#I know Gilly did for a while.

[pinkhairandpronounsboy]

I don’t think I ever post a lot of “quality of life” stuff- save for like. 1 post about trains.

So here you go! Me and the only girl for me, so to speak, Highwing! We went for a nice moonlit hike.

[dollopheadsandclotpoles]

BBC Merlin is a tragedy in that Merlin's choices that were all to save Arthur's life led to Arthur's death, but that doesn't mean it was all for nothing!! The events across their 10 years together led to a new world order which eventually brought about everything they had worked towards!! PLUS THEIR RELATIONSHIP BROUGHT JOY AND MEANING TO BOTH OF THEIR LIVES!! That means something!! GUYS!! listen guys that MEANS SOMETHING!!

[neverbesokind]

every. time. I think I have a handle on this fucking job, I realize that I don't and I am a failure.

[my-darling-boy]

(TW injury description)

I am SO glad you asked I lose my mind over this man. Sidney Beldam! He’s most known for his miraculous recovery from a major facial injury sustained while he served as a young sergeant in the First World War. If you’ve read the Facemaker by Lindsay Fitzharris you might recognise him! Sources differ slightly about his story, so I’ve pieced it together as best I could. The photos below were from about February 1919!

Born in 1897, Sidney was about 17 living with his mother in Cambridge, England when the Great War commenced. While he didn’t enlist initially, he was soon conscripted when it came about in 1916 though thankfully he was in a non-combatant role driving lorries transporting soldiers to boats headed for France. It’s where he learned he enjoyed driving! However in April 1917, Sidney was transferred to the Machine Gun Corps and eventually rose to the rank of sergeant where only 7 months later, his life would change forever.

During the battle of Passchendaele, one of the muddiest most gruelling segments of the war, Sidney was on the frontlines when a shell burst, sending a shrapnel fragment tearing diagonally through his nose and the right side of his face. The young soldier collapsed face first into the mud which ended up saving his life as falling backwards would have caused him to choke on his own blood. For three days Sidney laid in a mangled heap floating in and out of consciousness while vermin scurried about his body and the other dead and wounded around him. No one would ever know the details of those agonising three days, but the trauma he experienced there left him with a lifelong phobia of rats and cockroaches. After the initial wounded had been cleared out, a wandering band of stretcher bearers discovered Sidney alive after one man touched him with his boot fully expecting him to be dead. Miraculously, he was still clinging to life.

The 19 year old sergeant was rushed down the line and then transferred to two different military hospitals where his wounds were hastily stitched in an effort to save his life before infection could spread. Unfortunately, closing the gap where he was missing flesh in his cheek caused his upper lip to be pulled into a sneer and a sunken depression formed where most of his nose was missing around the bridge. Still, he was lucky to be alive, which he later used to remark. Well he was luckier still as he would be transferred to Sidcup military hospital in Kent where he would become a patient under Sir Harold Gillies, the man often considered the pioneer of modern plastic surgery. When he arrived at hospital in 1918, his wounds were healed but his face still bore the heavy trauma of his experience. If you want to see his photographs upon arrival, I won’t post them here but if you search his name, the photos are everywhere. IMO they’re not graphic but I know it can upset some people.

Gillies went to work trying to restore Sidney’s face. This required him to reopen the wound in his cheek where a skin flap was grafted to allow his upper lip to return to normal. He also folded down a skin flap from his forehead in order to create a new nose. Behind his facade, a series of tubes and canals had to be inserted for proper sinus drainage and other unnamed functions. While his initial handful of surgeries did most of the work to reconstruct his face, Sidney underwent over 40 surgeries between 1918 and the 1930s, some reconstructive and some to evacuate the tubes behind the flesh, meaning the common cold was a routinely painful affliction for him. Gillies understood operations were traumatic for the men at Sidcup, especially since most required more than one, and so made a point about creating a lighthearted ward environment, one Sidney says was quite jolly with the staff doing everything they could to make them feel comfortable and dignified as possible. And while I thought the topmost photos were the most updated case study photos for his recovery, I stumbled upon another set from 1920 in the Faces of War by Andrew Bamji I have not seen posted anywhere!

And lads listen. In such a sweet little twist, while Sidney was still recovering from the bulk of his major surgeries, a local pianist by the name of Winifred volunteered to play for the resting servicemen, all of whom had some form of disfigurment or amputation. Carrying in her sheet music, she and Sidney laid eyes on each other for the first time and she later remarked how his smile instantly lit up the whole room! For them, it was love at first sight. The two were soon married, and although it was in the 1920s, I don’t have an exact year for this. This most likely came after Sidney was finally discharged from service in 1921. There is a photo of their wedding and y’all look how SWEET!!

Between his initial surgeries and army discharge, Gillies asked if Sidney would be his personal chauffeur, an offer he took up quickly as he loved driving from his time with lorries during the war. One somewhat humorous account tells of Gillies—who was a bit scattered at times—asking Sidney to renew his driver’s license as the surgeon left it until the last day to take care of; Sidney in a rush waited in a long line at the county hall before jumping the queue and begging the administrator to expedite his employer’s license as it was needed to drive him to the hospital the next day. The man refused, even for a surgeon to get him to his patients. Sidney went to another staff member who was friends with Gillies and begged him the same. The man cheerily agreed but was still in need of a signature from the stubborn administrator who again refused... at least until he found out Harold Gillies nearly won a golfing championship, at which point he took Sidney to his personal office to expedite the license as he was happy to do business for a skilled golfer (apparently saving people’s lives doesn’t matter as much??). A no doubt perplexed Sidney was finally able to get back to the hospital on time!

After his army discharge and most likely about the time of his marriage, Sidney moved back to Cambridge where he worked for the council as a rent collector. He was so well liked, apparently even from the people he collected from, that he soon worked his way to Housing Manager for Cambridge. About this time, he had a daughter, Pam. Every account I read of him, people gush about how sweet he was. His wife recalls how Sidney was always adored by all his family and friends. His granddaughter Marilyn McInnes in an interview said, “He was the most warm and optimistic and loving man. I adored my grandfather, I was constantly on his lap as a small child. I never noticed anything funny about his face, I guess I thought all grandads looked like mine.”

Sadly, Sidney Beldam passed away from cancer at about 80 years old in 1978. But considering the man was given 6 months to live and ended up living for 60 years more surrounded by a large and loving family, I’d say he certainly had a full life. There is a picture of him and his wife in the 60s and they are absolutely charming!!

But anyway that’s me done rambling I’ve a massive crush on him. His story makes me genuinely happy to tell and I’m so glad you asked!

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hey love, I got a question; are you down for goblins? Specifically a yandere horde of goblins? 😳

I'm not not down for it...

(I'm sorry, I'm sure I know what kind of goblin horde you meant, buuuut I started writing and couldn't stop 🥲)

CW: Entrapment, obsessive behavior, ecological polyandry/polygyny with a GN!reader, both male and female goblins, forced parental responsibilities, platonic yandere, not proofread

Madame Gilly burst into the backroom, nearly startling (Reader) into swallowing the pins they were holding in their lips. "(Reader)! Awful, amazing, terrible, fantastic news!"

(Reader) smiled nervously, sticking the pins in their cushion. "What is it, Madame?" Their boss was fabulously dramatic as always, fanning herself with a decorated envelope.

"Oh, nothing.. just a summons for one Mx. (Reader) from the Count's daughter."

"What for?"

"How should I know? I didn't read your letter!" She handed over the letter while sighing loudly. "Yet, it's so beautifully decorated.. such a shame! Another marriage proposal, ignored!" She pretended to become faint, placing her knuckles on her forehead.

(Reader) chuckled, opening the bright purple envelope with lavender tied in a ribbon. Their eyes widened, an excited gasp escaped as their legs failed them and they fell back onto their stool.

"What is it?!"

"It's.." a shocked blush dusted their cheeks, "it's a request for my services! She wants a dress for an upcoming party!"

Madame Gilly squealed, bouncing up and grabbing her protege. "Oh, that's even better than a proposal! I'm so proud of you!"

It would be roughly three days ride by carriage, packed with smaller fabrics for color swatches and texture explanation, multiple dresses (Reader) had already made with mannequins to display them, and (Reader's) portfolio of designs.

Marcus, a local man who often rode Madame Gilly around for a small fee, offered up his services, just as excited for (Reader) as the Madame. "So, this is your lucky break, huh?" He offered a hand to the young employee. "Finally gonna start considering opening your own shop."

(Reader) smiled, stepping into the carriage without Marcus' assistance. "I've never been interested in business, Marcus, you know this. I just want to make clothes."

"You should also seriously begin considering marriage.."

"My work is my legacy, Marcus." (Reader) spoke sharply with a tight smile, shutting down the conversation. They had received many marriage proposals from eligible bachelors and bachelorettes since they became of age, but didn't take an interest in any of them. Of course, (Reader) found people attractive in the past, but never felt emotionally invested in anyone to marry them, and they certainly didn't need to marry for money or connections. The thought of having children one day was also something (Reader) had seriously debated, because although the fantasy of having a child was wonderful, the process of having a baby was intimidating. Whether through being impregnated or impregnating someone else, the baby stage was much more terrifying than the raising of a child, for reasons they couldn't quite explain. The anxiety was just too much to handle.

But (Reader) didn't feel like life was passing them by, nor did they have regrets, if they ever got married then their future spouse would wait for them, no matter how many years it took to meet them.

Marcus closed the door, and (Reader) deflated, thankful that he took the hint and ended the conversation.

The change between the road and the dirt path could be felt and it made (Reader) almost wish that they had worn a dress instead of pants, just for the added cushion on their rear end.

The first day went smoothly, and boringly, (Reader) had nothing to do but think, and the night was uncomfortable, even cocooned in their blanket. But it was the next day that everything went wrong. (Reader) never saw what happened, but suddenly the carriage careened off the path and tumbled down a cliff, crashing through the woods of the mountain side.

(Reader's) entire body became airborne in the carriage, slamming their head into the ceiling, barely giving them enough time to protect their neck with their arms before being thrown like a ragdoll, not feeling any immediate pain due to the rush of adrenaline. It happened so quickly, their balled up body bouncing five times against the walls and roof before landing bottom up on the escarpment.

Out of the shattered window, (Reader) saw Marcus lying motionlessly in a tree a good distance from the carriage. They pulled their body right side up, slowly becoming aware of the stinging pain across their body. Especially their leg. Blood soaked through their right pant leg, and (Reader) couldn't bend it. It was only the second day of their journey, so it would take two days until the Duke realized something was wrong, that the journey was taking too long, and sent out a search party, which would take a day to get to the road they fell off of. Would they even notice the tire marks? And if they did, would they risk the people to search for them?

(Reader) sighed, closing their eyes. There was no point in dwelling on what ifs. (Reader) was resigned to their fate.

"I wonder what will happen first.. Starving to death, or being eaten by a wild animal." They chuckled humorlessly. With nothing to do but wait for the inevitable (Reader) fell asleep, but that was possibly a concussion.

"There's something in there."

"A dead something."

Little voices whispered outside the wreckage, rousing (Reader) from their brain injured slumber. Eyes watched them from the broken window of the door, hiding themselves from view.

"I won't bite." (Reader) offered a smile, hoping whoever was watching them wouldn't be frightened off.

A childish gasp escaped, as one of the spies scampered off. "I thought you said it was dead!" It hollered into the woods.

The child left shuffled their feet in the leaves, debating. "You promise you won't?"

"I promise."

A tiny little thing dressed in rags popped her chubby cheeked head into view, large pointy ears almost drooping under their own weight stuck out from black hair pulled back into a ponytail, her hair framed a green skinned face, making it obvious that the little girl was a goblin. She rung the front of her oversized shirt with her hands nervously.

"Hello." (Reader) cocked their head to the side in a mock bow, back and head in too much pain to attempt an actual greeting. The smile on their lips didn't leave.

"Hello.." The child mumbled in a timid way, copying (Reader's) head tilt.

"My name is (Reader). May I ask for your name?" (Reader) spoke in a low voice to appear as kind and non threatening as possible.

She took a small step forward, entering the little window without needing to duck. "My name is Vix Ix, but my brother calls me Beetle Hands."

"Why does he call you that?"

"Because I'm the best beetle catcher. At least, in my tribe." Vix Ix sat down cross legged just out of (Reader's) reach. Her large eyes wandered over (Reader's) form, mesmerized by their clothing. "What are you doing down here?"

"I had an accident. I was traveling to go meet with a potential client. I make clothes." (Reader) added that last part, seeing how the little girl's eyes sparkled while staring at the intricate needlework on their vest.

"Did you make that?" Vix Ix pointed a finger curiously at the top.

"Yes, I did. Would you like to see more of my work?" The tiny child nodded excitedly. The reaction was very human, and very adorable. "Everything may have.. scattered in the fall. But there should be a chest with a black lock, and a worn painting of a dove above it's latch. If you can find that", (Reader) fished through their pocket for a key and held it out to Vix Ix, "you can see a few of the dresses I brought for my client to look at."

Vix Ix grabbed the key, forgetting to be frightened. She ran back out of the wreckage, and (Reader) laughed, enjoying being able to bring wonder to a child in what (Reader) thought was their final moments.

They had heard so many rumors about goblins, so many stories, ranging from awful tales of mindless gnome sized trolls that murdered anything that breathed, to intelligent little creatures unfairly exterminated because of their annoying love of tricks and pranks. Sunlight glinted off of the broken shards of glass, reflecting into (Reader's) eye. How long had I been asleep? From their spot in the trees, they couldn't tell if it was midday or sunset.

Twigs snapped as the goblinette ran at full speed back to (Reader), out of breath and clutching a sparkly purple dress with butterflies embroidered at the hem line. "You made this?!"

"Hahaha! Yes I did. Do you like it?"

She was practically on the verge of tears. "It's beautiful! Is your client a princess?" Her voice was full of awe.

"The daughter of a Duke." The child waddled over, tripping on the bundle of dress in her arms, and sat much closer to (Reader) than she had earlier.

"It's so pretty!" Green fingers rubbed the fabric lovingly.

An idea came to (Reader) as they saw the joy in Vix Ix's face as she gripped the dress tightly. "You know.. I also had my sewing kit with me. If you can find that, I can trim up this dress for you."

Eyes wide with shock, her ears bounced like she had just been slapped, and asked in horror "You would cut up this dress?!"

Surprised, (Reader) felt their heart melt a little. "My leg is broken." Vix Ix looked down, and seemed startled by the blood. "I don't think there's any way the Duke's men are going to find me. So, I would have to cut off a lot of this dress to fit you, but I'd rather it be worn, then rot away in a trunk."

Tears began to drip down the little kid's cheeks, puffed up in an attempt to stop herself from crying. "I'll go find your sewing kit." She ran back out, sniffling loudly.

