking, paint was peeling from its edges. Just the place you were looking for. It was called The Red Lion. You walked up the brick steps of the pub, and the click of your shoes echoed in your mind. The mahogany door had a stained glass window depicting a fisherman. You had no idea what a pub called "The Red Lion" was doing by having an image of a fisherman as their window, but maybe they got it on sale.

It was far away from the watchful eyes of Small Heath, away from your reputation. It freed you in a certain way. Unfortunately, being away from the negatives of your reputation also meant you were away from the protection it brought with it. Normally this was not an issue, but tonight was different. When you walked into the pub, everything became silent at once. All heads in the bar turned to face you. Maybe you were not as far from your reputation as you thought you were.

"You think she's a spy?" one man asked another

The old floors creaked under your footsteps. You approached the bartender to ask for your usual when a voice from behind confronted you. "Yer not allowed in our pub, little girl. Why don't you run on home?"

You made note of his voice, he was Irish and he spoke with a level of arrogance like no one had ever told him "no" in his life.

"Sorry, but I'm not going anywhere. I came here for a drink and I'm going to get it. If you would just leave me alone I could have my drink in peace and you won't have to worry about me."

You could tell by the look on his face that he didn't like the answer you had given him. his brows furrowed and his expression contorted into one of annoyance.

"I asked you to leave and when I ask you to do something, you better do it. Now, this is your last chance to leave before something happens that you won't like." He was trying to scare you and it wasn't working. You were going to hold your ground until this strange man left you alone.

"Look, I just told you that I'm not leaving so why don't you just leave me alone-" you were cut off when two hands grasped your shoulders. They dragged you backward off your chair and onto the wooden flooring of the bar. You hit the ground with a bang and waves of pain radiated up and down your spine. You let out a hiss of pain and the hands grabbed you again. This time they angled you toward a glass table before you could process what had happened. Your body was thrown with such force you could not stop the trajectory of your body. You threw both arms out in front of your face to block the impact of the table. Suddenly, waves of white-hot, stinging pain punctured your forearms. Blood trickled down your arms as you looked up. There were two men before you, the one that confronted you earlier and another. His face was withered, and his expression bore a constant snarl as he looked down at you.

"Are you two fucking insane?! That's the Shelby girl, her brothers will fucking kill all of us!" the bartender was seething with rage. His face was a glowing red color. You glanced back at the men, they looked scared now.

You looked down at the floor, the brown wood now tainted red with your blood. You heard movement behind you, rushed and frantic, then the slamming of the front door. You looked back up at the bartender, he threw a dishtowel at you. "For the bleeding," he said. You held the dirty rag to your left arm, leaving the right to bleed all over your clothes.

You limped to the door, turned the handle, and walked out. A rush of frigid air hit you, cooling the thick rivets of blood streaming from your arm. The walk home wasn't too long but the pain was making it seem so much longer. You looked down at your white blouse, patches were saturated with red blood. The way it stuck to your skin was revolting, partially dried, and sticky. The metallic stench was almost overwhelming if not for the pain coursing through your body. And, oh God, it hurt. It wasn't just the pain from your arms, your back still ached from the fall, and it made each step agony.

You were approaching Small Heath now. The smell was normally the first thing that hit you, but not tonight, now the only thing you could think of was blood and glass. The shards still embedded into your arms made each movement painful. You could see the house now, you were so close.

You walked up to the door, twisted the handle, and pulled. Awaiting you in the kitchen was Ada. Her eyes shot up, "Do you know how worried I was-" she cut herself off. "Oh my God, Y/N, what happened? Come here I'll patch you up." Her face was laced with concern. "Sit down, I'll get the bandages." She got up and move to the bathroom, you could hear her rummaging around in the cabinets. Glancing at your arms, you saw the rag was saturated with blood.

Behind you, you heard the door opening, then a loud gasp. It was Arthur. "Jesus Christ, who the fuck did this to you?" he was next to you now, looking at your arms. You responded, "I don't exactly know who it was. There were two of them, but I don't know what I did to upset them that much."

Ada returned from the bathroom with her hands full of bandages and a pair of tweezers. Arthur looked relieved to see her. She acknowledged Arthur and started speaking "I found the bandages," she held up the pair of tweezers, "and these are for the glass." She sat down next to you. "How did this happen?" she asked again.

"I got thrown through a table." You replied. Arthur let out a sigh of anger. Ada picked up her tweezers and looked up at your face. "This might hurt so prepare yourself." The tweezers grasped at a piece of glass and you let out a hiss. Arthur noticed and tried to calm you. "Shh, it's alright, it's alright." he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of the fact. The door opened once more. All three of you turned your heads, Tommy was standing in the doorway with a look of confusion burned onto his features. He took a step towards you and spoke. "What the fuck happened?"

"She got thrown through a fucking table, Tom," Arthur responded for you.

"What the fuck do you mean she got thrown through a table?! Who the fuck threw her through a table?" You moved to answer but let out a pained gasp when Ada pulled one of the shards out. Arthur looked back at you and moved his hand to rub up and down your back.

"I-oh fuck, I don't know who it was. They were Irish and in a pub called The Red Lion. I don't even know what I did to offend them so much." you spoke through gritted teeth.

Arthur looked at Tommy, they were going to trash the pub later and find the men that did this, but first, they needed to make sure you were going to be alright. Ada moved to another shard, this one came out easier than the last, but the pain was still significant. And, oh god, you were crying now.

"This really fucking hurts." you sobbed out. Arthur responded to you, "I know, love. I swear I'm gonna kill everyone that hurts you. I-I'll fucking kill the people that did this." He looked like he was about to cry too. Ada looked up from her work to inform you she was almost done removing the glass, just one more to go. You looked at Tommy, he had moved and was now sitting on a chair across the kitchen. He shot Arthur a glance and said "Tomorrow, brother."

Ada was getting ready to pull the final one out now, it was located near your left wrist. At this point, you were struggling to keep your eyes open, the blood loss made you dizzy and lightheaded. She grasped it with her tweezers and pulled. Your eyes shot open and you let out a scream of pain. Arthur grabbed your right hand and rested his head on the corner of your neck. It was the closest he could get to hugging you at this moment.

"Alright love, the painful part is over, all I have to do now is wrap them up." Her voice always seemed to soothe you. She placed the edge of the bandage in your palm and wrapped it around a few times. She then moved it down to loop around your thumb before wrapping it around your forearm. She repeated the process on your other arm. You looked over at Tommy, he stared forward in a silent rage.

"I'm gonna go to bed now." You moved to get up. Tommy moved from his chair, "No, love, you shouldn't be walking. I'll carry you to bed, Alright?" You nodded and he walked over, he looped one arm under your knees and one beneath your back. He lifted you and carried you up the stairs, he pushed the door open with his side and laid you on the bed. He went to your dresser and grabbed a nightgown for you. He laid it on the bed for you to put on. He turned to leave the room, "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, love." He placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head before turning and leaving the room. You unbuttoned the now red blouse you were wearing and pulled it off, it dragged on your arms sending pain blooming through them. You let out a small hiss and let it drop to the floor. You reach down and slid your bottoms off, also leaving them on the floor. You pulled the nightgown over your head and down the rest of your body, you moved to get under the covers when you heard a knock at the door followed by a voice. You sat up. "Hello, can I come in? If you don't want me to that's fine... I just don't want you to be alone right now." It was Arthur.

"Yeah, come in."

The door opened with a creak and he walked over to you. He gently grabbed you in his arms and held you. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I...I don't ever want you getting hurt and I wish I was there so I could keep you safe." he paused. "Can I stay in here tonight, so I can make sure you're safe?" he looked at you, awaiting your response.

"Yes, Arthur, you can stay in here tonight."

"Alright, love. I'll sit in the chair over there." He pointed to the chair across your room next to your fireplace. "No, Arthur. You can sleep in bed with me. I don't mind, I'd feel safer that way anyways." He looked surprised, but he walked over to your bed and slid in next to you. He adjusted his position next to you and said, "Alright, love, go to sleep now. You need your rest."

He looped his arms around you in a protective hug. He held you tight to his chest as if you would disappear if he let go. "Please don't scare me like that again," he spoke as if he was still scared that you were seriously injured. "I don't know what id do if I lost you." his voice was breaking, and you could tell he was holding back tears. You could tell he wanted to say more, to tell you he wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing he wasn't there to keep you safe. He didn't tell you he would blame himself for the rest of his life if you died and how he already gets nightmares about that exact scenario. Instead, he held you tighter and pushed his face into the crook of his neck. You could feel his tears run down your shoulder like shiny pearls. You felt like crying too.

"Oh, Arthur. I would never leave you like that. I'm so sorry I made you worry about me." You turned around so you could wrap your arms around him, wincing slightly when the sheets rubbed against the bandages. "It's alright, love. It's not your fault. It's those fucking men that hurt you. I'll find 'em, make sure they never hurt you again."

"It's alright, Arthur. They can't hurt me now." You made your voice as soft as possible in an attempt to calm him.

"I know, love. I know," he paused. "Just...If you want a drink, go to The Garrison. Won't be mad as long as you don't end up like me. Oh god, please don't end up like me... I'm sorry. I'm keeping you up. Go to sleep now, you need rest."

"It's Okay, Arthur. You don't need to apologize, and you need to stop insulting yourself." He nodded into your neck. You shut your eyes and melted into the darkness behind your eyelids. You savored the feeling of protection that your brother gave you, it made you feel like you were safe from anything while you were in his arms. And you most likely were, he would do anything to keep you safe, even if that meant bashing someone's head in with a glass ashtray. Even if that meant killing fathers and sons, none of it was as important as keeping you safe. You drifted into the abyss of sleep in his arms, knowing that none of your fears would be able to harm you.

#arthur shelby #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x you #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x sister!reader #hurt/comfort #ada shelby

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sarahhillips · 10 months

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Thoughts I Have After Seeing Elemental For the First Time 😈🥬

Yes, there are spoilers below! If you have not seen the movie and have issues with spoilers, keep scrolling. Thank you!

That being said, let’s dive in!

🔥 Not only are her parents immigrants but they speak a made up language called Firish. As an Irish American person, I thought that was cute!

💧 The Manticore from Onward is no longer the most relatable character to service workers. That honor goes to Ember now.

🔥 Yes, customers are really this stupid and entitled. The sparkler buy one get one free scene is a gold star example of that.

💧 Wade Ripple is who more men should be like; sweet, sensitive, loving, devoted, and charming but also awkward in an adorable way.

🔥 I never laughed so hard at the death of a grandmother ever. That was definitely not written to be sad at all.

💧 Wade isn’t afraid to say how he feels about Ember in front of his entire family and that’s very ballsy but way too fast.

🔥 Their date was so precious and the song in that scene is repeating on Spotify right now.

💧 I love that they eat wood chips and drink lava coffee.

🔥 Those flowers are absolutely stunning. And so is Embers glasswork.

💧 The antics between Cinder and the Door Man were wonderful. The Door Man also looks like the most huggable water guy.

🔥 I went awwwww in my head when their hands touched for the first time. It was such a sweet moment and I didn’t like that things went south after that.

💧 Would they be able to have sex? Because from the beginning of the film, we know element women can physically get pregnant. So a water penis in a fire vagina does what? Would she evaporate it away?

🔥 The kiss they shared near the end if the film was so sweet. Honestly one of the best kissing scenes written by Pixar tbh, with apologies to Linguini and Collette.

💧 Do male earth elements grow floral pubic hair like their armpit hairs? Imagine having flowers for pubes.

🔥 What’s the wedding gonna be like? Because I bet Ember would walk down the aisle in a stained glass gown.

What if it looked something like this?? 👀🔥

💧 Ember loves her father but was trying too hard to make him proud. It was unfair for him to never ask her what she wanted out of life.

🔥 Wade saving the blue flame: 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

💧 Of course I wanted to cry when Wade started evaporating but I knew he’d come back somehow.

🔥 He went through all of that for her.

💧 They way he offers his hand 🥹🥹🥹

🔥 Hell, the way he looks at her. That’s love man.

💧 Marco and Polo are so cute!!

🔥 Love love LOVE all the chainmail and glass fire people are wearing! Especially that glass robe!

💧 If I were a fire person, I would just stand in front of a fan all day

🔥 THEIR STROLLERS ARE GRILLS 😭😭😭

💧 What if they had a baby? Would the baby be made of steam? Is it gonna be a…. Steam punk?

🔥 How much is Wades monthly rent because DAMN. This apartment is super swanky.

💧 So there is both biotic water people and abiotic water. And they can make themselves one with that water

🔥 Wades the dude that becomes everybodys best friend the second they meet him while Ember can barely talk to anybody.

💧 KISS ME IM FIRISH

🔥 This shot is cute af, look at bby Ember with dad Bernie 🥹

💧 Wade Ripple definitely eats out.

#elemental #pixar elemental #elemental pixar #ember lumen #wade ripple #pixar #disney #animated movies #high #spoiler warning #high thoughts #thoughts

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outlaw-apologist · 1 year

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Bitter Sweet Goodbye - RDR2 - You Die In Their Arms

Imagine you, as their lover, die in their arms (Fem!Reader)

Characters: Arthur, Charles, Micah, Dutch, Hosea

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and character death, mentions of Chapter 4, use of Y/N and L/N

If anyone has any writing requests or want to see any other characters/scenarios please let me know! :D If you rather read it on AO3 it can be found here! ______

Arthur

This couldn’t be happening. Arthur would have laughed at the absurdity of it, really. If he weren’t so choked up by the gnawing realization that you weren’t going to make it. Micah had insisted on pulling another O’Driscoll bust. Stealing the mother-load from a bank transport wagon the rival gang had their eye on. “C’mon Arthur. After what they did to you and Kieran? They deserve it.” He coerced you both into it. “And Y/N is a quick shot. In and out, easy job.”

You were excited to fuck over the Irish gang. When Arthur returned half dead on his horse you were in shambles. Heartbroken over seeing your lover at death’s door. “Let’s do this!” You exclaimed. “Let’s make their pockets hurt.” Just as Micah had pointed out, you were quite experienced. You had been running with the gang for a long while and your talents were admirable. Hell, you even saved Arthur from getting shot a few times.

“Okay.” He agreed reluctantly. “Let’s go.” He didn’t trust Micah but if you were there… Well… The job would probably be fine.

Arthur should have known by now it was another setup. After the O’Driscoll boys strung him up in that cellar he should have known… After Sean’s head was blown off during the blood feud he should have known. When he saw you fall from your horse everything clicked for him. The world slowed as he watched the horses of the men behind you trample your limp body mercilessly into the dust. The O'Driscolls outnumbered the three of you greatly and it was clear they were out for blood. Arthur shot every single one of them with little hesitation, leaving behind no survivors.

Micah rejoiced while the dirt cleared from the air. “Whoo-hoo!” He laughed, sliding from his saddle to loot the O’Driscoll corpses. “They got some good money!” Micah gazed up, tilting the brim of his hat while scanning the area for you. “Shit-” He breathed. Your horse was dead and you… Well, he could tell by the way Arthur dropped everything to rush to your side that something not so good probably happened.

Arthur noticed you hadn’t moved in awhile. By the time he collapsed by your side and held you in his arms he was able to take in how much you were in rough shape. Arthur swallowed hard, watching you gurgle on your blood and gasp, struggling to breathe. “Arthur-” He winced when the broken sound of your usually sweet voice reached his ears.

“Shhh, Y/N. Save your energy. It’s gonna be okay, we’re gettin’ you outta this.” Though they were meant to be soothing, his words were desperate. A silent prayer to whatever god above had long abandoned him and his friends, and now his lover who was suffering badly. Arthur knew you wouldn’t make it to camp. Shit, you probably wouldn’t even live long enough for him to get you both on his horse. All he could do was hold you in his arms. Memorizing the weight of your body against his. The warmth of your skin and how beautifully you always looked up at him even in your last few moments.

Despite the drying blood coating your bruising face you were still the most ethereal being Arthur had ever laid eyes upon. He could have laughed right then and there. He could have cried. He could have begged; ‘No! Not Y/N too. Please- take anyone but Y/N! Take me instead!’ but who would listen? The universe never answered his prayers or his pleas. Surely the universe would be quiet today too.

