#Jack-on-horseback

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Monday 25 March 2024

The rapidly growing annual or biennial Calendula officinalis (common marigold, goldins, Jack-on-horseback, Mary's gold, pot marigold, Scotch marigold, souvenir, yellow goldes, marybuds) can be found flowering all year round, especially in a mild winter. The leaves have distinctive aromatic leaves.

Jill Raggett

[joeygallagher]

Jack Powers Biography

Devil On Horseback (First Edition)

by

Dudley T. Ross

Published by Valley Publishers, Fresno, CA  (1975)

[twola]

Sorta got carried away with the prompt list…(I must be ovulating because DAMN the pregnancy prompts got me going)

But #161, 154,151,140,125- where the reader is preggo and miserable walking around camp so the gangs giving out ideas (sexy time) and Arthur’s like ;) then later on the reader is like ya know what get over here.

Do with it what you will.

You do the best with anything you type!

Xoxo

Oh - trust me, I am into this.

I'm also eight months pregnant myself so I am SUPER into this. Am I projecting something here? Perhaps…

Pain Relief

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI, Pregnancy Sex, Breeding Kink

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You are very over it at this point. Really. Very over it. It’s a struggle to get yourself out of the cot that you and Arthur share. 

The morning sun beats down on the worn canvas of your shared tent, and you know it's by some divine providence that Miss Grimshaw hasn’t summoned you to work yet. Or maybe it was Arthur snapping at her when he saw you struggling to carry a basket of laundry.

That must be it.

But a laze you are not - even now, when your swollen stomach makes any kind of movement difficult - when your sleep is nearly non-existent and the pains and swelling and overall discomfort are driving you crazy.

Pushing yourself up, you huff, annoyed that seven months ago you were chasing down bounty hunters on horseback and now getting up out of a cot makes you lose your breath. 

God, this was terrible. Finally getting around to standing up, you glance at yourself in the small mirror Arthur uses for shaving. Your chemise stretched taught over the swell of your belly. The dark circles under your eyes from lack of quality sleep. Sighing, you run your fingers through your long hair to tame it, or at least attempt to. After fighting with the fabric of your dress to cover your frame, you shove your feet into your boots and breathe out heavily as you sit back on the cot to tie the laces. God damn everything is a struggle with how swollen your belly is.

By the time you make it out of the tent, the midmorning sun beats down, and you shield your eyes for a moment before you feel a small tug on your skirts. You look down to see Jack give you a toothy grin, one small hand fisting the cotton of your skirt and the other clutching the most recent toy Charles had carved for him.

“Auntie, you’re so big! You look ready to pop." Jack pipes up excitedly.

You laugh as you hear a cluck of disapproval as Abigail follows in her son’s footsteps, “Jack - that’s very rude of ya - shouldn’t make comments about ladies like that.”

“It’s alright, Abigail,” You smile at her as she frowns down at the boy, “I do feel ready to pop.”

“Y’look like the baby’s dropped… ain’t long now.” Abigail’s eyes trail down to your belly as she shoos Jack off to play elsewhere.

“Too long in my opinion.” You roll your eyes and Abigail chuckles in return.

“Ladies!”

Susan Grimshaw’s voice cuts through the peace of the morning. Abigail’s gaze looks past you to where the sharp disappointment came from, and you frown as you hear footsteps stomp ever closer before the camp matriarch pushes into your view.

“There’s laundry to be done,” Susan eyes you up and down, “You can certainly sit and still do the washing. C’mon, get to it.”

She waves her hands at you dismissively, Abigail rolls her eyes and starts to head over toward where the other women have started doing the day’s wash.

You scowl at Grimshaw’s retreating figure, rubbing your aching lower back as you too make your way over to the edge of the camp, where the large tub is filled with soapy water and the pile of men’s shirts seems to be overflowing. You sigh tiredly, finding the stool 

Mary-Beth places her hand on your back slightly over your own, massaging gently as you sigh in a moment of temporary relief. 

"Try walking, I hear it helps. Tilly and I will cover for you for a few minutes.”

You thank her quietly and slowly make your way to the woodline of camp, taking a few minutes to walk back and forth before giving up and sitting down on the stool, letting out a long, labored breath as you wince in pain.

“Y’know….”

You open one of your eyes to see Karen across the tub, a mischievous look on her face. Cocking your eyebrow, you wait for her to continue.

Karen smirks, "You should try having sex."

Well - volume was never her strong suit. Across the camp, the men’s conversation falls silent as several pairs of eyes glance at you.

You flush from your hairline to your chest as you dunk a shirt into the tub, trying to ignore the stares you know you're getting as Karen merely chuckles.

“Aye, Arthur- sounds like you're needed elsewhere.” Javier chuckles and you're mortified.

You spare the quickest glance up in his direction, the man who got you into this mess in the first place. You can see Arthur’s smug grin from under the rim of his hat.

-

You silently scrub at the rest of the laundry load, handing shirts to Tilly for her to wring out and hang on the line.

“Don’t let her get to you, you know how Karen is. Tilly places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently to assure you before returning to the laundry. You sigh, taking another shirt and dunking it into the water.

A pair of boots land in your vision before a hand reaches down toward you. You look up to see Arthur ready to pull you up to stand, a gentle smile on his face.

“C’mon now sweetheart.” 

You sigh and take his hand, secretly grateful for the assistance to stand up. He steadies you before pulling your hand to his lips and pressing them to your knuckles.

“How’s about you lay down for a little.” He offers, holding his arm out to you as you wind your own around it, letting him walk you slowly to the tent, holding back the canvas for you to step inside. 

You let out a long breath, bracing your lower back with both hands for a moment before sighing. There was just no getting comfortable at this point.

“C’mere, let me help you.”

Arthur stoops down on one knee and loosens your bootlaces enough that he can pull them from your feet one by one. You let a breath out once both boots are off, unable to deny it felt good to get your swollen feet out of them.

“Better?” He looks up at you for a moment and you nod, your hand moving from his shoulder that you were balancing on to your lower back again, idly rubbing at near-constant ache that has settled there. 

Arthur stands up and places a kiss to your forehead before turning around and taking his hat off, placing it on the small table where he kept his shaving kit.

Karen’s suggestion echoes in your mind as you watch him run his fingers through his short hair absentmindedly.

You roll your palm over your distended abdomen, frowning.

“You don’t have to lie and tell me you want me.” Your voice cuts through the silence and Arthur swings around to look at you, puzzled.

“Darlin’, it ain’t a lie. It’s never a lie.” He responds softly, taking a step closer to you.

“Really? Lookin’ like this… it does something for you?”

Arthur blushes before looking down at his boots. “Well, I… uh... Yes?”

You quirk your eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips, “I’m a goddamn watermelon-”

“You’re pregnant-”

“Literally swollen up like a damn cow-”

“C’mon now darlin’-”

And damn, if you can’t hold back the tears from collecting on your eyelashes as you spin away from him.

His broad arms wrap around your swollen waist, pulling you back half a step and against his large frame. One hand spreads wide over your belly as you feel him press his lips to the top of your head.

“I… ain’t the woman you was chasin’ after anymore.” You admit with a cracking voice, the tears spilling down your cheeks as your hand falls upon his over your belly, “Who knows when I’ll be able to ride or shoot or do anythin’ like that again.”

His lips move from the top of your head down to your earlobe, where he nips gently. Arthur’s low voice rumbles in your ear, causing a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Whole world knows you’re mine -” He pulls you another half backward and you gasp as you feel the long, hard line of him against your rear, “Christ, you’re the most beautiful thing alive, all big with my child.”

“A-Arthur - ” You whine as one of his hands cups a swollen breast through your blouse.

“Have half a mind to keep you like this.” Arthur continues, his other hand moving downward to slide between your legs and the needy sound that escapes your throat is loud enough to make him shush you as he presses at your core through layers of cotton.

Your hands fly to grasp his forearm as he gently gropes at your breast, and you turn your head up toward his and he greedily pushes his lips upon your own, tongue pressing inside your mouth as you moan into his.

You have no idea how long it is you spend wrapped up in his arms - your hips pressing back into his, his hands groping at your breasts and cunt, your knees shaking as you pant into his mouth. 

Those damned hands of this, they keep you under his spell as somehow, he unlaces your skirts and they fall to the ground in a heap around your ankles. He spins you around in his embrace, and his lips fly to your neck as he opens the buttons of your blouse. You let him pull the sleeves down your arm, leaving you in just an old cotton chemise stretched tight over your belly. The seam of your bloomers, soaked, chafes delightfully against your cunt.

It’s only another moment before he’s shrugging your chemise down over your shoulders to free your breasts.

“What’s gonna be the best for you?” Arthur whispers into your ear, his warm, somewhat rough palm engulfing your breast, squeezing it gently.

Your head tips backward as you lean against him, a high and flighty moan bubbling up from your chest. “On- on my side-”

Your chemise flutters to the floor, along with your bloomers, his hands pushing the cotton down of your body.

“Go on, get in the cot and get comfortable.” Arthur nips at your ear again and gives a playful swat to your rear.

You nod, eyes falling from his face to his hands as he pulls his suspenders down his arms and begins unbuttoning his work shirt. You back up two steps to the cot, slowly sitting down upon it, your gaze refusing to leave him as he strips himself down.

With the speed of a man on a mission, he rids himself of his boots and the rest of his clothing and stalks the few steps to the cot.  You turn yourself over to lay in it, burdened by your stomach as you let out a long breath as you finally settle down on your side, facing the wagon that makes up the side of the tent.

Arthur slides into the small cot next to you, that warm, big hand finding its way to your belly as he situates himself behind you, pressing all six feet of his frame against you, his body hard, hot, and wanting.

“You tell me what feels good, darlin’.” He mouths against your neck as his hand retracts behind your hip to stroke his cock.

You moan lowly and press your hips back against him, you can feel his smile on your skin as he guides himself to your entrance. The blunt head of his cock presses into the rim of your cunt, and his hand moves to sling your thigh back over his, opening you to him more.

“Mm, that feels good.” Your voice strains as he slides himself deeper into you, a deep, satisfied rumble coming from his chest when his hips press fully against your rear, fully sheathed in your cunt.

His arm swings across your hips, pulling your thigh backward even more as he languidly rolls himself into you. His fingers find that small bundle of nerves as he nibbles on your earlobe.

You mewl aloud at the stimulation, panting as he continues to press himself into you. His low, rough voice whispers in your ear, vacillating from sweet nothings to filthy utterances. The slide of his cock into your cunt is the constant, grounding thing as his fingers that rub at your clit speed up and slow down.

“A-Arthur-” you pitifully whine, gasping as you huddle toward that precipice. He grunts into your ear as he slightly picks up the speed of his hips rolling into yours, still gentle. He pinches at that nub and you’re gone, your legs shaking and hips seizing as you meek through your release, your slick glossing his cock and dripping from your body, even with him filling you.

“Tha’s my girl…” Arthur slurs as his hand moves up to cup at your lower belly, “Christ, I ain't ever gonna be able to stop fillin’ you-”

His murmurs fade into a groan as he presses forward one final time, burying himself deeply in your warmth as he shudders his release into you.

You sigh in contentment at the feeling, warmth blooming from your joined hips. His lips touch the back of your neck as his large hand rubs gently at your hip as he catches his breath.

