#Phantom Saddle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

VII ║Fleabitten

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 6: Mustang | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, handjob, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: I know I made you guys wait for this one, I'm sorry it took so long! It's no secret that I'm dragging my feet because I don't want this packtrip to be over, but we all have to brave and face the inevitable 🥺 I hope you enjoy spending the last night in the mountains with Jack and his Darlin' ❤️

Fleabitten: A colour consisting of a white hair coat with small pigmented speckles or freckles.

You’ve never considered yourself a creature of habit.

You have your routines, of course. But habit is more. It’s a dependency, emotional and physical. It’s something that’s hard to give up. It’s a prickle under the skin that is only soothed when said habit is fulfilled.

Surely, habit is hewn over time. A quiet, imperceptible chipping away at your bones until it becomes part of you. It must take more than a week to make a habit out of something.

Except, it feels a lot like habit when you wake up to pink skies and take your first breath of sweet mountain air to start the day. That first mug of coffee warmed over rekindled embers from the night before. How Scotch always prances into a little canter to warm up when you hop on, but not until he knows you’re fully sat with the tips of your toes through the stirrups irons.

It’s the way you angle the brim of your hat and flip up the collar of your shirt even before the sun hits just so. It’s the all-consuming awe that pins you to the spot, wherever you are, whatever you’re in the middle of, when the sunset paints every inch of earth in rose gold.

And for the past three nights, it’s the assuring weight of strong arms around your waist that has lulled you to sleep, the kiss of warm breath on your temple - a familiarity that runs too deep in too short a time for you to comprehend.

Habit.

It’s the sixth day of the pack trip - first thing tomorrow, just after breakfast, Jack will be leading you across the mountain, back the way you came, to get back to the ranch by mid-afternoon.

Words are scarce when the two of you approach the last Statesman campsite on the trail, the neat stone pit now a familiar sight.

Even the horses are subdued. Scotch stands obediently, flicking his tail while you untack him, when he would usually be nudging at your hands with his velvety nose, snickering for a cheeky apple slice before supper.

It’s second nature to you now, hanging the sweaty saddle pad on a low-hanging branch to dry before setting the saddle and bridle on the wooden post for cleaning. Jack follows, standing on the other side, handing you a wet rag. You get to work, scrubbing out the grime and sweat from the well-worn leather.

His eyes are on you, a phantom weight on your shoulders - they’re not exactly sore, having grown used to long hours in the saddle over the week, but you are tired, albeit the good kind. One that a good, long soak in a hot bubble bath would fix, with a certain cowboy in the same tub -

‘Whatcha smilin’ ‘bout, Darlin’?’

Glancing up, you match his arched eyebrow with one of yours, planting your elbows on the spine of the saddle and standing onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. Well, a portable shower ain’t the same, but -

‘Shall we clean up, cowboy?’

Jack groans deep into your neck, the taste of soap thick on his tongue.

‘Is this how you jerked off thinking about me that first day?’ you tease, your grip sliding slickly along his cock.

‘Oh fuck,’ he pants, brow scrunched up in pleasure-pain, scraping his teeth on your collar bone. ‘Didn’t feel half as good, darlin’.’

A moan slips from you when one large palm finds your backside and squeezes, his fingers digging into the plump flesh as he whimpers by your ear. Bowing his head, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking on your sensitive skin until you arch into his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for him to come all over your hand - sticky, milky strands slipping thickly down the gaps of your fingers, stringing between them like spider webs. You’re reluctant to let go, humming soothingly into his ear as the last of his orgasm shudders through his body.

He holds you tight, his heart a sharp staccato against your chest, as the slow trickle of lukewarm water washes away all traces of him.

Once the portable shower is empty, you take your time getting dressed. Jack wipes you down with your towel while you rub his hair dry with his. Walking back to camp hand in hand, you grin when the horses come into sight, chasing and egging each other on like puppies at the dog park.

Thousand-pound puppies, more like.

Dropping the dirty laundry by a tree to be packed later, he whistles with his fingers. ‘C’mon boys, supper time!’