The moon rose high into the sky, and Hog Nose, a scrawny little boy who had an upturned button nose unlike any of the goblins in his tribe, held his ears as he was reprimanded by one of the tribe's strongest. Their tribe was small, and unusual. Decades ago their family began from a group of defectors, mostly women escaping their own tribes, wanting to create a community where they could flourish. Despite never attacking humans or causing mischief they suffered many casualties at the hands of adventurers, slaughtering them before they had the chance to explain themselves, forcing them to defend themselves. This left their family broken and impoverished. But they never gave in to "their nature" by stealing from travelers, an attempt to prove that goblins are not born evil.

"And you left Beetle Hands alone, possibly with a human?" Keegraul loudly asked incredulously.

Hog Nose whimpered, afraid of being punished and fearful for his sister. Keegraul grabbed a large dagger, almost a short sword in the young child's hands.

"She still isn't back yet, so lead the way."

The woods were dangerous at night, not only because of wild animals like mountain lions, but because of monsters that had slowly been migrating closer towards the goblins' home. Hog Nose shook as he led Keegraul through the trees, worried to find his sister hurt, or worse.

But what they found instead was that sound of laughter, emanating from a broken carriage connected to a dead horse with another corpse stuck in a tree nearby. Confused, Hog Nose ran to pile of broken wood, rushing past Keegraul who tried to stop him, knife ready for a fight.

"Beetle Hands!" He called out, not knowing what to expect, but surprised by what he found. His sister, wearing human clothing, with an injured human still fixing the bottom of the skirt.

"Hog Nose? What are you doing here?" She seemed genuinely confused, having had so much fun with her new human friend that she hadn't realized the time, standing in the dim light of (Reader's) lamp.

"I'm here to save you?"

Keegraul poked his head in after Hog Nose, curious as to the commotion. That's when the scarred man who had fought many battles with many adventurers, who never once met a human who treated him or his kin as equals, made eye contact with an exhausted person, pale from blood loss, fighting through their pain and fatigue, to make a dress for a little goblin girl. At least, that's what it looked like.

"What's going on here?" Keegraul meant to ask, but it came out as more of a demand.

Worried that they had offended him, (Reader) held up their hands. But Vix Ix beamed up at him, her large toothy grin radiating childish wonder. "(Reader's) making me a princess!"

"Oh, are they?" Keegraul released the tension he had been holding. The air smelled like blood, and at first he thought it was from the human's dead companions outside, but their broken leg was hard to miss. "It looks like they're dying."

Vix Ix ceased her bouncing, turning a terrified eye to (Reader). "Are you dying?"

(Reader) sent a quick glare to the adult goblin before shifting back to their comforting smile. "My leg just hurts, sweetheart. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Not if you don't get that taken care of." The goblin retorted, stepping closer and bending down to get a better look. He let out a noise of frustration. "I can't see anything but blood with these pants on."

Rough hands with broken nails peeled (Reader's) pants off, pausing whenever they sucked on their teeth in pain. The bone right beneath their knee was protruding from from it's flesh.

"That's a nasty break all right."

"Can you fix it?" The little boy goblin asked, still shaking from earlier, but now cradling his blade like a doll.

Delirious from exhaustion, (Reader) turned their smile to him. "What's your name?"

"Craak, or Hog Nose."

They could feel themselves about to pass out. "Hognose? That's my favorite snake. Cutest little snake I've ever seen.." Keegraul tightened their torn pants around their thigh, waking them up with the shooting pain.

(Reader) hissed, incapable of audibly screaming. "We should take you back to the hole, so that we can get that leg fixed up."

Vix Ix stood tall, arms straight in the air, with a determined look on her face. "You can lean on me!"

Keegraul sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'll find you a large stick for a crutch, and you can lean on my head for support." Vix Ix followed him, arguing about who got to support (Reader) on their journey, while Hog Nose stood shyly, still watching (Reader) with a small grin. "Did you mean that?"

(Reader) felt feverish, and couldn't focus their eyes. "Of course. You mean.. the snakes right? Never seen a cuter snake." Their breathing was labored, pausing between words awkwardly.

There was an odd blue tint forming on his baby cheeks, but it dissipated with the arrival of his little sister. "WE FOUND A STICK!"

The goblins all stared at the human receiving medical attention, gobsmacked. Everyone was incredibly interested in seeing who was special enough to be brought home by Keegraul. Especially the children, who were entranced by the dress (Reader) fixed up for Beetle Hands.

"Are you a princess?" A young girl asked, practically glowing.

"Haha no."

"Oh. Are you a prince?"

"Alright! Everyone go to bed!" Keegraul shooed the goblins back to the sleeping room. They all went back except a woman and Vix Ix. The lady seemed embarrassed, hiding herself by crossing her arms.

"You made this?"

"Yes. I have more dresses and fabric in the woods."

Her eyebrows were knit in what looked to be anger. "Why did you make a dress for Beetle Hands?"

"I just tailored it for her. Because she thought it was pretty."

"Yeah, but why?"

(Reader) smiled, understanding that the goblins must be suspicious of them. "Doesn't she look pretty?"

Vix Ix spun around, bumping into the other goblin. "I do!"

Her face softened. "You really think she's pretty?"

"Of course?" The goblin turned blue, like Hog Nose had earlier, and shuffled away.

(Reader) would later learn that her name was Reassa, and she warmed up to (Reader) quickly as they recuperated. In fact, all of the goblin tribe were incredibly welcoming to (Reader) to the family. They helped (Reader) between rooms, and generally fawned over them. As thanks for saving their life, (Reader) worked on reworking the dresses and fabrics the goblins found near the crash site into outfits for everyone. But as (Reader) got better, the goblins became more nervous.

"Are you thinking of leaving?" Keegraul wrung his hat in his hands, big sad eyes staring at (Reader) pleadingly.

"I'm sure my boss thinks I'm dead. It would be good to return home, and contact Marcus' family about his fate. But worry not, I won't tell anyone about you or the tribe." (Reader) smiled, practicing standing on their healing leg.

"That's not why I ask." (Reader) cocked their head, confused. "We trust you- I trust you. I know you wouldn't betray us. We- we'll just miss you."

Vix Ix popped out from behind a stack of boxes, knocking (Reader) to the ground, sobbing. "You're not leaving!"

Keegraul's heart broke. "Beetle -"

"No! Ti aim kahl, pen! (Reader's) not leaving!"

Reassa listened from outside the hole, along with three other women. They didn't understand. Didn't they make their love for (Reader) obvious enough? The flowers they would weave into crowns for them, the poems they world write for them..

One of the younger women started crying, head in her hands, choking on her sobs. Something dark grew in Reassa's chest, a feeling she often tried to force away, to prove to the world that they were wrong about goblins. A darkness, a possessiveness. "Maybe we should keep (Reader) here."

"We can't keep them against their will. They aren't a prisoner."

Reassa punched the entrance to their hollow, clenching her jaw tightly. "I love them."

"So do we.. but, what can we do?"

Hog Nose dropped a basket of vegetables. He had returned earlier than the other children. "Did you just say (Reader) is leaving?"

"Hog Nose! I'm so sorry, when did you get here?"

"I don't want them to leave!"

"I know, baby, but there's nothing-"

Hog Nose pulled out his dagger from it's sheath, rubbing his thumb across the beautiful golden vest (Reader) had made him as he did so. "(Reader) never learned our language."

"What?"

"What if the woods are too dangerous for them to go home? Because of the kahn piers?" The women all stopped, internally debating whether or not they could betray their fore mothers like this, lie to keep a human for themselves. But the decision was made for them, as Hog Nose slashed open his arm with the blade.

Inside the hole, (Reader) heard the women scream, and quickly wrestled Vix Ix to her feet so (Reader) could hobble to the opening. Reassa carried Hog Nose in her arms, a bloody mess, with a guilty expression on her face.

"What happened?" Keegraul demanded, watching as (Reader) pulled the little boy out of Reassa's arms to inspect the damage.

"He was attacked!" She collapsed, tearing at Keegraul's shirt.

"By what?!"

She swallowed hard, eyes flickering to (Reader), the motion only noticed by Keegraul and Vix Ix.

"Kahn piers."

Keegraul's eyes widened, realizing immediately what they had planned without discussing with him or the other men. "What kind of idiot-"

"What's a kahn pier?"

Vix Ix looked at her brother, witnessing him quickly shut the eye he was peaking out of. "Kahn piers are the most vile, evil creatures in these woods!" She cried out, grabbing onto her brother dramatically. "Hog Nose is lucky to be alive!"

Shame ripped through Keegraul's spirit, but seeing (Reader) shake with fear, imagining them doting on the children, caring for an the adults, watching them leave.

Wouldn't it be wonderful? Having (Reader) there to brighten their little home, loving the young ones as their own pen? Almost like a real spouse?

Even the way they clung onto Hog Nose's bloodied body, too broken up to notice that all his wounds were only surface deep.

Keegraul knew that everyone would play along, no one would tell (Reader) the truth. Everyone loved them so much, it was almost disturbing.

"Call everyone back home. The woods aren't safe."

[suzukiblu]

more pocket-sized soulmates from @bucky-boychik-barnes's Pockets AU:

Tim's Pocket refuses to wear a mask, which is an issue. He doesn't want to wear the tiny wire-rimmed glasses either, or even change out of his weird straps-and-belts version of the Superman suit into . . . literally anything else, at this point. Tim would take anything else. They've given him options, but he's refused them all. He won't take off the costume. 

Also he won't stop flying around the cave like a bat out of hell, and it's seriously annoying. 

"Have you successfully selected a name for your Pocket, Master Tim?" Alfred inquires as he pours everyone tea at the table while Bruce is staring assessingly at Tim's Pocket, including four little Pocket-sized cups' worth–one for Bruce's Cat ("Kitty" to the tabloids), one each for Dick's Red and Star, and one for Tim's . . . whoever. 

Alfred doesn't have a Pocket of his own. Tim's always felt too awkward to ask about it. 

And Jason never got a Pocket at all. 

"No, not yet," Tim says, because the whole no-mask/yes-cape issue has been a lot more immediately concerning than naming him. He can't take a Pocket Superman home to his dad. Pocket Clark Kent is going to be bad enough. 

Assuming Tim's Pocket ever puts the stupid glasses on, anyway. 

"You should get on that," Dick advises as he picks up his teacup with an appreciative nod of thanks to Alfred and takes a sip. "Red got really mad at me when I didn't name her right away. I mean, like, naming Pockets is so . . . outsider, you know? And kinda gilly, too. But that's how Babs grew up, obviously, and I don't know how they did it on Krypton, but Uncle Clark was raised by gadje too, so . . ." 

Tim understood absolutely none of that, but just nods like he did and makes a note to go do some research later. 

"Sure," he says, just hoping he can convince his Pocket to ditch the damn cape sooner than later. Red wheels her tiny wheelchair over to the Pockets' nicely-set little tea table and ignores Star floating down to land in the seat across from her. They don't usually get along very well, which is a little weird to see in Pockets who didn't come from people who are, like, on the literal opposite ends of the ethical spectrum, especially ones that belong to the same person, but they both settle in all the same. Cat does an artful flip off of Bruce's caped shoulder down to the table and then strolls over to join them. Tim's Pocket looks curious, but stays hovering in the air just over his shoulder. 

Is his Pocket, like, antisocial or something? Is that a concern? Usually Pockets group up really easily, from what Tim knows. Not that he's ever had one before, and admittedly his parents' had always mostly ignored each other, but . . . normally they do, right? 

Cat chirps impatiently and makes a beckoning gesture at Tim's Pocket, but he, very weirdly, sort of floats backwards and almost . . . hides behind Tim's head. Just for a moment, but . . . 

Weird, Tim thinks. Weird, and not very Superman-like. Pockets are usually a bit more emotionally honest than the people they come from, but Superman's met Cat as many times as Bruce has met Laney, so why would a Pocket that came from him ever hesitate to go over to her? 

Star chirps too, holding out her arms and starting to glow with intensely bright solar radiation that would only be an encouraging gesture to a Kryptonian, Tim is sure. It does the job, though, and his Pocket pauses for just a moment longer, then goes to the visible effort to put on a bright grin and darts over to land beside her. She immediately starts chattering at him in Pocket-talk and he chatters back easily, and Tim then has to witness his own damn Pocket start undeniably flirting with one of Dick's Pockets. 

He has never been more mortified in his life, he thinks right up until his Pocket turns his head and starts flirting with Cat. 

Tim disassociates a little. Like. Just a bit. 

Or a lot. 

"Hm," Bruce says while Tim is busy dying of mortification, his eyes narrowing assessingly. Star is happily flirting back at Tim's Pocket, to Tim's absolute horror, but worse, Cat is actually humoring him. 

Tim has died and this is hell. There's no other explanation whatsoever for this.  

Cat reaches over and scritches his Pocket behind the ears. He looks startled, then visibly zones out for a moment, and then leans into the contact and purrs. Cat chirps approvingly, Star laughs, and Red snorts, but fondly. 

Tim is definitely, definitely in hell right now. Oh god. What is happening right now and why is it happening to him? 

"Well, he's got aspirations, I'll give him that," Dick says wryly as he leans back in his chair. "Though I don't think Lois Lane would appreciate them." 

"It's not Superman," Bruce states matter-of-factly. Tim and Dick both blink; Tim's Pocket immediately scowls.

[menofchaos]

Coco

Note: Third time I'm trying to send this out! I missed sleep to write this, which usually means it'll end up being one of my favorites like the Vegas story. I do have more of this written, so please let me know if anyone would be interested! This is the first installment of Coco x museum! reader. Picture credit goes to @richardcabralofficial on ig & divider credit goes to @spideyspeaches. Enjoy!

Coco lit a cigarette as he walked down the sunny streets of downtown San Diego, Angel and Gilly planning their evening of bar hopping. They decided to head down to the beach for a long weekend, a getaway from the pressures of Santo Padre.

“Damn, that’s a big ass building.”

“Ain’t this the museum you wanted to go to?” Angel asked.

EZ nodded, “Yeah at some point. You guys don’t have to come in.”

The four of them turned down the street toward the entrance and Gilly laughed, “Oh I’m definitely going.”

Angel frowned, “You wanna go to a museum? You good, homie?”

“If all the chicks in the museum look like that? Fuck yeah, I do,” he scoffed and nodded over at the museum steps.

They all looked up to see two men in suits talking to a woman, her long curly hair flowing gently in the wind as she laughed. Coco’s eyes widened when he saw ink covering her throat, bright acrylics on her tattooed hands. His eyes followed her curves, covered up by her professional attire. He licked his lips when he heard Angel mumble, “Damn.”

EZ shook his head, “I didn’t mean we had to go now.”

“What better time than the present, boy scout?” Gilly smirked, “You guys in?”

Angel looked over at Coco, who shrugged, “Why not?”

“Alright,” Gilly clapped, “Think she dresses like that all the time?”

“She’s way out of your league,” Angel snorted, shaking his head as they crossed the street.

“You think you have a better chance?” Gilly arched an eyebrow.

Coco laughed, “You two gonna bet again? Since it went so well last time.”