Arthur gently pulls out, you gasp slightly at the feelings of the loss of his flesh and the dripping of his warm spend from your body. He shushes you with a kiss over your jaw, rubbing circles over your swollen belly.

“Feelin’ any better?”

Your hand covers his over your belly as you lean back fully into his embrace.

“Much better.”

[urhoneycombwitch]

your ideas on dm eddie!!!!?????

like i need more of him being in charge and reader just is like no no

replying to this with another anon

18+ mdni

he would be so easily corruptible. like one session you all have to stop mid-game (it’s been 4 hours but everyone got so lost in the storytelling!!) to get the kids home before curfew. and it was just getting good, too- the knight’s brigade with you as their commander, riding on proud horseback into the rumored-to-be-dragon-infested-forest.

and later that night, after you’ve carpooled everyone to their respective homes, you settle in at Eddie’s for a movie.

but it’s not five minutes in until you’ve got a hand under the band of Eddie’s sweats, fist slick around his cock. you’re biting at that hotspot behind his ear and he’s trying to be good, keeping his hips down even though he’s longing to just fuck up into your tight hand.

Eddie lets out a little whine when you thumb at his slit- and then your voice is low at his ear, murmuring, “no dragons in that forest, right baby?”

he can’t be faulted for not answering right away, ‘cuz your other hand has slipped to cup his balls and your thumb is pressing into indecent places-

“h-what?” Eddie pants, stomach flexing, using real effort to stave off coming. “no dragon… where?”

“in the forest, baby,” you coo, patient in tone but speeding up your jacking-off rhythm.

his cock throbs in response. Eddie moans.

you sink a lovebite into the dip of his shoulder before you continue, saccharine- “gonna make it real easy on me and my knights tomorrow, right?”

and he didn’t have a choice, goddammit, you’d jacked him right up against a wall, he had to strangle out a “yes” so that you wouldn’t stop your pretty hands from moving.

“come.” as soon as you whisper the command at him he’s gone, spilling thick ropes of pearly white into his sweatpants, letting his hips jerk forward as you coax the last of his spend with a squeezing upwards twist.

his head lolls against the back of the couch, chest heaving, bright spots of pink in his cheeks. “vixen. witch. you’re a sorceress.”

“nope.” you pop the p before sucking the mess from your fingers into your mouth, Eddie watching with lust-blown pupils. “I’m just a knight with a slut for a DM.”

[deepouterspacecandy]

Ink and Paper Hearts

I wanted to write something for Valentine's Day, and wound up with over 8k words. Sheesh! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for being here! Be kind to yourself and others. 18+ only. Violence and sexual themes. Angst, fluff, etc.

Raised on a cattle ranch, you spent your early days on horseback tending to the farm and living off the land. When disaster left you orphaned, a ragtag group of survivors embraced you as one of their own. Over time, they had become your family, and together, you’d endure natural disasters, famine, and hordes of infected.

It only took one sweep of malevolent raiders to destroy your home and turn everything you’d ever known to dust. You escaped the attack within an inch of your life.

Isaac was the one who discovered you withering away in an old diner off the freeway, fending off the infected with nothing but your integrity and a baseball bat. His medical team, which accompanied him as they moved between compounds, took care of your recovery, and nursed you back to health.

The leader of the Washington Liberation Front admired any person who possessed the strength to fight and the compassion to care for animals simultaneously, and in exchange for a safe place to lay your head, you promised to do just that.

It was a relinquishment of power; you learned early on. Anything involving Isaac came at a cost. Your bond with him was duty-bound, but he offered you another chance at having a family and a purpose. After being all alone in that desolate place, you’d been more than willing to fall in line.

Still, you were a different person when you first arrived in Seattle.

Some would say naïve. You saw yourself as a practical optimist. Now, you’re not so sure.

It’s truly astonishing how a year of unrelenting conflicts with the Scars can diminish the brightness of your silver lining.

The ability to find distraction in your work is a double-edged sword.

A jack of all trades, you spend most of your time working with the four-legged soldiers of the WLF. You have extremely limited patience for the human variety, on both sides of the fence. You tolerate a handful of your comrades, but between assignments, you’re happiest with your nose in a book, savouring the quiet and escaping into distant realms.

The drive for escapism hasn’t been a difficult undertaking lately.

A group of thirty soldiers left the grounds on assignment last month, and only two returned.

It left the stadium halls quieter, heads hanging lower than what you’d ever witnessed. Interactions that would otherwise leave you with a sunny lilt, instead left you carrying a heaviness that you couldn’t quite shake.

Few civilians choose to dive into surface level banter like they used to and the collective fear and sadness shrouding the compound has kept it that way for some time.

It serves as a reminder that even with extensive training and the most advanced military equipment, tragedy can strike without discrimination.

Unchecked and alone, the infected will forever wander through the shadows, driven by an unending quest to find their next victim. Maybe the same idea is true for all adversaries.

Your primary objective is to ensure the community remains united and intact. If you manage to stay sane, that’s a plus.  

“How are you today, my little sunflower?” Manny asks, mischievously tugging your jacket.

“You better be talking to the dogs.”

“And if I’m not?” he asks, kneeling to offer unlimited ear scratches to the newest litter.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to refer you to every other time you’ve ever asked,” you say, giving the bottom of his boot a kick. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yes, he does!”

A woman’s voice booms from the other side of the unit, and Manny forces a smile.

“The bane of my existence.”

You chuckle at his misery, knowing little about his relationship with Abby outside of the kinship they portray in combat and their supposed insufferable roommate arrangement. Something you’re only privy to after running into her after hours at the library as she was trying to catch some shuteye on the couch there.

“Will you quit harassing pretty girls and grab a damn dog already?”

As she approaches, tails of all shapes and sizes wag with incredible speed, exuding pure happiness. You wonder how much time she has spent in the kennels when you’re not around. Isaac has her spearheading every mission from here to Chicago, so you rarely see her. But the dogs never forget a kind face.

You exchange a few pleasantries with Abby before she drags her unenthusiastic partner to work. Manny’s womanizing ways at the stadium serve as a constant reminder of your boundaries in relationships.

You’re safer by yourself.

Abby does seem like a sweetheart, though.

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

“We ship out tomorrow morning,” Abby says, handing you an empty canteen and a backpack, a clipboard braced to her side by her white knuckled grasp.

Her abrupt tone makes you jump when it normally wouldn’t. She’s struggling to keep her voice steady, but you suspect she has more important things to worry her mind about. 

“Right,” you nod. “Any idea how long?”

As she’s rushing to complete the next task, your query hits her at the worst possible second, adding to her already teetering stress load. You recognize it a moment too late and your teeth ache at the back of your jaw when she spins on her heel, pinning you with a glare.

“Do you expect a serious answer, or are you just trying to piss me off?”

“No, I—”

“Promises around here are as worthless as the ETA themselves, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Promises? What did that have to do with anything?

“I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“Anything else I can assist you with, soldier? Or can we finish wasting my time?” Abby bellows.

You knew it would be a mistake to leave the K9 unit, but circumstances with the Seraphites have forced your hand. They not only invaded WLF territory, causing destruction and casualties among your people, but they’ve also been blocking your teams from conducting supply runs, leading to a rather grim situation in the reserves.

“You don’t have to bite my head off,” you say, feeling the tension rise as you widen your stance against her more imposing one. “We’re all stuck in this mess.”

“Oh, really?” she seethes. “Good to know. I’ll be sure to hand you a shovel next time our people turn up in body bags. Give you a break from scooping dog crap to help us grownups with the actual shit.”

Abby is your superior and you know better than to test the hierarchy. The moment you denied Isaac’s advances, you tumbled from the top spot. But you’re no chump.

“What’s your problem?”

In a split second, Abby’s body looms over you as she detonates, “You’re my problem,” her breath hot against your face.

She flinches when you lose your balance and stumble backward, narrowly catching yourself. If her instinct was to rescue you, she restrained herself just in time, her hand frozen in mid-air. A twitch nags at the corners of her tired eyes.

“You’re no different from the rest,” you say, walking backward, chest heaving. “It’s all the fucking same.”

You’re down the hall and veiled by the four walls of your room before the opportunity to fumble your conversation further buries you in shame.

It’s going to be a long night.

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

Manny runs through his roll call sheet twice, inspecting each soldier with every measure but a squat and cough. If he thought he’d catch you on a minor clothing infraction, hell, a mismatched pair of socks, he’s sadly mistaken. You wouldn’t give Abby the satisfaction and besides, you hadn’t slept a wink preparing for this assignment.

“Where’s Anderson?” Manny asks under his breath. The team surrounding him dip their heads and you try to avert your attention. Brush it off like you had been too busy inspecting your gear to overhear him.

“We’re not going blind, are we, Alvarez?” Abby says, shouldering through the group to drop her bag on the tailgate of the Humvee.

When her arm brushes yours, you recoil, your fist hitting your stomach with a muffled thud. Her head snaps in your direction, but her gaze is less volatile than before. You make a point not to place too much trust in that emotional assessment, finding solace in the familiar sensation of your twisting hands.

“Alright,” she shouts above the murmurs of your unit, the quiet chatter falling into silence. “You will work in pairs, at all times, even when we are in proximity to each other. This is unnegotiable, so don’t ask me if you have to bring a friend to the pisser. The answer is yes.”

The group’s attention is undeterred, even as a faint chuckle escapes them, their eroded black boots facing her commanding presence.

“If you hear something, say something,” she continues, her chin bowing slightly. “It may save a life.”

You swallow thickly and lean against the armed vehicle, its cold steel biting into your back. It’s possible that your sleepless night will affect your performance, but you decide not to emphasize it and hoist yourself upright before anyone notices.

“Our destination is approximately sixty miles from here, and we will cross into Scar territory temporarily, so we’ll need to be cautious. Eyes on rooftops, balconies, you know the drill.”

The group divides between the Humvee and a military truck, and it’s only after twenty minutes of driving that you realize Abby has chosen you as her combat partner for the time being. You feel the weight of her thigh against yours, as she adjusts her legs to accommodate her backpack, and you’re left pondering her decision.

There is a clear sense of trust between her and Manny, making him not only her closest friend, but a lifeline in warfare. Does she think you’re weak and in need of a stronger match? You gnaw on your bottom lip at the notion, focusing on the greenery flitting past your window.

“Come on, Anderson, your balls aren’t that big,” Manny teases, gesturing to her outstretched posture, particularly the way her legs take up enough room for two. You shift toward the door to free up some real estate between you and concentrate back on the road.

As their banter fades into background noise, your attention shifts to observing the deserted surroundings, vigilant for any indication of danger. Apart from a pair of rabbits hopping around, the streets are completely motionless.

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

The cavalry parks outside a derelict warehouse, its craggy roof adorned by a lush carpet of moss. Rust-bitten chain link fencing surrounds an expansive lot at the rear, cube vans with faded labels scattered throughout. It’s a tempting location to scavenge, but the prospect makes your stomach lurch.

The presence of tall grass and the lack of windows on each vehicle creates ample opportunity for trouble. A lurking enemy, dead or alive, is something you’d like to avoid. It’s possible that someone has already searched the vans, despite their undisturbed appearance.