The trio line up smartly by the wooden post as Jack preps the feed, measuring out the grain and hay pellets by sight, filling their buckets. Their nostrils flare and ears prick up at the sight of their dinner, but other than a stray nicker or two, they remain impressively patient.

Their buckets are dropped in front of their hooves when he’s done, and you may be imagining the sharp intake of air as the horses await the okay from their cowboy.

At his nod, all three practically lunge at their supper, munching happily. You laugh, and Jack watches on proudly.

A quiet desperation slinks in when you’re not looking, winding tighter and tighter around your ribs like a vice that leaves you short of breath as the minutes and hours slip by. You’re restless, your legs bouncing in agitation, your eyes darting about, frantically trying to commit everything to memory, yet never lingering anywhere long enough to do so.

But it’s not really about the things you can see. It’s the bitter bite of smoke in the clean mountain air. It’s the orange heat of the campfire that you wear like a favourite cardigan. It’s the simplicity of getting from point A to point B, with nothing but grassland and forest in between.

But real life isn’t simple. Things that you vowed to push to the back of your mind at the beginning of the trip bubble to the surface for an unwelcome moment. You have bills to pay. You have a deadweight of a house to sell. You have an ex not pulling his weight -

‘Darlin’?’

The white noise that you weren’t even aware had filled your ears subsides, and your gaze snaps up to Jack, blinking. The weight of the knife in your hand comes back to you, and you glance down at the bell pepper you were in the middle of dicing up.

You give him a shaky smile and carry on with your errand. ‘Sorry.’

He brushes a thumb on your cheek. ‘You were thinkin’ mighty loud.’

Not wanting to dampen your last night together, you shake your head and lean over to kiss him. You huff, ‘Just hungry. Get cooking, cowboy.’

Jack knows you’re fibbing, but he says no more. He can admit to himself that you’re not the only one struggling with loud thoughts tonight.

You’re right, he should turn his focus to making dinner instead - chili and cornbread, classic southern comfort food. Lord knows the both of you can do with some comfort tonight.

‘Want to help me with the cornbread?’ he asks, knowing you’d want to keep your hands busy.

‘Damn, I sure miss the days when you insisted that I shouldn’t help with anything at all,’ you tease, which makes him chuckle.

‘C’mere, darlin’.’

He’d measured out the dry ingredients for the cornbread back at the Halfway House and tipped it all into a mason jar - flour, cornmeal and raising agents. You whisk the batter with a fork as he cracks in three eggs and pours in the milk (he usually uses buttermilk, but it has to be shelf stable milk on the trail) until it’s smooth and thin. You carefully pour the mixture into a well-oiled cast iron skillet, which he then nestles in the heart of the fire. The batter bubbles like slow-burning lava as it cooks, the savoury sweetness filling the evening air.

‘That’ll cook in a half hour, so we should start on the chili,’ he says. ‘I normally simmer it for at least an hour, but I think we’re both hungry, right?’

‘I’m fine with express chili, cowboy.’

Jack sets a deep-set saucepan on the pit, drizzling in olive oil to preheat it. He knows the recipe by heart, but with no fresh beef mince on hand, he has his usual substitutions when cooking it on the trail. Into the pan goes finely diced cured sausage, onion, red bell peppers, peeled carrot ribbons and celery.

‘Is that Poppy’s recipe?’ you ask, tummy rumbling at the vivid scents as the pan sizzles.

‘It’s my mama’s, actually,’ he smiles, stirring with a wooden spoon. ‘It’s the one recipe Poppy allows on the trail that is not hers.’

‘If that isn’t a stamp of approval, I don’t know what is,’ you chuckle. ‘And where’s your mama?’

‘Still lives with my old man back home in Kentucky,’ he answers, scraping in minced garlic, a good squeeze of tomato paste and one big can of plum tomatoes, which he crushes one by one with the back of the spoon.

‘What do they do?’ you ask, genuinely curious. His family hasn’t come up in conversation in the past few days.