He didn’t want your last moments to be scary. Instead he pet your hair, kissing your lips while trying to make sure you were laying in a comfortable position. It wasn’t easy since your ribs were shattered but it was all he could think to do. “Guess what?”

“What?” Your voice was barely just above a whisper.

“I wanted to tell you earlier, but… We finally have enough money to get ourselves a nice cabin out West. Just you and me. Maybe we can get ourselves a dog. Doesn’t that sound nice?” It was a lie but it was also a beautiful dream.

“Mmmm.” Your breaths were shallow now. There was a smile growing on your busted lips. Arthur’s heart sunk as he watched your eyes flutter shut. You looked so exhausted. Ready for eternal rest. Never had he felt such heartache. “It does sound nice. I really….. really want a dog.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. I know.” His voice trembled, finally giving away his emotions. When your breathing slowly came to a stop he pressed your foreheads together letting out a soft anguished cry. ‘I love you.’ He wanted to say, but who would listen? You were gone. The whole world fell silent. The birds didn’t chirp, the coyotes didn’t bark, and Micah Bell somehow had enough wit to him to give you both privacy in your final moments.

Arthur held you until the sun had long set and your body was growing cold. He couldn’t let go – wouldn’t…. Until Hosea finally came and squeezed his shoulder. “Arthur, my boy… I’m so sorry. Micah told me everything. Charles and I are here to help. Let’s let Y/N rest.” Slowly, Arthur uncurled from you, reluctantly passing your body to Hosea. Even as you were taken away he stared blankly at the spot you had been before slowly staring up at the twinkling stars above. Finally, he laughed. A cold hard grief filled laugh that was as heavy as his heart and mind.

“This is it for us.” He murmured, taking out a cigarette. “None of us are long for this world now.” Lighting it between his lips he flicked the match away then took a long drag. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” The breeze pushed back his hair while he smoked. Just taking in the scene before him. This was a scene he’ll never bear to draw in his journal. A scene that he’ll carry, burned into his memory, to fuel him until he too takes his final breaths.

Arthur Morgan stood. Covered in the blood of the only person who had genuinely loved him for who he was. In the blood of the most beautiful human being he had ever had the privilege of sharing life with. He carried his trembling body to his horse. “Follow me. I know where she’d wanna be laid to rest.” __________

Charles

Charles took you hunting in the Grizzlies West, an activity you and him have done a dozen times together if not more. Pelts were needed to upgrade things around camp and to keep everyone warm, it was a simple task. You were an experienced hunter and he loved spending quiet lazy days with you out in the mountains. That was, until today.

You had tracked a moose to cliff overlooking a nearby river. “We’re close.” Charles admired the snowflakes shimmering in your hair as the sun moved through the trees. The day had been long and you two were wrapping up for the evening. Just one last catch…

Then, you were suddenly gone.

Charles blinked in confusion. It happened sp quickly his mind struggled to make sense of it even as the loud SLASH of your body hitting the frozen water reached his ears. “Y/N!?” Charles rushed to the ledge, watching you scramble to catch onto a rock since you were swept away by the deadly current.

He wasted no time in mounting his horse, riding fast and hard to catch up to you long enough to toss you his lasso. “Y/N!” He tried hard to call your name over the rushing sound of water. “Y/N grab the rope!”

You coughed and sputtered, flailing wildly. You couldn’t see anything in the water, the current dragging you under every few seconds. “Charles!” You sobbed out. Finally you felt something wrap around your wrist. Charles managed to throw his lasso just right for you to grab onto. The frigid water bit into your skin like a thousand stinging needles while you were being pulled to the bank.

“You poor thing.” Charles breathed, gathering you into his arms once you were close enough for him to grab. You were half frozen and turning blue with hypothermia. Teeth chattering and shaking so hard you couldn’t even speak. Your skin burned so badly your brain was begging you to rip it off. The cold was a shock to your system, all you could to was press helplessly against your lover’s warm chest. Never had you felt such pain.

Charles did the best he could. He knew he had to get you warm or else…. Luckily you were close enough to Colter, he was able to bring you there quickly. Returning to the spot was bitter sweet. He set you up in the warmest cabin, stripping your wet clothes off. Charles then covered you in his coat and the furs you two managed to collect earlier. Finding dry firewood was a struggle so he ended up burning little kindling with paper from a book and some fat from an animal you both killed.

“S-s-so c-cold.” You whispered. All of your energy had depleted trying to keep your body warm and now your eyes were growing heavy.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’ll be warmer soon.” The fire really wasn’t heating fast enough. Charles gathered you in his arms again in an attempt to share his warmth with you. He could tell you weren’t doing well. Even if he could bring you into the warmest place possible you probably weren’t going to make it, you had been in that water for far too long. He tried not to let that get to him. If he ignored that fact, maybe it would disappear from existance and you would be okay.

Charles brushed the hair from your face, kissing your forehead. Your head rest against his chest and he stared into the fire as he rocked you gently. He was silent for awhile, trying to conjure ways to save your life or to ease your suffering. Nothing came to mind and Charles was beginning to feel terrified. “Don’t go to sleep.” He whispered, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I’m trying not to.”

Oh, your voice was so strained and weak. Was this the last time he’ll ever hear you speak?

“I love you.”

Charles swallowed hard. He looked down at you again, searching your face with desperation. “I know. I love you too.”

“I know.” You teased him, snuggling up to your lover one final time. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Y/N…..” His brow furrowed. A part of him didn’t understand why you were saying these things while the other half was realizing the reality and severity of the situation. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He held you tighter as if that would somehow keep you bound to this world. “Always.” He whispered. “Now and in the future.” Please… please let there be a future…

You didn’t answer. Your eyes were shut peacefully and your breathing began to fade. Feeling helpless now that his best friend was slipping away in his arms, all Charles could do was silently cry. He kept rocking you, singing a lullaby his mother had sang for him as a child. He wanted you to go peacefully and well loved. It was the least he could do.

Only hours ago you both were on top of the world. Enjoying each others company. Giving thanks to the animals you hunted. Only this morning he woke up to you in his arms kissing all over his face while giggling. And now…. Now you were gone. In his arms, yes, but not really here at all. He’ll never see you again.

Charles sobbed, his whole body shaking as he clung to you. He wasn’t ready for you to leave. Not like this… He stayed with you until the sun rose and a new day broke. Placing one final kiss to your lips he carefully bundled you up in the pelts and brought you to his horse. It was too cold up in Colter to dig a grave and he wanted to place you somewhere beautiful. Somewhere meaningful. The ride down the mountain was slow and painful. Charles sang sorrowfully his lullaby the whole way.

After that day, Charles no longer found any peace in hunting. It only brought memories of you. ____________

Micah

Micah had a hard time loving people. Letting people in. He was shown from a young age that love was a weakness and he was a survivor. That was, until you came around and somehow tore down those walls. With you in his life he was calmer, milder, less likely to shoot up a town for looking at him wrong. If he had to do a job you were always right there by his side.

Micah didn’t consider this might be a setup. He thought it was just another day out and easy money. A house robbery where the occupants had recently come into some decent cash while gambling in Saint Denis. However, they were simple country folk and seemed innocent enough. The wife was supposedly away visiting her sister with their children and the husband was fast asleep. Easy. Sneak in, grab the money, sneak out. Maybe steal their carriage. Something you could probably handle on your own but Micah thought the two of you riding off into the moonlight with pockets overstuffed with ritches was rather romantic.

It was an ambush.

You found the cash effortlessly just as assumed. There was a book here you picked up and glance at, or a bottle of alcohol there you stowed away in case it was useful. You always had a good eye for these things and since you’ve robbed plenty of homesteads you weren’t too concerned with things going south. Instead you took your sweet time as quiet as a mouse.

Micah was right behind you. He even teasingly spanked your ass at one point, causing you to glare playfully at him. “Really?” You mouthed. He shrugged. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.” His hand was on your hip as you opened the front door. Micah could feel you freeze.

“Shit-” Was all you could manage before stumbling backwards, clutching your throat in a feeble attempt to stop from bleeding out. Bounty hunters! They had surrounded the house as soon as you two entered, waiting for an opening. One hiding behind the door had shot you point blank in the jugular.

“Mother fucker!” Micah’s voice cracked with rage. His eyes were wild with insanity as he shot the man to death. Micah kicked the door shut in an attempt to buy you both a bit of coverage, dragging you to lay in the safety of his lap. “Come on out Micah Bell. We know you’re in there!” The team of bounty hunters circled the house, shooting at its walls, shattering the windows.

Micah ignored them the best he could. They could wait. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your writhing choking form. You couldn’t breathe. Your hands reached out for him, clawing at his arms desperately as if Micah could give you your breath back. Crimson stained the both of you and your clothes.

“Shit baby-doll.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make ‘em pay. I’m so sorry, I shoulda known.” He brushed the hair from your face, wiping the blood from the corner of your mouth with his shirt sleeve while his free hand put pressure on your spewing neck. There was so much blood and he could tell by the way your wide eyes glistened you were in pain. “I know, I know.” He hugged you while listening to your gurgled plea. “I know it hurts. It’ll go away soon.”

His hand wet with your life force slid down your body to rest over your still beating heart. He felt it thrum a moment longer before pressing his gun to the area. “I love you baby-doll.”

BANG!

Your body falling limp brought relief to Micah’s own lungs and he let out a shaky breath. He couldn’t stand the thought of you dying while wretching like a wounded animal. A mercy killing was most fitting of his sweetheart, he thought darkly with a heavy heart. Micah stayed with you a moment longer, whispering soft nothings until the bounty hunters caught his attention again. All of that rage filled him once more and he wasted no time in kicking open the front door and gunning them down in cold blood.

Silence filled the midnight air accompanied by crickets. The scent of gunpowder and iron was so thick he could taste it. It was peaceful. Life and death mingled in silent spaces held in the shadows. It was as expected, Micah thought.

Shrugging off his jacket he slid it on your form before scooping your lifeless body up in his arms. He set you on the back of Baylock before dragging the other corpses into the house and lighting it on fire. Micah watched it burn, smoking a cigarette. The dancing images cast over the land in a faint glow amused him. Were you there? Rejoicing in the death of the men who killed you? He wanted to think so. To think that you would dance in every fire he lit from here on out.

Once dawn broke Micah finally mounted his horse to find a place to bury you. He actually considered this a lot. He wanted to lay you to rest in a place easily accessible so he could visit you often. He stayed silent the whole ride, replaying memories of you in his mind. You were his one and only and Micah knew he would never find love again. _____________

Dutch

Dutch had many lovers but none were quite like you. You were ethereal. Special. All he ever wanted to do was make his plans then return to his tent to hold you in his arms as you both spoke about the future and fell asleep for the night. He looked forward to his time with you. Unlike his other lovers you enjoyed going out and working for money. Charming a fella for his days wage, or stealing from a rich man’s wife during teatime. It was a quality about you he found… Well… Sexy.

When Dutch met with Colm O’Driscoll he thought it went rather well. Arthur never met them on the road home but he didn’t think too much of it. Riding back to camp he was in high spirits. Speaking loudly to Micah about how they were finally moving forward in life. “Where’s Y/N? I have wonderful news!” He announced after hitching his horse. Charles and Ms. Grimshaw exchanged looks.

“She hasn’t returned yet Dutch, I thought you went to meet her in Rhodes.” Grimshaw flattened her skirt.

Dutch scoffed. “Now why would I go and do that?”

“She said she’d be back in the evening.”

“It’s evening now, Ms. Grimshaw.”

“I know. We were waiting for her.”

With a sigh, Dutch simply stalked back to The Count, climbing onto his saddle. “I’ll go fetch her then.” It was such a chore! He shouldn’t be out when he has such a price on his head. But Dutch was quite giddy after Colm complimented him and he wanted you to be the first to hear about how the meeting went.

He rode into town, walking through on his horse as his eyes scanned the buildings for any sign of you. Maybe you were mingling? Before he could consider any other possibilities something caught his ear. His heart sank while he overheard words he never dared imagine the combination of.

“O’Driscolls? Down this far South? Unheard of. I guess they were searching for a gal. Grabbed her and took off with the Lemoyne Raiders hot on their tail. Nasty business.”

Nasty business indeed. Now, he could be slow but Dutch van der Linde was no fool. Why else would the O’Driscolls be down this way, during the day of their meeting no less, to kidnap a random girl? Oh, he knew. This was their idea all along. To kill his other sweetheart.

Dutch’s knuckles turned white with rage, snapping the reigns violently. The Count whirled around, running out of Rhodes until he carried Dutch back to camp. “Micah, Bill, with me. Now!” He barked through gritted teeth, pacing straight to his tent to grab his revolver. “Y/N has been taken. By Colm O’Driscoll.”

“Shit! That bastard. You shoulda’ killed ‘em!” Bill ran, grabbing his rifle while Micah walked leisurely to mount Baylock, completely unbothered.

“I should have, Bill. I should have. Now com’mon!”

They rode fast and hard. Somehow catching up to the O’Driscoll’s little posse before they could reach some encampment with you stowed on a horse. Micah flanked the enemy gang on one side while Bill came in from the other. Dutch held the back, eyeing you tied up and gagged. The sight made his blood boil. There was eight O’Driscolls in total and their horses were fast, but Dutch, Bill, and Micah managed to keep up. Riding and shooting at each other as they went.

The Irishmen fell from their horses like flies. Some with their face half blown off, others screaming as their horses dragged them to death. One by one they were picked off until there were only two left. Dutch dug his spurs into his horse, moving him to ride along the man who held you captive on horseback. “Give it up son. Give me the lady and we’ll spare your life.” He didn’t want to shoot the man just yet in case you got hurt.

When a gun was pulled out of his pocket, Dutch veered to the side, assuming the fucker was going to shoot at him. His eyes widened when he realized the O’Driscoll boy wasn’t aiming for him at all. A severe miscalculation on Dutch’s part. “Colm says hello.”

BANG!

“God damn you!” He snarled. Dutch finally raised his pistol.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He emptied a barrage of shots into the man until the gun clicked and no more bullets came out. Dutch chased after the boy’s horse, corralling the spooked animal into stopping. Time seemed slow. Too slow. Dutch tried his best to calm the horse enough for him to safely take you off its back and into the comfort of his arms. “Oh, my darling.” Dutch fell to his knees, untying you so he could inspect the growing blood stain near your abdomen.

“Dutch! You came for me. You came-” You sobbed, gripping your side in pain.

“Shhh. Of course I did.” He placed a kiss to your trembling lips. The wound was bad. This situation was bad. Everything was fucked. He had seen men shot in this area more times than he could count and he knew they never survived for more than a day at most.

“Com’ere.” He picked you up, carrying you to his horse. After sitting you down he climbed into the saddle. “Tell the others…” His mouth opened and closed for a moment. What does he even say? He didn’t want to scare you but… He didn’t want that filthy camp to be the last thing you see. He knew how much you hated it...

“Alright.” Bill said, seeming to understand what was happening. He took his hat off, staring at you for a moment before bowing politely. “I’m happy you’re safe, Ms. L/N.”

You smiled gently. “Thank you Bill.” Your throat was dry and your words were weak.

Dutch held you close to him as you rode off.

“Where are we going?” You wondered.

“Somewhere nice, my dear. With a wound like that you need rest and fresh air. Simple as that.” Somehow Dutch managed to keep his voice calm even as his heart churned with sorrow.

He brought the both of you to stop overlooking a beautiful meadow with a perfect view of the lake. After placing a sweet kiss to the top of your head Dutch scooped you into his arms, carrying you to a nice tree where he then settled you in his lap. “Here, take this.” He pressed a bottle of alcohol into your hands. “It’ll help take the pain away and you’ll be able to sleep.”

Dutch pet your hair as he watched you. Studying your face. Every bump, wrinkle, scar, and blemish. He wanted to remember every single aspect of you. His last lover… Whenever he tried to recall her face the picture was fuzzy. He couldn’t stand the idea of not being able to remember you. “I love you so much, you know that? You were so brave today. I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Real proud.”

“I wasn’t really…” You gave a little laugh, wincing as the alcohol burned your throat. “I love you too. Thank you for saving me.” You felt stiff and exhausted. Snuggling against his chest you both watched the sunrise and Dutch began reciting lines from your favorite book he had memorized. It was lovely, you thought as your eyes became too heavy and sleep was hard to battle. You hummed happily, a smile on your face as you drifted off peacefully.