“Let’s break this down into teams and tackle it all at once,” Abby announces, nodding at the parking lot and the adjoining building. “Six outside, inspecting the trucks, and six inside. We’ll scour the property first, and then we can set up for the night.”

“Wait,” you say.

She blows out a frustrated breath.

“This better be good.”

The temptation to tell her to fuck all the way off is intense.

“Maybe we should put a couple scouts up high, search the grounds together,” you say, pointing to the safest vantage points. “Eyes in the sky.”

“Any other suggestions?” she asks.

“I mean, no—but,” you begin.

Abby interrupts, holding her hand up. “Like I said. Six and six. We don’t need to be out here longer than necessary.”

“Fine.”

She guides you toward the building, her palm on your lower back, and you jerk away from her grasp. She may have the authority to call the shots, but you decide where you place your neck on the chopping block.

“I’m with them,” you say, trudging toward the trucks.

“Hey!” Abby says.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. What?”

She gives you a once over, gritting her teeth.

You throw your hands up and let them slap against your sides, waiting for her to hurl her discontent at your head, clearly eager to tear a strip off you in front of your squad. With a distant gaze, she fixates on the hollow space behind you before heading towards the warehouse.

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

It took several hours to secure the perimeter and set up camp inside.

Your heavy eyelids rejoice at the promise of rest. The team in charge of the mail trucks uncovered a mother lode of undelivered packages, chock full of useful supplies. It was almost as impressive as the haul the WLF brought back from the airport a few months back.

Within the building, soldiers set up their bedrolls among a labyrinth of cluttered offices. It’s quite comical to overhear the entertainment value of some dusty, redundant telephones and keyboards. You catch snippets of the amusing conversations while rearranging your own space, the sound of playful jabbering rising from the ashes, finally allowing you to release a deeply trapped breath.

Abby eases up on her protocols to make the rounds and ensure everyone is okay. You make use of the time alone to freshen up and explore, gathering candles from various boxes to arrange in your shared office, the wax and wicks a rare, comforting find.

Abby spots them as soon as she returns.

“Nighttime always feels darker away from home,” you explain, worried she might find them frivolous.

She doesn’t.

“Candles are good,” she says, picking one up to roll in her hands. She scrapes her thumbnail along the wax base and shifts on her feet. “I like them.”

“Alright,” you say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

You try to ignore the intensity of her gaze as it grazes over you, but beads of sweat build along your lower back. It might be time to crack a window. Occupying yourself with that activity, you grow increasingly frustrated as the most accessible ones refuse to budge.  

“Let me try,” she offers.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she huffs, and you glimpse her crossing her arms over her broad chest.

You reckon Abby isn’t used to being turned down, and it sours your stomach a little to be the outlier.

By climbing the desk closest to the wall, you gain some leverage and drive your palms into the ridge of the window. You feel the sharp edge digging painfully into your flesh, your back muscles tightening to an impossible degree.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grunt, putting all your might into another attempt, the image of a bottle smashing through the pane something you’d seriously consider acting upon if you were alone.

“Stop being stubborn and let me help.”

“I don’t need your help,” you groan, the tickle of sweat now threatening to break into a full stream down your spine.

“Sure seems like you do,” she says, the arrogance in her tone combined with the weight of her gaze on your back, sending your lid rocking chaotically over a burgeoning boil.

You suck in a rigid breath and ignore her remark.

“Look, if you just—”

“Abby!” you say, jolted by your own shout.

Manny must overhear the commotion, slinking against the door frame to clear his throat. As they murmur behind you, you bow your head and brace your hand against the glass, waiting to be reprimanded.

When you twist your body to offer an apology, the room is empty.

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

Even as the sun disappears below the horizon, the air in your office, as well as the rest of the building, becomes oppressively warm. You dig through your bag for a less cumbersome shirt but resort to stripping down to your sports bra and a pair of boxers. Abby hasn’t come knocking for a while, long enough for a clicker to obliterate you ten times over, but you temper your outrage.

Downstairs, there’s a treasure trove of unopened loot piled on racks, beckoning your interest. Abby abandoned her rule of two and frankly, you couldn’t care less.

Truthfully, she never wanders too far from her pack.

It’s possible she’s unaware of your whereabouts while you gather boxes from the metal racks downstairs in your underwear.

But it’s also possible she has eyes on you wherever you go.

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

“What’s all this?” Abby asks, lingering in the doorway.

Lost mail spills from the bins surrounding you. You’re captivated by the untold stories inside them. A peek into a world you’d never known.

“Letters, mostly,” you say.

Just inside the entryway, Abby slouches against the wall, absentmindedly playing with the fibers of the carpet using her socked feet.

“What kind?”

You’ve torn through dozens of envelopes, the contents of each one wildly different. It’s almost disturbing to imagine how many people had an entire universe they experienced through their eyes only.

You’ve already envisioned yourself journeying from one post office to another, gathering historical accounts and breathing new life into forgotten tales.

“I’m a bit lost with most of them,” you say, credit card debt and bank statements flying straight over your head. “Structures before the outbreak are a lot different from ours.”

Abby clicks her tongue, moving further into the room to sit across from you. She’s careful not to encroach on your space and a twinge of remorse worms into your belly. You offer an olive branch, handing her a photograph.

“But then there’s stuff like this,” you continue.

Abby’s eyes widen at the provocative image of a woman, her slender figure draped across a pristine silk sheet, the vibrant red of her lace panties and sharp stilettos creating a striking contrast. Attached to it is a note that reads:

When you’re alone, close your eyes, and I’ll be whispering your name.

Abby puffs a quiet laugh as a flush of pink creeps along the high points of her cheekbones.

“Who’s it addressed to?” she asks.

You search for the envelope among a sea of scribbled addresses and realize it’s a futile endeavour.

“I’m honestly not sure,” you admit. “I think I lost it.”

“Damn,” Abby smirks, running her thumb over the curled edges of the polaroid. “Lost in transit twice.”

You give a half shrug, noticing how enraptured she is with the picture. Her blonde lashes catch the candlelight at an angle that cast long shadows across her freckled skin.

“Manny would lose his mind,” Abby says, rolling her eyes. “He’s obsessed with shit like this—women in general, really. Horny bastard.”

You can feel the giggles bubbling up inside you, and you clamp your lips together to keep them from escaping. Abby Anderson, the most revered soldier of the Washington Liberation Front, sitting criss-cross applesauce talking smack about her best friend.

It is about the funniest thing you’ve seen in weeks.

“Have you—ever sent one?” you ask, treading dangerous waters and bracing yourself.

She blows out a ragged breath, pocketing the evidence.

You wonder if it’ll be a gift for Manny or something she keeps for herself. The notion causes vicious heat to rise across your forehead and down the bridge of your nose.

“Not a chance. It’s not really my thing.”

The mountain of mail between you becomes a welcomed distraction, and you make use of having a focal point to stare at.

When she tosses the question back your way, it throws your stuttering heart into a full gallop.

“Have you?” she whispers, leaning back to study you with a leg outstretched. The heel of her foot rocks to a slow tune only she can hear.

Her muscular arms bulge as she balances herself and you do your level best to pretend you don’t care. You expect her to wriggle uncomfortably or try to change the subject, but she doesn’t. Instead, she waits on you to bounce the ball she has rolled onto your court.

It’s you who can’t stop squirming.

“I haven’t found anyone worth the effort,” you say, and it feels a little embarrassing, maybe, but you figure honesty goes a lot further with Abby. “People suck.”

“Would you?” she asks. “If you found someone.”

Your racing heart leaves you dizzy.

It’s too goddamn hot in this office. You crane your neck to fire silent vitriolic arrows toward the stubborn windows, desperate for a fresh gust of air to grace the back of your damp shoulders. Abby stumbles to her feet, stepping over you to solve your problem once and for all.

With a soft click, the lock releases, and the window glides open, allowing the cool evening breeze to sweep through the space.

You squeeze your eyes shut and groan.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Abby smirks, dropping back down to her spot on the floor. This time, she lies on her side, head propped up by her arm. “You almost had it.”

The crooked smile quirking up on her mouth hits you like a flashbang.

“I kind of hate you right now,” you say without venom. “But I should probably say thank you, huh?”

“Probably,” she grins, teeth raking slowly over the pout of her bottom lip.

She has freckles there too, and you’re suddenly envious of them.

“I won’t,” you blurt, tearing open another envelope. “Say thank you.”

“I wouldn’t either,” she laughs, and it’s a deep, warm cadence. A laugh meant only for your ears. She gestures to the letter in your hand. “What’s that one?”

The grin you’re desperately trying to hide causes your face to ache.

The brash woman you’re hardly accustomed to sharing a home with at the stadium is full of surprises, it seems. There’s a side to her that isn’t militant and melancholy, but rather the opposite.

She’s playful and witty. Her eyes, a staggering blue lake, are gentle and kind.

You could fall madly, painfully in love with a woman like Abby.

Abby herself, even. If she wasn’t an unstable box of dynamite.

You skim the handwritten letter with the tip of your finger, and another wash of warmth blooms inside you at the bulk of the sentiment.

“It’s a confession,” you explain, fixing your attention on the last paragraph. “He’s been in love with her for a long time, since they were kids.”

“Will you read it to me?”

Her gentle query sends a shiver of sunshine down your spine. Her eyelids are heavy like yours, and the shadows beneath hers speak volumes about the burden she carries. The weight of the world.

“Only if you promise to read the next one.”

“Deal,” she murmurs, sliding your bag over to use as a pillow. She snuggles into it and your whole body vibrates.

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

The trip home is lighter, despite the nearly crippling load. Clothing, toys, garden seeds, tools, home goods, toiletry items — the list is a mile long. You couldn’t take everything, but the mass of what hadn’t deteriorated or spoiled made it through the gates.

It’s a hopeful thing, not only to witness your group returning home unharmed, but with enough supplies to ease the strain taken from a new fruitful avenue.

The moment you and your squad walk into the chow hall together, you’re met with a chorus of cheers and applause. As Abby vanishes amidst the swarm of people, you exchange a few handshakes before seeking escape from the cacophony.

Your sleeping quarters are the chaotic aftermath of hurried packing and abandoned reading material, with your mattress being the only semblance of order in the disarray. It was Manny who taught you how to make your bed to military standards and perhaps his goal was to inspire more in you than routine, but either way, the habit stuck.

Gratitude simmers for it now more than ever, the crisp, clean sheets offering respite. Freshly showered and dead on your feet, you crawl into your cozy bed and drift away.

A thunderous crash shocks you awake.

You blink against the abyss, immediately comforted by the stadium lights leaking through your curtains. It drives other citizens insane, the absence of darkness, but you’re thankful for it.

Someone appears to be banging your door down.

“Cool it, already,” you say, scrambling for your cotton robe. The brutal assault on your sleep at this hour deserves to be outlawed—prohibited by the laws of the WLF. “Holy hell, are you trying to wake the whole neighbourhood?”

You tear open the door and any visceral anger coursing through you evaporates at the sight. Tall, fierce, and devastatingly gorgeous, all blended with the rich spice of amber liquor.

Loose tendrils of hair cascade along her shoulders and collarbone in protest of her braid.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have something for you. Can I come in?” Abby asks, and it’s not a question.