Both men glared at him before going back to arguing over who would ask her out. The men in suits walked away and the woman turned to see the four of them heading up the stairs.

“Welcome,” she smiled and opened the door, “Ticket counter is to your left, let me know if you have any questions about the exhibits.”

Gilly looked her over slowly, “Thanks mami. I do have a question. Are you the exhibit?”

She laughed politely, “No, I’m not.”

“Too bad, I can’t stop staring,” he winked, heading inside. 

“All these artifacts and I can’t take my eyes off you,” Angel smirked and followed him in.

EZ shook his head, “I’m sorry about them, it’s their first day in public.”

Coco took off his sunglasses as she laughed, “It’s all good, I’ve heard worse,” she closed the door behind them, “Enjoy the museum,” she winked at Coco before a younger employee called her over.

Coco watched her walk off, hips swaying. Gilly and Angel were still quietly bickering over her. While they were distracted, he took a few steps toward where she stood with another woman wearing a regular museum uniform. The woman went into the exhibit and she turned to Coco.

“Can I help you?” she asked him.

“Just wanted to apologize again for my brothers,” he told her, “They’re harmless.”

She smiled, “That’s sweet, thank you. Like I said, I’ve had way worse pick up lines than that. I was a little bummed I didn’t hear one from you, though,” she admitted.

Coco’s eyes widened and he smiled, “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, “See if it was more original than your brothers,” she teased.

He laughed softly, “They didn’t exactly get creative, did they?”

“No but at least they didn’t say they’d nail me to the wall,” she shivered slightly in disgust, “That one grosses me out.”

He shook his head, “I wouldn’t have let them get away with that one.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Coco,” he held a hand out to her, “Yours?”

She introduced herself and shook his hand, “I guess you wouldn’t let them get away with that, would you, boogeyman?”

His eyes lit up, “You know that story?”

She smiled, “Of course,” she scanned the patches on his leather. Coco held his breath for a moment, waiting for her to dismiss him, “Santo Padre? What brings you to San Diego?”

“We wanted to get out of the desert for a few days,” he murmured, “Hang out at the beach.”

“That’s why I live here, so I can be on the beach whenever,” she smiled, “How long are you in town for?”

“Till Tuesday,” he bit his lip, willing his heart to slow down.

She nodded, holding his gaze for a moment, “So, you got a line?”

He shook his head, “No lines,” he licked his lips, “But I’d love to take you out later.”

She smiled, “I can’t tonight but I’ll take your number and call you tomorrow?” she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

Coco recited his number to her, smirking when he glanced over to see Gilly and Angel glaring at him. She nodded, “I’ll see you soon?” she took a few steps back, smiling.

“See you soon,” he smiled slowly, his eyes on hers.

She giggled and turned down a hallway, out of his sight. He rejoined the other guys.

“What just happened?” Angel asked, “You get her number?”

He shook his head, “Gave her mine. Thanks for making me look good,” he smirked as EZ handed him a ticket, “Thanks, bro.”

“Motherfucker,” Gilly swore, “You’re such a dick.”

After the museum, the four of them headed to dinner, then a bar on the beach. They stood around a pool table, EZ and Angel against Coco and Gilly.

“I still can’t believe you snaked her from me,” Gilly shook his head.

“You don’t have a claim on her, homie,” he smirked, taking a sip of beer.

“You come on too aggressive, bro,” Angel said.

EZ snorted, “You weren’t much better.”

Angel scoffed, “I wasn’t as bad as him!”

“All I did was give her my number,” Coco watched Gilly take his turn, “It’s not like I stole your girlfriend or some shit.”

Coco was in the middle of his turn when a loud cheer erupted behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a high top all holding their drinks up, laughing.

“Wait, isn’t that her?”

Coco grinned when he saw her sitting at the high top, a pink margarita in her hand and a relaxed smile on her face. She caught his gaze and she smiled wider, waving at him. He held up a finger, turning back to finish his turn, “It is.”

He sunk two balls and missed the third, setting his cue down when he heard, “Lord have mercy. Look at that.”

All thought left his mind when he saw her heading toward him. She had forgone her professional attire, a longer asymmetrical skirt with a button up and blazer, for a tight black and white dress that hit mid thigh. Her long curled were tied up in a ponytail, two braids nestled among the strands. Her darker lipstick made him want to smear it.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Hey,” he murmured, “You look beautiful.”

She giggled shyly, “Thank you. This is a coincidence.”

“Your plans for the night?” he asked, glancing at the table that was not so subtly spying on her.

She nodded, “College friends in town for the night. We’re going to the beach tomorrow before their flight leaves.”

Coco smirked, “We’re going to the beach too. The one down the road.”

“So are we,” she laughed, “Another coincidence.”

“Or fate,” he suggested, failing to keep himself from checking her out.

She felt butterflies under his gaze, “Could be. I gotta get back but how about this? If you find me at the beach tomorrow, you can take me out to dinner.”

His eyes lit up at the challenge. Between his military training and club antics, he knew he could meet it, “I’m down. See you tomorrow, ma.”

“See you tomorrow,” she kissed his cheek softly, walking back to her group. He couldn’t stop smirking the rest of the night.

Coco sat down on a lounge chair between Angel and Gilly, “Why the fuck do we stay in the desert when we could be here?” he asked as Angel passed him the blunt.

Angel laughed, “We should convince Alvarez to start a San Diego charter.”

“Coco just wants to be near his new girl,” Gilly opened a beer.

“You still bitching about that?” Coco arched an eyebrow, “How many chicks are out here, go pick up one up if you got that much game.”

“Oh now you got game?” Gilly asked, “With that crooked ass nose.”

Coco passed the blunt to EZ, retort on his tongue when his phone lit up with an unknown number. He opened it to find a picture of her smiling, sunglasses covering her eyes and her long hair tied up in a messy bun. He could only see from her shoulders up, a table with beer pong set up in the background. It was accompanied by a text.

I’m here! Ready for your mission?

He smirked, typing out, ‘Mission accepted’ before standing up, “Well you fuckers can keep playing with each other, I’m going to get a date.”

EZ grinned, “Good luck, bro.”

Coco fist bumped him, “Good luck with these two,” he joked and grabbed his phone and cigarettes, sliding his sunglasses on as he walked up to the top of the sand. He remembered the size of her group the night before and knew they wouldn’t be that hard to spot. He checked the picture again, his heart skipping a beat at her smile. Another text came in as he tried to study the background for clues.

No clues but I do have a drink waiting for you

He noticed rocks behind her and scanned the beach, grinning when he saw a cliff to his left. He walked down to the water, taking his time to smoke a cigarette as he made his way over. A large blue canopy with a long table under it was set up next to the cliff, coolers and bags scattered around towels and blankets set up on the ground. He swore under his breath when he spotted her in nothing but a black and green two piece, a drink in each hand. Tattoos covered both arms and curled around her long legs, a few on her back and sides. She was talking to two other women, one in a pink one piece and the other covered by an oversized white t shirt and men’s swimming trunks. Four guys stood at either end of the beer pong table in different colored bathing suits. He walked up, ignoring the looks the guys gave him as he tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and grinned.

“Coco!” she leaned in to kiss his cheek, “That didn’t take nearly as long as I expected.”

He laughed, “I was a Marine, baby.”

“That’s not fair,” she pouted, “Here’s a beer if you want it. Let me introduce you to everyone,” she offered him the bottle.

“Sure, thank you,” he took it and followed her around the tent, shaking hands with everyone. They all went to college together, getting picked up and invited in by others in the friend group. They used to be a bigger group, she explained, but fights, moves and break ups splintered the group until it was the remaining seven of them. She hung back with him as the guys kept playing, one white boy, Dan or Dave or something, glancing at him often with a glare.

“Your friend in the green doesn’t like me that much,” he teased a few minutes later.

She looked over at the canopy and sighed, “He claims he’s protective, but he’s not like that about anyone else. He’s just one of those white knight guys.”

“White knight guys?” he frowned.

“Yeah, if I do something he thinks could hurt me, he acts concerned for my well being but he just has feelings for me and gets jealous,,” she explained, “He did the same thing in college when he found out I was dancing.”

He arched an eyebrow, “Dancing?”

She nodded, looking up at him, “I didn’t come from a good family or anything, so I had to pay my own way through college. I got some scholarships but it didn’t cover everything so I started stripping to help pay my bills and shit,” he watched her as she spoke, knowing this was a test of his reaction.

“That’s smart, you probably made bank,” he winked.

A  smile lit up her face, satisfied in his response, “You know I did. No student loans for me.”

White Knight Dan/Dave called her over for her turn but she declined, telling him she’d play later. His disappointment was visible, tossing another glare Coco’s way as he went back to the game.

Coco smirked, “Damn, I’m making all kinds of enemies talking to you.”

She took a sip of her beer, “Who else?”

“My homie’s still mad,” he laughed.

“Tell him if he can find it in his heart to forgive you, I have a bunch of hot, single friends I can introduce him to,” she offered.

He laughed softly, “That might do it, thanks mami.”

[kikijackson-blog]

A Relaxing Day At The Beach

Readers 18+ Only

Summary: You spend a lazy day at the beach with the boys. Inspiration for this came from yet another Lana Del Rey song called Music To Watch Boys To. Hope you like. Mentions of Angel, Creeper, Coco, Gilly and Ez.

WARNINGS: Just some light language and naughtiness.

You dig your toes into the warm sand, the smell of the ocean and sounds of the waves crashing onto shore always took you to a special place, one of peace and tranquility. You could easily fall asleep, the ocean waves and songs of seagulls flying over the sky was like nature’s lullaby. On any other day you would have already dozed off but this day was not like any other day.

“Ey, watch what the fuck you doin’. You damn near knocked my beer out of my hand.” Gilly shouted to Coco who had bumped into him.

That was the third fight that had broken out in the half hour that you’d been here. Kids. It was like watching kids fighting over petty things. If it wasn’t one thing it was another. It’s like they look for any excuse to start shit, like they don’t know any other way, it’s all they’ve known you surmise. You put your headphones on, the ones with the flowers on them. You roll your eyes and hit play on your phone, the sounds of Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘Today’ flowing through your ears drowns out their shouts. No, there would be no peaceful napping on the beach today.

Still it was quit amusing watching them argue now that you couldn't hear them. Using body language and your knowledge of their individual personalities, you could imagine quite accurately what they were saying to each other or re-imagine what they were arguing about. You make a game of it, adding your own narrative to the scene.

“That ain’t my fault though. You shoulda had a better grip on it.” he grinned but Gilly wasn’t haven’t it. Gilly gets in his face and Coco bracing himself for a fight. 

You wonder how far this will go before someone intervenes. You always like to watch Coco get all worked up, he’s very… passionate. It often leaves the mind wondering if he’s that passionate in all things. It doesn’t take very long before Ez is there trying to break it up.

You look around and find Creeper hitting on a random girl he just met, or at least attempting to in his own way. Large breasted and nearly half his age, the woman was clearly out of his league but he was either oblivious or didn’t care. Wild horses couldn’t drag away Creeper’s confidence. He’s showing her all his battle wounds. You wonder as he points to one in particular why he thinks that would actually work but it does. The girl’s face softens up and you could almost hear the ‘ay, poor baby.’ as she traces one of his scars. He of course is all smiles reminiscent of a kid in a candy shop. Oh he is trying to fill his bag with sweets today.

He tried that on you once but it hadn’t work. You had just snickered and said, “well maybe next time don’t get shot.” That had led the entire club in an uproar of cackles and ribbing on Creeper but he didn’t care. If it had bothered him it did not show one bit. He’d just smiled innocently at you, “that’s okay y/n, one day you’ll change your mind and I promise I won’t mock you when you do but I might make you beg for it.”

You turn your attention to the ocean but it's not the waves that have caught your eye. It’s the tall dark haired man walking out of the water that you are drawn to. Beads of salt water trickling down his body, you count each one only to lose count as a new one falls down. One particular drop catches your gaze and you follow it down to his abs. You’ve heard of washboard abs but your curious as a kitten mind questions if you could actually wash your delicates on it. A naughty smile creeps across your face as you imagine yourself washing your panties on those abs while still wearing them, you bite down on your lower lip to hide it and begin singing along to distract yourself from your own fantastically kinky thoughts. 

The drop you’ve been following takes its painfully slow time to make its way down, further down, way down until it reaches its final destination, the very edge of his black swimsuit. Leave it to Angel to be wearing speedos. Unaware that you were even still gawking you let out an audible gasp loud enough to both snap you out of the most delicious thoughts and get the others’ attention but you paid no mind. Angel’s eyes were on you now and there was a storm brewing there, a dangerous one. One of amusement, desire and lots of mischief.

“You like what you see, babygirl.” It was a statement not a question. Like he knew he was that hot, like he knew if he just reached between your legs he’d find your bikini bottoms soaked. That ego and the confidence of this man was through the roof.

“Yes, Daddy.” You answer in your sweet good girl voice.

Oh yes there was definitely a storm coming, one that promised to fulfill all unspoken fantasies, even those you’ve never acknowledged to yourself.

[derangedangel]

Forgive and Forget - Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Elijah compels you to forget him then you run into him in New Orleans 

Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 5,331

Author’s Note: This has been in my drafts since 2020 lol. I only thought about it because I’m going to a TVD Con this month and I’m seeing Daniel Gillies again so I started re-reading Elijah fics and remembered this bad boy. Also this is my first Elijah fic! Reblogs and comments are appreciated. Dividers are from @firefly-graphics​

Elijah knew what he had to do and he hated himself for it. He always wanted to give you a choice. For you to make your own decisions. But for this, he had to take things into his own hands. 

“What’s wrong, Elijah,” you asked staring into his brown eyes instantly knowing something wasn’t right. You reached up, running your hands through his hair.

“I- I’m sorry,” he replied, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears.

You shook your head confused. “Sorry about what?”

Elijah’s eyes dilated before he spoke. “You are going to forget me.”

“No,” you said in disbelief as you shook your head. “No, Elijah, don’t do this.”

Elijah ignored your pleas and held your head firmly in his hands so you couldn’t look away. “You will have no memory of us, or the times we have shared. You won’t remember that vampires exist, or who Elijah Mikaleson is.” He paused as he stared into your eyes slowly forgetting your whole relationship with him. “You will make new friends, and find love.” 

Elijah constantly thought of you. Even now in New Orleans while Klaus was plotting against the witches, he wondered how you were doing. After he compelled you to forget him, he would occasionally check on you. One day he went back to the town you lived in and you were gone. No trace of where you went. He thought it was for the best. It felt like torture every time he went back and wasn’t able to speak to you. Plus with Klaus regularly making a new enemy, he didn’t need anyone finding out about you and using you against him. 

New Orleans was packed for Mardi Gras. Tourist and locals made there way through the streets and Elijah was over it. All he wanted to do was was go home, but he had to keep an eye out on the witches. He made his way down Bourbon to check on one of the voodoo shops. That’s when he saw you... well he thinks it’s you. Although it had only been a few years and it could have very well been you, he was in denial. New Orleans was a popular vacation destination, especially during Mardi Gras, but for some reason he felt like he saw a ghost.