Long after he felt your breathing stop did Dutch keep telling your favorite story. As if your spirit were lingering around and would return to your body. Then, maybe, everything would be okay. When he reached the final line of his remembrance only then did he cry. Burying his face into your hair he sobbed and took in your scent one final time.

The last thread of his sanity broke that day. He no longer cared about what future the gang might have. What future he would have with the price on his head… The only future he ever cared about was with you and you were gone now. He held you until Hosea came looking for him. Together they buried you somewhere meaningful. This was the only time Dutch actually payed for a headstone to be made. In your honor. __________________

Hosea

You and Hosea were always together no matter what you were doing. Half of the time you didn’t even need to speak with each other and just silently enjoyed each others company. Naturally you joined him on many outings to scope out who to rob. This particular occasion was a party on the outskirts of Saint Denis located in a beautiful garden home. You were dressed brilliantly, posing as Hosea’s lawful wife.

You’re charming. More charming than anyone else in the gang. With your sweet angel face and your gentle voice, everyone who spoke to you immediately thought of you as a good friend. And so there you were, mingling with the other guests. Giggling with the ladies and awe-ing (falsely so) with the rich gentlemen. Everyone loved you! So many people were trying to speak with you and flag down your attention.

It wasn’t usual to have such an elegant, smart, sweet, kind, and funny lady in their midst. You were a bit of a commodity. Hosea could hardly make his way to your side there were so many people surrounding you. He watched fondly from afar. Many times men would approach him to compliment you. “You’re one lucky man, Mr. Matthews. Mrs. Matthews is such a charmer.”

“Oh, I know it!” He laughed.” Trust me, fellas, it’s hard to keep my wife for myself some days.”

They all laughed. One man handing him a cigar which he happily accepted. The evening was bright and joyful. Though he nor you enjoyed events like this somehow you both were having fun this time. Hosea followed a group of men into a private back study to discuss investments while he left you at the main party.

This particular crowd was juicy, you thought. You heard so much gossip and many of the attendees were telling on themselves; bragging to you about what they’ve recently purchased for themselves or who’s neighbor was hoarding cash in personal safes. You were careful to make a mental note of each and every person as you nursed a glass of champagne.

“Did you hear?” A woman leaned close to you and a few of her friends.

“Hear what?” You inquired.

“Apparently Mrs. Conway has asked the local apothecary for… a permanent sleep cure.”

You tilt your head as the other ladies gasped and giggled. “Mrs. Conway… Our host for the evening?” Were they really gossiping about this woman in her own home?

“Yes. Oh, she must be dreadfully bored of Mr. Conway. I wonder if he’ll join us this evening.”

All you could do was smile and nod to blend in. It wasn’t the first time you had heard of a woman wanting to poison her rich husband. To each their own, you didn’t really care. You flinched as a loud clattering noise reached your ears. Looking behind you your eyes settled towards the source of the sound. The kitchens.

“I heard they hired new help and the kitchens are a mess tonight.” Another older woman snickered. “The Conways are lucky mingling has been this evening’s high point. Otherwise a ruined meal would sully the party.”

“Absolutely.” You agreed, setting your glass aside. “Will you please excuse me? I wish to powder my nose before dinner.” With a hum you moved away from the group to find Hosea. It wasn’t hard for you to follow his voice down the hallway. You smiled to yourself, simply listening to him work his magic. He truly was such a likable man.

Once dinner arrived Hosea had met up with you and brought you to the dining room where he pulled out your chair. Even if you two weren’t in such a luxurious setting he would have still done this. Always such a gentlemen to the love of his life. “How goes it?”

“Quite well. The ladies here are wonderfully friendly. I’ve learned a lot from them.”

Hosea admired how stunning you looked in the chandelier lighting, ignoring the help as plates of food were set in front of each guest. “I’m happy to hear that, honey.” He gave you an easy but loving smile. A smile you were quite familiar with.

There was a short speech given by Mrs. Conway, who’s party this was, where she thanked everyone and made a few jokes that earned a chuckle here and there. Finally you were able to eat. It was spaghetti which was, apparently, an Italian dish. Jack had told you and Hosea all about it when he returned to Shady Belle.

There was still chatter in the air as you took your first bite. It was delicious! It made your throat tingle a little but you thought nothing of it. Perhaps it was just the spices used. After your third bite your throat suddenly completely restricted. Your fork clattered against the table, hands flying to your throat. You couldn’t swallow. You couldn’t breathe.

“Y/N?” Hosea’s startled gaze snapped to you immediately. The room went silent as looks of horror washed over the faces of guests. “Y/N!?” Hosea gasped when your body began convulsing. He quickly took you into his arms, helping you to the floor so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. “Someone call the doctor! Quick!” He screamed. His eyes met with Mrs. Conway’s only for a split moment. She was frozen into place, guilt written all over her face. “Hurry!” Hosea pleaded.

You cried out the best you could. Holding onto Hosea who tried his best to calm you. “I’m here my love. I’m here. Hang on. Please Y/N.” He felt so helpless. All he could do was wipe the spit from the corner of your mouth and the tears from your cheeks while whispering soft soothing words. He held eye contact with you, shushing you, promising you help was on the way. “Stay with me, love. Stay with me.” His words were desperate. Eyes filled with tears.

Your face was turning blue. Your body trembling, writhing and heaving. It was a disturbing sight for Hosea, who had always assumed he would meet his end far before you ever met yours. The poison was swift. As soon as it started it ended and you finally fell limply against his chest. Hosea paused, studying your face. He couldn’t understand at first why you were quiet. “Y/N?” He gently shook you.

“No…. No! Y/N!” He cried out for you. Hosea pulled you tightly against him, wrapping his arms to cradle your head away from prying eyes as he sobbed openly. The whole thing was a whirlwind. What was supposed to be a tantalizing evening ended in tragedy. A selfish woman meaning to poison her husband. The messy kitchen staff mixing up the guests’ plates. You choking to death on an elixir from hell. Hosea Matthews experiencing his lover being ripped away from him violently a second time.

To onlookers he was nothing but a broken man refusing to let go of his murdered wife even as the police came and tried to break them apart. He wanted so desperately to fight them away, but he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Matthews. I never meant for-” Ms. Conway whimpered pathetically while her hands were being bound by an officer for her arrest.

“You never meant for what?” He snapped. “An innocent person to die? You didn’t mean to get caught? You didn’t mean for your greed to bring you to such lows?” His eyes were cold and Ms. Conway hung her head in shame. “Go to hell, Ms. Conway. Where you belong.”

Once it was allowed, Hosea left the party. He went straight to the Saint Denis morgue to see you one last time before making funeral arrangements. It felt fake. As if the events of the night were a figment of his imagination. The gravity of reality didn’t sink in until he returned to Shady Belle alone. Every ne was asking where you were. All he could do was drag his old bones to his room, collapse onto his cot, and cry.

#RDR2 Reader Insert #RDR2 Imagines #Arthur Morgan #Charles Smith #Micah Bell #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #Arthur Morgan x Reader #Charles Smith x reader #Micah Bell x Reader #Dutch van der linde x reader #Hosea Matthews x reader #reader dies #rdr2

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ephemeral-fae · 10 months

Text

Thinking about how Catherine and Grigor turn to each other in the wake of Peter’s death. How they were the only ones who witnessed it (Hugo and Velementov notwithstanding). How Grigor is the first person Catherine has to convince that he’s not dead. And how once it is revealed that he is dead, by both of them breaking simultaneously, they two are the only ones truly ravaged by the grief it brings.

Thinking about Catherine asking Grigor to tell her stories about Peter. Thinking about Grigor’s loyalty being won in the first episode by the simple fact that Catherine makes Peter happy. Thinking about the fact that Grigor won’t kill her because Peter loved her.

The two of them were wholeheartedly in love with the same man. A man who was baffling, who was obviously without remorse or second thought for much of his life. A man who hurt them both, intentionally and unintentionally, over and over and over again. A man who they both had tried to kill, and who had tried to kill them in return. No one else was as completely devoted to him. Not Elizabeth, not Georgina. Everyone else in his life saw him as a pawn, as something to manipulate to get what they want, noted when Georgina states “Nothing I used to own is mine anymore.” and when Elizabeth gets mad at him for not secretly ordaining Paul. Catherine and Grigor though. They get mad at him, yes. They are hurt by him time and time again. But they don’t use him. They love him. Completely and purely. Naively. It is why Grigor is the only person Catherine trusts with Paul. It is why she kisses him when they get back to the palace. The only people who can understand the depths of their grief are them. Their love for him blinded them. Their love for him stunted them. No one else will ever understand the depths of their love for such a madman, and no one else will ever comprehend the depths of insanity they were both slowly driven to by their love for him. In both their love for, and grief of Peter, they are completely united.

“I could’ve said anything else. Any other words. Salt bath, otter spit, Irish stew, hurt me, love me, kiss me, forget all, touch me, hit me, shoot me. Love you with every sinew and one day it will hurt all over to never touch you again. To never feel our eyes meet and inflame me. To never hear an inane thought that somehow made my blood sing. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” - Catherine the Great

“Fuck you for your lack of love. He was a man who felt everything. Not with the hurdles and cul-de-sacs and fences we stop ourselves with. If he was fury, he was nothing but fury, nothing but joy, nothing but killing. He knew life whole, not by measly portion. He loved me that way. He was the rarest of men. He was all fucking in on life! You will never see his like again! For my life ended too, in that freezing water. I loved him. More than I have ever loved anything or ever will.” - Grigor Dymov

#the great #the great hulu #catherine the great #peter the third #grigor dymov #georgina dymov #aunt elizabeth #catherine x peter #grigor x peter

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 10 months

Note

You can make one of Sihtric in the appearance of s5 pls (he is a God omg) reader is young and a little naive and works in a tavern, Sihtric ends up getting to know her while passing through somewhere and instantly falls in love and goes crazy. But because he’s more mature old, he get a little shy and jealous as other men look at the reader. With a happy ending and with Sihtric taking her to cockham with him and making her his wife! Thank you.

Warnings: slight angst (mention of death) but mainly fluff :)

Pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

Summary: see request!

Word count: 3,7k

Note: thank you for this request! For some reason I really struggled with this one, and I don't know why. I really loved the idea but this is all I could get down, I fear it's not what you expected but alas. I've been going back and forth about this for a few days, and I might revisit this idea again in the future! But for now, I hope you will enjoy it :)

taglist: @clairacassidy@finanmoghra@uunotheangel@hb8301@bathedinheat@neonhairspray@anaeve@bubblyabs@travelingmypassion@sylas-the-grim@heimtathurs@bubbles-for-all-of-us@andakth

'I wish for you to walk me to my room.'

'Will you be a darling and serve those men for me?' Elswin asked you. Elswin was, like you, a barmaid in the local tavern.

She gave the men a sour look from across the room.

'Why?' you glanced over your shoulder towards the table, 'what's wrong with them?'

'Not them,' Elswin sighed, 'he,' she cocked her head to one of them. A dark haired man with a thick, well kept beard who was oblivious to her sneer. 'That's Finan,' she said bitterly, 'he humped me once and ran off before dawn. Never heard from him again. And when he just looked at me, he acted like he didn't even know me.'

'Oh,' you grimaced, 'I'm sorry. He sounds like an arse.'

'An Irish arse.'

'I'll take this one for you,' you said and grabbed four jugs of ale, 'but then you have to take over when Billiam comes in again.'

'God,' Elswin sighed, 'but he smells like a pig's fart.'

'Exactly,' you smiled and walked towards the table Elswin did not want to go near.

As you approached you saw Finan, the Irish arse, seated next to a young monk, both were facing you and Finan's face lit up when he saw the ale coming his way. Your eyes scanned the backs of the two other men who sat across from them. They both had broad shoulders and muscular arms. The man on the right had long hair, half tied in a bun with shaved sides, whereas the man on the left had dark hair, which was half braided, and his unbraided curls hid the back of his neck. You smiled at the monk as you stopped next to the dark haired man with the braids, setting the jugs of ale on their table.

'Good day,' you smiled politely and handed the blushing monk his ale.

'Already blushing, Osferth?' Finan joked, making the young monk's face colour more while you heard the other men sigh.

'He's still a virgin,' the Irish man winked at you, as if that was the reason for Osferth's flustered face. You decided to ignore the loudmouth.

'Good day, lady,' the long haired man said friendly, 'will you let the owner know what Uhtred is here?'

'Uhtred?' you smiled, 'Lord Uhtred?'

'The one and only,' the monk smiled with rosy cheeks, sipping his ale.

'Pleasure to meet you. And I will send the message, lord,' you bowed your head slightly and handed Uhtred his ale, who thanked you with a smile.

'Close ya mouth, Sihtric, before ya start drooling,' the Irish arse grinned, nudging Osferth, making him look up at the man who hadn't said a word yet.

You frowned and turned your head to the man they all looked at. And then your eyes met with the silent warrior, called Sihtric, who was seated next to Uhtred. Sihtric was handsome and appeared to be a Dane, a little older than you but younger than Uhtred, yet the Dane was not less impressive nor less scarred than his lord. His lips were slightly parted as he looked up at you with big eyes, two different coloured eyes nonetheless, and it seemed as if he wanted to speak but couldn't find the right words. You felt your cheeks colour, just like poor Osferth had felt just yet, and you quickly looked down at the two jugs of ale which, both equally filled to the brim, you hadn't served yet.

'Nice to meet you,' you said softly and smiled at Sihtric, handing him a jug and hoping he wouldn't see your blushing face. His rough, tattooed fingers briefly brushed against your own soft, trembling fingers as he took the ale from you. He kept quiet but smiled at you, seemingly a little flustered as well as your eyes stayed locked for a moment.

'Not a chance,' Finan snorted, understanding the look on Sihtric's face as he stared at you, causing Sihtric to look down at his ale, brooding when his smile had faded.

You snapped your head up at Finan, grabbing the last jug of ale and you smashed it down onto the table in front of him, causing half of the ale to spill over the cup with a splash.

'Oi!' Finan shouted.

'Elswin sends her love,' you spat and turned on your heels, back to the bar.

You glanced over your shoulder as you walked away, seeing Finan using Osferth's sleeve in an attempt to soak up the spilled ale, but Osferth fought back and pulled his arm away. You smiled at the monk's reaction and then your eyes trailed back to Sihtric, who subtly turned his head and met your eyes with a shy smile.

*****************

The next afternoon you were pleasantly surprised to see Sihtric in the alehouse when you had just opened up. Your shift ended last night before the men had left, so through Elswin you found out that the four of them had booked a few rooms upstairs. But usually those who slept at the tavern weren't up before early evening.

'Looks like you have an admirer,' Elswin nudged you as she walked past you with empty jugs.

'What?'

'The Dane,' she winked, pouring ale in the empty jugs, 'I've never seen him here without Finan,' she stopped to whisper in your ear before she walked over to the men she was serving, 'and he can't keep his eyes off you, so you better serve him.'

********************

'Hi,' you smiled, a little nervous when you greeted Sihtric.

'Hi,' Sihtric returned the shy smile as he stared into your eyes.

'Eh,' you blushed after a silence, 'can- can I get you something?'

'Oh,' Sihtric chuckled, equally as flustered, 'breakfast.'

'Breakfast? Will that be all?'

'Yes.'

'Okay,' you smiled shyly again and walked off.

'What did he say?' Elswin grinned when you returned to the bar.

'He wants breakfast.'

'That's it? Oh,' she grimaced, 'and what did he order?'

'Breakfast,' you buried your face in your hands, 'Elswin, he ordered breakfast, but he didn't say what exactly he wanted.'

'And you didn't ask?'

You gave Elswin a painful smile. 'I can't go back, please, will you take over? Just tell him I don't feel well.'

'Fine,' Elswin rolled her eyes with a smile.

You took off your apron as you ran to hide in the back. You were so embarrassed that you didn't even register Sihtric's nerves, who also hadn't even realised he never elaborated when you asked for his order.

******************

Two weeks later

*******************

'Your Dane is back again,' Elswin smiled as she saw Sihtric sit at a table. The men had abruptly left the day after your disastrous encounter with Sihtric and his breakfast. You and Elswin didn't know where they went or if they would return, which had left you a little heartbroken over the Danish man.