Jack is happy to indulge you. ‘Pop used to run a little corner shop in town, but he’s retired now. My ma’s an equine veterinarian, used to have a practice, but she shut that down a few years ago and is mostly a lady of leisure nowadays.’

You nudge his shoulder with yours. ‘Horses run in the family, I see.’

‘Never stood a chance,’ he jokes. ‘She still helps out on my uncle’s farm if they need an extra pair of hands. My cousins mostly run the place nowadays.’

The saucepan sputters at the generous pouring of barbeque sauce (homemade of course, Poppy’s secret recipe) that goes in next, followed by a can of beer, a beef stock cube (crumbled), Worcestershire sauce, balsamic vinegar and honey.

‘Are your parents from the same town?’

‘No, ma’s from the city, moved to the backwaters to marry my country bumpkin daddy,’ he replies, flashing you a meaningful smile.

Your cheeks heat up unbidden, and you bite your bottom lip, the shyness that rears its head feeling very alien after being so comfortable around this cowboy for these few days. You meet his eyes though, cocking your head to one side. ‘Is that so?’

He grins, stirring the chili as he continues. ‘My papaw Henry nearly disowned her, didn’t even go to the weddin’, but he came round when I was born. Turned out he got on with my other grandpa Noah like a house on fire. They used to come and spend a week in the mountains with Champ and I every year before Henry passed.’

You reach out and squeeze his free hand. ‘And where is Noah now?’

‘He lives in a little cabin off the main house with my uncle. Can barely walk, but he still rides every morning,’ he shakes his head fondly, tipping in the drained kidney and black beans.

He’s quiet for a moment as he studies the chili, simmering away, then gives you a sidelong glance. Despite a deliberate attempt to keep his tone light, the weight of his words cannot be erased by simple inflection. ‘I’m sure they’d love to meet you, darlin’.’

But as soon as he hears himself - the absurd wishful thinking in it - he shifts in his seat awkwardly, clearing his throat. You fuckin’ clown. How is this appropriate conversation when he’s known you for six days? Hell, you’d only just started sleeping together what, three nights ago? Fuck, has it only been three - ?

Two gentle fingers hook under his chin, turning his face towards you, cutting off the jumble of voices in his head. You shuffle closer so that you’re pressed right up against his side, warm and soft, and when you kiss him slowly and sweetly, it tastes like reassurance.

‘I’d love that too, cowboy.’

The chili is the best you’ve ever had - smoky, spicy and balanced out with a touch of sweetness from the barbeque sauce. The cornbread fresh from the skillet is so moreish, there’s nothing but crumbs left in the skillet when the two of you are done.

You’re close to bursting, sprawled lazily on your sleeping bag, your back propped up against a log. The fire has died down to a low-burning flame, and you’re right on the brink of nodding off.

But as it turns out, Jack still has a trick or two up his sleeves.

He reaches over you to grab one of the saddlebags, rifling around and you laugh as he unveils, one after the other - a bag of jumbo marshmallows, Graham crackers, and a bar of dark chocolate.

‘Can’t say I pegged you for a s’mores kinda cowboy,’ you tease as he lays out the ingredients on the ground.

‘It’s a Statesman tradition, we always close out a pack trip with s’mores. C’mon, I’ll show you how to make a proper one.’

You huff a laugh. ‘Oh, are we really going there?’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

‘The shortest way to an argument is anything to do with s’mores.’

‘Don’t worry darlin’, I’m sure we’ll kiss and make up.’

Jack gets up and steps briefly out of the orange halo of the campfire to rustle up a couple of sticks for the marshmallows. Knees creaking as he sits down next to you, he pulls out the knife from the holster he wears on the back of his jeans, sharpening the wooden ends with a telling familiarity.

The chocolate bar is wrapped in fancy, gilded packaging, the words organic and bean to bar glowing gold in the firelight as you turn it over in your hands. ‘Huh. No Hershey’s?’