Before you can even request a moment to compose yourself, she unceremoniously dumps a heavy grey bin on your living room floor, adding to the chaos, before collapsing onto your couch.

“What’s going on, Abby?”

She may be a delightful, luminous drink of water when she wants to be. But damn, can she ever snore the walls down in record time.

You plop yourself onto the bin beside her and try to make sense of her unexpected visit. Should you venture down the hall to wake her roommate? There’s likely a sock hanging from the doorknob by now, but it’s an option.

“Anderson?”

The sound of your hands drumming on the sides of the plastic container fills the room, while you contemplate the amount of bourbon your crew has consumed from lunchtime until now. An indulgence that landed on your doorstep all the same.

When Abby whimpers and curls in on herself, you resolve to drape her in your heaviest blanket, hoping to help her tackle the unsteady beats of her sleep cycle and a looming hangover. She bundles the fabric in her fists and clenches it underneath her chin.

Captivated by her klutzy aura, you nearly trip on the forgotten bin.

The lid doesn’t want to come apart from its secured spot and you have the presence of mind to check for a locking device, just to be sure. There isn’t one, of course, but you’ll never let yourself live down the office window debacle.

It’s going to require elbow grease and a hefty tug. You hiss as it separates in several loud pops. Luckily, the noise only costs the weary girl on your couch a flinch or two.

Letters fill it to the brim, and you’re enthralled by Abby’s decision to bring them back with her. Your instinct is to open each one, but it doesn’t feel right without her there to chirp commentary at you.

“I don’t get it,” you breathe in disbelief, expecting your words to meld with the shadows and disappear.

Her ghost-quiet voice turns the thermostat up a thousand degrees.

“I was mean,” she stammers. “You didn’t deserve it.”

It appears that you’re tapping into her guilt-ridden subconscious, which feels so delicate you consider shaking her awake. You doubt she’d want to lay it all bare.

Does she always talk in her sleep?

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “Water under the bridge.”

Your response seems to placate her overworked brain. You can relate, as your own tries to lure you back to the land of lonely slumber.

You notice her face doesn’t relax, even when her breathing slows, the lines in her forehead streaked with dirt. To never find peace, even during sleep, must be exhausting beyond what most can fathom. It seems cruel to disturb her, even if she’s restless. You settle for leaving a glass of water on the side table for her before settling in at the end of the couch. If she startles awake, you’d rather she doesn’t do it alone.

Cramped onto the only slice of cushion she hasn’t claimed, you let the commotion of the day pull you under.

As morning greets you, you find yourself back in your bed.

The familiar scent of Abby drenches your blanket, but she’s long gone.

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

It’s your first day off in months, but you check the work assignment list to confirm. On your way back from the bulletin board, the classrooms are abuzz with joyful energy. Children eagerly play with the toys and delve into the books your squad brought home, and it gives you a sense of belonging. A goal beyond surviving.

Until now, you have thought little about your life beyond protecting the community. It always made sense to put your neck on the line for the greater good. While casually strolling past the gym, not in search of a certain soldier, you can’t help but wonder if there might be other adventures awaiting you.

Abby’s breath tickles your ear, and you leap a mile out of your skin.

“Looking for me?”

“Son of a bitch,” you wheeze.

She doubles over with laughter, imitating the strangled noise you make when you’re caught off guard. She takes a minute to catch her breath before she gives you a generous shove.

“You’ve got quite a potty mouth,” she teases, wrinkling her nose impishly at a passing group of young ones. “There are little ears around here, you know.”

“Yeah, well, they probably know better than to sneak up on a person,” you say, finding Abby’s laughter rather infectious. You bite back a grin. “Who does that? Is an apocalypse not enough for you people?”

Abby breaks into another bout of giggles, seeming to enjoy your newfound passion for merging the old world with the new one.

“Is it our apocalypse though, if we were born into it?”

“Yes, Abby, it is,” you huff, eager for your heart rate to return to baseline. “We’re in an active apocalypse and you’re awful.”

As she leans against the large window you’d been peering through, the sounds of the gym fade into the background. She tilts her head at you, eyes sparkling with intrigue. Clad in workout gear that accentuates her sculpted body, she doesn’t appear sweaty.

You must’ve caught her on her way in.

“Are you busy later?”

“Not really,” you say, fidgeting with a frayed string on your sleeve. “Are you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Okay,” you say, staring at a scuff on your sneaker before catching her gaze.

“Okay,” she mimics, directing her nose scrunch at you this time, turning your mouth dry. “Feel like being busy later?”

It’s not as if her tone is explicit or even her language, but this woman is a supernatural force. So, tingles rise into gooseflesh from your head to your toes, regardless.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask.

The roars of a lively group of soldiers reverberate through the gym, their spirited chants urging their champion to hurry her ass up. They beckon to her as if they are a part of the kindergarten cohort, causing both of you to snicker and shake your heads. One of them wolf-whistles, the rise and fall of the pitch echoing into the hallway. Abby wastes no time throwing up her middle finger in response.

“I can come by around seven. Does that work?” she asks, reaching for your wrist. She gives it a quick squeeze and slowly pulls away, her fingers sliding to the tip of your pinky.

Her simple touch is unexpected, and it electrifies you.

“Works for me.”

She beams, walking backwards through the gym doors, brows jumping at your frozen form.

You amuse her. This much is obvious.

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

A rhythmic tap grabs your attention, a stark difference from the first time Abby came knocking. But to keep with tradition, she doesn’t arrive empty-handed.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, gesturing to the dishes balanced precariously in her arms.

“I wanted to.”

She sets the meal fit for an army battalion down onto the counter and searches your kitchen cupboards for something to drink from.

With a single, forceful movement of her forearm, she clears space by shoving your knick-knacks aside to make room.

“Juice cool?”

The way she effortlessly makes herself at home in your space leaves you speechless. You nod.

“Good,” she says, a repentant grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Pretty sure I’m off booze for the rest of my life.”

With the same delicate touch she used to tidy your countertop, she pours the freshly squeezed liquid, causing both glasses to hover on the verge of spilling. Abby takes a step back to assess the situation before bending over the rims, producing the most obnoxious slurping noise. It nearly sends you into hysterics as she levels out both glasses.

She hands one to you with droplets of orange decorating her chin and the collar of her shirt.

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “Quality service right here. Plus, I love germs.”

Balancing the glass to the best of your ability in your right hand, you pull your sleeve over your left and use it to pat her face dry. Abby snorts, her normally lively body becoming static under your ministrations. She swallows heavily, and a calmness settles over you.

“I don’t have germs,” she pouts. Her eyes drop to your mouth for a split-second before her cheeks erupt in swaths of vibrant pink. “I swear.”

“You’re a mess,” you scoff, enamoured by this clumsy woman, blazing a path directly into the pit of your stomach. “Did you know that?”

As she nods, her broad shoulders relax, and her frenetic breathing begins to slow.

“Nobody else sees it,” she says, her words hanging heavy in the air.

The pressure of that emotional cargo would cause any person to buckle under the weight sometimes. It’s a strenuous life for everyone on base, but the expectations placed on her are especially burdensome.

“I see it.”

Your confession doesn’t offend her; instead, it seems to liberate her.

She sighs an exhale of relief, and it makes your heart squeeze.

“I can live with that,” she whispers.

The food was prepared with love as is anything set aside for Abby, and she tells you all about the cook who put it together. An original member of the Salt Lake crew, and a phenomenal chef, he got them through their bleakest days.

When the WLF opened their arms, he committed fully to helping Abby achieve her goals, working tirelessly to support her training and keep himself on the straight and narrow after their tragic end with the Fireflies.

She doesn’t go into detail about what happened, and your instinct is to let that be okay. The heart-wrenching rumours are more than enough to go on for now.

“He’s stoked for me to have a little downtime,” she says, waving her fork at the spread now spilling onto your coffee table across various plates. “Hence the whole smorgasbord situation. As soon as I told him—”

She pauses, letting out a little whimper of embarrassment, seeming to scold herself for being so open.

“Told him what?” you press, detecting a subtle grin playing at the edges of her eyes.

“He wanted to make an impression on my friend, I guess.”

Your neck tickles with heat and you attempt to ventilate by pulling the collar of your shirt away from your collarbone for a moment.

“The man can cook,” you say with your mouth full. It comes out funnier than you expected, muffled by chewing. “Sorry.”

“You’re quite a mess yourself,” she smirks, leaning to drape her arms along the back of your couch, scanning the state of your apartment. “Your poor books.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my books!”

She hauls herself off the couch to make an example of you, crouching at a cluttered stack. So, an earthquake must’ve hit only your room—what of it?

“I mean, this is just sad.”

“We can’t all have bookshelves and organizational skills, Anderson.”

“Says who?” she chuckles, her attention diverted by a novel that has piqued her curiosity. “This isn’t a lack of skill, either. Where’s your discipline, girl?”

Maybe it’s crouched in front of you, a blonde bombshell waiting to go off and properly reduce you to human rubble.

“I’m plenty disciplined, thank you very much.”

“Yeah?” she says, tongue tucked behind her teeth in challenge.

The audacity, when you’re currently over the moon about this delicious meal, you’ll likely never get to enjoy twice.

“Yeah,” you retort, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve like a feral beast. You strip off your shirt and toss it into the abyss, grabbing a clean one from its home on a toppling lamp.

Her bright bursts of laughter make you giddy, a woman who never finds time to play, sitting on your carpet waiting for you to join her.

“Who even are you?” she asks, and it’s so gentle it stops you midway through redressing to ponder her question.

The cotton tank top falls past your hips and you smooth it out, sensitive to the wrinkles in a way you haven’t previously been.  

“It looks good,” Abby blurts, reading you like the sea of books strewn about. “You’re—good.”

There’s something about the fortitude of her honesty that helps you decipher between barbs and a genuine fondness for your idiosyncrasies.

Maybe she’s someone you can trust after all.

She shuffles across the floor to the bin filled with letters and lifts it above her head with ease.

“What on earth are you doing?”

As her brows jump mischievously, she dumps the skeletal remains of a past life onto your floor, filling the room with a waterfall of bones. It ignites a fierce desire to protect this girl—create a time capsule of this moment for the next generation to build upon.

A reminder that not all broken things are hopeless things.

“Well, now you’ve gone and ruined my tidy apartment.”

“My bad,” she giggles.

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

Each passing moment feels like tiny punctures in an hourglass, causing time to trickle away. You’re both aware of it, trying to stretch the night. Abby leaves for a spell to hunt down her chef, in pursuit of caffeine. She returns flushed and sleepy, the bitter aroma wafting through the door alongside her soothing presence.

Curiosity and exhaustion get the best of you, and you ask about her friend. His thoughts on your late-night rendezvous with history. She does a goofy impression that makes you want to wrap your arms around her, and you watch her in fascination like an old cowboy reel, projected onto your heart.

“He says you’re a bad influence.”

“Bullshit,” you snicker, tossing her another envelope.

“Okay, so he didn’t say that. But he did tell me to give him a heads up if I decide to run away with you.”

You try to push that thought aside.

“Really, now? And why does he think that’s in the cards?”

“He thinks you’re my dream girl.”

She speaks as if she’s describing weather patterns to you, and you’re bewildered. The blunt force of her words mixed with the softness of her tone leaves you shell-shocked. You search for a tether; silently categorize every reason it can’t be true.