'So is that Irish arse of yours,' you taunted, nodding over at Finan, who had his arm around Sihtric's neck and seemed to be slurring some story which Sihtric couldn't follow.

'Where's that monk?' you asked Elswin, to which she shrugged.

And then Sihtric's eyes met yours. You saw his posture change and his eyes lit up. He sat up straighter and held his chin up a little as he gave you a weak smile. You smiled back when suddenly a huge Saxon man stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the handsome Dane. You gave him a nasty look but then remembered you're at work, and the man just wanted to order a drink.

It was a very busy night, but after a few hours you finally managed to serve Sihtric, as Finan wanted another jug of ale and Elswin refused to bring it over, but you gladly did. Elswin had talked some courage into you as well before you placed the jugs in front of the men. Finan cheered, barely able to keep his eyes open and you frowned at the sight of him.

'I am not responsible for the state of your friend,' you said to Sihtric, shoving Finan another ale.

'I will bring him upstairs, lady,' Sihtric smiled, letting you know they stayed in the town again for at least a few days.

'Good,' you gave him a firm nod, 'because I am also not responsible for bringing drunk men up to their room.'

'And when they're not drunk?' Sihtric was sharp to reply.

'Well… then they are fit to walk on their own, are they not?' you shrugged, oblivious to Sihtric's flirting. You smiled and walked away, leaving Sihtric a little confused. He chuckled and shook his head.

His eyes followed you around for the rest of the night, and you'd often catch his stare. He left shortly before closing time, as he had to drag Finan upstairs, who couldn't stand on his legs anymore. After he had dragged Finan to his bed, he came back down to the bar to finish his own drink. He was not pleased to see that in the time he had been upstairs, a different man had started to show his interest in you. Sihtric sat back at his table and watched how the man placed his hand on your knee as you sat on a stool, waiting for the last drunks to leave, which included that very man.

You didn't know Sihtric had returned, as your back was turned towards the stairs that led up to the rooms. And the man who had just placed his hand on your knee blocked Sihtric's table from your view. You brushed the man's hand off your knee and made a face to Elswin, who grinned, glad she was not the one who was being eyed up this time. When the man placed his hand on your knee a third time, after you had slapped him the second time, Sihtric got up and walked over to the bar, where he slammed his jug down and sat down at the empty stool next to you.

You pushed the man's hand away again and your heart skipped a beat when you turned to see who sat down on your right.

'Sihtric,' you smiled, 'I didn't know you were still here.'

'I only just returned, lady,' he said calmly, 'I had to bring a drunk upstairs.'

You both smiled at his words when you felt a hand suddenly run up your thigh, and it wasn't Sihtric's. He saw it before you could even react and he jumped up, tipping over his stool, and with a swift move Sihtric pulled the drunk on your other side up by the neck of his tunic, and dragged him away from you.

At the entrance, Sihtric gave the man a harsh shove out and cursed something in Danish.

You looked at Elswin, who was smiling when she saw your confused face. You were so clueless to Sihtric's love language. Or any love language for that matter.

'Thank you,' you said a little startled when Sihtric was close enough to hear you.

'Lady,' he grunted quietly. He grabbed the jug and downed the last of his ale quickly before he slammed the cup back on the bar. Then he turned to face you.

'I wish for you to walk me to my room,' Sihtric blurted out.

'Wh- what?' you stammered, 'I- I'm not a whore, I don't bed the men who stay here,' you said quietly and were quick to turn around, storming to the back again to hide your red cheeks.

You were embarrassed and offended. The handsome Dane thought he could just order you to hump him because he rid you of an unwanted drunk? You weren't that easy.

*****************

'What happened yesterday?' Elswin asked when you walked into the alehouse to start your shift.

'What do you mean?'

'Sihtric?'

'What about him?' you murmured, still offended.

'He clearly likes you,' Elswin said, 'why did you not go up with him?'

'I'm not a whore to be humped!'

'What?' Elswin shook her head, 'wait, you think he just wanted to hump you?'

'Why else would he ask me to his room, Elswin? I am naive, but not that naive!'

'You clearly are,' she sighed, 'he knew we were closing up the bar last night, so he knew he had to leave and go upstairs. He just wanted some privacy with you, which is impossible down here and he surely wasn't going to pressure you into asking him to come back to your home. You are such a fool!'

'But-'

'No, listen,' Elswin sighed, 'he likes you and not only to just hump. If he wanted that, he would have gone to the whorehouse. He knows how it works.'

'Did Finan ask you to walk him up to his room that one time?'

'No, Finan just said he wanted to hump me.'

'Oh.'

'And, look,' Elswin said quietly, 'word has spread that the young monk,' she swallowed hard, 'he… he died shortly after they had left here.'

Elswin let out a sad sigh and she went to open up the doors. Life goes on and your shift has begun.

****************

It was a slow evening, nice for a change, and Sihtric had been in the alehouse for about an hour, accompanied by his two friends, and you noticed he hadn't glanced at you once. You were upset and embarrassed. The whole evening you kept looking at him, but he paid you no attention. Except once. Your eyes met and he had clenched his jaw, looking at you with hurt in his eyes for a second before he directed his focus back on his jug of ale.

You had been gathering your courage all night, until finally Uhtred left for his room, and shortly after he had left, Finan had found a whore. He slapped Sihtric on his back with a drunken grin and left for his room too, leaving Sihtric alone for a moment as he finished his ale. You quickly filled a new cup with fresh, cold ale and made your way over to the lonesome Dane.

'On the house,' you said as you placed the cup next to his empty jug.

You quickly turned and attempted to walk away when you felt his warm, rough hand gently capturing your wrist, making you stop and turn back to face him.

'Stay?' Sihtric asked quietly, his big, mismatched eyes looking almost pleading.

'Oh,' you mumbled, fidgeting with your apron as you looked down at your feet.

'Are you closing soon?'

'N-no, in an hour or so,' you said.

Sihtric looked pained and bit down on his lip before he spoke again.

'My friends just left,' he spoke softly and gently took your hand in his, 'but I can't sleep. I- I'd just like some company, lady, I-,' he paused for a moment, considering his words, 'I wish to not be alone with my thoughts.'

You slowly squeezed his hand and smiled softly. 'I- I can't stay right now, I am still working. But, if you like,' you paused, feeling your cheeks heat up, 'I- I can walk you to your room in an hour?'

'I'd like that,' Sihtric said, barely louder than a whisper and stroked his thumb softly over your hand, 'I'll wait here.'

You smiled shyly, 'if- if you need anything then let me know.'

You went back to work for the remainder of the hour and, as if he had never left, Sihtric's eyes kept following you around again. Watching how men, much older than you, tried to grab your arm, or pull you in for a hug. It angered him, and he wanted nothing more than to stab each and every man there who even dared to look at you. But he knew he shouldn't do that. So he just watched, waiting for a man who wouldn't understand your hint when you pulled away, trying it again. But luckily the men behaved rather decently tonight.

You walked towards Sihtric as you served another table and you gave him a smile. When you had passed him, you glanced over your shoulder and found his eyes had stuck on your ass, you chuckled when Sihtric suddenly noticed your eyes on him and he looked away quickly, pretending he had never checked you out.

'Enjoyed the view?' you asked as you walked back to the bar, to which he smiled and quickly sipped his ale.

Sihtric kept his eyes on you when another man tried his luck. The stranger pulled you in his lap to which you got up and slapped his face. Sihtric was ready to jump up, hand on the hilt of his knife, as he watched the man stand up and tower over you. But you were quick to tell the man off and pointed him to the door, to which he left. Sihtric smiled satisfied, he loves to protect a lady, but he also loves it when she can handle her own at times.

Sihtric had watched you with a smile when you walked past him again to collect a few cups from the now empty table you had served. And when you walked back, Sihtric took your hand and pulled you into his lap, half expecting a slap in the face, but it didn't happen. Instead he heard you giggle as you set the empty cups down.

'You didn't see what happened to the last man who pulled me in his lap?' you smiled.

'I did,' Sihtric chuckled lightly, biting down on his lip.

You smiled shyly as you felt his hands sneak around your waist.

'If you were mine, I would never want you to work in a place like this,' he said.

'If I was yours?' you frowned, 'and why is that?'

'You are too beautiful,' Sihtric smiled, before he realised he had said that out loud.

'Oh,' you blushed, 't-thank you. You, I mean, I- I think you are very handsome yourself.'

'Hey!' Elswin suddenly called over to you with a grin, 'your shift is over!'

It wasn't actually, you still had 20 minutes to go, but the place was getting quiet and your friend couldn't stand seeing you waste another second, so she let you go early.

'So,' Sihtric cleared his throat, 'will you bring me to my room?'

'I will,' you smiled softly.

You got up and took his hand, guiding him up the stairs where, once out of sight for everyone else, he stopped walking and gently pulled you back towards him. His hands settled on your waist as he leaned in close, the tips of your noses touching lightly.

'We weren't supposed to come back here,' Sihtric whispered, 'but ever since we left, you've been on my mind. I had to come back and see you again. And,' he paused, closing his eyes, 'I- I lost my friend,' he swallowed hard, 'and shortly before he- he,' Sihtric choked on his words.

'Take your time,' you whispered, moving your hands up to his cheeks and you nuzzled his nose lightly. Sihtric sighed, keeping his eyes closed and focusing on your touch.

'Osferth,' he continued, 'he told me I should go back and marry you.'

'Marry me?' you chuckled.

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed. You closed your eyes to the sound and felt his lips brush lightly over yours, 'he was the only one who saw how you looked at me,' he smiled softly against your lips.

'How did I look at you?' you asked shyly, feeling his lips part as they touched yours.

'Just like how I look at you,' he said softly and moved one hand up to the back of your neck.

'And how do you look at me?' you giggled softly as you felt how Sihtric brought you even closer to him.

'As if you are a deity amongst unworthy mortals,' Sihtric whispered, and he closed the last space there was left between your lips.

Your heart stopped when he kissed you. His lips felt soft, warm, slightly chapped but still smooth enough to make the kiss tender, while a faint bitter taste of alcohol lingered. He made your lips part along with his, after which his tongue, cooler than his lips due to the cold ale he just had, slid in your mouth slowly, allowing you to savour the taste of strawberries and blueberries, letting you enjoy the flavour you had poured in his cup less than an hour ago. He kept his lips on yours as he slowly guided you to his room.

Luckily, you knew these doors all too well, as cleaning the rooms was sometimes part of your job, so you didn't have to take your eyes off him when you opened the door to his room. He kept you close as you stepped backwards through the door, and once in the room, he lifted you up by your knees and you wrapped your legs around him. He kicked the door shut behind him as he kept his beautiful eyes, now looking up at you, locked with yours. You cupped his cheek and brought your lips back to his, you couldn't get enough of his taste, and your other hand snuck up to the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his dark curls.

And just before dawn, Sihtric had tried to keep his promise, as he truly only wanted your company and not just to hump. But you couldn't hide your own feelings for him anymore, so it was you who eventually lured him under the furs with you. Which he didn't regret for a second.

And when morning arrived, you woke up in the warrior's arms. Feeling satisfied, safe and loved. You turned to face Sihtric and found him asleep, to which you smiled and softly traced the scars on his handsome face without waking him up. And when he eventually woke up, much later, he said it was the longest and best sleep he had since his last journey.

'You are a healer,' Sihtric smiled with sleepy eyes as he had turned on his side to face you.

'No, I am a barmaid,' you laughed and played with his curls.

'No,' Sihtric whispered with a chuckle, 'not anymore.'

'No?' you raised your eyebrow, 'what am I then?'

'You,' Sihtric whispered and kissed your lips softly, 'are to be my wife.'

'Oh, am I?' you giggled and kissed him back.

'Mhm,' he hummed, 'and I will take care of you. I will take you home with me.'

'Will you?' you chuckled.

'Mhm,' Sihtric hummed again as he laughed, 'I am taking you home with me, where I will marry you, and where no man, other than me, will ever touch you again.' Sihtric leaned in to capture your lips again, but you nudged your lips against his and backed away slightly.

'Is that a promise?'

'You have my word,' Sihtric smiled and was quick to kiss your lips once more, 'I swear it, my love.'

#this is not my best work I am really sorry #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric #the last kingdom #tlk

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molsno · 6 months

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I just found out about natalie mcnally, a northern irish woman who was murdered in december of 2022. her death has received more reporting than usual due to the fact that her murderer was her boyfriend, a youtuber with a moderately large following. what struck me about this tragedy is not that this is a lesson about the innate humanness of all of the youtubers we idolize, as the video essay I watched on the topic seemed to conclude, but rather that this is yet another demonstration of how common misogyny is.

she had only been dating her murderer for 4 months. in that short amount of time, she had become pregnant - 15 weeks at the time of her death. and this man, in just that short amount of time, felt so entitled to ownership over her that he demanded the password to her phone not long after they began dating, and murdered her because she had exchanged a few messages with her ex-boyfriend. this man felt so proud of his misogyny that he recorded a disgusting video of him playing grand theft auto and murdering women with a smirk on his face, then scheduled it to stream on youtube on the night he would murder her, naming it "the violent night" livestream with a "technical error" that he inserted of a film poster for "no time to die" which he scheduled to appear while he would be killing her. he spent so much time planning her murder down to the minute, and created a suspicious "livestream" to air a week in advance so that he would have an alibi during the time of the murder, but he couldn't resist dropping hints at his intentions. he even attended a rally in aid of natalie and violence against women to prey on people's sympathies.

natalie's murder was tragic, yes, and my heart goes out to her family, friends, and loved ones. but my heart also aches for all of the women who are in relationships with men like her murderer. even if they don't have murderous intentions, too many men feel comfortable - empowered, even - to exert total control over their girlfriends and wives, and our society does nothing about it until it's too late. we need to build a world where men don't have the power to abuse women, so that murders like this one can't happen. we owe it to natalie and all of the other victims of crimes like this.

#misogyny #my writing

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thecreaturecodex · 3 months

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Ipupiara

[Sponsored by @some-trash-pigeon. The merrow is the Irish version of the mermaid, and like many folkloric mermaids, typically the men appear grotesque and the women gorgeous. The name has been in D&D since the 1e AD&D Monster Manual, and a similar version appears in Pathfinder. The AD&D/PF merrow is an aquatic ogre, which didn't get a unique stat block until Pathfinder. D&D 5e decided to revamp the merrow, and I gotta say, it's near the top of the list for "biggest art glow-up". And, since the folkloric merrow is a merman rather than a big aquatic guy, it's more accurate to boot.

So why the name "ipupiara"? Well, for one thing, "merrow" is taken in Pathfinder. For another, the ipupiara is a Brazilian mer-thing that is actually oversized, and even has whiskers! That name was suggested to me by monster researcher (and my girlfriend) @abominationimperatrix.]

Ipupiara CR 5 CE Monstrous Humanoid This creature has a humanoid torso and the head and tail of a monstrous fish. It has barbels hanging from its underslung jaw, and fins grow along its head, shoulders and arms. It is sinuous from the waist down, and wears shell jewelry and other trophies and trinkets.

The ipupiara are mutant merfolk, the descendants of merfolk who ventured into the Abyss and adapted to its hostile waters. They can be found on any Abyssal layer with aqueous environments, and their scaly hides are capable of withstanding extremes of heat and cold. Although they have no ability to traverse the planes on their own, they are often found on the Material Plane, where they are a menace to sailors and fishermen. The first ipupiara were worshippers of Dagon, and the majority of them still serve the Shadow in the Sea.

Ipupiara are bullies above all else and tend to target the smallest, weakest victims when they have a chance. They carry barbed harpoons, which they use to latch onto prey, before squeezing them to death in their muscular coils. Ipupiara string up the mutilated corpses of their victims as territorial warnings, typically missing their eyes, noses, fingers and toes. Ipupiara can survive in any temperature of water, but prefer to lair in three-dimensional substrates such as kelp forests, shipwrecks and sea caves.

An ipupiara is about fifteen feet long, half of which is tail.