The cowboy waggles one perfectly pointed end of a stick at you in warning. ‘Rule number one - do not mention the H word in front of Poppy. You will be evicted and barred from the state of Wyoming till kingdom come.’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ you chuckle, tearing into the packaging and breaking up the chocolate into tidy squares along the grooves.

Sheathing his knife, Jack reaches for the saddle bag once again. ‘Can’t forget the secret ingredient.’

You blink in incredulity at what he brandishes, the familiar whiff registering. ‘Is that - applewood?’

He winks, testing the weight of the logs in his hands. ‘The applewood infuses the marshmallows with a sweet smokiness - I’m tellin’ you, the Statesman s’mores is somethin’ else.’

With a shake of your head, you grin. ‘Alright cowboy, show me how to make some proper s’mores.’

Twenty minutes later, you wish you could take it back.

‘Scientific’ doesn’t even begin to describe Jack’s process. You’re huddled in a blanket, hugging your knees, watching as he turns over the marshmallows with methodological precision and infinite patience - neither of which you possess. He’d confiscated yours when you tried to stick them straight into the flames, declaring that you’re unfit to make your own s’mores.

The night air is singed with the delicate note of apple blossoms, while four chocolate squares slowly warm on graham crackers where they sit on stones around the campfire.

You sit poutily, glaring at the fluffy white blobs that look just as pale as they were straight out of the bag.

‘I could’ve made about three s’mores by now,’ you gripe.

Jack doesn’t look up from the fire, but the corner of his mouth curls in amusement. ‘You’re on holiday, remember? Relax. Patience is a virtue, darlin’.’

You tilt your head in a challenge. ‘Do you really think I give a damn about virtue, cowboy?’

His grin turns brash, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners. ‘No, ma’am, and I thank my lucky stars that you don’t.’

‘C’mon Jack,’ you whine. ‘Let's just eat the stupid s’mores and go to bed.’

‘Good things take time,’ he says simply. And then, with the minutest flex of his tone, he changes tact. ‘Will you be a good girl for me and be patient?’

You watch his smile widen as he obviously hears your breath hitch.

Biting your lip, you goad him, ‘Oh, is that how you’re going to play it, sir?

The gentleman in him recedes, and the rake glimpses through in the way he eyes you with a deliberately smarmy want. ‘I don’t hear you complainin’ when I take my time with you, darlin’.’

Your mouth hangs open in affront. ‘Are you seriously comparing me to roasted marshmallows?’

He leans over and purrs into your ear. ‘Well, your pussy is just as sweet, and soft, and warm -’

You groan and push him hard on the shoulder. ‘Thanks ruining marshmallows for me, cowboy!’

With a laugh, Jack nods towards the fire. ‘Grab the graham crackers please, darlin’. They're done.’

Sure enough, while you were distracted, the fluffy white blobs are finished with a perfect, golden crust, but have enough structural integrity to hold shape on the ends of the sticks.

‘You ready?’ he prompts.

A graham cracker in each hand, one with chocolate and the other without, you admit, ‘I hate this part, I always make such a mess.’

He smirks, ‘Didn’t think you minded makin’ a mess, darlin’.’

You roll your eyes at him, with no real annoyance. ‘You’re insufferable, cowboy.’

Cushioining one marshmallow on the chocolate side of the cracker, he instructs, ‘Now put the other one on top and grip the whole stack firmly. Got it?’

At your nod, Jack carefully extracts the stick, wriggling as he goes, one thumb against the end to keep the marshmallow from sliding out.

With a dramatic flourish, he ta-das. ‘There you go, a Statesman s’mores for my cowgirl.’

Something in your brain short-circuits at him calling you his cowgirl.

Not just his.

But the cowgirl to his cowboy.

Unable to conjure up any words, you fixate on the melted marshmallow on his thumb. Grabbing his hand and bringing it to your face, you wrap your lips around it, sucking the sweet smear of residue right off his smoke-tipped finger.

His gaze is dark even as the red and yellow flickers in his eyes when he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, his voice a soft rasp.