Elijah quickly changed course and followed the person he thought was you. Of all the bars you could have went into, you choose Rousseau’s. He followed the back of your head and the small group of women you were with. Weaving in and out of people you found a table and he finally caught a glimpse of your profile. Elijah’s breath hitched and he felt as the whole bar went silent. It was you. 

You were just as beautiful as ever. Besides your hair being slightly different, you looked exactly as you did the day he compelled you. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” a voice said next to Elijah but he didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Good evening, Camille.”

Camille glanced at you then back at Elijah. She would have told him to just go over and talk to you, but she knew the trouble the Mikaelsons caused, and didn’t want to put a stranger through that. 

“The tourist are starting to get worried about a creepy man in a suit staring at some woman plotting on how he can kidnap her.”

Elijah finally stopped gaping at you and looked at Camille. “I just came in for a drink.”

“Mmhmm... right,” Camille said then went over to the bar to pour Elijah’s usual drink. 

Elijah sat at the bar much longer than he should have. He watched you laugh with your friends. He noticed small quirks that you used to have years ago. How you would twirl your necklace in between your fingers as you told a story. How your lips would quiver when you tried to hold in a laugh before you would burst out giggling as you tossed your head back. 

Everything was find until a man approached your table. His eyes were set on you and Elijah hated it. He wanted so badly not to listen in on your conversation. He had no right. Then he saw you get up and he just had to hear what you were saying.

“Let’s step outside.”

Elijah was on his feet in an instant. He tossed down some cash to pay for his drink and tip Camille, then he followed you outside. The streets were still crowded, but no one seemed to notice you walking the man into the alley. 

You pushed the man against the wall and a flash of excitement with a mix of nervousness grew in the man’s eyes. Elijah watched you whisper something to the man as he stepped closer. Then suddenly you turned around and shoved Elijah against the wall on the other side of the alley.

“Why are you- Elijah,” you said totally confused.

“Y/N,” Elijah said at the same time you spoke, equally as lost as you were.

“What are you...,” you said in a low voice. 

“What’s happening,” the man you were about to feed from asked. His voice shaky and scared.

You rolled your eyes then turned around to compel him.

“You will forget meeting me and this little encounter in the alley. Go back to your friends and find some other woman to flirt with.” 

You watched the man walk away, sighing before turning back towards Elijah.

“Y/N... what happened to you?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” you said shrugging. “Super speed. The ability to compel.”

Elijah huffed. “I know you’re a vampire, Y/N. But the last time I saw you, you were human and living a happy life.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest giving Elijah a slightly annoyed look. “And the last time I saw you, you compelled me to forget about you and our relationship.”

Elijah looked down, guilt filling his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s not my proudest moment, but I assure you I had my reasons.”

“Please do enlighten me.”

He licked his lips before he spoke, taking time with his words. “An alley doesn’t seem like the best place to have this conversation.”

You sighed annoyed at the original. “Fine. Let me go tell my friends I’m leaving first.”

Elijah followed you back into the bar and waited for you at the door while you told your friends you were heading out early. He watched you say something to the women around the small table, then they all turned towards the door to look at him. Elijah was normally a very composed man, but seeing four sets of eyes land on him after his ex told them she was going with him to talk had him a little nervous. 

“Lead the way,” you said after you walked back to Elijah. 

The walk was awkward and quiet, neither of you wanting to speak first. You weren’t sure where he was taking you, or if he wanted to wait until you got there to talk. After a few minutes, you made it to Jackson Square. Since it was late in the evening, all the street performers were gone and the tourist with them. There were just a few people roaming the streets. Elijah walked over to a bench and you took that as your queue to sit.

“I’m not quite sure where to start,” Elijah said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit down next to you.

“How about why you compelled me to forget about you... about us,” you replied, hurt dripping from your words. Although it happened years ago, and you thought you already dealt with it, seeing Elijah hurt more than you wanted to lead on.

“There’s so much you don’t know, Y/N,” Elijah said fiddling with his collar now.

“Then tell me,” you said making him make eye contact with him. “I’m not some naïve little girl. Don’t beat around the bush, just tell me.”

“Do you remember me ever speaking of my brother Niklaus?”

“Yeah, you didn’t talk much about any of your family. I could tell there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to push. You would tell me when you were ready.”

“Well, Niklaus is my half brother. His biological father was a werewolf. So while the rest of my siblings and I were vampires, he was a hybrid. But our mother hid that from him. She put a curse on him to make his werewolf side dormant. For centuries my brother tried to break the curse, but he needed the doppelganger.” 

“Doppelganger,” you asked completely confused as to what that was and why he was telling you all of this.

“A double of the woman my mother used to suppress his werewolf abilities. They are apart of the same bloodline, so her blood could be used to reverse the curse.”

“Okay... so what does this have to do with us?”

“I received word that a new doppelganger was in Mystic Falls. I needed to get to her before Klaus did because I planned to use her against my brother.”

Elijah paused for a moment giving you time to interrupt. “Use her against him? Why? That’s your brother.”

“My brother has done a lot of harm in his thousand years of living. Most to others who stood in his way, but also to our family. Because of his hybrid nature, he is able to dagger our family. He told me he through our siblings' coffins into the sea. I wanted revenge.”

“Your brother sounds like an ass,” you said. Now you were facing Elijah more on the bench. You head was propped up on your head as you leaned against the bench, with you legs curled underneath you.

Elijah chuckled under his breath. “That he is. But I knew I couldn’t seek the revenge I wanted with you in my life. Niklaus would use you against me and I could not have you be put at risk because me.”

“So you made me forget,” you said slowly gazing up at him.

“I made you forget,” Elijah said looking off into the distance. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie. Although the two of you were outside, the air felt thick to him.

“Look, Elijah, I’m not trying to rekindle an old flame or anything. I just need closure. Why couldn’t you have just told me all this then? Let me remember you, or our relationship, or vampires at the least. Maybe I wouldn’t be what I am now.”

“Y/N, I know you,” Elijah said looking at you now. “You wouldn’t have accepted that it was just over. I couldn’t have you come looking for me and get pulled into my mayhem.” 

“Maybe,” you muttered. 

“Now that we’ve discussed that, can you inform me on how you-”

“Became a vampire,” you interrupted and he nodded. You sighed pulling your legs from underneath you, leaning forward onto your knees. “There was a guy. We had gone out a few times and I decided he wasn’t that great. He was possessive and spiteful. He didn’t like that I was ending things. So he forced his blood into my mouth then snapped my neck and left.”

“I am so sorry, Y/N,” Elijah said somberly. He felt like he should have been there to stop it.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Like you said, maybe if I didn’t compel you to forget about-”

“Elijah...,” you sighed closing your eyes for a moment. “You’ll drive yourself crazy wondering about the what if’s.” Neither one of you spoke for a moment, but the silence wasn’t awkward like it was before.

“You’re a thousand years old, so I don’t know if you remember what it’s like when you first turn. Everything is loud and bright. It’s all too much. Thank goodness I had Melissa, or I would have been completely lost. But after I had blood and I completed the transition, my memories started to come back. The compulsion wore off and I was so confused. At first I remembered you compelling me, then everything came back like lightening. I was a wreak. I didn’t understand why you did it. A year of my life was back and I didn’t even realize it was missing.” 

Although you tried not to, your eyes began to glaze over with tears. Elijah wanted nothing more than to comfort you in that moment. But he knew he couldn’t, because although you said it wasn’t his fault, he knew it was. 

You let out a long breath trying to compose yourself. You refused to cry. “You hurt me, Elijah. And having my emotions heightened made things so much worse.”

“Y/N, I am so sorry for the pain that I caused you. My intention was only to protect you. People tend to get hurt around me and I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You reached up, placing your hand on Elijah’s cheek, stroking his face with your thumb. “Thank you,” you said sighing. “And I know you would never intentionally hurt me.”

“I wish I could go back and do things differently,” Elijah said somberly leaning into your hand. 

You pulled you hand away and placed it on your lap. “We can’t though. I’ve learned you can’t change the pass a long time ago.” The two of you were quiet again. Both of you lost in thought of what could have been. “So... whatever happened with your brother?”

Elijah ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “I stopped seeking my revenge once he told me he still had our siblings' coffins. I had to work with him in order to get them back.”

“And did you get them back?”

“I did. Also, my brother Niklaus is here in New Orleans.”

“So you forgave him,” you asked shocked that his brother was still in his life.

“Our relationship is complicated. I want nothing more than for my brother to return to the man he used to be. To enjoy life. Not paranoid everyone and thing is against him.”

“That’s a lot for one person to take on. You can’t be solely responsible for your brother’s redemption.”

“I am not-”

“You are, Elijah. I don’t even know the full story and I can already tell your burdening yourself with this.”

“My brother is not a burden.”

You turned your head glaring at him. “Your brother told you he through your siblings into the ocean. You planned to get revenge, but he had them all along. Then even after you got your siblings back, you’re still around him. He sounds toxic.”

“I was not there for him when he needed me when we were human. I feel responsible for his pain.”

“You can’t keep living with this guilt,” you said placing your hand on his knee. “I wish you would have felt comfortable enough to tell me this when we were dating.”

“I didn’t want to concern you with my problems.”

“We were in a relationship. We were supposed to be able to confide in each other. I would have understood.” 

There was a brief pause before Elijah spoke up. “Like you said... we can’t change the past. There’s no use in rehashing what happened.”

You nodded agreeing with your ex. “You’re right.”

You and Elijah stared at each other for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward. There was an understanding between the two of you now.  

Elijah broke the silence first. “I suppose I should get you back to your friends.”

You sighed, breaking eye contact, “Uh, yeah. I told them I would meet them at the hotel.”

“Which hotel are you staying at,” Elijah asked as he adjusted his suit so he was pristine again. “I’ll walk you.”

“I can walk myself back to my hotel, Elijah,” you said looking up at him. “I’m a big scary vampire now. I can take care of myself.”

“You’ve always been able to take care of yourself, Y/N,” he replied. A small smile graced his lips, but it was just enough to make your heart flutter. “I would just prefer to walk you to make sure you make it back safe.”

“Still the gentleman I see,” you said beginning to walk, Elijah stepping in time with you.

“For you? Always.” He held out his arm for you to take. You looked at him hesitantly, not wanting to confuse what was going on here. Then you wrapped your arm around his and he led you to your hotel.

After the run in with your ex, your friends and you decided you would spend the day sightseeing. Hopefully, you wouldn’t run into Elijah doing the cliché touristy attractions. You ended up running into a local vampire. He was cute, so your friends said you should keep him around. You didn’t have any problems with it. He was handsome and he knew the ends and outs of New Orleans. He even told you all about a party with a fresh blood supply you could crash the next night.

Elijah was lurking on the balcony when he saw you. You were dancing with two of your friends and... Marcel. Elijah set his bourbon down while he stared at you intently. It was bad enough you were at the party his brother insisted on throwing to make the local vampires happy, but you were with Marcel, too. 

“The party seems to be going well. The vampires are more than happy and it seems a new young vampire in town has caught your eye.”

“I am just keeping an eye on everyone. The last thing we need besides the witches plotting against us, are the vampires wreaking havoc as well.”

“If you say so...,” Klaus said lingering by the stairs before he went down to the party. “But your eyes haven’t left her since you noticed her. Lying does not become you, Elijah.”

Elijah watched you for a while longer. He watched as your friends left you and Marcel alone. It mad him furious. He waited until Marcel finally left your side before he came down stairs and approached you.

“Elijah, what are you doing here,” you asked surprised. You thought the last time you saw him was going to be it for your trip, but you should have known better.

“This is my home. My brother Klaus is throwing the party.”

“Right...,” you said sighing. This was just your luck.

“Here’s your drink, Y/N,” Marcel said coming from behind you with your glass in his hand.

“Elijah,” Marcel said acknowledging the Original in the room.

“Marcel,” Elijah greeted as he placed his hand in his pocket. 

“Of course you know each other,” you mumbled under your breath but you knew they both could hear you. 

“Marcellus is an old family friend,” Elijah replied. 

“Friend is being nice,” Marcel said more to Elijah than to you. “You know Elijah,” Marcel turned to you and asked.

“He’s my ex,” you huffed out.

“Ex,” Marcel repeated questioningly. 

“It was before I was a vampire, so it feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Marcel,” a new voice who you didn’t recognize said. “I see you’re having a good time. Made a new friend as well. Enjoying the party, love?”

“I was... and who might you be?”

Elijah spoke up before the stranger could answer. “This is my brother, Niklaus.”

“My brother is being too formal,” Niklaus said with an unsettling grin. “Call me Klaus.”

“So you’re the great Klaus Mikaelson I’ve heard so much about.” You looked at him up and down. “I pictured you taller.”

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know about me, yet I know nothing of you,” Klaus said curiously.

You glanced at Elijah before looking back at Klaus. “I guess your brother failed to mention his ex-girlfriend was in town. I’m Y/N,” you said reaching your hand out to Klaus.

Klaus gladly accepted your hand with a surprised look on his face as he shook. “Ex-girlfriend? Must have slipped my dear brother’s mind.”

“Must have,” you smirked.

“Well, now that we’ve all become acquainted, I should get Y/N back over to her friends,” Marcel said trying to end this whole awkward encounter.

“What’s the rush,” Klaus said a little to intrigued by the whole situation.

“Don’t you have some witches to go check on,” Elijah asked trying to get his brother’s attention else where.

“Now why would I do that when the entertainment is right here? Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems, Y/N, right,” Klaus asked pointing to you and you squinted at him. “Y/N, came here with my former protégé with no knowledge that it was actually her old flame’s party they were attending.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah said tight lipped. 

“Now what are the odds of that happening? I for one, would love to hear more about the woman that captured my brother’s heart and the eye of my sire.”

“She is none of your concern, brother.”

Klaus raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. I know when I’m not wanted,” Klaus said smirking before he walked away.

“Y/N, I think it’s best that you-,” Elijah began to say but you cut him off.

“I don’t really care what you think is best for me, Elijah.” You shook your head completely over this night. “Marcel, can you please take me anywhere else in New Orleans that isn’t here?”

“I’d be delighted too,” Marcel said then held out his arm for you to take which you gladly did. 

The two of you found your friends then quickly left the party. A hurt Elijah left behind you.

It had been three months since your girls trip to New Orleans and you hadn’t stopped thinking of Elijah since. You hated it. You told your friends you wanted nothing to do with the original who erased your memories of him. 

Honestly, you were fine with Elijah before you ran into him. You never thought much of him. But now, he was constantly in the back of your mind like gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe. How was he doing? Was he thinking of you like you were of him? 

The overthinking wouldn’t stop. Which is why you were in New Orleans searching for Elijah. 

You were planning on going straight to the place you saw him last, his home, but your nerves got the best of you so you went to a bar for a drink first. The tequila stung the back of your throat as it went down, but it helped ease your anxiety, so you didn’t mind it.