Ipupiara CR 5 XP 1,600 CE Large monstrous humanoid (aquatic, extraplanar) Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +7

Defense AC 18, touch 9, flat-footed 18 (-1 size, +8 Dex) hp 45 (6d10+12) Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +7 DR 5/piercing; Resist cold 10, fire 10

Offense Speed 10 ft., swim 40 ft. Melee 2 claws +9 (1d4+4), bite +9 (1d8+4) or harpoon +9/+4 (2d6+6/x3 plus grab), bite +4 (1d8+2) Ranged harpoon +5 (1d8+6/x3 plus grab) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks constrict (2d4+6), gripping harpoon

Statistics Str 18, Dex 11, Con 15, Int 8, Wis 10, Cha 13 Base Atk +6; CMB +11; CMD 21 (cannot be tripped) Feats Exotic Weapon Proficiency (harpoon) (B), Improved Initiative, Intimidating Prowess, Iron Will Skills Intimidate +14, Perception +7, Survival +7, Swim +19 Languages Abyssal, Aquan SQ amphibious

Ecology Environment any aquatic (Abyss) Organization solitary, pair, gang (3-8) or mob (9-24) Treasure standard (2 harpoons, other treasure)

Special Abilities Gripping Harpoon (Ex) An ipupiara is skilled at using harpoons to grip prey. It can grapple with a harpoon on any successful hit, not just a critical hit.

#pathfinder 1e #d&d #ipupiara #merrow #merman #sponsored post #brazilian folklore

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 months

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PoC and queer people, and queers of color are not out here being mad at everyone for no reason. Did you guys think it was just a group of cishet white men who probably don’t even watch the show? We have begged all these years for aid, but it’s dystopian-like to see you guys come together and pay over $21 thousand for a billboard within a few hours. The “charities” aren’t listed, and even then seeing fans tell the organizers use all the money for advertisements is horrifying to say the least. Even more so adding on the creator is a Zionist and antiBlack, which again White people arent gonna give a shit about as they continue to show so in all fandoms. It’s the people affected that calls this guy out, and y’all don’t listen. Do what you want, but stop diminishing our voices as the “angry crowd” have some damn compassion

CW: Racism, Anti-Semitism, Zionism, This is a save space ship so please do not read if you don't have the spoons because there's heavy shit in here today. ------ Hi friend! First of all, I want to say thank you so much for reaching out and giving me some more information! Personally, I don't think what you're being mad about is "for no reason". For me, that's not where the issue lies, and perhaps you could provide me with some further insight. So far, the only kinds of responses to this campaign that I've encountered that are negative have been "Taika is a Zionist", and I have not encountered that "queers of color " we're having a problem. Now, that could be that I just haven't seen them and now that my reach is out a little further it's coming up-- which is great, I want to have a conversation about it. I am newer to the fandom so it's possible I just haven't been around for a lot of this in the past, I admit that. I would be more than happy to hear more about what it is that "Queers of Color" have a problem with regarding the show.

------

In regards to "Even more so adding on the creator (I'm assuming you're referring to Taika here as opposed to David Jenkins?) is a Zionist and antiBlack, which again White people arent gonna give a shit about as they continue to show so in all fandoms."

So, I can see why you feel that way. I've heard a lot from many people of color who feel as if they aren't being considered in a lot of fandoms (not specifically this one but general scifi , fantasy, etc). I am white, so I know that no matter what my background is culturally, I cannot understand the full extent of what our friends of color go through so I try to amplify the voices of those people when they bring information to the table. I do think this fandom cares, and would love to hear more if you're willing to provide it.

My First Question is, where is the narrative coming from that Taika is AntiBlack? He's of Te Whānau-ā-Apanui, an indigenous person, with jewish heritage. I did some googling (yes I realise that's not the most efficient or accurate tool, but I did try to find independant sources). The thing that sticks out most to me is regarding the 2020 following the death of George Floyd. Here is one of the articles I referenced:

Taika's tweet was "Watch the whole thing. Eloquent. Clear. Everyone is angry but there is a way to direct that anger." in response to Killer Mike's message asking “not burn your own house down” and instead “fortify your own house.” and to "Plot, plan, strategize, and organize" as he said in the video.

Now, I see a lot of reactions from people of color specifically stating "don't police my anger" and that is a 100% valid take. No one should be telling you how to channel your anger when as a society you are being murdered and you have to fight back to survive. I do think that everyone still has a lot to learn.

I am going to give you a little background on myself (not to toot my own horn, but to provide a little perspective on how much we are still learning). I am whiteyest white person there is, like I go outside and my skin practically lights on fire from my irish/eastern european ancestry, but I also have a black biological grandmother from Guayana who had ancestry back to many years before when slaves were brought over during the Atlantic Slave Trade. So growing up, even though I was white, I thought I had it all figured out on racism because my grandma was black. The narratives taught in US schools were that "racism was in the past" because schools had been white washed, and I grew up in Northern Virginia, where it was supposed to be "multicultural center of the country" since we were so close to DC. Over time, I started finding out from friends of color and indigenous friends that they were still experiencing racism towards them. I never knew, because I wouldn't have, it wasn't faced towards me. And I knew some-- but I didn't know enough even then 15 years ago. Roll around to 2010-12ish, several things occurred that made "black face" become more prominent and I had more discussions with my friends about what kind of racism they dealt with in their day to day lives. I used to color my arms when I was a kid with a brown marker because I wanted to look like my grandma. I found out at the ripe old age of 24 that was basically black face for a lot of people and that it wasn't ok.

2020 came, and George Floyd, and Brianna Taylor, Stephan Clark, Botham Jean, Freddie Gray and so many others were murdered by police and white supremacist shitwads, and suddenly, not just me but so many more white people started to get the slightest inkling of just HOW BAD it really was for black people in this country. That was the year honestly I started to question the systems of our government, and all the racial inequalities that I THOUGHT I had understood before.

Our government, our society culturally has tried its best to sweep racial inequality under the rug, and pretend like "racism is gone" when we still have systems built on racism, that benefit from racist systems of the past. (This is why it's so important that we keep fighting against people who want to white wash history books in a lot of the southern states like FL and TX) Is that an excuse? Of course not. But I believe in change whole-heartedly, and while I am still ashamed of the vast ignorance I had for so many years, and worry about the ignorance I still don't know I'm ignorant of, I do try to be better. I am trying to take that shame and continue to learn and chip away at my ignorance not only through others but on my own. I am not asking for you to pity, or to forgive me or any other white person for that kind of ignorance, what I'm doing here is trying to make a safe space to share and so you can see that people can actively change. Is it enough? Probably not, but it's a start.

-- Now, All that to say, regarding Taika... that tweet from 2020, as I said, quite a lot of people (of all colors) had their eyes opened that year to some pretty systemic racist horrors, and if that is the tweet that sparked the idea that Taika is "Anti-Black" I think, while you don't have to forgive him, it would be something to consider that quite a lot of people were well intending during that time but did not fully comprehend exactly how bad it was. I would however, if you'd be willing to chat with me in DMs about it, or send another ask, like to hear more if there was more evidence of it somewhere I didn't see.

-------- In regards to Taika being a Zionist... which I have heard from others quoting the letter he signed asking for the release of hostages in Gaza. I'm including a link to a copy of the letter just so people can read it, I realize the hollywood reporter isn't an amazing source, but it has the letter included, so thats why. Once again, when that letter came out back in October, quite a lot of people didn't actually know what was going on in Gaza.

We all heard brief things in our day to day news feed, but just like how everything is on the internet right now, information isn't "complete" it's broken up in fragments and it takes a really long time to compile them. There is misinformation galore, and it's incredibly easy to not hear the entire story. I know in October, I was dealing with health issues and I was completely just not paying attention what was going on (we all have our lives and as much as I'd like to say we can all be omniscient and fully present for all things it's truly not a reasonable expectation of any human being nor should it be, the world is a very large place, and we should help where we can but there's a limitation on human ability).

In my opinion, as someone who has tried a lot of their life to "do the right thing" and made a lot of mistakes and tried to learn from them, that letter, and Taika signing it seemed like a "Good intentions" situation again, hoping that he could help in someway. Am I making excuses for him? No, I'm expressing my perspective. I'm not here to change your opinion on him, I'm here to express why fans are still fighting for this show. Do you have other resources regarding his support of zionism?

What concerns me though as a whole, is people throwing 'Zionist' around very liberally these days. I am not an expert on the situation and I don't claim to be. However, growing up in DC when 9/11 happened, I can tell you that labels like that can get dangerous very VERY quickly. Muslim families I grew up with had their windows shattered with bricks on the night of 9/11 (and labeled terrorists) despite being pillars in the community and never having hurt a soul.

Right now, Zionist is a word that is being used to label someone in a very intense way, and it invokes dangerous responses in people. I do believe we really need to make sure we are labeling these situations properly because those kinds of labels CAN and WILL get out of hand very quickly and get people hurt.

I'm going to link to this article from the Anne Frank house to define Zionism. I am also going to list this article from the American Jewish Committee regarding racism and anti-semitism. Once again I'm not an expert on the situation going on in Gaza, and I'm happy to hear more regarding it.

-----------

In regards to your comments on the charities: There are some charities listed in a few places, they just aren't all part of the advertising campaign one:

The main one for Rainbow Youth is here: The Renew As a Crew Fundraiser (not the advertising one) https://ry-community.raisely.com/renewasacrew/ **The Advertising Campaign / Charities**

You mentioned in your ask "even then seeing fans tell the organisers use all the money for advertisements is horrifying to say the least".

I can understand why that would be horrifying to someone who is feeling raw the way that you are. It's completely valid. I would like to offer up the perspective that some people are very invested in this show for their own reasons (some people have never felt represented in major networks) and they too are allowed to feel excited and say things that might be in their own best interest. We are all allowed those opinions, and I think the more we shame people for wanting something, the less discussion we're going to be able to have. That said, I think the @renewasacrew leadership team made a good decision to stick to their original $10K for advertising, and the rest going to charity because of the confusion. It does the most good, and still allows the original intent -- to show the world how much Our Flag Means Death means to many people.

In regards to which charities they are going to -- I had seen somewhere that they were going to a charity Samba and Vico Ortiz had chosen but I asked the leadership team on twitter and this is what they responded with (which I think is fair, they're trying to take their time to make a good decision with the help of everyone involved).

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

I would also like to point out however, that we do have the ability to care about more than one thing at once. One thing that makes life worth living is the little things that make us smile. I have a lot of stuff at home that makes life rough, and my escape is this gay pirate show, and this beautiful, compassionate community that supports it.

We are allowed to have things that we love as well as the things we fight for. I do a lot of my activism on facebook and in person, I don't bring it to tumblr much because this is the safe space for a lot of people to dream and have dreams. It is important for everyone's mental health to step away from the realities of life sometimes (which I know some people like those in Gaza or Ukraine can't do) or else we all burn out and can't help anymore.

I hope this helps a bit in showing you we do care about queers of color, and we do want to know more how we can help, and we are willing to listen. There's a lot of compassion in this community, and I think a lot of people would be willing to talk about it if things are done in a safe space. I do apologize that you feel like we've "diminished" your voices, that was not the intention. If you would like to use that voice to provide more examples and your views I'm happy to listen. I do think we need to allow people to enjoy things too though, because life's not worth living otherwise. Nothing is perfect, but we continue to try and improve.

I would also like to recommend that if the OFMD fandom renewal campaign is bothering folks, please feel free to block us. We don't want to make anyone feel bad, but we also want to express ourselves in a healthy manner. Much love your way Anon.

#ofmd #our flag means death #asks #anon asks

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arcielee · 1 year

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Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: Death mentioned in graphic detailing, night terrors, SA implied/mentioned, overall sexism because it is the 9th century. MDNI, 18+ Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 2136 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: This will be a hybrid of the books and TLK show. The timelines will be adjusted for the plot and the names will match the Old English/9th Century. Please be mindful of chapter warnings as this shit will have dark moments and mature themes. Thank you to my darling beta reader @aspen-carter for helping me with this first chapter and to my darling @killergirlfuria to help me with the summary, as I am terrible at them. UPDATE: Thank you for this gif! @itbmojojoejo ♥ Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aspen-carter @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @randomdragonfires @httpsdoll @tssf-imagines

Chapter 1

The day was warm and bright, a beautiful day suitable for the celebration of the marriage between Æthelred of Mercia to the trueborn daughter of King Alfred. Wessex swelled from the festivities, with the bittersweet smell of ale, foods, and sweat that meshed with the wave of bodies gathering within the city walls.

Osferth was tall and lithe, able to see over the heads of the crowds, and surefooted to slip in-between the masses as he searched for one man in mind, as his uncle had encouraged.

Uhtred of Bebbanburg.

Before this, his life had been spent in the shadows of the monastery, well aware of his paternal heritage but unallowed to breathe a word about it. His clandestine confinement consisted of the repetition of scripture and prayer to atone for sins that were not his own, and it did not feed his faith, but instead allowed his bitterness for his banishment to fester within.

This changed on his thirteenth name day when Leofric came for a visit; he remembered him to be large, his voice low and grizzled as he regaled his time spent with the Dane slayer and he even shared about his mother; she had died during childbirth, but his uncle swore her strength was passed to him.

“I know you are angry, little man, but this is the safest place for you right now,” and his large palm rested on his thin shoulders, a fatherly squeeze for reassurance.

Osferth was heartsore when he learned of uncle’s death; the memory of those days they spent together was something he cherished, replaying in his mind and becoming a balm for his bitterness. His grief allowed a moment of complacency until his eighteenth name day when the abbot brought him a sword and a piece of parchment; he realized the scrawl of words belonged to his uncle and they brought a newfound peace, a drive with how Leofric spoke that a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny.

The letter ended with a mantra, destiny is all.

So he left the monastery, wearing his weatherbeaten albe and with the baldric wrapped around his slim waist, that kept the gifted sword sheathed at his side.

He traveled, following the trail of celebrators into Wintanceaster until he saw him ahead, lounging on the steps and surrounded by his men; their eyes were watchful as Osferth pushed forward, he only stopped when he saw the blue eyes of the ealdorman-of-many-monikers focus on him.

“Lord,” he began, “you knew my uncle, Leofric.”

He saw how his eyes softened at the mention of the name and Osferth knew he held his attention. “Leofric was a great man,” Uhtred tilted his head up, looking over the young man.

Osferth nodded. “I have come to serve you, to be at your side as my uncle had.”

The motley men that surrounded Uhtred varied from Dane to Saxon; he heard the scoff and lilt of a dark haired, dark eyed man who muttered how they had no need for a baby monk. Osferth swallowed, “I have come to serve as a warrior, lord.” His eyes did not leave Uhtred.

He could see the quiet assessment from Uhtred, how his blue eyes surveyed him, and then he heard a smaller man, who was standing apart, who spoke out loud of his heritage beyond Leofric–that he was Alfred’s bastard.

“You are Alfred’s son,” Uhtred said, in part a question, but also a clarification. “Your father would not be pleased to learn you’ve come to offer me your sword.”

“And what has he done for me?” He struggled to smooth the bitterness that edged his tone. “Sent me away so I could become a priest or a monk, to be forgotten or simply denied my very existence altogether?” It was his turn to scoff. “But if I were to stay in Wessex, what would I expect to find? Favour?”

Uhtred raised his brows with his words and looked over at his Irishman, who only shrugged in response. “You may never see Wessex again,” his eyes did not break away from him.

“Then I would give my thanks to God for that,” and their looks showed Osferth it was not the expected reply. “It is the stench, lord,” he clarified, his eyes flitting around the people crowding the city.

Uhtred grinned, but before he could speak further, a guard called to his attention that the king called for him. Osferth shifted his weight under the guard’s gaze and Uhtred stood up, his eyes rolled over him once more before he said, “If you have a sword, you may stay,” and followed after the guard.

His lips curled with what he considered his small victory and his hand fell to the hilt, a pat on the pommel to reassure it was there. He felt the dark eyes of the Irishman focus on him. “Can you wield that, baby monk?” he asked Osferth.

“Well enough,” he replied and he heard a chuckle, looking behind to see a Dane with his arms wrapped around a woman whose auburn hair burned more red in the sunlight. “Though, I am willing to learn…”

“Well, thank the gods for that,” and the Irishman stepped down and placed a palm onto his shoulder, a squeeze to show comradery, or perhaps to feel for his strength, with a hold that reminded him of his uncle; his grin showed beneath his beard. “Let’s leave this noise and see what you are capable of then, baby monk.”