‘Good girl.’

‘So - what happens tomorrow?’

Your question is quiet, half murmured into the hollow of his neck in the twilight zone, on the cusp of sleep. Your head is tucked under his chin, his arms around your waist under the blanket.

‘We’ll get back to the ranch around three. The team will get the horses settled in, unpack everything, and you can have a nice hot shower. Then we’ll have sunset drinks and dinner.’

You hum noncommittally. The silence cackles for a beat, before you venture, ‘And then?’

For once, Jack doesn’t have an answer.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He holds you close, running a calloused palm against your back when you shift restlessly in your sleep, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his own.

The sun rises pink and gentle. This camping spot was a deliberate choice - it hangs over a small slope, facing east with an open view of the plains below, where the horses are dozing, the Bighorn rising from the horizon straight ahead.

He must have drifted off without him noticing, because he wakes up to your lips on his.

He blinks, lids heavy with slumber. ‘Mornin’.’

You smile through hooded eyes, cording your fingers through his hair. ‘Morning, cowboy. It’s a pretty sunrise for our last day in the mountains.’

‘Who says it’s our last, darlin’?’

His challenge lingers between you, the tension sinking its hooks into his skin and pulling - until you close the gap and kiss him.

It’s sloppy, clumsy, teeth clunking against teeth - it’s too damn early - and he pushes you back to nip and suck his way down your neck, undoing the top three buttons on his flannel that you’ve taken to wearing to bed before pushing it over your head.

‘Jack,’ you whine as his hands push your tits together, smearing open-mouthed kisses all over them.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts, the harsh sound catching in his throat. Grinding his cock between your thighs, his big hands push your panties down in a hazy frenzy, followed by his sweats, which he kicks off blindly.

‘Please,’ you choke out, voice breaking as your soft, naked body arches into him.

He hushes you, breath hot and heavy in your ear, teasing his length slickly between the wet lips of your pussy. ‘Yeah? Desperate for this cock, are you, darlin’?’

Through a broken moan, you whimper, ‘Yes, please please please, Jack -’

‘So pretty beggin’ for me,’ he grins, but he knows it probably looks more like a pained grimace as he trembles above you. You're soaking the curls at the bottom of his cock even though he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

‘Please, want you inside me, cowboy -’

He holds out, letting the arousal swell and mount between you with a recklessness that is unlike him, demanding, ‘How, darlin’?’

‘Hard, want you to fuck me hard -’

Rolling you onto your side so that he brackets you from behind, he opens you up with one hand under your right knee, pushing it against your front so that he can see your dripping cunt. Running his thumb over it, you jerk in his hold, moaning for him. ‘Jack, please -’

‘What did I say about patience bein’ a virtue, hmm?’ he teases through gritted teeth, dipping one finger shallowly into you, which is enough to make you keen.

You’re babbling incoherently as he lines himself up against your entrance. ‘Fuck me, please, need you inside me -’

You break off into a strangled sob when he pushes the blunt tip of his cock into you, a hoarse groan in his windpipe as he feels you stretch around him. It feels different, more intense, but his sleep-clouded brain can’t grasp why. He pumps into you slowly and deliberately, eyes screwed shut as your cunt squeezes him, his fingers sure to leave marks where they hold onto the swell of your hips.

‘So - so good, Jack,’ you pant.

‘Yes, darlin’,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, fucking you in firm strokes now, palming your tits from behind. ‘This gorgeous pussy grippin’ me so tight, gettin’ so wet on my big cock.’

‘Only for you,’ you declare, rolling your hips so he hits a particularly deep spot inside you.

‘For me,’ he echoes with a groan, planting one foot on the ground to fuck into you harder.

Snaking one hand between your legs - hot and sticky - two thick fingers find your clit, drawing back the hood to rub circles where you can really feel him.

‘Fuck!’ you exclaim, almost bending backwards.