“Long time no see,” a voice said from behind you. You turned around smiling at the familiar face.

“Marcel.”

“Y/N,” he said smiling that thousand watt smiled that you knew would pull any girl in a hundred mile radius. “I didn’t think I would be seeing you again.”

“I didn’t think I’d be back in New Orleans anytime soon,” you replied. You held up your empty glass to the bartender so she would refill it. Marcel sat down on the stool next to you.

“What brings you back?”

You sighed before taking a sip of your refreshed drink and Marcel immediately knew the answer. 

“Elijah?”

“Elijah,” you answered.

“From the way you were at the party, I didn’t think you wanted anything to do him.”

“I didn’t either.”

“So what happened,” Marcel asked curious.

You shook your head slowly trying to gather your thoughts. “He was in my head,” you said softly. “I missed him.”

“The Mikaelsons have a way of doing that to you,” Marcel replied not making eye contact with you.

You looked at him slightly confused before he spoke again. “Rebekah.”

“Oh yeah... Elijah did mention a sister. What happened with her?”

“Klaus,” Marcel answered, an annoyed tone to his voice.

“Ah, same boat I see. Elijah ended things with me because he thought Klaus would use me against him.”

“No man was good enough for Klaus Mikaelson’s little sister. Not even his own sire that he raised.”

“Damn.” 

“Yeah,” Marcel replied then held up his hand so the bartender would pour him his usual.

You sighed. “Well, maybe it’ll work out one day. We’re vampires. We’ve got the time.”

“Only if Klaus allows it,” Marcel said somberly as he watched the bartender fill his glass. 

“He’s bound to find someone for himself eventually and stop worrying about his siblings so much. We just gotta have hope,” you said patting him on the back. 

“Well, here’s to hope,” Marcel replied, holding his glass up to clink to yours.

After your run in with Marcel and some liquid ammunition, you finally made it to Elijah’s home. You went to the front door, but your least favorite Mikaelson answered. Which said a lot because you had only met two of them.

“Is Elijah here,” you asked looking behind Klaus. 

“He’s not, but I can entertain you until he arrives,” Klaus replied with a mischievous smirk on his face.

You grimaced making eye contact with the hybrid. “I think I’ll pass. Can you tell him I stopped by please?”

Klaus crossed his arms over his chest. “Now why should I do that, love? From what I was told, you left New Orleans months ago on bad terms with him. And before that, he compelled you to forget him. I’m not sure if my brother should be troubled with your return.”

You rolled your eyes as you sighed. “I’m not about to get into it with you, Niklaus,” you said putting too much emphasis on his name. His demeanor quickly changed to annoyance. “I’m positive all you know is that I’m Elijah’s ex and he’s told you nothing else about me. And I’m not about to through him under the bus, but you’re the reason why he compelled me to forget him. He thought once you found out about me, I would be in danger. So all this is your fault.”

“I would watch your tone if I were you,” Klaus said as he took a step closer to you. He was obviously trying to intimidate you.

“Look, I’m not here to start trouble between you and your brother. And I’m not trying to cause any stress in Elijah’s life. I just need him to know how I feel.” Your tone softened before you spoke the last part. “I care about him.”

Klaus huffed, holding eye contact with you. You obviously cared deeply about his brother if you were standing your ground with him. Or you were incredibly stupid. “I’ll let him know you stopped by,” Klaus said reluctantly. 

“Thank you,” you said.

You turned around and left the compound. You were so worried about what you would say to Elijah when you saw him, you didn’t consider what would happen if he wasn’t home. What would he think when Klaus told him you were in New Orleans? 

As you mind was running a mile a minute, you were turning the corner and bumped into a strong chest. 

“Oh my God, I’m so-,” you started to say until you looked up and saw the man you came all the way to New Orleans for. “Elijah, hi.”

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” Elijah said as poised as ever. It was like he wasn’t even surprised to see you.

“How’ve you been,” you asked fidgeting in your spot. 

“I’ve been well. And you?”

“I can’t complain,” you replied. You paused looking around. Why was this so awkward? “Um, do you think we could go somewhere and talk? Get a drink maybe?”

“Are you sure Marcel wouldn’t mind?”

“Marcel,” you repeated the name confused. “Why would Marcel care?”

“I assume you are in New Orleans for him,” Elijah said while he adjusted his suit, not making any eye contact with you. 

“What,” you asked completely baffled. “No, I came to New Orleans for you.”

Elijah’s eyes went wide looking back at you. “For me? Forgive me, but I saw you and Marcel earlier, so I assumed-”

You chuckled interrupting him. “You should know better than to assume anything, Elijah. I ran into Marcel at the bar when I was getting some liquid courage to come talk to you.”

Elijah titled his head to the side. “Why did you need courage to talk to me?”

“Uhh,” you began then started rubbing the back of your neck. “Because I needed to tell you how I felt.”

He took a small step towards you. “And how do you feel?”

You shuffled on your feet nervously looking into Elijah’s brown eyes as they bore into your own. “I missed you. I got the closure that I wanted, but then I realized I didn’t want closure... I wanted you.”

Elijah’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. You blinked waiting for him to say something, anything at all, but it didn’t come quick enough. You looked away, avoiding Elijah’s death stare. Your stomach turning every millisecond.

“Can you say something,” you asked quietly. 

“I’m sorry... I just-”

“God, I’m so stupid,” you interrupted him talking to yourself. “Just ignore me and pretend this didn’t happen,” you said to him and quickly turned on your feet to get as far away from Elijah and New Orleans as possible. 

Elijah grabbed your hand and pulled you back to face him. “Wait, Y/N, you didn’t let me finish.” 

You were only inches from Elijah’s face and on the verge of tears. Maybe you should have taken another shot to make this easier. 

“I was going to say,” Elijah continued as he let go of your hand and slowly placed it on your waist, “that I wasn’t expecting you to feel the same way.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you blinked up at him confused.

“I want you, too,” Elijah said with a small smile on his face. 

Your eyes grew as you felt a weight lift off your chest. You chuckled in disbelief. “You do,” you asked softly.

“More than anything,” Elijah said wrapping his other hand around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

Your chest filled with joy at his words. A big smile forming on your face. You placed your hands on his chest, the two of you moving in closer. Your lips were centimeters apart when you suddenly stepped back, pushing Elijah away. 

“Wait,” you said, Elijah looking down at you worried. “You have to promise me, you won’t do anything like that again. If things get hard or trouble is coming, and you think I can’t handle it, you come to me. Talk to me. You can’t make decisions about us without me being involved.”

Elijah’s brows knitted into a frown. “I will never do that again,” Elijah said seriously. He reached up and cupped your cheek into his hand. “You have my word.”

You nuzzled you face into his hand, looking up at him with doe eyes. “You have to say promise.”

Elijah chuckled, looking down at you lovingly. You missed having him look at you like that. “I promise.”

You stood up straight, taking your hand off his chest and held it out to him with your pinky sticking out. “Pinky promise.”

Elijah’s smile grew so wide, his eyes crinkled. The hand that was holding your face was now extended, his pinky hooking with yours. “Pinky promise.”

“Good,” you said relieved. You unhooked your pinkies and reached up, wrapping your hand around the back of Elijah’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. 

Elijah was caught off guard for a moment at how quickly you moved, but your lips were on his and he easily returned your kiss. 

His lips were soft against yours but the kiss was rough. His breath was minty while yours had a hint of leftover tequila. Elijah’s hands tightened on your waist, trying to pull you closer even though it was impossible. He had lost you once, and he’d be damned if it happened again. 

[racefortheironthrone]

Do you think that the baby swap actually happened? I prefer the theory that the baby swap did not actually happen, and that Aegon is the son of Illyrio and Sera (posited as a female-line Blackyre) - the baby swap does not explain why Elia would choose to protect the swapped baby with her life while leaving Rhaenys alone, nor Illyrio’s extreme fondness for the boy.

For almost a decade now, I've been an advocate of the double-swap theory, which I think does the best job of reconciling the actions of both Varys and Illyrio.

That being said, I think there are two perfectly cromulent explanations for Elia's actions in this theory: the first possibility is that Elia didn't realize that a baby swap happened very shortly before her death, and the second is that she did know, and that (just like Gilly in AFFC/ADWD) she was willing to endure suffering in order to ensure that her son would live.

[twola]

Devil's Backbone - Owanjila VI

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV 

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila VI: Fevered Dreams

Arthur’s entanglements weigh heavily on him, while a fever strikes in camp.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

“I’ve… You’re… Oh, you’ll never change… I know that.”

He stares back at her, his eyes following when she dips into the train car following her brother until they find seats. 

Arthur doesn’t quite know what he wanted from this. The letter begging for his help - the fool that he is, he rode to her beck and call. His dark-eyed beloved, even now, after years gone by, she’s just as beautiful as the last time he saw her.

That last time, when she broke off their engagement. A letter some months later told him she was getting married, and it was like their love had never existed. 

And yet… the fool he is. The fool he is cannot say no to her, he will likely never be able to say no to her. That scarred heart of his - he reckons it will always belong to her. Wanting. Waiting. For something that will never be. She had even said herself - he’ll never change. He’ll never be what she wants, what she needs.

But damn well if he did not wish.

He makes eye contact with her once more through the window - god damnit, she’s just as beautiful as he remembers, age having sharpened her jaw, but those eyes, he can still get lost in them.

He still loves her.

The train jerks forward and slowly pulls away from the station. Mary Gillis leaves him and he’s alone once again, unable to change his ways. Unable to be what she needs. 

He is a damned fool.

Arthur stares down at the worn planks of the station’s platform, kicking at it slightly to stop himself from staring at the train receding into the distance. He grits his teeth, one hand going into his satchel and pulling out his half-empty pack of cigarettes. His jaw clicks as he clenches his teeth, annoyed that he’d have to go to the general store and get another pack. God only knows he can’t go without a smoke now, not now. Not when that heavy feeling in his chest, like he’s been shot, threatens to drown him.

His eyes close heavily after he lights the cigarette, breathing the tobacco in deeply. 

He still fucking loves her. And still, still, even widowed, she does not want to be with him.

Arthur rips the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and tosses it to the ground, grinding it under his boot with much more force than necessary. Sighing, he grabs his hat from his satchel and places it back on his head, moving from the platform back toward the road where the Walker is hitched. 

Christ, maybe a drink could take the edge off his frustration. By the time he reaches his horse and pulls the reins from the post, he’s made his decision. A drink or two at that saloon in town. He swings himself up into the Walker’s saddle and guides the old horse down the mud-clogged street. By the time he reaches Smithfield’s, he’s edging on wanting to drink himself stupid - maybe then he could forget Mary’s damn eyes.

“Arthur!”

He looks up and finds Lenny Summers leading his horse urgently toward him. Arthur glances around before placing a hand on his hip, “The hell you doin’ way out here?”

Lenny’s face is ashen, sweat dotting his temples, “Strawberry - it was Micah -”

“Of course it was,” Arthur interjects, rolling his eyes as he slides down off the horse, taking the reins and knotting them on the hitching post before grabbing the reins of Lenny’s horse from him, knotting it as well.

“They almost lynched me!” The young exclaims, arms akimbo in agitation.

“Okay, alright, now calm down there kid.” Arthur places his hands on the young man’s shoulder, “Tell me what happened.”

Lenny recounts the sorry tale - that he had met Micah in Strawberry and the outlaw was three sheets to the wind already in a damn dry town - and ended up shooting some feller that he knew - and everything devolved into chaos. Micah was dragged to the jail, and now there was talk of hanging him.

Arthur cannot help but smirk as he guides Lenny up the porch of Smithfield’s, chuckling to himself at Micah’s predicament. He couldn’t wish it on a better man. 

Pushing Lenny toward the bar, Arthur digs his thumbs into the boy’s shoulder blades to attempt to relieve some tension. “C’mon now, kid. Let’s have a drink.”

“And Micah?” Lenny asks.

“He’ll be fine. Let ‘im dry out in a cell.” Arthur retorts with a grin as they reach the bar, “Alrigh- We’ll just have a couple, settle you down, then head back, okay?”

Lenny nods, and leans on the bar, rubbing at his face with frayed nerves, “Just one or two… right, Arthur?”

Arthur nods, motioning to the bartender, “Course, just a drink… no big drama. Can we get a couple of beers, please?”

-

The large tent on the hillside blazes with yellow-orange light, lanterns interspersed on tables and barrels in and around the canvas. 

Dutch Van der Linde is in a magnanimous mood. A gramophone, of all things, blares music into the night upon the shores of Owanjila, and various members of the gang sit and mull about the campfire.

Molly O’Shea sits upon his lap as if she sat on a throne, her emerald eyes surveying her kingdom and subjects as if the rest of the folk existed to serve. Her arms thrown loosely around his neck, one of his wrapped around her thigh, his rings glinting in the night.

She looks upon you with some kind of bored disdain from across the campfire. You pass the bottle of brandy that was foisted upon you back to Karen - you had acquiesced to her request and taken a healthy sip, frowning at the sweetness. 

Mary Beth laughs under her breath, rubbing your shoulder. “Ain’t my favorite neither.”

The men had returned from some sort of score, having ridden out the day before with Dutch all riled up - the kind of energy radiating from them like when they rode out to Blackwater those weeks ago. Horses stamping, voices hooting and hollerin’, but unlike the Blackwater fiasco, when they returned later in the night, it was in some sort of triumph.

For a moment, the glumness that had settled upon the camp was lifted - chores were set aside, and alcohol flowed freely. Even stern Grimshaw sat with a beer around the fire as the night fully settled.

“So, this train - obviously y’got something good, or you wouldn't be in such a mood.” Hosea tips his beer across the campfire at Dutch, who grins as his grip tightens on Molly’s thigh.

“Bearer bonds, courtesy of one Leviticus Cornwall.”

“Cornwall? The railroad magnate?” Hosea arches an eyebrow at Dutch, who seems completely unperturbed.

Across the fire, your stomach drops. You nearly drop the newly opened beer bottle in your hand, but by some divine providence, you don’t lose it. Ripping your stare away from Dutch, you look into the fire as the dread creeps into your chest, clawing at you like some kind of untethered beast, threatening to choke you and steal your breath.

You stare into the fire and see Limpany.

-

However you feel, you fear - about what the men just did, you kept it to yourself for the rest of the night. You excused yourself from the festivities and went to sleep without much further fanfare, but when you awoke in the morning, the stone of guilt and fear lay upon your chest much in the way it did when you had fled to Blackwater.

You busy yourself with morning work, getting the coffee pot ready while Pearson began the stew of unbeknown origins for the day. For all of the bragging that man did about his Navy days, he seemed to be a one-pony show. Maybe you could ask Hosea or Arthur to bring you to Strawberry so that you could eat something other than this stew.

Speaking of which, you noted Arthur’s absence last night - he hadn’t returned with the other men after the job - actually a few of the men hadn’t returned, now that you think about it.