+ + + +

Keavy would allow her mind to return to the days she spent at the nunnery, a brief reprieve that allowed her to relive the only bit of peace she experienced since she arrived across the sea.

It began with the abbess and her pitied look when the slavers rolled through; Keavy was barely ten years of age, thin, quiet, and did her best to stay hidden. She remembered the warmth in her kindly brown eyes when the abbess looked to her and called for the cost of the little girl.

He had scoffed at first, but when she pressed, he only requested a cup of ale in exchange and it was quickly provided. Keavy watched the bob of his neck, how it spilled from the corners of his mouth and stained his tunic as he downed it. He belched when it was finished and shoved her forward. “She is yours, nun, but know that she has been cursed.”

She fell to the ground, her legs weak from the weeks at sea, unable to stop herself from hitting the dirt path. Keavy felt the burn in her palms and knees, her scars that lined the left side of her jaw and cheek–a parting gift of desperation from her mam the night their village was raided.

It was a night seared within her blood and that often returned to her with violent flashes when she slept. She was haunted by the cries from the villagers, how her daid handed her his dagger before taking a sword and leaving to fight with the other men. Her mam had begged and screamed for him not to leave, as anyone could see from the flames curling from the rooftops, licking the night sky, to the blood soaked earth that this battle was already lost.

Stories had terrorized the coast of Irland of the blood-lust traders and slavers who ravaged the shores, taking whatever they deemed profitable. They spoke of how villages would be nothing but ashes, how the surviving men would be sold off as slaves, of the horrors of what would happen to women and girls.

Her hands shook as she tied the belt around her waist, hiding the sheath beneath the layers of her skirt while her mam continued her screams. Keavy clung to the dagger as if it would keep her tethered to her daid, crying when her mam finally ripped it from her hold; her own hands shaking as she attempted soothing sounds that were choked by her tears. “I will not kill you, child,” she breathed and Keavy saw the manic fire in her blue eyes. “But you are far too pretty to survive across the sea.”

Her daid kept the blade sharp, his prized possession that came from his father before and his before that. She did not feel it until it nicked into her jawbone and only then did she cry, the blood spilling onto her clothes; she screamed for her mam to stop and fought back to pry it from her hands when the door barged in.

They were faceless, large and covered in blood and grime. Her mam was killed without so much as a scream and another grabbed her, searching for cloth for her wound and unaware as she tucked the dagger back into its sheath beneath her skirts. There was the tear of fabric and he pressed it to her face, before dragging her from her home, dragging her towards the shore.

She would never forget the heat of the flames, how she choked on the soot and smoke as she stumbled over the fallen bodies around; her hand pressing the cloth on her face and the other gripping her side, holding the handle of the blade. There was a bold moment that seized her chest, to plunge it into his side and run to find her daid, but then she saw him, one of the dead amongst the many bodies, with his sword in his hand and his eyes empty as they bored forward.

Keavy remembered how the fear replaced and gripped her heart and her vocal chords; she would not scream because she knew that no one would come for her.

She did not know how she survived crossing the sea, nor could she remember much more than the crude stitches that were given onboard, an attempt to save her, and the burn of her fever that ached her bones. “It is because God has a plan for you, little one,” the abbess would tell her later.

“I am cursed,” she would say, partly in defiance, partly to watch the reaction of the abbess and her wide brown eyes.

“Hush, child,” she would scold her, as always. “That man was a godless heathen and knew not what he said. He thought your worth was equal to a cup of mead!”

The nunnery she was brought to was built to overlook the rolling fields of Ebchester, with a river that curved through the hills. Here the abbess seemed relentless for the salvation of Kaevy’s soul and Keavy would allow the repetition of her fables and scriptures, all while palming the Celtic silver cross she wore beneath her plain tunic.

She remembered the day when Lady Gisela arrived, how her kindred spirit called to her and the lady was all too pleased with the bold Irish girl who shadowed her steps. The abbess allowed her to stay, Dane or not, and Keavy was delighted with her company over the other Saxon nuns.

Gisela had a kind smile and took care to answer her questions about her life before Ebchester. Keavy admired her worldly insight and her attention was rapt to the stories she told her about the love she shared with Uhtred of Bebbanburg.

“My lady, how do you know he will come for you?” Keavy asked, with a genuine curiosity of the faith Gisela held that seemed comparable, if not stronger, to the faith the nuns held for their Christian God.

“It is something you know,” Gisela smiled and it was as bright as the sun that warmed them. “You will know this when you are older.”

Keavy saw a glimpse of Uhtred of Bebbanburg, of Uhtred Ragnarsson, when he arrived as the savior promised. The day began with the arrival of strange men who spouted of the power of their God and how it allowed them to marry Gisela against her wishes; the abbess held onto Keavy tightly as she struggled forward, choking on the same helplessness she felt the night her village burned.

Uhtred was a force when he arrived, barging through the doors; when the abbot refused to be quiet, he killed him to silence him. The nuns cried, but Gisela and Keavy watched him. “Child, look away,” the abbess had whispered, but she was a young woman now and could not help the sense of satisfaction she felt as she watched the abbot bleed out on the wood floors.

Keavy remembered when they had left and for the first time she had prayed, not to a deity in specific, but the quiet prayer for Lady Gisela to enjoy her happiness. The stories she had shared stayed with her and allowed a sense of hope that she had not felt before.

Chapter 2 | masterlist

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth x ofc #we need more osferth fanfic #slow burn #farewell wanderlust

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theharrowing · 11 months

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An Ghealach

Field Linguist Jimin Park travels to a remote island called An Ghealach off the coast of Ireland to research and document an endangered language, just in time for the community’s Beltane festivities. What he encounters is both horrifying and mesmerizing beyond his wildest dreams.

🌑 Jimin x Female Reader 🌒 word count: 9k 🌓 speculative horror, gore, major character death, dub con, smut, nsfw, 21+ 🌔 warnings: 🕊 dead dove! creepy folk horror themes (shapeshifting, human sacrifice), unable to tell dreams from reality, gore (mention of entrails, mention of bleeding someone dry, cutting palm and drinking/smearing blood), dubious consent (use of magic to put into a trance & coerce), angst, infidelity (mention of an engagement), smut (voyeurism & exhibitionism, oral & vaginal sex, a bit of ass eating, rough sex, holding of throat, blood licking, a little biting, forest sex, a need to be cum inside of), nickname "pet", major character cloning & off-screen death. 🌕 note: hello, and welcome to my fun little Beltane horror fic! appearance of reader in this fic shifts, and is therefore described. sometimes she has pale skin, other times dark, purposefully left vague aside from hair and occasionally eye detail. this story is a bit rushed because of yoongi concert week and final exams happening in the same month; i had a lot of ideas, but the time just kept creeping up and up and up, and here we are, at the end of May!

🌖 i also made a lot of shit up in terms of the magic, left a lot of shit vague, and did not worry much about whether things make any sense, so...go into this with a grain of salt; this is not meant to reflect any real Beltane rites or rituals, even if certain things (like the maypole) sound familiar. it is also not meant to depict a real place or a real dialect of a language. the Gaelic words are meant to feel wrong and strange because this place is wrong and strange. (a friend of mine who is Irish & a linguist helped me with the words; i promise you, the intent is to feel wrong.) enjoy!

🌗 mc goes by the name Rí; Jimin's pov appears in italic paragraphs

🌘 written for A Spring Offering Collab! check out the other works! 🌑 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🌒posted may. 2023 | read on ao3

Cross his heart, hope to die Hang his entrails, bleed him dry

He is Here. He is here. Heard, have you? He is here.

The women of the island chirp and coo at one another, heads tilted inward, as if sharing a profound secret. Their voices are low but lilted with excitement, and the language in which they whisper is old – nearly extinct.

Your footfalls crunch through grass that has hardly seen rain – unseasonably dry, despite the air holding onto a thick, shrouding dampness. Soon, the sun will stay risen for more than eight hours, and, if this summer is bountiful, the clouds will open up and shower your island with abundance.

Seen the man, have you? They whisper, unused to men from outside the confines of the island; unused to skin darker than porcelain. No outsider has stepped foot permanently on this land since your father had, all those years ago; only mysterious strangers who last as long as the holiday allows.

Strange, his name is. They whisper. And the sun, his skin shines with deep hints of its rays.

"Girls," you call in a tongue that whisps through your lips, wind fluttering between delicate petals, ancient. "Our manners, let us not forget."

"Our manners, Rí," the women respond in a chorus, pulling their expressions straight, only to begin giggling the moment they think you are no longer listening.

Bright orange hair falls in tight curls to your shoulders, which are exposed to the sunlight. You wear a white long-sleeve chemise that rests mid-bicep and is tied loosely in the front over perky cleavage. Your emerald green bodice sits under-breast and opens to a long emerald skirt that falls to your bare feet over a hoop skirt made of layers of cloth.

Your girls are dressed much more simply in white chemise dresses and underpants. Some wear modest green or burgundy bodice dresses, and some wear plain white or black cloth shoes.

The propellers on the white aquatic plane whirr as you approach, and you hear two male voices speaking loudly over its engine. One man, dressed head-to-toe in a white pilot uniform, docks with the help of four of your women, and he exits the small aircraft.

After a pause, another man appears wearing a tan blazer over a white tee that is tucked into fitted blue jeans, with a black leather belt and black boots. Around his neck, a white kerchief is tied, and his hair is coiffed delicately off his forehead, casting a beautiful wave of silvery-blond that hardly blows in the winds coming from the sea. He looks as if he is dressed for a weekend getaway to somewhere far more exotic than here, and you find it absolutely adorable. He is more petit than you anticipated – average height and slender – but what stands out the most is the man's face.

Even from this distance, the man is breathtaking. His full lips pout as he straightens himself out, and he seems surprised and apologetic when the girls begin to assist with his things, pulling suitcases from the plane.

At his shocked expression and attempts to communicate with precious creatures who do not speak a common tongue, you make your way forward, holding your many skirts in hand so your feet do not trip. As soon as you approach and begin to shout to the girls to be careful, the man's eyes lift, lips part, and you watch the moment he notices you, deeply breathing in and holding it while you speak.

"Girls, girls," you call in the ancient tongue, "handle gently."

As his things are brought to the pier, the man begins to organize them. Everything is on wheels, and he must deem a certain suitcase more important than the others, taking it by its extending handle and dragging it to dry land first. There is a short set of steps between the path and the pier, and you walk down and reach a hand out to offer help.

"Thank you," the man mutters, seemingly uncertain whether you are one of the many who do not speak English.

"You must be Jimin Park," you say, reaching for the handle and watching as recognition and relief paint his pretty features.

Up close, Jimin is a thing out of fairytales. Wide, dark eyes glance curiously at the landscape, and each curve of his face is soft and delicate, despite his profile being sharp lines. An anomaly of beauty, carved with careful hands.

Jimin guesses at your name and you nod, flashing a sweet, welcoming smile – you had been the one corresponding with him before his arrival. He must relax, because as you begin to tug for his suitcase to lift it up the three short wooden steps, his hold loosens, and he eventually allows you to take it, only letting his gaze linger a moment before he turns to grab more of his things.

You help him with his belongings – four black cases in total – and each of you take two to wheel down the dirt path past the open field, along the edge of the woods that peeks out into the village, to the inn that sits ahead, to the left. Although your home is in the woods, you have prepared a room in the inn, sharing a wall with Jimin.

The village is quaint. There are a few homes at the far end of the walk, along a stretch of foothills. A town hall rests between the homes and the inn, and there is a small store room holding onto all imported wares, farmed goods, and hunted items. To the right is all forest until the cliffs open up to the vast ocean, and on the other side of the wood, village elders live out their days, never minding what you and girls do on this side, so long as their bellies stay full and hearths stay ablaze.

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Jimin asks slowly, annunciating each word with precision. There is a hint of his own accent giving the English a very pretty lilt.

"Nearly," you respond, eyes slowly wandering from the inn, sweeping the small hints of village that come into view, landing on the forest. "My parents arrived when I was little, but my mother was born here. The island is in my blood."

"And you are the only person here who speaks English?" Jimin asks, voice a bit shaky and hesitant.

As you turn to gauge his expression, you find hints of anxiety. You wonder if Jimin is not the kind of person who likes to seek the help of others; if, perhaps, you will have to be assertive in offering assistance with everything he may need.

"I am," you respond with a smile, "which means you and I are going to become quite well acquainted, Jimin Park."

Over dinner on the first night, Jimin opens up about growing up in South Korea and attending university both at home, and in the United States. As girls come to fill your plates with more cured meats, he notices that they call you Rí.

Jimin is an inquisitive fellow, whose pretty dark eyes are wide and curious – and somewhat glossy after two cups of honey wine – and you smile with feigned shyness, nodding your head demurely when he asks you about the nickname.

"It means king," you tell him with a grin.

"Ah," Jimin responds with a growing smile of his own. "So are you their king?"

With a chuckle, you shrug and say, "I suppose I am. We have elders but they live on another part of the island. I'm the one who takes care of the girls."

"And the hunting and farming?" Jimin asks.

"Much of our bounty is from the autumn equinox," you admit shyly, vaguely. "We had an abundant winter."

"Wow," Jimin responds curiously. "Good weather last year?"

It was luck that two cops came snooping around the island just before Samhain; their blood was the perfect offering to the old gods. With their entrails strung up, dangling from the trees, and slowly drip-draining into the grass below, the skies shined favorably through the cold season, and wild animals practically skittered and galloped happily into your traps.

"Yes," you respond simply, smiling fondly at the memory of the two transmuted squirrels who were sent home in the men's stead with nothing to report on but normal goings-on, on the island.

Magic of that caliber works best on the holidays, when the passages are open and the power from the other side covers your island like a rich fog, sparking it to life with intrinsic energy. A shame you used that power to create two men of the law, but the last thing your little homestead needs is more blue-capped guards snooping around for their missing men.

With the perfect specimen for this year's festival sitting beside you, your excitement shimmers, vibrating under your skin and making the air around you feel charged. You had hoped that, being as young as he is, you would be sent someone without a spouse, making it easier to fall under your spell – buying you a little time before having to clone the poor guy and send him back.

A shame that this season's sacrifice not only comes with a gold engagement band around his finger, but is so dreadfully pretty that you almost lament the thought of watching the light drain from his eyes.

But the land is hungry, and feed, she must.

“Cross his heart, hope to die. Hang his entrails…will he have pretty entrails, do you think?” you sing-song, lifting a handsome red squirrel in both hands, holding it eye-level to inspect. It had come to your window at the stroke of midnight, cheery and pliant.

An offering from the land.

A host.

“What a shame I can’t just keep him for myself,” you muse, considering the fact that you were able to transmute two men before. “Perhaps I will have to make a second clone, this time. Can you bring me a friend?”

The sound of thumping is what wakes Jimin up. At first, he thinks it may be a tree branch tap, tap, tapping against the window. But as sleep falls away to wakefulness, he realizes the sound must be coming from the other side of the wall.

Your wall.

Falling asleep was difficult, in the first place. Something about the island, and especially the inn, feels incredibly ominous, like there is a presence looming just out of the peripheral, never fully seen. And the scent that you carry – spiced cloves and fresh bouquet of wildflowers – lingered in the air, filling his head with thoughts of you.

Now, as he blinks through the darkness, he wonders if he had slept a wink, at all.

Jimin rolls over, attempting to ignore the sounds in favor of getting more sleep, noticing in his brief moment of wakefulness that it is still pitch black outside. But then he hears it…humming…low and inviting, causing all the little hairs on his arms to stand at attention.

Somewhat mindlessly, Jimin pushes the thick quilted blanket away and climbs out of bed, heavy-lidded and barely aware of his surroundings in the mostly-empty room. Golden lantern light glows in through the window, allowing him to see ahead of him just enough to make a clear path toward the sound.

In his dreamy haze, Jimin imagines voices whispering – beckoning him forward. Come to me, they say, tangling and slipping over one another, mostly incomprehensible flits of lips, teeth, and tongue, spoken too softly to truly be fully heard.

Jimin places his hands against the wall, presses his ear against the wood, and listens. The humming continues, muffled delicately by the layers that separate it from him. Is it Rí, he wonders.