“What did you tell him?” you ask, busying yourself with a letter you read while Abby was away.

A tale of woe between two quarrelling families. It reminds you of Romeo and Juliet, some less violent, modern-day version, and based on the contents of their struggle, you gather at least one of them was grateful for the pandemic.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks, pinning you with her gaze.

You nod, a buzz of energy flitting through you.

“Yes,” you say.

“I told him to go fuck himself.”

Cackles burst from your chest, finding her candour rather precious. Of course, Abby told the guy off. But she doesn’t look away after she tells you; doesn’t shrug or scoff. She studies your reaction and holds her breath until a tiny smile breaks her anxious expression.

You forget where you are in proximity to the earth for a second.

“I guess I’ll debrief you on that situation at a later date,” you say.

“I hope so.”

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

The sound of her steady breathing is peaceful as the light of early morning whispers through the fog. She idly sips at her coffee and takes her time, setting each letter into their respective piles. It’s engrained in her to keep things orderly, an obvious clash with your paper heap. Unlike you, she finds the government letters intriguing, even the boring ass mortgage and debt related ones, and reads them all thoroughly.

Your hand catches on an envelope shaped differently from the rest. Inside is a card, with a dozen raised hearts adorning the front in varying shades of red. When you flip it open, it reads:

With you by my side, every day feels like Valentine’s Day. Thank you for being my rock, my love, and my everything.

Your family never spoke of this while you were growing up.

“Valentine’s Day?” you yawn. “What’s that all about?”

You show her the card, and she rubs her eyes, nursing the tail end of her own yawn with the back of her hand.

“Give it here, woman.”

She looks it over to confirm her suspicions, and with a knowing smile, sits up straight. She taps the card against her knee.

“My dad told me about this.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s um—it’s a tradition people celebrated near the end of winter. A day to do things for the ones you love, I guess.”

“Like a holiday or something?”

“Sort of,” Abby says, fumbling a bit with her own understanding of it. “Romantic stuff, mostly.”

She rubs her neck, mulling something over while you try to wrap your head around this new information. One day out of the year to do what exactly? Who was supposed to do the things—both people? Did the traditions start after breakfast or were you meant to wait until suppertime? Was it an endeavour meant to last the entire day?

“My dad didn’t really make time to celebrate it,” Abby continues. “He was always too busy at the hospital and then my mom—well, she worked there too, so.”

The veil of exhaustion lifts when you realize she’s peeling back a wound right before your eyes. You suck in a breath and hope she doesn’t mistake it for anything but your desire to let her speak. She drops the card on her lap and wrings her hands.

“They did these small things instead, you know? On regular days,” Abby explains. Her body droops as she seems to pick through her retention of their conversations.

“Like what?” you ask, your voice just a hair above a whisper.

“Like—okay. My dad loved to dance,” Abby says, leaning forward with a sad smile, the slouch of her shoulders regaining composure at the happier memory. “He was fucking terrible at it,” she puffs a laugh. “But he was a music buff and when he met my mom, he said it was the best excuse he could find to get close to her.”

You ache for her to have them here to tell the story, instead.

“So, they danced together a lot?”

“All the time, according to him,” Abby says, her face lighting up. “He told me that my mom was super shy, so she’d always give him hell about it. But he’d ask her to dance pretty much anywhere. Parking lots, gas stations, one time they danced in the middle of the grocery store.”

You try to imagine what Abby’s mom looks like, but your mind can’t seem to conjure up anything beyond Abby’s own image, a showcase of strength and grit.

“Do you remember much about her?” you ask.

“Not really. She died when I was a baby,” Abby explains, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt. “She loved being pregnant with me, though, apparently.”

“Well, duh,” you murmur.

Abby crinkles her nose at you and bites the edge of her smile.

“Dad said her stomach got so big that he started dancing with her from behind. She’d rest her head on his shoulder, and they’d just sway back and forth.”

“I love that,” you say.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, fondness heavy on her breath.

Abby’s speech becomes slurred as the birds on your balcony greet the dawn.

“Every time they danced, the scent of her reminded him of a cabin in the woods, surrounded by these giant pine trees he used to pass on his way to work. He’d dream up this elaborate plan for them to quit their careers and live off-grid. I think he promised it to her about a thousand times.”

“That sounds kind of amazing, actually.”

“Yeah,” she says, tapping her nose with the Valentine’s card, her sleepy gaze drifting to yours. “He was a sap.”

She finishes with the most outrageously loud, cavernous yawn and you’re too tired to do much more than giggle at her larger-than-life spirit.

“You can crash on my couch again, if you want,” you offer.

She wobbles to her feet, reaching for your hand to help pull you up.

“I’m on assignment in a couple of hours anyway,” she says, supporting your elbows while you try not to slip on the paper graveyard below. “I’ll be MIA for a while, but let’s meet up when I’m back, if you’re up for it.”

“Totally.”

“Cool,” she whispers, her fingers tracing patterns on the tips of yours before reluctantly letting go.

As she turns to walk away, her steps falter, and she abruptly spins around to face you.

“Can I hug you goodbye?” she asks.

“Of course.”

Before you can blink, Abby’s arms wrap around you, and you’re a puzzle piece, snug in her embrace. She melts you from the inside out, the comforting rhythm of her heartbeat thrumming against your body. The heat of her chest against your cheek lifts blissful sleepiness from the edges of your resolve and a part of you wants to ask her to stay.

As she gently moves to cup your head and support the back of your neck with her warm hands, you instinctively wrap your arms around her waist, afraid she might drift away.

“I feel so safe right now,” you whisper into her shoulder, and she nuzzles closer, squeezing you tight. Your feet are nearly off the ground before she relaxes her grip.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

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

Two weeks have passed since your visit with Abby and it’s hard to think about much else. It’s a pleasant distraction, even when the memory of her makes your insides flutter as if she tipped a bucket of butterflies between your ribs and set them free.

An unusually large number of soldiers from different stations have packed the grounds, and you’re grateful to have a unique job to keep you relatively separate from the chaos.

Dogs are coming home, but not all of them, and it shatters your heart to toss out their registration papers. You understand the nature of your contribution to this war machine, but it never gets easier. If you could, you’d gather up all the puppies and take them to the same cabin in the woods Abby’s father always dreamed about. Let them bask in the warm sunlight and frolic together amidst a maze of towering trees.

It’s a lovely thought followed closely by the sobering reality before you.

“You’ve done well.”

You drop the leash you were holding, and it clatters on the concrete.

“Isaac. You scared me.”

If Abby is a rare sight at the stadium, Isaac is a ghost. You haven’t seen him in months. He has expanded the WLF across several locations along the west coast and the number is only growing. Reports of a nearby prison piquing his interest have been swirling for a while now.

You’re not sure where he rests his head at night, but it’s almost never here.

“It’s nice to see you too,” he says, inspecting the four-legged fleet without getting close enough to pet them. “I hear your training program is working wonders.”

“I try. They make it easy,” you say, noticing that many puppies have tucked their tails between their legs. “What brings you to the stadium?”

“I’m—restructuring,” he explains, his footsteps echoing as he paces the unit, meticulously inspecting the facility.

Your heart sinks.

“What does this have to do with me?”

He exaggerates a smile, and it sets you on edge.

“You always ask the right questions,” he drawls, heavy hands landing on your shoulders. “I respect that about you. There’s never any fat to trim, just straight to the point.”

It’s more than you can say about him, frankly.

“I suspect you’ve heard about the prison.”

“I have,” you say, bending to pick back up the leash. A narrow excuse to put space between the two of you.

Isaac is still standing uncomfortably close, so you wrap the nylon around your wrist as an act of self soothing.

“Well, it’s proving to be an integral training facility. It’s both secure and unaffected by the flooding, which has been my biggest obstacle up to this point.”

You’d never seen the inside of a prison before, but you’ve read about them. A cold cement cage without access to sunlight, its surface striped with iron. It offered zero curb appeal. You made it a priority to give your dogs a comfortable enclosure for that very reason.

“They need me here,” you say, desperate to get ahead of his plan. “This is where I’ll be most effective.”

“I disagree.”

Your arms tingle with an icy chill as he turns to walk in the opposite direction.

“You said I’ve done well here,” you call out.

“It’s true,” he says over his shoulder. “And your expertise will be crucial. Transport leaves at oh-six hundred.”

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

You should pack to leave, but you’re frozen.

Isaac isn’t one to sugarcoat things and for once, you wish he would’ve.

You curl up in a plastic chair on your balcony and take in the fields below. Neatly organized rows of vibrant crops bordered by fruit trees, bursting with hues of orange and red. Berries snaking through walls of trellis, sweet and ripe. People milling about with baskets of laundry and boxes of produce, keeping society peaceful.

“You should’ve married him,” Manny sighs, dropping beside you. His hand rests on your knee. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you admit, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “All these fresh faces, and I’m the only one leaving.”

Manny moves his hand to your arm, offering a kind squeeze.

“You are not the only one,” he says, handing you a clipboard.

It’s a short list of dogs you’ll be taking with you, and you’re caught between wanting to laugh at Manny’s ridiculous disposition or sob at your utter misfortune. You wish the dogs could stay behind. They love when the little ones throw the ball for them in the afternoon.

“I have a life here,” you say, and it’s a plea to the universe. “This is supposed to be my home.”

Manny offers you a freshly picked apple and you roll the waxy surface between your palms. The image of Abby’s face flashes in your mind. Maybe it’s silly to feel so much, but you can’t stop it. The weight of never seeing her again makes you nauseous.

“I’m fucked,” you groan.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you in.

“Keep your chin up, Hermosa. Something tells me you won’t be gone long.”

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

Hey you,

I’ve tried to write this about a dozen times, and I still don’t know where to start. Fuck it, right?

I barely know you and somehow you made me miss you so fucking much while I was away. When I got home and you weren’t there, it felt like someone shot me in the chest.

Manny brought me your bin of letters and I swear I cried for the first time in years.

How did you get under my skin so fast?

I hear you were sad when you left, and that breaks my heart. It kills me thinking of you being unhappy. I hate that you’re somewhere I know nothing about.

What is it like over there? Are you safe?

I check in on the kennels every day. You’re missed around here a lot.

Keep your head up for me. I’m going to make this right.

Please write me back,

A.A.

You’re busy fixing the fence with a skeleton crew when a delivery truck arrives, and someone throws a letter at you. The thrill of it causes your heart to pound in your throat, a rush of adrenaline washing over you. It takes every ounce of self control to keep from disappearing to read it somewhere private.

Trucks come and go regularly, as they divide resources between stations. Isaac seems to prioritize the prison, especially on the artillery front.

You finish reinforcing the fence and race to your cell to lose yourself in your first piece of mail.

You can’t wait to steal a pen to write her back.

Abby,

I read your letter every day.

Okay, maybe more like three times a day, but who’s counting? Seriously… this place has no concept of time and I’m pretty sure there isn’t a single clock to be found.

It makes me sad you were sad. I feel like we’re on a carousel of sadness! We should change that. (Have you seen a carousel before?)

The dogs aren’t doing too bad. They like the open fields here and they’re allowed to sleep in bed with these smelly ass soldiers, which I think is more for us than them, truly.