Breaking open the tin of coffee, you dump grounds into the percolator before pouring water from the bucket, drawn fresh from the lake to set the coffee up. Placing it on the hook suspended above the fire, you lean over it for a few minutes as it brews.

The sound of footsteps behind you draws your attention from the percolator, and you turn your head from where you are stooped down to see who it is. Abigail slowly trudges toward you, rubbing at one eye with the back of her wrist. Grabbing one of the empty coffee mugs scattered about the ground, you wipe the inside with your skirt before pouring it full of coffee, standing up from where you had stooped down.

“Didn’t get much sleep?”

Abigail frowns before yawning, covering her mouth for a moment as you hold out the cup of coffee to her. 

“Jack was fussin’ all damn night. Kicked at me like a damn mule.” She mutters as she takes the cup, nodding in thanks as she immediately takes a long sip. You give a half-hearted frown as you look behind her, to the lean-to that the two of them sleep in, where Jack is still asleep under a blanket. It is strange for the boy to still be asleep, but if he was up most of the night…

Abigail blows at the hot coffee before taking another sip, “Been a while since he’s been like that. Hopefully was just one night.” 

You nod in agreement before she turns to walk back to her lean-to. Going back to the coffee, you start pouring another cup as more footsteps draw you to stand again.

“Good morning, dear.” Hosea smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder as you hand him the next cup of coffee.

“Morning, Hosea. You stay up much later last night?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head before bringing the cup to his lips, “I ain’t much for the late nights and bottles of whiskey like I used to be - hangovers are a bitch when you get as old as I am,” he chuckles.

You laugh and shake your head, leaning over to prepare your own cup as a horse whinnies in the distance, a rider arriving back into camp. Hosea squints toward the horse as it approaches, “Ah, it’s Lenny.”

Lenny guides his horse to where the others are tied off, and slides out of the saddle, nearly stumbling to the ground a step after landing.

“Oh, Lenny, you look like you’ve seen better mornings,” Hosea notes as Lenny staggers toward the two of you, looking absolutely miserable and the slightest shade of green. As he groans and walks closer, the overwhelming stench of alcohol wafts off of him and makes you scrunch your nose. You’re pretty sure there is vomit on his collar. You cover your nose to stop from gagging as Lenny wipes at his mouth, noticing your discomfort.

“Did’ya leave poor Arthur in another state?”

“He’s…somewhere. He was still in Valentine once they let us out of jail.” Lenny drolls, his eyes bloodshot as he bends over and places his hands on his knees, obviously trying to quell his roiling stomach.

“Jail?!” You exclaim as your eyebrows raise.

“Ah, one of those kinds of nights,” Hosea chuckles. Lenny groans and continues onward toward the shared lean-to where his bedroll is spread out, stooping down on one knee before giving up and flopping down onto the bedroll.

Your eyebrows still raised in concern, Hosea waves his hand in a cheery dismissal, “Don’t worry ‘bout him. He’ll slink back to camp and sleep it off. Boy can get a bit rowdy when he goes overboard.”

-

Christ, even his damn eyes hurt. His hat’s brim slung low over his face to keep the sun from his eyes - as if this damn headache could get any worse. The Walker sways beneath him, this ride from Valentine taking twice as long as the ride to town, and he hadn’t even gotten the new horse he meant to. 

Arthur thought it smart to leave town quickly after being let out of jail - evidently almost drowning a man in a pig trough is frowned upon in these parts. He’d like to blame the bender on trying to cheer Lenny up, but he knew, he knew that he had let things get out of hand partially on purpose. That drinking himself stupid would push the thought of Mary Gillis from his mind.

Instead, it gave him a massive hangover, a lighter wallet, and still at a loss about Mary. He quietly enters the camp with little fanfare, not wanting and very unwilling to make small talk with anyone.

Fortunately, he’s able to slink back to his cot without needing to talk to anyone, sitting down and pulling his hat off, tossing it further down on the cot as he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms. 

Hanging his head, his forearms rest on his knees as he stifles a pained groan. A canteen appears in his field of vision. He looks up, ready to tell whoever off, but finds you standing in front of his cot, holding out that canteen full of water. In the back of his hangover-addled brain, instead of shooing you off, he wants to call you an angel - that the water you’re offering him must be holy in the wake of his bender last night. He can already taste its freshness before even taking the canteen.

You smile, “I heard you had an interestin’ night, Mister Morgan.”

The morning light glints off your hair like it was some kind of spun gold. He swallows, taking the canteen from your hand, and mumbles some kind of thanks as he brings it to his mouth, the cool water just godsend that he believed. 

“Well, at least you didn’t come back with vomit on your shirt,” You chuckle lightly, taking a step back as you place your hands behind your back, “See you later, Arthur.”

“Missus Shaw.”

He stares down at the canteen for a moment, then flits his gaze back up to your frame, walking down toward the lake. The tendrils of your unbound hair bounce with each step you take. The sway of your skirts….

Oh god damnit.

Arthur rubs at his eyes with one hand once again, gritting his teeth against the creeping feeling in his chest. He downs another large gulp of water from the canteen. Chucking it onto the table across from his cot, he grabs at his hat as he lays down on his cot, sighing as he places the hat over his face, praying that sleep will take him quickly and that this headache will subside.

It did - at least he had that going for him today. A few hours of undisturbed sleep was entirely what he needed - by the time he woke, the sun was setting behind the ridge. He pulls himself from his cot, rubbing at his jaw with one hand as he rifles through his satchel for his cigarettes.

He’s approached by Susan Grimshaw, who steps in front of him with her hands crossed over his chest. Arthur looks past her toward the main fire, not wanting to be lectured at the moment. Susan arches an eyebrow before turning her head to follow where Arthur is looking. He lights a cigarette from his pack as she looks back up at him.

She snorts under her breath, looking back at Arthur with a tinge of amusement.

“Missus Shaw.” Grimshaw shifts her eyes back and forth toward the direction of the main campfire, where all of the women are gathered, chirping like sparrows as they eat their dinner on beat-up metal plates.

“What about Missus Shaw?” Arthur retorts; the lit end of his cigarette throwing shadows on his face in the night.

“She’s a nice girl. Doesn’t talk back, works hard, easy on the eyes.”

He doesn’t respond.

“And she don’t have a mean ol’ drunk of a daddy whispering things in her ear.” Susan narrows her eyes in an almost threatening manner, “Don't think I don't know who that damn letter came from.”

-

The next night proves to Abigail that Jack’s sleeplessness wasn’t a fluke. He had been lethargic all day, overtired and fussy. By the time night fell, the boy’s head was hot to the touch as Abigail scooped him up into her arms, beginning to fret as the night went on and he seemed only to get warmer.

You’ve fallen in next to Abigail, urging her to get Jack out from their flimsy lean-to and into the sick tent, having recently been vacated by John, who had healed enough to get out of bed. 

“C’mon, let’s get him into bed,” You reach down to Abigail, sitting on the ground next to Jack, and guide her by her shoulders to stand enough for her to gather her son up. The two of you walk slowly toward the tent, as you reach it, you step inside and turn up the oil lantern as Abigail lays Jack down in the cot. You root around for a blanket for a moment, finding an old one stowed beneath the cot, and spread it out over Jack. Abigail rubs at her brow worryingly.

“Think - think he’s breathin’ okay?” She asks, and the both of you lean over the boy on either side of the cot, holding your ears close to his face.

Jack whines then coughs harshly, and both you and Abigail recoil backward, sitting up straight next to the cot. Abigail frowns, looking apologetic - “God, sorry, Ruth - he -”

You shake your head, “It’s fine. He’s gonna be fine.”

-

You’d like to think it was the lack of sleep for staying up all night with Abigail, but as Jack rolls into another full day of fever, as the next night falls in, you can hardly stave off the exhaustion setting in.

“Shit, Ruth -” Abigail curses from the other side of the cot as she sits back down having brought the oil lantern in from refilling it, “You’re flushed - you - shit, you got a fever?”

You wipe at your brow, damp in the night, “ M’fine,” brushing her off.

But as the hours creep on, it becomes increasingly clear that yes, you had whatever Jack had come down with. It's not much after you start to nod off in your seat that Abigail picks Jack up, gathering him into her lap, and orders you to lie in the cot - your resolve broken by that point.

The night stretches on as you start to shiver in the cot. Jack pitifully whines in his mother’s arms as she hunches over in exhaustion.

“Give - give him here, I’ll hold him. You’re gonna get sick yourself if you don’t get some rest.” You reach toward Jack, huddled in Abigail’s lap. The poor woman’s eyes are bloodshot, dark circles appearing beneath them at her lack of sleep. 

Abigail is unable to hide the guarded look in her eye - her hesitance to let go of her greatest treasure. But after a moment, she acquiesced, exhausted.

She leans forward, Jack huddled to her breast like you’re sure she did when he was a baby. Handing him to you, you situate the child against your chest, pulling the blanket above you both. He does not awaken with the movement, but unconsciously, the boy curls himself into your embrace, his clammy cheek pressed against the exposed skin of your collarbone.

Your hand rubs his back slowly, softly, and when you close your eyes, you wonder if your boy would have curled himself into you the way Jack does. Clutch at you, searching for the comfort only a mother can give.

You choke back a sob, trying to keep quiet, but your attempt is in vain as Abigail notices, drawing closer to you again.

“Ruth - are y’ al-... I can take ‘im back-” Abigail stutters, placing her hand on Jack’s back again to brace him, about to pick him up from the cot.

“ ‘s alright,” You sniffle, unable to stop the tears tracking down your cheeks, “Jus - hic - my baby-”

Abigail’s face falls further, her hand moving from Jack’s back to grasp at yours, her fingers wrapping around yours, “Oh, Ruth, I’m sorry-”

“He… he was too early, b-but -” You shudder with another stifled sob, trying to not disturb the sleeping child in your cot, “ ‘e had his just a bit of his father’s dark hair-”

Abigail’s free hand reaches into the bowl of water, grabbing the rag and squeezing the excess water from it. She dabs it gently to your forehead, holding your hand tightly, comfortingly.

“And now… hic - I’ve got nothin, I’ve got no one, they’re g-gone-” You croak, tears falling down your cheeks freely. You draw the child at your chest in closer, as if Abigail’s son could temporarily fill the depthless void in your chest. 

You devolve into sobs, and Abigail holds your hand.

-

The ponderosa pines wave in the warm breeze, the sweet vanilla wafting through your nose as the clearing opens before you.

The cabin stands quiet across the way. Far quieter than when you left.

The door was left open.

Aethon isn’t hitched up, but the wagon is still next to the cabin.

The door was left open.

With unsteady steps, you slowly reach for the doorframe, looking down when your boots make a muted squelch on the wooden floorboards of the porch.

The door was left open.

Blood runs in wretched rivulets from the inside of the cabin, out the threshold, and into the world.

You step into the cabin, and upon the ground, his body is contorted into a death throe, his eyes wide open and blood running from the hole in his forehead.

As if you were caught in molasses, you move slowly toward the body, reaching out toward your dead husband who seems to be just out of reach. Finally, finally, when you reach him, you touch his cold form, hands on his shoulders, slowly coating your arms with his blood.

Your Frederick, dead on the floor. You weep into his shoulder, loudly wailing the mourning dirge.

A loud noise from outside draws your attention, and you turn to see a large shadowed figure in the door.  A lantern is thrown into the cabin by the figure, bursting into flames on the wooden floor.

Smoke quickly fills the room, and you begin to cough as you crawl toward the open door, taking your chances with the shadowed figure outside rather than with the flames. As you reach the threshold, you look back forlornly at your dead husband’s body before dragging yourself out the door. You stumble to your feet, coughing as you unsteadily step off the porch. You make it only a few steps before doubling over, coughing violently as one of your hands braces on your knee.

As your eyes water over, the shadowed figure appears again, walking slowly toward you. The figure becomes two. Two become three.

“Why, if it isn’t the lovely Missus Shaw. We’ve been looking for you.”

A gunshot pierces the night.

-

The canvas to the sick tent swings shut after Susan steps out, a basket of linen on one hip. He watches as she moves back toward the center of camp, calling for one of the girls to wash it.

He grimaces, the stitches in his skin pulling tightly as he works his jaw. Christ, his face itches something awful, but at least now he’s no longer bedridden, having thrown off the yoke of invalidity a few days ago.

John knows, of course, that Jack has taken sick. Christ, the way that Abigail tutted and fretted about, the whole damn world knows the kid has a fever. He’s kept a wide berth as the boy was relegated to the sick tent that he had so recently occupied.

He was just going to take a quick look in. He’s been listening to Abigail’s damn voice for the past two days through the canvas of the tent, and being stuck in camp and not well enough to ride yet, there was little else to do. She’s finally gone quiet. Hopefully, both her and the boy are asleep.

John barely notices that he’s almost crushed the unlit cigarette between his fingers as he approaches the tent, quietly leaning inside the canvas opening, blinking as his eyes adjust to the lantern light from the darkness outside.

Abigail sits on a stool, her head pillowed on her crossed arms on the small table. She’s dead to the world, exhausted as she’s sprawled out over that table. He looks over to the cot, the mess of blankets piled up over a still form. A mess of sandy brown hair tucked into a shoulder. 

You’re awake. He wasn’t expecting that, standing in the tent’s opening. Stuck, unable to escape, John can do nothing but take in the scene, the fevered blush staining your cheeks, the clammy pallor of your skin. The mess of your blonde hair pulled into some kind of bun that was falling apart. The matching, flushed look of the child pillowed on your chest, the boy’s labored breathing loud in the silence of the night.

Your hand moves to cradle the back of Jack’s head as he subconsciously curls further into you in his sleep.

John audibly swallows, knowing he’s been caught. Under your unfailing gaze, he turns and leaves the tent.

[esther-dot]

That's a Pretty Name 1k @greenhikingboots

While dancing, Jon receives a lecture from Sansa on the importance of complimenting ladies when he meets them.

Courtesies 4k @softvniverse

Jon Snow is in love and Sansa is there to help him.

Memories 1k

“Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower.” “That’s pretty.” He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. Jon remembers a simpler and happier time with Sansa.

Dance With Me ficlet

"I told you that I can't dance!" he snapped. He didn't even know why he had agreed to this in the first place. Or Sansa's interest in his behaviour towards women. But ever sense she had seen him talking to the serving girl with a fierce blush and shy stammer she had taken it upon herself to teach him how to talk to girls. And how to dance with them apparently. "Nonsense," Sansa chirped, standing. She beckoned him forward. "Dance with me."

We Can Brave the Dark 2k by @thatgirlnevershutsup

When Arya dares Sansa to spend the night in the crypts, it’s Jon who comes to her rescue.

Nightmares ficlet

Sansa can't sleep, and normally she'd crawl into bed with Father or Robb, but they're not here. Jon is though, and he's even better with a sword than Robb, he can protect her from the monsters.

Games ficlet by @emberalchemist

Mother never likes it when Sansa talks to him, even though Sansa hardly ever talks to him.