As he continues to listen, his eyelids flutter closed. The thumping sound is rhythmic and soft, and the humming has shifted into something more sensual. Moaning, perhaps? Whimpering, even? He feels entranced by it and presses harder against the wall, feeling the cool wood against his cheek gradually heat, until his breath huffs out sticky-warm against it.

Come to me, Jimin, he is certain he hears in a voice that can only be yours. Don't be shy.

He feels drunk and loose-limbed, rubbery and pliant, and he sways his hips to the inviting song, dragging his blunt fingernails over the wall. The humming – the moaning – it intensifies, drawing his breath ragged, forcing small sounds of his own to come falling past his lips. His body feels electric – charged with a current that runs ultraviolet through his bloodstream, desperate for more, picking up hints of spiced clove and musky floral notes.

With a crescendo of whimpers, the thumping quickens and abruptly ends, and Jimin gasps, waking from his stupor, stumbling listlessly from the wall and wiping drool from his face. His head feels hazy as he blinks and turns, taking in the dark room and wondering what kind of dream he was just having.

In the quietude of the night, he stands still and listens. Had he imagined hearing something before? Was it all a dream? Only the scent of the trees below his cracked-open window fills the space, but he inhales deeply in search of something more.

Silence settles, heavy but somehow light, and he sighs, runs a hand through his damp silver-blond hair, and returns to the bed, trying his best to ignore the ache in his pants – hard and neglected.

"Not tonight," he whispers, scolding himself. Not over the thought of you. Not when he has someone waiting for him back home.

"Sleep well?" you ask at the sight of Jimin exiting the inn.

He wears a black tee tucked into black fitted jeans, with his black belt and shiny black leather boots, and you smile to yourself, both over the simplicity of it all, and from how much he stands out in a place like this.

Although denim is not frowned upon in the village, and is worn often by the elders on the other side of the island, the girls love to dress up in renaissance-reminiscent clothing and make believe that every day is a fairytale. After all, on An Ghealach, it can be.

You are modestly outfitted in a white chemise dress that is cinched at the waist, with an undershirt to hold your breasts in place, and simple cloth white shoes. Your straight, black hair falls waist-length, braided intricately away from your face, letting the sun hit your deep-golden skin.

"I slept alright," he responds, voice rough from disuse.

Jimin smiles softly, and you check for any glimmer that he has noticed the shifting of your appearance, of the outside of the inn, of the stone path that stretches around the forest edge. When Jimin smiles and asks if there is anything he can do to help set up for Beltane, seemingly unaware, you nod and lead the way.

"All there is to do today is prepare the land, which the girls have under control," you inform. "We can discuss phonemes in the meantime, if you have your equipment handy.”

With a wide smile, Jimin pulls a small recording device and notebook from his back pocket and holds them up. "Always prepared."

You chuckle and mutter, "Perfect," continuing along the path to the field where the girls are cutting the grass with old, metal devices on wheels, and gathering all the prettiest weeds and wildflowers to fashion into crowns.

Jimin makes good company, curious and open-minded without asking too much. You can see in the way he watches the girls that there is so much he would like to know – can read each question that flits over his eyes, only to be blinked away. Where did they come from? Why do none of them speak English? Where are the men? These are questions that just hang for brief seconds at the tip of his tongue but that he never works up the courage to ask.

Perhaps he knows it is best not to know. Perhaps some part of him is aware of the horrors that might lurk behind the corner of posing one question too many.

The two of you spend the day discussing vowels, consonants, and syntax. His grasp on modern dialects of Irish Gaelic is enough that he instantly begins to draw similarities between those and the older language spoken on the island.

And as the sun moves from burning hot overhead to sinking beneath the horizon, moving your studies into the inn's tavern, you find yourself scooting close on the bench while offering more honey wine to your eager, beautiful guest.

Jimin has never sleepwalked before. In fact, he tends to lay so still that often, his neck and limbs are sore the next morning, popping as he stretches in an attempt to get the blood flowing adequately.

So when he opens his eyes to find himself standing barefoot in the woods, hands outstretched toward the trunk of a tree, he yelps and jumps backward, nearly fumbling to his butt.

“What the fuck,” Jimin mutters to himself as he glances around, eyes becoming more alert.

The woods are nearly pitch dark, save for the bright glow of the waxing gibbous moon shining through the trees. What luck, he thinks, that the clouds are scarce tonight.

Although there is no foreseeable path, the ground appears mostly clear of thick brush. Jimin turns and makes his way out, careful not to step too hard, gently shuffling his bare feet outward with each step, avoiding sticks and rocks as best as he can.

Fear simmers just below Jimin’s skin. He attempts not to spiral, telling himself that he could not have possibly walked far. His blue flannel pajamas are warm, but thin enough that the chilly night air would likely have woken him quickly. And so, onward he presses.

A flickering yellow flame glows through trees ahead, just to the left, and Jimin lets out a deep sigh of relief as he changes course. Although he is pleased to be making his way back to civilization, his new worry is being disruptive as he walks back through the old, creaky inn. He does not want to disturb Rí, who he imagines must be asleep at this hour.

Despite the island being mostly covered in dense forest, the night is surprisingly quiet. Eerily so. Even in the daytime, insects and rodents are lively to the point of seeming cacophonous. How is it possible for everything to be so…still?

The sound of a particularly loud stick snapping – not underfoot but ahead – has Jimin tensing and freezing with fear. He holds his breath while his shoulders raise to his ears, trying his hardest not to be detected, until smoked clove hits his senses, and—

“Jimin!” you call softly, certain that his fear has spiked nearby, radiating like heavy, bright fumes between the birch trees.

And then you hear it, a soft, delicate voice, calling a tentative, “Rí?”

Ah, so the pretty thing is just ahead, and your plan to at least get him into the woods has worked without a hitch. You wonder what it was that snapped him out of his trance too soon. Next time, you think to yourself. You still have one more night to get him into the passage of his own volition.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, feigning worry and exasperation.

“Ah—“ Jimin begins, voice sounding somewhat closer. “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Is that something you do often?” you ask, holding the lamp higher.

Jimin’s pretty face comes into view, peeking from between a thin birch that separates you, and you smile wide and welcome, taking in the blend of fear and affection that wafts from his pores and surrounds you.

“No,” he responds softly, eyes wide and curious. “Never.”

“Strange,” you mutter, momentarily stuck in time and space from him standing so close to someone so dreadfully beautiful.

“Yeah,” he says soft as a whisper, blinking heavily before standing straight and rounding the tree.

You also straighten out and take two steps backward to give him room. When Jimin appears before you, your eyes drop to his bare feet, and you frown, making a mental note for the next time.

With skin shades darker and hair shorter than earlier, you wonder if Jimin catches onto the new appearance. But his face gives nothing away. So the spell is just as strong, even if he broke the call of the other side just before entering the passage. Interesting.

“How did you find me out here?” Jimin asks as you turn and lead the way back to the inn, searching the shifted dirt path for a believable excuse.

You slowly lead the way toward the inn, and Jimin quickly falls into step beside you. When you walked outside to follow your guest just moments ago, you had left doors open and lights on intentionally, and you raise a hand to point in the general direction of the building.

“I came out of my room and your bedroom door was wide open," you say. "The front door, as well. So I grabbed a lantern and ran outside; I figured you could not have gone too far.”

“Oh,” he responds, already sounding ashamed even from one syllable. “I’m so sorry.”

With an insistent shake of your head, you say, “Not at all. I am just glad I found you.”

“What if an animal, or—“ Jimin begins, but you cut him off.

“There is nothing on this island that we fear. Closed doors are only such to keep the cool air out where it belongs. In the temperate months, doors and windows are left wide open.”

You are the witch of the wood, after all. Nothing that lives and breathes on this isle exhibits an ounce of free will if you wish it otherwise. Which reminds you… Slowly, you will the creatures of the night to stir – a scurry here and a dance of wings there – gentle enough to keep Jimin from noticing.

Except he does notice. You can practically feel each hair on his body stand at attention the moment a squirrel is heard clawing up a tree, and you take a step just a little too far to the right, bumping into him softly with the hope of providing a bit of a distraction.

"S-sorry," Jimin mutters, rubbing his hands on his blue pajamas. He seems nervous. Cute.

"Lost my balance," you respond, shaking your head with a gentle chuckle. "It is past bedtime, I am afraid."

"Sorry again for the trouble," Jimin says as you reach the inn, passing through the threshold and stopping just at the foot of the stairs.

You turn to Jimin and give a soft, sympathetic gaze.

"It is no trouble at all," you mutter sweetly, smile saccharine. "I'm just glad I was able to find you."

Jimin hums, nods, and says, "It won't happen again," with a light bow of his head, then makes his way up the stairs, dirt-dusted feet falling quietly on each step until he is down the hallway, past your room, and closing his door softly behind him.

The look of wonderment on Jimin's face really is something. As you walk through the small town, past the stretch of woods in which you found him last night, he keeps turning his gaze back to the trees. Is he wondering what it is he was doing there when he woke up from sleepwalking? Is he curious what drew him to that spot?

You watch his micro-expressions as his brows knit and he wets his lower lip with just the tip of his tongue. He had been mid-sentence before, trailing off the moment you approached the spot through which he emerged.

Jimin's gaze drifts to you, and he seems shy suddenly, cracking a soft smile while blush rises to his cheeks. Once you pass the wooded area and come up to the opening of the field, he seems a little more present.

"Sorry," he mutters, and you continue to study him, noticing how his shyness seems to steadily build the more you watch him.

"Has something caught your eye?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder toward the line of trees.

A dark mist pulsates between the slender, white and brown trunks and branches, beckoning with tendrils that billow out and evaporate – yearning for the pretty man with the soft smile. Soon, you want to tell it. Be patient.

"Ah," Jimin mutters, scratching the back of his head with his face scrunched as if searching for a memory. "I guess I feel a little strange about sleepwalking last night. How did I end up in the woods, of all places?"

You hum in understanding and say, "The wood calls to us all, I suppose."

Without giving Jimin much time to dwell on your words, you hold out your hand and point him to where, in the center of the open field, some of the girls are setting up a maypole, and others are building a tall triangle of logs in the center of a stone circle.

Jimin takes out his small recording device and field notebook, and you begin to describe the scene before you in a mix of English and the ancient tongue, carrying your studies through the evening and into the early night.

In the woods again.

Jimin stares down at his hands covered in dirt and wonders how he has managed to sleepwalk two nights in a row. He stands with his shoulders slumped forward, bent slightly at the knee with an arm outstretched as if he was reaching for something before waking up. In front of him is the u-shaped opening between two thick tree trunks. Or is it the same tree? Jimin cannot quite tell – too difficult to parse in the dark – and he tucks the information away to ask Rí about later.

He would be freaked out, only the smell of the wood – rich, earthy, and damp, with the sweet, musky smell of blooming flowers – feels calming now that he is confident that he can find his way back. He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to wipe his hands on his pajama pants.

The walk back to the inn is short, and although there is no path where he is, a golden lantern glow flickering past the thin birch trunks guides him. As twigs snap underfoot, he notes that he took the time to put his sneakers on before sleepwalking, relieved to not be barefoot again.

Jimin thinks he can hear faint sounds of voices – whispering, or, perhaps, chattering. Maybe singing. The island inhabitants certainly are an interesting bunch. He supposes that being far from modern civilization and with minimal technology would make people behave a little strangely. With Rí being the exception.

Something about you seems…different. And not just because of your appearance. There is an aura about you that feels almost otherworldly. Perhaps in the way you carry yourself. Jimin finds himself intrigued by you...he wants to know more…

"Right there," you sigh in a tongue as rich and ancient as the soil, tilting your head back to reveal more of your neck, switching to English. "Feels so good, little pet. Don't stop."

His kisses are tentative and shaky, but he grips onto your hips with purpose, pressing his chest firmly against your back to hold you steady. Golden lantern light flickers through the curtains, one long, bright glow of a lamp that hangs just below your window, signaling that your friend is awake and that he has not entered the passage.

The woods are calm tonight, seeing Jimin swiftly return to tilled earth without interference. It is only a matter of time before he breaks through the forest edge, and you huff impatiently. Tomorrow is your last shot; you will need to beckon him with a blood ritual.

You reach for the ties on your chemise and begin to pull them open, but your pet takes over, raising his hands to deftly do the work while his lips and teeth drag over your neck, sending a small but steady tingle of arousal through you as the sticky-sweet huffs of breath warm your skin. With the top undone, his hands freeze in place, and you yank the fabric open, exposing your breasts as they fall past the thin white material.

"Touch me," you sigh, needy. "Touch me the way he desires to."

On your command, his hands cup your breasts eagerly, fondling your nipples until the skin is pebbled and sensitive, making you hiss with pleasure. Your dress falls down one shoulder and he sinks his teeth gently into the skin, sending a flow of electricity through your body, exiting in the form of a moan.

You tremble and tilt your head further to the side, giving his mouth more room to explore while his hands fall lower, attempting to gently lift the cotton layers of skirt and farthingale hoops before impatiently taking handfuls of the garments and shoving them up, over your hips.

Clear of the woods, Jimin moseys along the path, in no rush to return to his room, enjoying the crisp but warm night air. Something about tonight feels ominous, and he tips his head toward the sky, noticing a bright moon shining back. Is it full, he wonders. It must be, given the way it glows past the thin sheets of cloud, illuminating his path even more so than the lantern light that hangs from the inn.

As he approaches the inn, Jimin glances up, noticing light coming from one of the windows on the second floor. He wonders if it is the room you stay in, and what you might be doing awake at this hour.

Gravel and dirt crunch underfoot, quiet and calming as he walks down the path. Shadows seem to dance over the window above, and Jimin finds himself gazing upward. Briefly, he thinks he sees the appearance of palms pressing into the window, halting his steps. But the glass is frosted, and he cannot clearly see through.

Shame travels up Jimin's neck as he gets his bearings, realizing he had been trying to peer through someone's window. He shakes his head and takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air as he presses forward.

Voices continue to chatter and sing, but Jimin does not see where they are coming from. Rather, the sounds seem to be lifting and floating with the wind, settling around him on all sides only to slip away into the night. Despite feeling fully awake mere moments ago, shivering against a chilly gust that blows his hair into his eyes, there is a heavy sense of drowsiness that begins to tug at him, pulling him forward, as if willing his feet to take each new step, craving his bed.

The man behind you grips your hips tightly, then sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down to your ass as he lowers. He grabs firmly and spreads you, causing you to fumble forward and place both hands against the glass. Below, Jimin glances upward, attention caught by the movement. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this – breasts exposed and mouth parted with surprise.

Perhaps it is the way eagerness and curiosity emit from Jimin, or how your own excitement from being touched has mewls and gasps falling from your lips, but the man digs his tongue eagerly into your ass, slurping and sucking over your hole, sending a steady wave pleasure and arousal coursing through you.

"That's it, pet," you whimper, nails scraping down the glass as you get your bearings. "Don't stop."

The man attempts to bend you further, tongue trailing down to your cunt, in search of your clit, but bending more would be too precarious, especially with the layers of material gathered, making it tough to move. He shuffles back instead and takes you by the hips to spin you roughly, causing you to yelp as you attempt to get your bearings and not fall over.

When you look down at the man – the imposter that was spawned from the flesh and blood of a mature red squirrel, crafted perfectly to look just like him – you gasp.

His plump lips are slick, glistening, and soft, reddened by the dim lamplight, and his short, silver-blond hair is a mess as he stares up with an eagerness that has you burning with desire. Ordinarily, you keep the clone for a bit; play with them a little until you have to wash their memories of you and send them home. But staring down at an imitation of Jimin just makes you want him – the real deal.

“Please,” you mutter, breathy and aroused. “Don’t hold back.”

The imposture rakes his blunt fingernails up your thighs, sending a shiver through you that escapes with a gasp, and he leans forward, eagerly lapping over your cunt with his tongue. It feels charged and galvanic – a hum that vibrates in your bloodstream on a low but steady frequency.

As your head lolls back you hear a gentle footfall on the bottom step.

Jimin finds it odd that your light is on at this hour. He hopes that somehow his absence from the inn has not awakened you again, and he does his best to tiptoe up to the landing.