Thanks for checking in on my crew there. Means a lot.

My bed feels like a hard slab of steel because it is, but at least I don’t have to make it every day. Don’t tell Manny.

It’s nothing like the stadium here. We don’t have gardens and schools and we definitely don’t have a gym. I know, devastating! How will I ever beat you in an arm wrestle now?

The hot water is a work in progress, so I’m learning how to not die during cold showers. That’s also a work in progress, but I squeal less now. Which is something, right?

Try not to worry your beautiful head. I’m tough. I miss your face, though. There’s so much I want to ask you.

Please tell me something about you that nobody else knows. I promise I’m the best secret keeper, ever.

P.S.

If you find any letters from actual prisoners, be sure to fill me in. I feel like they’d have some great tips!

Yours truly,

Me

You hope she lights up as much as you did when her letter arrives. It’s all you can hope for, aside from her safety and possibly a warmer blanket.

To: My Favourite Inmate,

You sure know how to make a girl laugh.

It’s good you don’t have clocks. That way, you can’t obsess over how long you’ve been gone the way I do.

Shit, I should send Manny over there for one of those cold showers. I gave him that polaroid we found, and he hasn’t come up for air in weeks.

It helps a bit to know those pups are there to keep you warm at night. I hope I can be that for you soon. I considered writing another letter because I was afraid to say it, but I think I want you to know. You belong in my arms.

Something I haven’t told anyone before…

Sometimes I miss being a Firefly, especially since things around here are getting worse by the day—but sometimes I guess I don’t want to be anything.

Maybe I’d like to try being just Abby for a while, you know? I’ve never tried that before. What do you think that would look like? Would you want to be a part of it?

I wish you were here beside me.

I’ve made it my mission.

A.A.

P.S.

When you wrapped your arms around me, it felt like lightning.

[yuurei20]

Birthday Present Tracking: Sebek

⚠️JP-server-only information included, no main story spoilers⚠️

Presents received by Sebek: ・Special horseback riding lesson (Riddle) ・Dental floss (Trey) ・Hamburgers from the town at the foot of the mountain (Deuce and others)

・A book on sports science (Jack) ・A rare book on magic analysis (Azul) ・A 50% discount coupon for Mostro Lounge (Azul)

・Shoe polish (Jamil) ・Tea leaves (Jamil) ・Apple carving of Malleus (Epel)

・Dumbbells (Silver) ・A photo of him conversing with Malleus (Silver) ・A personalized saddle pad (Equestrian club) ・Birthday card (parents)

Presents Given by Sebek: ・Repaired fraying horse tack (for Riddle) ・Horsehair clothes brush (to Cater) ・Reference book for children (to Deuce)

・Takoyaki (to Floyd) ・Collection of essays on traveling with additional information from Lilia (to Jamil) ・Macarons (to Epel)

・A stone statue (to Malleus) ・Hand-squeezed tomato juice (for Lilia)

[girlylukehughes]

lake house takeover

ethan edwards x zegras!reader

ynzegras just posted!

liked by jackhughes and 726,814 others

ynzegras: summer on film! (shout out to jack and quinn for letting me steal your house for the last two weeks of august! i love you guys!)

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jackhughes: you're welcome! at least it was spotless when we got back unlike when i let someone else, *cough trevorzegras cough*, have it for two days.

^ynzegras: yeah he still can't work the dishwasher in his apartment jamie calls me just so we can laugh at him

^^trevorzegras: i hate you both.

trevorzegras: literally who's birthday was it

^ynzegras: no one's we just wanted cake

_quinnhughes: why didn't you have this camera for the first half of summer?

^ynzegras: i did i just wanted to keep my film for the girls trip!

^^lhughes06: lame 👎🏻

edwards.73: we need the film cam when you take media pics

^markestapa: i agree

^^dylanduke25: me too

^^^lucafantilli: me three

^^^^ynzegras: it'll be there

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ynzegras just posted!

liked by edwards.73 and 993,241 others

ynzegras: full summer dump!

tagged: trevorzegras, markestapa, mackie.samo, edwards.73, colecaufield, jackhughes, _alexturcotte, lhughes06, g.brindley4, _quinnhughes

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trevorzegras: WHO IS THAT

trevorzegras: YN WHO THE FUCK IS THAT

^ynsegras: shhhhhhh

^^trevorzegras: WHAT

lhughes06: oh you're bold for this one

^ynzegras: it's an arm🤷🏻‍♀️ he can't work a dishwasher i doubt he can go all fbi with an arm

mackie.samo: i still swear on everything a fish bit me that night.

edwards.73: markestapa mackie.samo we look so good here

^markestapa: we so do

^^mackie.samo: we really do

^^^ynzegras: i agree

^^^^trevorzegras: WHAT IS THIS

colecaufield: miss you baby z!

^ynzegras: miss you too!

_alexturcotte: literally how did you get that picture

^ynzegras: im the one you sent it to while you were wasted😭

_quinnhughes: i miss that coconut

^jackhughes: they were so good

lhughes06: out of all the pics you took that has to be the worst one of me and gavin.

^g.brindley4: i honestly don't remember taking that.

^^ynhughes: it's the only one that not blurry 😐

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edwards.73 just posted!

liked by ynzegras and 372,291 others

edwards.73: 🐄👦🏻

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ynzegras: well you know what they say!

liked by edwards.73

lhughes06: and what if i send this to her brother

^ynzegras: luke hughes if you so dare i will get my happy ass on a flight to nj and use the spare key jack gave me to beat your ass

^^lhughes06: you're broke how are you gonna get a flight

^^^ynzegras: trevor's still logged into american airlines on my phone it'll charge him

^^^^lhughes06:....currently replacing the locks

trevorzegras: hmmmmm

^ynzegras: go away

dylanduke25: a cowboy is a man, typically one on horseback, who herds and tends cattle, especially in the western US and as represented in westerns and novels.

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ynzegras just posted!

liked by markestapa and 937,217 others

ynzegras: save a horse!

tagged: edwards.73

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trevorzegras: luke you were supposed to make sure this DIDNT happen.

^ynzegras: funny story... me and ethan met BEFORE umich. we traded snaps when we were seniors in high school

^^trevorzegras: WHAT

^^^lhughes06: WHAT

^^^^markestapa: WHAT

^^^^^ynzegras: trevorzegras remember when you LEFT ME at that mall in canada? when i said i got an uber i lied, i met ethan and he drove me back to the airbnb

edwards.73: you're so pretty

^ynzegras: mwah mwah mwah

colecaufield: baby z pulls?

^ynzegras: i do!

user61: puck bunny

^ynzegras: fangirls when my first and only boyfriend plays hockey

^^user83: oh she cleared😭

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navigation



[deathmetalunicorn1]

Um so, reader was a princess, and when she was alive if you wanted to court her, you had to beat her in a fight. If you lost you had to pay, with money, property, clothes, crops, animals, food. Anything really. And many many men tried but all failed. So she had a lot of stuff when she died (I imagine that she probably had feasts with all the food that she got)

So reader is a participant in ragnarok, and says like “if you win I’ll let you court me”

with Buddha, Loki, Thor, Lu Bu, Jack, Poseidon, Hades, Kojiro, Ares, Hermes, and Odin

(this is based off of the princess that if you lost you had to gift her, I think, ten horses. So when she died she had like 10,000 horses)

Ah you mean Khutulun! Great-great-granddaughter of Genghis Khan himself!

-You were a Mongol nomadic princess, part of a once great nation that by the time you were born was beginning to wane. However, just because the nation’s power was waning, didn’t mean your own was.

-You were the strongest of your siblings, the only girl out of thirteen brothers, able to beat them in any sort of combat sport from archery to horseback riding to your personal favorite, wrestling!

-None could oppose you, even men two to three times your size, you always pinned them, you always won!

-This stemmed from the deal you made with your father, giving him power as a bonus, that you would only marry someone if they beat you in wrestling, and if they lost, they had to give you 100 horses.

-You settled down after your father’s reputation took a blow, after you remained unmarried, despite the 10,000 horses you now called your own.

-In Valhalla, your reputation preceded you, as you rose in your prime, when you were winning horses left and right, as well as food, treasure, and fine silks, and you were delighted to meet truly strong people, ones you could test your strength against.

-Many were eager to find out if your legends were true, if you were undefeatable, many were cocky and quickly learned that your legends were completely true, as you beat them left and right, making it look easy!!

-Despite getting to challenge warriors from all over the world and from all points in history, you quickly grew bored with these weaklings that kept trying to challenge you, day after day, wanting you for their own, but your stipulations remained intact, if they wanted the chance to court you, they needed to beat you and so far, none were worthy to do so.

-That is, until you met (Love) who just seemed to radiate power, power that quickly caught your interest and you could feel your pulse rushing as he came, seeking you out, as he was curious if your strength was really all that.

-You cracked your knuckles, giving him a flirty wink, “If you beat me you can date me.” While surprised at your arrogance in your skills, he agreed, wanting to test himself.

-Was stunned, staring up at the sky as you bent over him, hands on your hips, huffing lightly. He didn’t win, but he sure as hell gave you a workout, more than anyone ever had in your whole life, alive or dead. You beamed down at him, “That was fun! Wanna go again?” he groaned as he sat up, feeling achy and stiff all over, “You’re inhuman, I hope you know that.” You weren’t bothered, “I just know what I want, and I want someone who can beat me- that proves that they’re strong.” He grinned up at you, taking your hand as you spoke, “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat and drink- you can try again tomorrow.” Despite the pain he felt, he wanted to try again, feeling drawn to you.

            -Ares, Kojiro, Jack, Hermes, and Loki

-He couldn’t believe it, he had lost! He was one of the strongest warriors in Valhalla and he lost to a maiden of all things!! You beamed as you offered your hands to help him up, banged and bruised but grinning as you had finally gotten what you wanted, a match that made you work for the win! He took your hands after seeing the gesture and you easily pulled him to his feet, “You’re the closest anyone has ever gotten! You’re pretty strong!” he felt a bit flattered at your praise because you meant every word of what you had said. He ached, but in a good way, as you gave him what he also wanted, someone who could stand up to him for more than a few seconds. The two of you ended up going out for food and drinks, not a date, as you asked him to fight you again tomorrow and he grinned at your enthusiasm. You truly were unlike any woman he had ever met before and he didn’t want to let you go.

-Buddha, Thor, Lu Bu, Poseidon, Hades, and Odin

[commanderdazzle]

Movie Buffs, I need your help!

I'm looking for a movie and it's driving me insane! I have only vague memories of it because it was a borrowed VHS tape, and it's kinda stressing me out that I can't find this! I thought I had a decent lead but I finally watched it yesterday and it wasn't right, but one of the suggestions I got from Reddit wasn't right either?!

Here's what I know;

It had to be from the early 80's up to the mid 90's, since I watched it on tape in 1998.

2. It was definitely live-action with little to no animation.

3. But it's not Labyrinth, Neverending Story, or The Princess Bride.

4. The main scenes I remember are: a woman in a white dress being pursued by men on horseback, the same woman running through a snowy landscape, and the same woman falling in a pond and being rescued. This is very important because I have a distinct vision of her dress flowing and swirling in the water.