First Dances, Feasts, and Other Fights 4k by @castaliareed

Winterfell has visitors from the Vale and Sansa couldn't be more excited. Her half-brother Jon is less enthralled.

Maybe in another lifetime ficlet by @ladywolfmd

Moments before they were to leave Winterfell, Ned goes up the battlements for a moment when he caught sight of a scene that always brought him sadness and yes, guilt. And sometimes with the same longing of things that could've been. But maybe in another lifetime.

Playing Pretend 1k

Robb never wanted to play Knights and Maidens with Sansa anymore - until Sansa asked Jon to be her knight instead.

Before She Knew Better 20k

Sansa Stark wasn't always so distant and cold to Jon Snow.

the half doesn't negate the brother by @thewolvescalledmehome

Jon learned early on in his life what bastard meant. He thought he was five years of age the first time he’d been told he was one. He couldn’t remember who it had been who called him that, but he remembered the heat and anger he’d felt, even though he didn’t actually know what it had meant. He just knew it was meant to hurt and hurt it did.

a moonsbreath from your side 3k by @simply-kelp

Jon has spent nights and days thinking what it would be like to crown Sansa the Queen of Love and Beauty himself, thinking of the kiss she’d given Robb and wondering what it might feel like if she pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

Nipped in the Bud ficlet

Little Sansa feels sorry for her half-brother Jon Snow… Until she finds the perfect solution for his problem!

Maiden in the Tower 2k by @greenhikingboots

While playing a game in the godswood, Sansa decides to teach Theon in a lesson in humility by choosing Jon to bestow with her maiden’s kiss. A story inspired by pre-canon theories.

We're all just songs in the end, if we're lucky 2k by @myrish-lace-love

“Sing me another song, Jon.” Sansa curled up next to Jon’s side. She tucked her head under his chin as the thunder boomed. Jon’s chambers were smaller than hers, but as soon as he saw the first flash of lightning he knew Sansa would be off and running, on her way to him. Sansa was proud of being a little lady at four, but Winterfell’s storms terrified her.  “What do you want to hear?” Jon stifled a yawn. Jon would stay up with her, as long as she needed. Robb would, too, of course, but Sansa had confided that Robb teased sometimes, about being afraid of the rain.  “Florian and Jonquil.” 

untitled ficlet by @allbrainsnosense

He tries not to get jealous—though at first Jon isn’t quite sure just what the knot in his stomach is when he watches Sansa bestow a gentle kiss to Robb’s cheek for saving her from the “ferocious dragon,” as portrayed by an energetic Bran. Sansa coos over Robb affectionately, keeping up her role as fair maiden, and Robb kneels before her like her noble knight. It’s a game the siblings had all played many times before—sans Arya, who refuses to be Robb’s “noble steed” as Sansa demands—and Jon has always found himself an onlooker to the merry play-acting that occurs in the godswood.

I've picked up the speed (to jump your palaces) 1k

Jon takes Sansa to the Godswood. She does a bit of thinking.

Blossoming Feelings 2k @hawkeyescoffee

Sansa studied Jon silently as he fell to his knees, particularly trying not to touch the blanket and smiling to Bran in front of him. It was a fond smile that stretched over his face and made his grey eyes sparkle in the sun. It was a smile that made Jon’s usually hard and sullen features soft and nice and handsome? Pretty even. Sansa pressed her lips harder together until they were just a bloodless line as she was biting the inside of her cheek. Did she just really think that?

In another perfect life 1k @captainbee89

Ned comes clean to cat and the rest of the family about Jon's true parentage and notice that things have changed between Jon and Sansa now that the truth is known.

I will ask you once. Please, will you give me my first kiss, Jon Snow? 2k @alczysz17

Sansa catches her cousin, Jon Snow kissing a girl and wonders what a kiss would be like. She can't get it out of her head so she mind as well go to the source!

kiss me on the mouth (and set me free) 5k

Sansa Stark hates her bastard half-brother. She hates his brooding stare, his dark, stranger’s eyes. She hates the way his very existence hurts her mother, that Robb and Arya love him all the same. And she hates that fire that sparks to life every time they argue. --- An AU of the secret, complicated relationship between Jon and Sansa pre-series.

WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

[mkstrigidae]

APWH preview snippet!

Since I'm actively trying to work on getting the next few chapters out, I thought I'd share a little future scene with some hints of Jonsa with all you lovely people! This bit is from like, a few chapters in the future bc it's the in-between that's giving me fits right now :) (Fair warning: this is unedited and subject to change! That being said, it's such a fun scene that I can't imagine ever nixing it :D)

“Does he even know that they have to avoid the press?”

“For the last time-“ Sam sighed, sounding completely exasperated, “Dickon knows what they can and can’t do- he’s got enough practice not being photographed from when our dad was the secretary. Not to mention spending time around you when that exposé on your crazy grandfather came out two years ago.”

“I just-“ Jon sighed, blowing a stray curl out of his face. “You didn’t see how freaked out she was when the press caught us at that performance in White Harbor. I thought she was going to have a full-blown panic attack.”

He was immediately derailed by Gilly plopping little Sam down in his lap and shoving a bottle into his hands.

“What’s this all about?” he raised a brow, adjusting the baby on his lap, allowing him to latch onto the cuff of his flannel shirt and start gnawing at the fabric. “You going somewhere?”

Gilly shot him a withering look, but he saw the amusement in her eyes.

“I-“ she gestured, imperiously, “Have not had time by myself to shower all week-“

“Sorry, love.” Sam winced, looking up from his pile of paperwork. “I can take a break from these-“

“Not your fault, Sam.” she waved him off. “You warned me about this conference at the beginning of the summer.” a grin played at the corners of her mouth. “Besides, it works out well- Jon needs a distraction right now from the fact that Sansa’s on a date with your extremely hot and conventionally attractive brother.”

“Hey!” Sam looked wounded, and Gilly rolled her eyes, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You know you’re my favorite Tarly.” she wrinkled her nose. “How long have you been working on this presentation? You smell like the baby spit up on you.”

“Guess I’m next in line for showers.” Sam said, mournfully. “Unless-“

“Nope- I need my own time right now, Samwell. Did you even hear what I said about why Jon’s bent out of shape?”

Jon had known Gilly since Sam and she had met up north while the two of them were in college. Sometimes, it was hard to reconcile the timid, scared girl she had been with the woman who was currently devoting all of her remaining energy to busting his balls.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about Sansa with my brother.” Sam snorted, shotgunning another cup of coffee next to him the way Jon was used to seeing undergrads do with jaeger shots. “I mean, this is Dickon we’re talking about. Used to bring wounded animals home to take care of them Dickon? The same guy who cried when we had movie night and Gilly and Rhae wanted to go see ‘Love, Simon’?” He shook his head. “Look, as far as guys she could be out on a date with right now go, Dickon’s kind of the best case scenario. She’ll have a nice time, and he’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Jon blinked at him, silently turning to look up at Gilly, who rolled her eyes and sighed.

“You’re hopeless, sweetie.” she kissed him on the forehead again, wrinkling her nose. “He’s not worried that things will go wrong- he’s worried they’ll go a little too well.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time around my sister.” Jon muttered, narrowly avoiding little Sam’s grasping reach for his glasses, managing to get the baby to latch onto the bottle before he destroyed any more of Jon’s eyewear. “You even sounded like her just then.”

Sam blinked for a second, his head whipping between Jon and Gilly.“You’re jealous?” He asked, incredulously. “Of Dickon? Wait- you like Sansa?”

“Got there in the end.” Gilly sighed, affectionately patting him on the shoulder before going to shower, leaving Jon and Sam behind with four cups of coffee, one baby, and approximately five brain cells total between the two of them.

“You like her.” Sam repeated, like it was a giant revelation.

“What are we- in middle school?” Jon hissed, immediately turning his head down to smile and make faces at little Sam while he fed him, before glaring up at big Sam again. “I don’t- I mean-“

Sam was just shaking his head.“Of course you do.” he laughed. “Should have guessed- red hair and a damsel in distress? You were doomed from the outset.”

“Shut up.” Jon muttered, flushing. “It’s not like that.”

“Then why are you worrying about Dickon for fu-“ Sam glanced nervously at the baby, “-god’s sake? When Gill was meeting my family for the first time, I remember you told her not to worry- that my brother was ‘one of the best guys you know’ and ‘practically a golden retriever’.”

Jon could tell that Sam, who could not raise one eyebrow without the other, was desperately trying to do just that.

“I don’t know.” He muttered, moving little Sam to his shoulder to start burping him. “Look- I’m attracted to her, alright? It’s a fu- er, a giant disaster that I’m gonna ignore for the rest of my life.”

“Seriously?”

“Stop trying to do that with your eyebrows.” Jon complained. “It’s giving me motion sickness. And yes, seriously. I’m not even going to consider that- it’s just a stupid crush. Besides,” he sighed, rubbing little Sam’s back comfortingly, “Robb’s already dealing with enough right now with this whole Sansa situation- can’t imagine telling him I think his sister’s attractive while he’s being forced to suddenly confront all of his guilt and self loathing every time he looks at her.”

“That whole bro code thing of never dating your friend’s sisters never really made sense to me.” Sam shook his head, gulping down more coffee. “I mean, I’d be thrilled if you decided to date Talla, because I know you’d be good to her.”

“Yeah, don't think she'd quite go for that, mate.” Jon snorted, standing to bounce little Sam around gently. He was just grateful Sam hadn’t said anything else about Robb.

“Eh, wouldn’t count you out completely.” Sam shrugged, smirking. “With that hair, you’re pretty enough to be a girl- maybe that’d be enough for her.”

“You are so lucky i’m holding the baby.” Jon muttered, still bouncing little Sam, who picked that moment to spit up spectacularly down Jon’s back.

“Well, that’s three of us who’re gonna need showers now.” Sam grinned, looking thrilled as all get out that it hadn’t been him. “Wow- his aim is getting better.”

“I’m going to remind him of this when he’s a sulky teenager.” Jon grumbled, wiping spit-up off his shoulder as best he could. “Look- no gossiping with Rhae about this, please. She thinks she’s such a good clandestine agent that she doesn’t always realize that Robb is better at sniffing out her plots than she thinks.”

“Alright-“ Sam sighed, looking back down at the massive stack of paperwork in front of him. “I make no promises for Gill, though.”

“Gilly could give some of my Uncle’s colleagues at the WIA a run for their money when it comes to withstanding interrogation.” Jon snorted.

“Probably true.”

“Where did your brother take Sansa?” Still holding onto a now much happier baby with one hand, he reached down the other to take a gulp of his own coffee.

“He said something about going out towards the Tyrell Estate.” Sam shrugged. “They probably drove out there to see the gardens- he’s said it’s a good road to take his bike out on.”

Jon promptly spat out his entire sip of coffee, staining the front of his shirt as well as the back, and frightening little Sam enough that he started to cry.

“He took her on his motorcycle?”

Gilly picked that moment to reappear, completely clean and with wet hair, blinking at the scene in front of her.

Sam, who couldn’t seem to stop laughing, was desperately trying to calm down the baby, who had started wailing, while Jon’s entire front was covered in coffee and his entire back was covered in baby vomit. Not that he seemed to notice, as his face was white and he was making a series of angry looking hand gestures at her husband.

“I really can’t leave you three alone for five minutes, can I?” she sighed. “Do I even want to know?”

[lavalais76]

I was reading terrible things about Sansa Stark and now my blood is boiling. How could people HATE an 11 yr old child who has absolutely no control over her own life. They went as far as to saying the mountain-clan will kidnap her and she will marry Timit!!!!😳

They also say Sansa will remain in the Vale until the end of the last book, but have no objections to Arya and Dany on a revenge killing spree. And for God's sake don't mention Sansa with Jon. They absolutely go INSANE, saying Dany and Jon will save humanity. Dany can't save anyone if she is killing millions of people and burning others alive.

Sansa will kill LF with the help of Timit is what they say and OHHH, Jon will marry Val. How TF can Val be QINT when she is a wilding and no real princess. She looks the part as Jon says, but we ALL know what kind of woman Jon REALLY CRAVE. A high born willowy creature who brushes her hair waiting for some knight to save her.

Jon craves Sansa Stark aNd I personally believe he always HAVE. My response to "these idiots was this: (and I could be wrong) but who knows.

Alyas Karstark was a red herring. Sansa is definitely the girl in grey. Miranda also has a grey cloak that went missing and WHY would Miranda mention Jon being LC to Sansa? There is a reason for all of that. Just like Arya and Jon were to fall in love in original version, it's going to be Sansa and Jon.

Jon even says he has no sister (,5Never considered Sansa a sister) he then says “my half sister truly” (that's what he and Sansa referred to each other as) He mistakes Melsandra for Ygritte, and says all robes are GREY in the dark, yet suddenly hers were RED. Martin is a hell of a writer, and I was in denial about Sansa being the grey girl as well. Not anymore.

Sansa is getting the hell out of the Vale. There will be no kidnapping from mointain-clans or falling in love with a secondary character such as Timit. What sense would that even make? Some people act as if Sansa doesn't matter, or she is some side character when she has one of the most tragic SAD stories in the whole series. She is scared and do whatever she has to do to survive, even if it means allowing LF to kiss her and molest her in which she has NO CONTROL over. It also blows my mind how people were “shipping” (and I hate that word) Sansa Stark and the HOUND of all monsters. Sansa has had 4 FALE BEASTS in her life. Joffery, Tyrion, The Hound, and LF. These men are evil and takes advantage of a young lonely 11 yr old girl who has been captured like a butterfly in a Jar. They are evil, YES; BUT they are NOT the real BEAST.

The real BEAST is Jon Snow. As we know, Jon was already a bit ruthless before the stabbings. (I do not think Jon died that night) For ONE: We need to think about the SNOW and hypothermia which can save the lives of people who are bleeding by knife wound or gunshot would. It's simple Science. Will Jon be on the brink of death and have a Near death experience? YES. There will be a lot of chaos at Castle Black and the wildings are very loyal to Jon. Eventually they will be ruling the wall while Jon recovers along with a few other loyal CROWS that love and respect Jon.

Master Ameon had a dragon dream when him, Gilly and Sam sailed off. He couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to tell Jon Snow that “ the cold preserves.” A fan asked GRRM about Jon's resurrection, and Martin said, “You think Jon is dead do you?” Maybe he was toying around, but everyone automatically assumed he DIED when there is absolutely NO EVIDENCE.

“He never felt the 4 knife only the cold” How do we even know there was a 4th knife or any other knives afterwards? Why was Jon’s hand clumsy when he tried to pull his sword out? Did they drug him? Why was Ghost acting hostile before the stabbings? Of course Ghost knew what was up. There is no telling who is involved in the attempt on Jon's life. Melsandra told him to watch the ones who smile in his face while they sharpen their daggers. I don't even rule Satin out, as Ive said many, many times.