It is soft, but he hears what sounds like a moan coming from your room, and he freezes, foot suspended in air just before your doorway, which is cracked open two enticing inches. A sliver of golden light casts a streak against the otherwise dark hallway, and Jimin feels a pull to it, eager to have just a tiny peek.

A whimper of the words please don't stop has the hairs on his arms standing tall.

Come to me, Jimin, he thinks he hears the voice say lowly, inside his head. Don't be shy.

Jimin wills his feet to move – exerts all the force he can muster into taking three more steps ahead. And then he stops in the light that shines from within, and he looks.

Surely, he must be dreaming. There is no other way to explain how he is standing in the doorway to your room, watching as a man who has his exact same hair and body type devours you. Your legs are spread, one ankle over his shoulder, toes outstretched as you hold him close, and your bare breasts heave as you pant softly and beg him not to stop.

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to watch. As your fingernails dig into the wooden edge of whatever the look-alike has you pressed against, you unravel from his mouth. His sounds are lewd and wet, slurping and humming in a low tenor that Jimin recognizes as his own, and arousal stirs between Jimin's legs. He grants himself permission to touch, just this once, gently grasping onto his erection and squeezing it over his pants.

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to whimper from the warmth of his palm, eyelids flitting from pleasure as he listens to the man who looks just like him eat you out. He wonders what you must taste like – wonders if you would let him crawl in there on his hands and knees and try for himself.

The man stands, turns his head slightly to the side, and wipes his hand over his mouth, leaving a trail of slick behind. The jaw, the nose, the shape of the brow – he is a spitting image of Jimin. How Jimin is in two places at once, he does not know, but he keeps his eye on the man who undresses in a flash, displaying his own tattoos exactly where he remembers them, flexing familiar taut muscle that he has spent years building and maintaining.

When you wrap your leg around his hip and pull him close, your eyes find Jimin, gazing over his look-alike's shoulder, and he gasps, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. You shift before his eyes, hair turning black and then orange and then blonde, and he begins to question how you are supposed to look; he cannot remember your hair, nor eyes, nor skin, but nothing he sees now feels incorrect.

"That's it, Jimin," you moan, eyes trained on him, looking over the look-alike's shoulder, and causing his aching cock to twitch in his pants. "Don't stop."

Jimin squeezes his eyes closed tight, and when he wakes up suddenly in his bed, he gasps for air, covered in sweat. The heat from what he presumes had to be a dream covers him like a blanket, and he cannot stop himself from relieving the ache between his legs.

Guilt and shame do nothing to stave off just how hard he cums thinking about you.

"Just this once," he tells himself, whispered softly like a prayer. "Just this once."

Today, you have returned to the long, orange curls, with piercing green eyes. Shadow and light morph your skin tone with each passing step, as the full strength of the island's magic fills you from the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers and toes. When Whitman waxed poetic about the body electric, could this have been his meaning? Certainly not.

Beltane begins today.

Around the maypole, you and Jimin will dance, with a belly full of cured meats and a heady concoction of honey wine laced with blood and a generous dash of magic. But first, you must greet your sleepy guest, and you tiptoe to his bedroom door dressed only in a thin, white chemise dress with light blue embroidered hems, and rap your knuckles three times against the stained wood.

"Just a moment," Jimin mutters from the other side, sounding sleep deprived.

What must he have dreamt about after stumbling like a lust-sick zombie back to his bed to the sight and sound of his clone fucking you breathless? Did he come to in a cold sweat, gasping for air? Did he touch himself thinking of you?

When Jimin opens his door, he is dressed in a loose-fitting white cotton shirt hanging over matching cotton pants. Along each hem is an embroidered design of light blue rounded flourishes that match those on your dress, and on his feet are plain white shoes. You offered the clothing to him last night, to be worn for today's festivities, and you are pleased to find him outfitted in the attire.

His silver-blond hair is somewhat disheveled, and he has a hint of bags under his pretty, deep brown eyes. As he takes in your appearance, his petal-soft lips part, and you watch as his eyes linger here and there, as if tracing the faint outline of a memory, for split, fleeting moments.

"Good morning, sunshine," you tease, adding, "May the fires of Beltane light your path," with a gentle bow of your head.

When you glance up once more, Jimin is still staring, curious eyes glowing with a new spark that seems entranced and somewhat foggy. Here but also not. You allow him to stare until he begins to blink and shake his head, and then he smiles softly and returns your greeting with a hint of blush darkening his cheeks.

"Merry Beltane, Rí," he says with a slight bow to his head. "May the fires of Beltane light your path."

At the breakfast table, down in the decorated inn tavern, Jimin laments having no pockets for his recorder and field notebook. "What if there are things I want to make note of?" he pouts so cutely beside you.

"Today is a day for celebration," you insist, dropping a generous serving of spiced honey into his tea and scraping the wooden spoon against the porcelain just enough to make Jimin stir where he sits.

"For celebration," he responds in a tired, malleable haze.

Lust and curiosity pour from Jimin, covering him in a rich cloud. Each time you speak, his body shifts ever so slightly closer, gaze lingering on your lips and throat, flitting down to your breasts. Shameless, the way he does not seem to care that you take notice.

"My dear, did you sleep poorly last night?" you ask, trying not to tease, pretending not to notice the way his cheeks darken further and he heavy-blinks again and again.

"I had a dream I woke up in the woods again," Jimin responds, slowly reaching for his tea and raising it to his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the sweetened chamomile and spice. "And then…you were there."

"In the woods?" you ask, tilting your head with feigned curiosity.

Jimin shakes his head. "In the inn. Your door was cracked open and I walked by. I saw you—"

Pulled from his trance just enough to mind his tongue, Jimin cracks a soft smile and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"My dreams have never quite been so lucid before," he continues after a quiet moment.

You hum in response and mutter, "Perhaps the magic of the wood is calling to you."

Jimin nods, slow and shallow movements, brows knitting a hair before he concedes to the notion. "Perhaps."

Jimin certainly is an eager man.

Eager to drink from the wineskins and learn all the steps to the harvest dance and dangle colorful ribbons from nearby trees. Eager to join the girls around the maypole and cast his wishes and fears and desires into the tall bonfire which licks at the stars above.

At nightfall, under the glow of the full moon, you slice open the palm of your hand with a stone dagger and allow droplets of blood to fall into his cup of magic-imbued wine. Jimin sits unaware, eyes glazed over as he watches nude bodies jump over the dying fire. You lick over your wound, tasting brassy warmth, and pass him his cup, which he grabs automatically to sip from.

"Enjoying yourself?" you ask, leaning close.

Jimin hums in response, downs his cup, and turns to you with wide, ever-eager eyes, hair sticking out on the sides from beneath a daisy crown.

"What have you done to me?" he mutters after a long moment, and you giggle in reply.

"What do you mean?" you ask, watching as his eyes travel to your lips and back up.

"I feel…" he begins, eyes widening as he gazes at the celebratory scene before him, then back at you again. "I don't know. High?"

Jimin searches your features, which shift in the flickering flame light, and he shakes his head lightly. "How do I feel so high?"

"Blood ritual," you respond with a grin, noticing as Jimin's face and scent alternate between fear, acceptance, and confusion – unsure where to land.

"Blood ritual?" he asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy.

With a nod, you lift your hand and begin to stand from the wooden bench, beckoning Jimin to follow you with your index finger. Blood trickles down from your palm to your wrist, tickling the skin.

"Your hand," Jimin mutters as he stands in a rush, stepping forward to inspect your wound.

"Follow me," you sing-song, taking large strides into the wood as the dripping red begins to stain your sleeve.

"Rí," Jimin mutters sadly, following dutifully with his eyes trained to your wrist, reaching out with limbs that are just slightly too slow to grasp. "you're hurt."

As your footfalls snap twigs and the world around you darkens under the cover of trees and long rainbow ribbons, you press yourself against a thick trunk and reach your uninjured hand out to grab onto Jimin's wrist and pull him close.

"Rí," Jimin pouts, "I can't—"

With a whispered, "Shh," you reach up and smear your spilled blood over Jimin's lips and chin, pulling a surprised gasp from his lungs.

"You're mine now," you say, and Jimin nods as he lunges forward, slotting a knee between your thighs as his hands lift to your chin to draw you close.

Jimin's lips are pillow-soft and tangy-sweet with blood and wine mingling deliciously. He moans as you open your mouth for him, and he eagerly licks inside, tasting and taking like a man starved.

Blood smears across his neck and into his hair as you pull him close, and he gasps and moans between your lips as his hands begin to untie your modest cloth dress and push it down past your arms, past your hips, to the forest floor.

"Need you," Jimin growls as his fingertips press harshly into hips and, waist and he lifts one of your legs to rest over his hip.

He shoves his pants down and in one swift movement, spears you on his hard cock, stretching you with a pleasure-pain that has you sobbing into the night. Jimin fucks you in a rough tangle of balanced limbs, skin slapping desperately against skin, and you clench around him, working yourself up as pleasure unfurls in rich tendrils through your bloodstream.

Once he cums inside you, there will be no going back. He will belong to you – to the land – and the passage to the other side will open up and swallow him whole.

But his hips still before he reaches his orgasm, and he pulls out and drops to his knees, making you whimper in confusion before clawing at the tree for stability from pleasure the moment he tastes you. Your eager pet was good at mimicking just how greedy and talented Jimin's mouth is, but pales in comparison to the real thing. Jimin hums and moans as his tongue laps at your cunt, devouring you while his fingertips sink into your soft flesh.

How can you sacrifice something so remarkable? Will the lands forgive you if you keep this one, just this once?

Pleasure builds and breaks suddenly, and you cum on Jimin's tongue, gasping and sobbing into the cool night air as the trees flutter and rejoice all around you. The air is effervescent, filled with power, engulfing and billowing around you, reaching its greedy fingers for your sacrifice as you ride your high, trembling on his soft, kiss-swollen lips.

When Jimin stands, covered in a pink smear of blood and your slick release, he yanks his borrowed white shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. You pull him into a kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth until only faint traces of your essence remain.

"Please," you whine as you spin and grip onto the tree, rubbing your ass against his throbbing cock. "Please, Jimin."

Never have you needed to be filled with the seed of a sacrifice so badly; never has the oxygen coursing through your bloodstream shimmered opalescent for someone like it does tonight.

Jimin lines himself up with your entrance and wraps one hand around your throat, sinking himself in slowly while manicured fingernails dig into your hip. The pleasure is white-hot intense, quaking through you as you tilt your hips backward, desperate to feel full.

"So tight," he groans as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward. "Been wanting you so bad."

You moan as Jimin slowly pulls out and roughly thrusts in, asking, "Yeah?" when you find that no other words are able to form.

"Feels like I'm going fucking crazy," Jimin groans, slowly pulling back and roughly snapping forward, back and forward, back and forward. "These woods…the blood…what are you doing to me?"

Before you can respond, Jimin's grip on your throat tightens, and he fucks you at a rough, quick pace, forcing air to punch from your lungs as arousal and pleasure ebb and ebb endlessly.

You scratch at the tree, ripping away chunks of bark while you lean your head against your wrists and try not to collapse under the treacherous, horrifying weight of euphoria as Jimin thrusts hard and deep, filling the night with the sounds of skin against skin and feral, animalistic grunts.

The hand on your hip reaches down between your legs, and as the pads of Jimin's fingers swirl deliciously over your clit, he growls, "Cum for me" into your ear.

Your walls pulsate and squeeze, and you follow his command, building and building your pleasure until you can no longer hold back, allowing the floodgates to burst as you cum once more.

"Fuck, that's it," Jimin moans with a drag of his lips and teeth over your shoulder and neck. "Feels so good. So fucking good. I'm so close."

"Cum inside me," you beg, desperate, squeezing around him with every last ounce of willpower you have.

As if having a sudden moment of clarity pulling him from your spell, Jimin quietly mutters, "Wait…I can't," against your shoulder, dropping his hand from around your throat.

"You must," you beg, petulance rising as Jimin's hips begin to slow and his whimpers die.

"What are we…" Jimin mutters softly, "I shouldn't be doing this."

With an exasperated huff, you pull away from Jimin, letting his cock slide out, then spin, resting your back against the tree once more. Jimin's eyes are wide and afraid as he takes you in, and he begins to glance around as if searching for a way out.

You reach the hand that remains covered in blood and drag it over one of your shoulders, scraping tiny pieces of tree bark against your skin as you tilt your head and say, "Have a taste."

Drawn by the scent of your blood, still under its spell, Jimin leans in close and drags his lips over your skin, chest lightly grazing over your hard nipples, and he hums as it fully takes over his senses once more. Jimin's fingers grip roughly at your hips, and you lift your leg, wrapping it around his hips and pulling him forward as you reach for his hard, slick cock and guide it back inside you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close while you adjust once more to the stretch – your pussy feeling used and sore. Jimin licks over your skin and begins to move his hips, and when he straightens out and fixes you with his dark gaze, he appears equal parts entranced with bliss, and afraid.

Jimin's eyes are somewhat absent of their full glaze when he thrusts forward, and you watch as slivers of doubt cast over his features. Although your magic is strong, the will of a man can be difficult to break, even on a holiday such as this, when the ritual is strongest.

But as you squeeze around him and let your scent of spiced clove and musky wildflowers fill the air, Jimin's pupils blow wide, and he leans forward, dragging his lips and teeth once more over your bloodstained skin.

As he sets a steady pace and chases his high, Jimin begins to suck and nip at your skin, huffing moans and groans while holding your ass firmly in two hands. Your body is tired and sore, back scratched, and hair matted from rough tree bark, but the pleasure overpowers, building like the clouds of an impending storm, thick and foreboding.

Cross his heart…

"Close," Jimin whimpers, and you tighten your leg around him, keeping him from pulling out as his hips thrust and quake unevenly.

"Come for me, Jimin," you command, sinking your fingernails into his shoulder while your other hand tugs at his soft, silvery hair and holds him close.

Hope to die…

Jimin mouths at your shoulder and neck, digging nails into your hips so hard you wonder if the skin might break. And then, with a desperate, almost pained groan, Jimin's hips still and then shake, and he fills you with his release.

Tendrils of fog wrap around each of Jimin's limbs, dancing over his throat, as the passage opens up and begins to swallow the two of you whole. Once he is on the other side, he can be prepared for sacrifice, and in the light of the morning sun, this land can drink of his blood.

Hang his entrails…

"Good boy," you mutter softly, as Jimin's teeth clamp down weakly, and he sobs through his orgasm, pressing his body into you as it convulses and quakes. "You've done so well."

"What—" Jimin mutters into your skin, then moans deeply as his cock continues to pulse and drain. "I can't s-s-stop."

"Shhh," you whisper softly, stroking blood-slicked silver-blond hair and pulling him close.

Jimin shivers as the smoke dissipates, skin sweat-sheened and shining in the bright moonlight, and you run your palms up and down his back. His body begins to give out, and he leans his weight into you, dropping slowly to the ground. Around you, the voices of the others – the inhabitants of this side – whisper, sing, and chant. As you assist Jimin to lay on the forest floor, exhausted from his journey to the other side, you kneel and then drape yourself over his chest, playing softly with his hair as you fall fast asleep.

Bleed him dry…

Dawn breaks as you stand tippy-toe, dangling dripping tissue and sinew from branch to low branch like a holiday garland.

"Pretty entrails, indeed," you beam as you take a step back, covered in dripping blood, to admire your work.

"Merry Beltane, Rí," Jimin's rich tenor greets you, just before two strong, warm arms wrap around your bare waist and pull you into a back-hug, skin against skin.

"Merry Beltane, pretty," you respond, turning your head to the side just enough to greet him with a soft, chaste kiss.

Upstairs, in the inn, a copy of the man sleeps soundly. Today is his last day on the island before his research is concluded, and you pull your nude, love-struck Jimin past the edge of the forest, where you will leave him with one last kiss before shifting the wood to appear normal and free of bloodied guts.

You bow your head to the land and thank it for the bountiful summer you will undoubtedly receive, then turn your head to the rising sun, and beg it with eyes closed to allow you to be greedy and keep a pet, just this once. At least until the long days shift to long nights, and, on the precipice of Lughnasadh or Samhain, a new eager stranger comes along.

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tags: no tag list for dead dove oneshots.

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin horror #jimin angst #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #a spring offering collab #fic: an ghealach

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