5. There were Unicorns? Or maybe just white horses? Involved.

Someone suggested Legend with Tom Cruise, Mia Sara, and Tim Curry, which was incredibly close but not quite right because Princess Lili never fell into a pond and had to be saved? Jack dove in for the ring but Lili never fell in, which is crucial to my memory.

Today I watched Ladyhawke with Matthew Broderick, Rutger Hauer, and Michelle Phifer, which was incredibly sexy and powerful and had some elements that seemed familiar, but Legend was a lot closer but missed the most important scene in my mind.

Does anyone have any clue what I'm talking about?!

[karniss-bg3]

You think Kar has back problems? I mean, where the bottom half of his humanoid torso connects to the rider body seems to slope somewhat, and that can't be comfy.

Without a doubt. He'd have back problems by proxy because the human spine is an unmitigated disaster in terms of design. Couple that with an invertebrate body that has different methods to absorb shock and you're left with one hefty chiropractor bill. Just thinking about the logistics of how much Kar'niss is thrown around from the simple act of walking makes me wince, much less movements at higher speeds. He'd need to have a really strong core to prevent himself from emulating a jack in the box anytime stark changes in momentum come about. Assuming Kar'niss was transformed sometime ago then he's likely learned how to move with the spider body rather than against it which is the same way people are trained for horseback riding. If you plan to adopt the resident spooder then I recommend frequent massages, hot and cold compresses, and a suitable sleeping situation to support his spine when he sleeps. While his back will never be the same as it was when he was a drow, these steps can help to mitigate further deterioration of the vertebrae. Kar'niss will thank you!

Thanks for the ask!

[jackoshadows]

It's already been mentioned that in general Jon Snow is more attracted to personality rather than appearance and if I had to pinpoint to what those specific character traits are I would say that it's an independent nature, being a rule breaker and general proactiveness in getting things done.

Ygritte embodied what Jon loved about the Freefolk - a freedom of sorts from Westerosi biases, societal rules and laws. His journey with the Freefolk changes his long held opinions of them and parallels his love for Ygritte. Ygritte is honest and open about her desires, values her independence and often times it is Ygritte who defends and protects Jon Snow.

And though he does not know or love Val as much as he does Ygritte, it's their similar independent nature and not being beholden to others that he again finds attractive.

All the same, the wildling princess was not beloved of her gaolers. She scorned them all as "kneelers," and had thrice attempted to escape. When one man-at-arms grew careless in her presence she had snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the neck. Another inch to the left and he might have died. Lonely and lovely and lethal, Jon Snow reflected, and I might have had her. Her, and Winterfell, and my lord father's name. - Jon, ADwD

Val stood on the platform as still as if she had been carved of salt. She will not weep nor look away. Jon wondered what Ygritte would have done in her place. The women are the strong ones. - Jon, ADwD

And when she wants to help by bringing Tormund's faction to the Wall, Jon lets her, trusting in her capability to go beyond the Wall alone, on a half blind horse, with no protection.

“My lady, you do not have to do this. The risk—” “—is mine, Lord Snow. And I am no southron lady but a woman of the free folk. I know the forest better than all your black-cloaked rangers. It holds no ghosts for me.” I hope not. Jon was counting on that, trusting that Val could succeed where Black Jack Bulwer and his companions had failed. She need fear no harm from the free folk, he hoped … but both of them knew too well that wildlings were not the only ones waiting in the woods. - Jon, ADwD

Or when she partners with Jon to help him with Selyse Baratheon - a Westerosi Queen that he is wholly unimpressed with and wants gone from the Wall as soon as possible.

“Let me help.” “You have. You brought me Tormund.” “I can do more.” Why not? thought Jon. They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. - Jon, ADwD

And then there is Alys Karstark and the flirty vibes between Jon and her. There is certainly admiration there for Alys on Jon's behalf. Alys who gets on a horse in the harshest of winter, nearly dying trying to reach the Wall and yet doing so in the belief that the son of Ned Stark will help her. Alys who probably grew up hearing stories and songs of the evil Wildlings who rape and pillage and yet agrees to marry one to protect her own inheritance and rightful claim to house Karstark.

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?” “Yes. Oh, yes.” “You’re not scared?” The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. “Let him be scared of me.”The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. “Winter’s lady.” Jon squeezed her hand. - Jon, ADwD

We as readers and characters like Jon Snow understand that the Freefolk are just like the other denizens of Westeros - good and bad - and yet there's just so much bigotry against them, especially in the North. So Alys - who has never even met one of the Freefolk - entering into a marriage alliance with the Magnar of Thenns is indeed momentous and extremely brave. It has similarities to Dany's marriage with Hizdahr to sue for peace for her people, to bring about an end to the insurgency by the slavers.

So while Jon can be protective towards the characters he cares about - Arya, Sam, Satin - he also really loves that independent streak in the girls he is attracted towards.

Which is why I am really excited for Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen meeting in the books. Even though they have not met yet, I can just sense that palpable chemistry between these two characters based on their personalities. Close in age and maturity, these are two young leaders with a can do attitude, keenly interested in reform and rebuilding a new world. And yeah, Daenerys is really beautiful and yet IMO Jon Snow is going to fall for her personality, regardless of her appearance and not because of it.

And I think that's key considering GRRM's themes of beauty being skin deep and what's important is who we are and not how good looking we are. And despite Jon and Dany not meeting yet, he's laid the groundwork for them getting along like a house of 🔥

[evermore-grimoire]

The Evermore Grimoire: 🎃 Halloween Monsters 🎃

The Headless Horseman is a mythical figure who has appeared in folklore around the world since the Middle Ages and is traditionally depicted as a rider upon horseback who is missing his head. Depending on the legend, the Horseman is either carrying or missing his head altogether, and is searching for it. In American folklore he is a fictional character from the 1820 short story ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ by American author Washington Irving. The legend of the Headless Horseman begins in Sleepy Hollow, New York, during the American Revolutionary War. Traditional folklore holds that the Horseman was a Hessian trooper who was killed during the Battle of White Plains in 28th October 1776. He was decapitated by an American cannonball, and the shattered remains of his head were left on the battlefield while his comrades hastily carried his body away. Eventually, they buried him in the cemetery of the ‘Old Dutch Church of Sleepy Hollow,’ from which he rises as a malevolent ghost, furiously seeking his lost head and wielding a Jack-o'-Lantern as a temporary replacement and/or weapon. Modern versions of the story refer his rides to Halloween, around which time the battle took place.

artwork by Kilaarts

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

How would the first years sees a female yuu practice ballet in a empty classroom that supposed to be abandoned? How would their reaction would be?

If you guys haven’t seen the movie “Leap!” (also known as “Dance!”), I highly recommend watching it since it involves ballet and I really enjoyed watching it! Equestrian vaulting is also absolutely stunning to watch in action, which in a way looks like a mix of gymnastics and ballet. I’ve never done ballet before, but I once did equestrian vaulting when I went to horseback riding camp years ago. It was fun—if a little nerve-wracking doing it on the back of one of the largest horse breeds the stable owned. Good times though! Would attempt again! :D

Anyway, let’s see how the monster boys will react to this~! >v>

////------////

Grim was already aware of Yuu’s skill as a ballet dancer, having seen her dance whenever they clean the dorm. From using the tips of her toes to spin and swipe across the tiled floors to the jumps and leaps she made to reach high places without landing heavily, Grim would watch it in awe. More than once he has stopped whatever he’s doing to watch, especially when music is playing. The soft melodies and fluid movements would make him sway almost hypnotically in place, while the quick tempos and swift movements got his blood pumping as he bounced and tried to dance along—even if it wound up with him tripping up the first few times, but he learned! 

His favorite moments are the times when she would scoop him into her arms and dance with him, feeling as though he were lighter than air. Who needs a broom when he had Yuu? It was the best thing ever for the Great Grim’s human henchman to be so talented if he said so!

Of course, when it came to explaining Yuu’s ability to the other freshmen, words failed to convey just how impressive her dancing skills were and none of the others had ever seen her dance. None of the videos that Ace found online could match her grace or the flexibility she demonstrated--until he finally had enough and demanded they follow him: “I know where she likes to go practice during breaks!”

And so, thinking it was just another tall tale from the chimera, the other first years agreed to follow him for the time being and out of pure curiosity. When they drew closer to the unoccupied auditorium, however, they began to hear…music. “Shh…be quiet, or she’ll stop,” Grim warned them in a hushed whisper, turning to carefully nudge the door open wide enough for everyone to peer inside without exposing themselves.

Whatever quip Ace had in store died on his lips as he stared, watching as Yuu’s legs bent before she raised one high up in the air while balancing on the tip of her other leg, her arms stretched out in a graceful “L” shape. Somehow, she looked as still as a statue, making him wonder just how strong her legs were to be able to hold that pose. “Whoa…how is she even doing that?” he uttered in amazement, watching her smoothly transition into a slow sweeping twirl.

“Guys, if she’s dancing alone in a classroom, she may not want us to watch,” Deuce whispered, the centaur momentarily wincing when he saw her legs bend in ways he knew he could never pull off without injuring himself. Still, he couldn’t look away, his eyes watching intently as he eventually asked, “Can…humans really move like that?”

“Her movements are so fluid,” Jack commented, ears twitching as he found himself relaxing. There was something soothing about seeing her dance so gracefully, yet even from here he could see the power in her movements—restrained, yet clear as day with each step and twirl and bend and high kick. “Is this some form of martial arts from the human world?”

“Naw…it looks like tha’ ballet thin’ Vil—I mean…it looks like the ballet Vil has me and the other first years practice in the ball room,” Epel commented. As much as he hated being forced to do it…he found that it looked different watching Yuu perform. He knew he’d never be able to do half the movements she could with the way his legs were designed—but there was also a certain satisfaction in realizing that even Vil wouldn’t be able to mimic the same fluid grace or expect the same out of the others.

When a new song began to play, a gasp escaped Sebek before Jack and Epel covered his mouth. Though it was hard for them to not feel just as stunned the moment Yuu leapt atop the desks, spinning and jumping up from desk to desk in time to the rhythm until she reached the highest point. Her body moved with a grace and power that he’d never seen before, her expression—though calm—betraying the smile on her face as she continued her performance for the imaginary crowd. At one point she stopped, her back towards the door as she stood and shuffled backwards on the tips of her toes. Before he or the others could warn her how close she was to the edge of the desk—she leapt!

Time seemed to slow down, her body rising high in the air as—with her legs bent and curved—she spun in the air before straightening her legs out into an impossible split, soaring through the air. Then—as if lighter than a feather—she landed right in front of the podium at the very bottom and stood straight just as the music stopped, turning and bowing gracefully at the “audience��.

“Whoa!! That was amazing!” Deuce exclaimed.

Yuu gasped as she turned towards the doors, her face showing clear embarrassment and shock as she squeaked out, “Wha-? Deuce?!”

“Oops!” Deuce uttered, hands clamped over his mouth as he realized just how loud he’d actually been.

“Scramble!!” Ace yelled.

“Guys!!!” Yuu screeched as they bolted. “Get back here!!”

 /////------/////

Soon enough word spread around about Yuu’s dancing prowess, and it wasn’t long after that Cater and the others would come asking for a demonstration of this performance as well. After all, human dancing hasn’t been recorded in centuries—it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to observe (and record) such practices and seeing how humans could move! If Yuu has any knowledge on other forms of traditional dance, it would become a treasure trove of cultural knowledge to unlock and study the significance of the moves and the traditional garments worn by dancers!