On the show, Ollie was Satin in my opinion. They did not want to give it away. Back to Jon and Sansa and a few other things. First I want to say, Melsandra will definitely burn Shrinee thinking Stannis is actually dead. She will play absolutely NO PART in bringing Jon back from his “coma”. It's going to be Jon's wolf who saves him and release his soul back into his body, and Ghost will die, also sliding his shadow into Jon because Jon IS GHOST.

He will definitely be a beast and he will not be the same Jon as we know him. This is where Sansa Stark ( girl in grey) will come along and temper Jon just like she did the hound. They will eventually work together and fall in love and struggle with these feelings because keep in mind, Jon and Sansa does not know each other AT ALL. Yes, he will welcome her in open arms and be extremely protective of her, and yes they will fight while trying to get their home back or when they have to rebuild Winterfell together. (The blood of Winterfell)

Sansa Stark is destined to go North because she is the only one out of all the Stark children who has her wolf buried at Winterfell, and as Melsandra like to say: “the bones remember"

[batrachised]

Violence and Walter

I've been reading LM Montgomery and Gender, and although I'm only a few essays in, there have been a couple on Walter that have blown my mind. Specifically, their commentary on Walter's relationship to violence has split my brain open. They've begun to answer a question I've had for a while: why did LM Montgomery have Walter so savagely beat Dan Reese?

Let's be real here, the general image of Walter is someone who is milk-soppish. In a way, he shares some similarities with Robin Stuart, although he decidedly has more backbone. However, he still has that delicate, sensitive imagery surrounding him that follows him throughout the books. We have all the passages that are probably familiar if you've been following me for a while: Gilbert describes him as being afraid to go upstairs in the dark, many people mock him for being sensitive, and the overall impression is that he's thought of is being shy, retiring, and girly.

This stands in stark contrast to the scene where he fights Dan Reese. Exhibit:

Walter reeled a little. The pain of the blow tingled through all his sensitive frame for a moment. Then he felt pain no longer. Something, such as he had never experienced before, seemed to roll over him like a flood. His face flushed crimson, his eyes burned like flame. The scholars of Glen St. Mary school had never dreamed that “Miss Walter” could look like that. He hurled himself forward and closed with Dan like a young wildcat. There were no particular rules in the fights of the Glen school boys. It was catch-as-catch can, and get your blows in anyhow. Walter fought with a savage fury and a joy in the struggle against which Dan could not hold his ground. It was all over very speedily. Walter had no clear consciousness of what he was doing until suddenly the red mist cleared from his sight and he found himself kneeling on the body of the prostrate Dan whose nose—oh, horror!—was spouting blood. [...] There was a loud clapping from the boys who were perched on the rail fence, but some of the girls were crying. They were frightened. They had seen schoolboy fights before, but nothing like Walter as he had grappled with Dan. There had been something terrifying about him. They thought he would kill Dan. Now that all was over they sobbed hysterically—except Faith, who still stood tense and crimson cheeked.

This isn't the skittish, highstrung Walter we know. This is deliberately emphasizing Walter's savagery. The language here is not one that speaks to justice being served. Walter isn't being presented as an avenging force for justice; Walter is being presented as an animal. He's fully carried away by a blunt brutality arising from base instinct. More that that: he's enjoying it.

Epperly's book The Fragrance of Sweet Grass provided me with some preliminary answers. According to her, this entire passage is an allegory for WWI. And ah ha, that makes so much sense. Walter, fighting against forces of evil, losing himself in the brutality and bloodshed. As Epperly states:

However, even Epperly questions Montgomery's use of Walter's savagery. She attributes it to a brief commentary on vengeance within the framework of Walter as the gallant knight (it's cut off, but this paragraph begins with "Interestingly..." on the previous page of the book):

So we have some answers here - the allegory is obvious, especially in the context of WWI - but there's an essay in the gender book that has some really interesting explorations into Walter's frame of mind that I want to poke at (From "Uncanny Beauty" to "Uncanny Disease": Destabilizing Gender through the Deaths of Ruby Gillis and Walter Blythe and the Life of Anne Shirley by Lesley Clement).

Clement more fully leans into the savagery of Walter, to the point of claiming that the Jekyll and Hyde cat could be seen as a parallel for Walter's two sides. In their analysis of Walter's arc, they see possibilities for (1) Walter having a death wish, and (2) Walter suffering from shell shock, even as he writes that letter to Rilla.

LM Montgomery's portrayal of Walter's heroism takes on a very different light here. It's a sort of double-vision: Walter wasn't scared of realities, only of his imagination; Walter, in the end, was the bravest of them all; but also - Walter wanted to die on the front. This could even be seen as tacitly confirmed by his message to Rilla that he couldn't live after what he'd seen. His immunity to fear on the front can be seen as both a personal triumph that ends his arc, and a suicidal shell shock.

Walter's death wish could arguably also be seen in the aftermath, the last poem he ever wrote - and the last story every written in the AOGG series:

The Aftermath carries multiple possible meanings. Walter could be remembering killing a teen boy, he could be recalling what he'd seen, or, as stated here: he could be reflecting on his own death. Overall, in Clement's opinion, Walter "displays not only a death wish but also possible signs of shell shock" in that final letter to Rilla. And I have to say, I agree. I'm sure LM Montgomery meant it as a noble goodbye on the part of Walter, and that still stands; interpreting Walter's statements also gets particularly tricky when considering his second sight aspects. However, in the letter Walter both sensed his death on the horizon due to those aspects, and at the same time welcomed it. Although it doesn't quite get to an explicit death wish - more framed as an acceptance of his fate - I think that reading is fair.

Notably, though, to go back to the main subject of this--Clement also ties in Walter's savage side. That Jekyll and Hyde is very reminiscent to the two sides of Walter seen in Rainbow Valley. Clement only questions Walter's "Hyde-ness", and I can see why: I think that portraying Walter as a murderous psychopath is definitely a step too far. However...we've seen how Walter gets when fighting for justice. That's inarguable. At the least, we know that WWI would have required Walter to tap into that part of himself. Ultimately, despite the coolheaded words, Walter has held hands with the side of himself that savagely beat Dan Reese, and that has a grip which does not let go. The essay even argues that Walter would be unfit to marry Una if he had returned:

In addition to these passages, in Walter's case specifically, we have precedent for the effect that fighting has on him - his fight with Dan Reese definitely "unleashed an unfitness of soul." Clement goes so far as to describe Walter as tainted, which, when viewing Walter as an individual, I'm uncomfortable with, but when viewing Walter as a symbol, makes complete sense.

Although it might feel icky to say this in the context of PTSD, I think Clement's point isn't about Walter being quote-end quote "damaged goods;" it's about highlighting that a just war is still war. As the passage itself states, fighting "God's battles" doesn't mean you will be spared from the aftereffects (or, one might say, the aftermath). Still, I dislike the framing here, until I remembered a passage from an earlier essay and everything clicked (yes, this conclusion is supremely obvious, but bear with me and my two brain cells). The previous essay (the white feather one I shared passages from earlier) comments that LM Montgomery wrote Rilla as a tribute to "Canada's girlhood," then goes on to say:

And so we arrive, at last, at the reasoning for Walter's savagery for Dan Reese, and as always, Walter's symbolism. Walter Blythe is Canada. The death of Walter's innocence - his "tainting" - could represent the death of the old world and its perceived innocence. He fought to save family and homes - Faith, in her girlhood - against the enemy, but in doing so, lost himself. And based on what we have here, I think Walter realized it. He couldn't live in the world after what he'd seen, but also, he didn't want to live in the world after what he'd done.

[suzukiblu]

Expanded version of Tim's next scene in the Core Four poly-pocket soulmate AU, with a read-more for length.

The adorability of Pockets as a concept y'all can thank @bucky-boychik-barnes for.

Tim's Pocket refuses to wear a mask, which is an issue. He doesn't want to wear the tiny wire-rimmed glasses either, or even change out of his weird straps-and-belts version of the Superman suit into . . . literally anything else, at this point. Tim would take anything else. They've given him options, but he's refused them all. He won't take off the costume.

Also he won't stop flying around the cave like a bat out of hell, and it's seriously annoying.

"Have you successfully selected a name for your Pocket, Master Tim?" Alfred inquires as he pours everyone tea at the table while Bruce is staring assessingly at Tim's Pocket, including four little Pocket-sized cups' worth–one for Bruce's Cat ("Kitty" to the tabloids), one each for Dick's Red and Star, and one for Tim's . . . whoever.

Alfred doesn't have a Pocket of his own. Tim's always felt too awkward to ask about it.

And Jason never got a Pocket at all.

"No, not yet," Tim says, because the whole no-mask/yes-cape issue has been a lot more immediately concerning than naming him. He can't take a Pocket Superman home to his dad. Pocket Clark Kent is going to be bad enough.

Assuming Tim's Pocket ever puts the stupid glasses on, anyway.

"You should get on that," Dick advises as he picks up his teacup with an appreciative nod of thanks to Alfred and takes a sip. "Red got really mad at me when I didn't name her right away. I mean, like, naming Pockets is so . . . outsider, you know? And kinda gilly, too. But that's how Babs grew up, obviously, and I don't know how they did it on Krypton, but Uncle Clark was raised by gadje too, so . . ."

Tim understood absolutely none of that, but just nods like he did and makes a note to go do some research later.

"Sure," he says, just hoping he can convince his Pocket to ditch the damn cape sooner than later. Red wheels her tiny wheelchair over to the Pockets' nicely-set little tea table and ignores Star floating down to land in the seat across from her. They don't usually get along very well, which is a little weird to see in Pockets who didn't come from people who are, like, on the literal opposite ends of the ethical spectrum, especially ones that belong to the same person, but they both settle in all the same. Cat does an artful flip off of Bruce's caped shoulder down to the table and then strolls over to join them. Tim's Pocket looks curious, but stays hovering in the air just over his shoulder.

Is his Pocket, like, antisocial or something? Is that a concern? Usually Pockets group up really easily, from what Tim knows. Not that he's ever had one before, and admittedly his parents' had always mostly ignored each other, but . . . normally they do, right?

Cat chirps impatiently and makes a beckoning gesture at Tim's Pocket, but he, very weirdly, sort of floats backwards and almost . . . hides behind Tim's head. Just for a moment, but . . .

Weird, Tim thinks. Weird, and not very Superman-like. Pockets are usually a bit more emotionally honest than the people they come from, but Superman's met Cat as many times as Bruce has met Laney, so why would a Pocket that came from him ever hesitate to go over to her?

Star chirps too, holding out her arms and starting to glow with intensely bright solar radiation that would only be an encouraging gesture to a Kryptonian, Tim is sure. It does the job, though, and his Pocket pauses for just a moment longer, then goes to the visible effort to put on a bright grin and darts over to land beside her. She immediately starts chattering at him in Pocket-talk and he chatters back easily, and Tim then has to witness his own damn Pocket start undeniably flirting with one of Dick's Pockets.

He has never been more mortified in his life, he thinks right up until his Pocket turns his head and starts flirting with Cat.

Tim disassociates a little. Like. Just a bit.

Or a lot.

"Hm," Bruce says while Tim is busy dying of mortification, his eyes narrowing assessingly. Star is happily flirting back at Tim's Pocket, to Tim's absolute horror, but worse, Cat is actually humoring him.

Tim has died and this is hell. There's no other explanation whatsoever for this.

Cat reaches over and scritches his Pocket behind the ears. He looks startled, then visibly zones out for a moment, and then leans into the contact and purrs. Cat chirps approvingly, Star laughs, and Red snorts, but fondly.

Tim is definitely, definitely in hell right now. Oh god. What is happening right now and why is it happening to him?

"Well, he's got aspirations, I'll give him that," Dick says wryly as he leans back in his chair. "Though I don't think Lois Lane would appreciate them."

"It's not Superman," Bruce states matter-of-factly. Tim and Dick both blink; Tim's Pocket immediately scowls.

"You sure, B?" Dick asks skeptically. "He looks just like him. And he literally showed up wearing the El crest."

"I knew Smallville," Bruce says, ignoring Tim's stubbornly glowering Pocket. "He was nothing like this Pocket. And Superman is undeniably dead. Believe me. We checked."

Of course Bruce checked, Tim thinks. They know so little about Kryptonian physiology, after all, and even less about how Kryptonian physiology works under a yellow sun. It's not as if Earth is spoiling for other Kryptonians.

And Clark Kent was Bruce's friend.

So of course he checked.

"It is true that Mr. Smallville did have a markedly different personality from the one our new young Master Pocket seems to," Alfred says, delicately setting a tiny tray of tiny Pocket-sized treats on their tea table. Tim has no idea how Alfred even makes cookies that small, but he does it. "I don't think I ever once saw him in any semblance of Superman's costume at all, in fact."

Tim's Pocket looks briefly puzzled, and then very worried. Tim isn't sure what to think about that, but it makes him feel a little useless. He doesn't know how to take that worried look off his Pocket's face, but he feels like he should be able to do something about it all the same.

He tells himself–soon. Once he knows him a little better. He'll be able to do it then.

Or he hopes he will, anyway.

Star and Cat get Tim's Pocket to sit down at the table and scoot their chairs in to pin him between them, which seems to help more than Tim was going to be able to figure out how to. At least, his Pocket looks a bit less anxious about the conversation now.

He's still shooting Bruce sullen little glowers, admittedly, but one step at a time.

"Maybe your Pocket's just really work-focused, Robin," Dick observes wryly, and Tim's Pocket immediately laser-focuses in on him and jumps back to his feet so fast he knocks over his chair and nearly Star and Cat and the tiny tea table too.

"Rob!" he shouts excitedly, definitely not in Pocket-talk, and Tim blinks down at him in bewilderment, trying to figure out if he just hallucinated hearing that or not. That was–that was so fast for a Pocket to have picked up their first non-Pocket word. Most Pockets don't even care to learn more than a handful of those, and certainly not so quickly. And Tim's not an expert on Pockets, obviously, but . . .

"Hm," Bruce says.

"You probably do need to name him pretty soon, if he's already latched onto your name this quick," Dick says, leaning forward a little bit to peer a little closer at Tim's Pocket. Tim's Pocket ignores him to grin delightedly up at Tim, which Tim feels very weird about. No one ignores Nightwing for him. Ever.

He guesses if anyone would, it'd be his Pocket, but still.

"That's not technically my name," he reminds Dick. Dick had it first, after all, and Jason had it too. Tim just . . .

He didn't even inherit it, really. It's not like Jason deliberately left it to him or anything. He doesn't even know what Jason would think of a Robin like him.

His Pocket scowls again.

"Rob!" he insists loudly, flying up into Tim's face so fast he nearly smacks into it. "Rob! Rob!"

"Tim," Tim corrects, although obviously his Pocket isn't going to pick up two words on his first day of existing, it's just–

". . . Tim?" his Pocket repeats uncertainly, his brow furrowing as he stares much too intently at Tim.

Tim has absolutely no excuse for how red his face turns.

"Hm," Bruce says again.