[blackopals-world]

Hi! I saw the latest post about the headcanons about yuumaid au! But can you please do the same headcanon but this time, fem s/o is a charwoman and she's extremely shy and timid. Please 🙏

I'm not sure what this request means and it didn't name characters I'm choosing whoever my wheel lands on. (Mostly because is late and I'm tired. A little note I dont use s/o when i write because i dont use first person. I don't do any self insert writing. If you see yourself as Yuu then I welcome you to do so because they can be whoever you desire.)

Timid Maid!FemYuu x Jamil Viper, and Jack Howl, Epel Felmier

(The wheel has spoken)

Jamil- Mousy

She wasn't a new worker. She was hired by the Al Asim family to ease his burden of taking care of Kalim. She comes a few times of week to do chores that were lagging.

Jamil was suspicious of her and banned her from cooking meals. She didn't fuss and nodded quickly before scurrying off.

Jamil was unsure Kalim even knew she existed because of how quiet she was and how rare spotting her was. When Jamil gave her orders she'd stare at her feet and nod.

When Jamil got close she'd tremble like a mouse. He found it so adorable the way she'd look at him with tearful eyes when she was scared. She even squeaked when he pulled her close after hunting for her around the palace.

She was to cute to not tease.

He'd find her in whatever corner she worked in and give her tasks that forced her out in the open. The mouse girl hated being watched or having Kalim see her and pull her into festivities. Jamil even played the good guy and pulled her away to do something that allowed her to be alone.

Yuu was definitely his favorite form of entertainment.

Jack Howl- Little Lamb

The prince of the Kingscholar family needed to be cared for. So she was hired to do so. But whyshould a lamb like her have to do this.

Leona was well, scary. Savanaclaw was scary too.

Loud, noisy, and nosy predators. She didn't like predators. They pull her tail and her fluff. They made fun of her all the time and are just really mean.

She hadn't known that she was being watched by a wolf. A very protective wolf.

Jack drove away any beast who tried to harass the lamb. Not because he liked her or anything. I just hated bullies.

He didn't mean to spy on her of course. It happened on accident. When he first layed eyes on her he was drawn to her fluffy wool and droopy ears. He just wanted to touch, he didn't mean to scare her. He Larned to keep his distance but he couldn't help pay attention when he heard the bell that hung at her neck jingle as she cleaned.

He worked up the courage to befriend her which was difficult because she was always watching everything around her with her doe like eyes. Lambs don't trust wolves and they don't make a habit of befriending them.

But trust can be won. The more a lamb strays from the crowd, the more likely they will get picked up by the wolf.

Epel Felmier- Sweet Magnolia

Grandma said she needed help around the house and farm so she brought a girl around. She was a daughter of a distant family friend who would come by to help.

She was a quiet little thing and barely strayed where you could see her. The only time you'd know she was around was from the clean space she'd left behind.

She could cook too but she never showed her face during dinner.

A few of Epel's cousins came by and said they saw her a few times at the river writing and she was as pretty as a peach. The cousins tried to talk to her and she just skittered away soon as they saw her.

They even mentioned going and ask'n her pa to let her court her for her hand, she was so pretty.

Epel had seen her a handful and would admit she was as rosy cheeked as a bush. But she was also as timid as a rabbit. No one but Grandma was able to get close. She was elusive and Epel was only able to catch up if he was on horseback.

He met her by that same river when he was leading his horse to water. They were separated only by different banks as his favorite mare Sugarcane waded into the water. For whatever reason the mare was really interested in whatever the maid girl had and she saddled up next to her to nip at what she was eating.

The maid was eating a sandwich out of her picnic basket as the nosy horse began trying to rifle though her lunch.

Epel had to charge across the river to grab the old nag before she caused too many problems.

The girl laughed as he scolded the horse and offered up her last slice of pie she had been saving to the boy before packing up and going on her way.

His cousins where right. That wallflower. Well she was pretty as a magnolia in May.

(magnolias actually do bloom in May and are my favorite flowers)

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

NSFW Alphabet - Lionel Shabandar

Alright, buckle up. This is the dirtiest one yet. Time for some fun with Lionel "Sexy bastard" Shabandar.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Although he has a cold reputation, with you he’s actually very affectionate and caring. Your play can get quite kinky and he's very attentive to your aftercare. He'll run you a bath, make sure you eat and drink something, hold you as you fall asleep to make sure you feel safe and secure.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For him, he likes his legs. Years of horseback riding have given him quite strong, solid legs, which he's happy about. On you, he really likes your back and shoulders. The way you stand, the confident way you hold your shoulders and the line and curve of your spine really does something for him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's more the cum inside you kind, but he'll also come on your breasts or back if he's feeling particularly possessive.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He fantasises about having you on the desk in his office.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Handsome, successful, confident man like him? He's had plenty of experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggie style. And he likes being able to hold onto your hips and pull your hair a bit.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Foreplay can be playful, but when you get to actual sex he's much more intense.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes care of his personal grooming but isn't overly fussed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's not overly romantic in the mushy sense, but he has a way about him that makes you feel adored and special.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When you can't be with him, and he needs to take the edge off.

K = Kink

He's very much a dom. He loves taking control, edging or overstimulating you till you’re a wrung out mess. Some light pet play. You surprised him once by wearing cats ears and a cat tail plug and he basically devoured you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed, where he can really take his time. He also has a thing for taking you against the wall or on the floor of his private gallery. Also the back of his car.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your confidence. Like when you go with him to an event, dressed so beautifully and standing proudly beside him, his lioness. He could watch you work the room all evening and then pull you into his arms the moment you get into the car.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He won't do anything that would permanently mark your skin. He's not about to damage his favourite artwork. Also, he's a good dom, so he won't cross your limits or make you uncomfortable. You have safe words, and he would never do anything to hurt or upset you or harm your trust.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves giving and receiving. Back to those dom tendencies. Having you on your knees between his thighs with his hand tangled in your hair. Likewise, eating you out is a perfect way to keep you on edge and make you beg.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It's a mix. A quickie will be rough and fast, but most times he'll start off slow until you're good and needy and begging to cum.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You both have your careers to attend to, sometimes you have to make the most of the time you have.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's confident and experienced, so he knows what he likes. But he's willing to experiment if it's something you're interested in too.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go a couple of rounds a night. He usually likes to draw out the pleasure for both of you and it leaves you both tired and satiated.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He's got a far selection of toys and items. His favourites being a set of padded wrist and ankle cuffs, and a remote-control vibrator so he can tease you from a distance.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease and drive you crazy. One time, before going to a gala with him, he slid that vibrator inside you and kept the remote in his pocket, so he could keep you on edge all night. You held yourself together until you got home and begged him to let you come.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Pretty vocal. Moans, grunts, growls and curses.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

For all his life is rich and extravagant, with you he finds even the simplest things attractive and appealing. Like the first time he spent the night at your place and in the morning, he saw you making coffee, wearing just your panties and his button up shirt. And he thought you were the most gorgeous, enticing being he'd ever seen, and you ended up making out on the kitchen counter.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His BDE is there for a reason. He's hung like a horse.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. He wants you as often as he can have you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He's awake for a while afterwards. He's got to take care of you first and make sure you're cared for properly. And after you've fallen asleep in his arms, he'll listen to your breathing and the feel of your heartbeat. It helps his mind clear before he starts to fall asleep himself.

[dollypopup]

i don't talk nearly enough about how great Colin is

-excellent fencer, clearly dedicated to it. great taste in puffy shirts 10/10

-brave af!!!! idk about you, but the very idea of being out at sea for several months pretty much w/ no one who knows me scares the soul out of me. bruh is out here on a ship headed to a completely unfamiliar place w/ not one shred of fear

-he's such a good brother? the way he supported Benny was so sweet? and all his little quips with Eloise? they are the sarcastic siblings for SURE. boxing with Greg? playing hoops w/ Hyacinthe? his 'I'm clearly Daphne's favorite'? i adore him

-calling Anthony an ass in defense of Marina was ICONIC

-let's be honest, he was a real one w/ Marina all around. boi was out here defending her left right and center. and that scene where they go 'That's a. . .rather long engagement. . .' 'Or simply romantic! :D ' was adorable. then his 'Why does anyone, marry, Brother? For love.' line? so earnest! heart in his hands!!! and even after it all went kaboom he didn't say a bad word about her. told her he would still have married her if she just told him and he meant it. said that with his whole chest, too. got a reality check from her when he visited and then when asked STILL said 'we could have done more for her' KING 👏 SHIT. may we all have an ex that respects us this much

-canonically the best dancer out of the Bridgerbunch

-loves his mum with all his heart and soul. that scene where he's walking her up the stairs and they're joking around is so wholesome. that scene where Violet is looking for someone to escort her and A and B all flee the scene but Colin steps up? our boy is so sweet

-his scene w/ Jack where he's all puffed up and imposing and tall af going 'how dare you take advantage of them??? fix this shit, NOW' and then turning around and bashfully going 'i rehearsed that speech for hours' when he and Pen could talk privately again WAS ADORABLE, don't even TRY to deny it

-multitalented! our boy can do it all: he sings! he dances! he writes! he drinks his respect women juice on the daily! he fences! he's fluent in sarcasm! he rides horseback! he has anxiety! he's a flirt! he can't stop snacking! are you not entertained?

-also his scene w/ Will where he's like 'no, i fucked up, i insulted you and i messed with your business. i'm sorry and i'm making it right' was sexy as hell. he didn't have to, he could have totally just let it slide under the rug, but he took accountability and made amends

-speaking of sexy: our little rule breaker! holds Penelope's hands in front of everybodyyyy! no glove no love, who? writes her (love) letters while he travels! doesn't give a fuck about propriety! does drugs! I LOVE HIM

-so much integrity. when he messes up he takes full responsibility for it. he's nice as hell to Phillip, encourages his interests, nerds out with him. Stuck his whole neck out for Pen the Featheringtons. 'Do you think I would care that she loved someone else before? That would make me a hypocrite' apologizing to Pen before leaving for his tour. telling her she inspires him. is always there to escort his mum. everything good.

-lost and aimless, my beloved. he's just a dweeb putting on a front and it's so wonderfully relatable

-i love his hero complex. yeah, i said it!!! Dancing with Pen after Cressida spills the drink? HOT. Getting Marina away from the old dude clearly making her uncomfortable? HOT. Standing up to Jack? HOT. Getting Kate and Anthony to trudge along after that Pal Mall game? HOT. Daphne coming to him in the middle of the night demanding to know about the duel and him getting on a horse and heading out with her? HOT.

-he's sarcastic as hell. 'She likes me MUCH better than you, Benedict' 'Maybe he's still at the altar waiting for Miss Edwina' 'Of course not, you are *clearly* sober', Anthony: 'I wish to apologize' 'Are there locusts in the streets??? Blood in the Thames? Is the end of days upon us already?????' 'our host looks a bit fussy. do you think if he goes to bed we all have to leave?' and, of course 'Have you ever visited a farm?'

-he's just a lil shit w/ a heart of gold, how can you not love him?