‘Good girl, takin’ me so well,’ he cooes into your ear. ‘She’s goin’ to cum on my cock, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, Jack,’ you whine, getting impossibly wet now. You leak messily down your thighs as he feels you begin to clench around him, your voice running ragged. ‘Please, sir -’

He fucks you through it, jaw clenched so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t crack under the pressure, his hands holding you down as you buck and writhe.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls into your cheek, his pace slackening to a languid rhythm. ‘Do you hear yourself? Hear that drippin’ pussy when I fuck it nice and slow?’

Turning over your shoulder, you kiss him, pupils completely blown as you slur drunkenly against his lips, ‘Yes, cowboy. S’ fucking good.’

Jack smiles and he sucks on your bottom lip, you’re so wet that he barely has to roll his hips to sink deep into you.

But even as he lets the moment consume him, something niggles at the back of his mind. It feels too good, as if there's some detail he’s missing -

And then it strikes him, like lightning on a clear day. Every joint and muscle in his body locks up when it does, and he feels you stiffen instantly in response. His words tumble out in a panicked jumble. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck! I forgot the condom, shit, I’m so sorry darlin’ -’

When he tries to pull out of you, you hook one foot around his shin and stop him with a hand on his hips. ‘Wait, Jack - just wait.’

He shakes his head in confusion. ‘Wait - why?’

Twisting around so that you’re looking him in the eye, you tell him quietly, ‘I got tested after my ex and I broke up, and - I haven’t been with anyone since.’

While he takes a moment to process, his cock throbs almost painfully inside you. He answers, ‘I haven’t had unprotected sex since my last girlfriend, and I got tested afterwards as well.’

You smile, one hand finding his and slipping your fingers into the gaps between his. ‘I’m just - I’m not on the pill, so we can keep going as long as you don’t cum inside me.’

‘Fuck, darlin’, it's dangerous, talkin' about me cummin’ inside you like that,’ he chides, brow creased in mock reprimand.

You wink. ‘We’ll save that for next time, cowboy.’

‘Next time,’ he promises, with a determination that soothes the anxiety in him.

And so your breaths mist and intertwine, catching the morning light as he thrusts into you, again and again. He doesn’t know where this will go, except for the vow of a next time, but he knows he has this -

The orange wash of dawn over you, his spend on the soft skin of your stomach and your beautiful tits when he cums, his heart beating - hard and sure - with what has deserted him for long years.

Notes: I didn't have as much time to edit this chapter, and I'm still trying to get more comfortable with spending less time overall on both writing and edits, and being more ok with mistakes/typos. The flip side is that what goes on the metaphorical paper is more spontaneous.

There will only be two more chapters before Palomino wraps up. Thank you for sticking around and for being so supportive despite the slow updates recently. It's strange that we're approaching the end for real now, excited isn't quite the right word, but I am looking forward to giving this story the ending Jack, Darlin' and you guys deserve ❤️

Thank you for the love. Comments, reblogs and asks are always appreciated, as always 🥰

Update: I can’t believe I forgot to mention a huge thank you to everyone who gave me all the cool tips for the s’mores and ideas for their last dinner on the trail! This one is for you guys 😘

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x female!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman golden circle #jack whiskey daniels

530 notes · View notes

astralnymphh · 7 months

Text

god knows she tried.

ellie williams⊱.

“the monster inside her was baying for blood, it had to come out some day.”

⤹𓍢ִ໋listening to; lacrimosa and sour

𖤐.an; I present to you, my proudest piece. wowowoww I really enjoyed writing an emotional piece like this. I hope it suffices and gets enough recognition cause this surely won't be my last angst piece!! inspired by lacy, oh lacy by @coeurify

𓍢ִ໋-cw; ellie pov focus leaning, large analysis of ellie throughout tlou2, loser-esque jackson ellie, angst, heavy feelings, depictions of death + wanting death + blood + guts + sharp objects + nausea/vomit + self hatred + jealousy + starvation, mild glimpses of happiness, reader replaces dina, reader isn't pregnant, poetic writing

⋆.ೃ;wc; 5k+

masterlist ୨୧

the sun was shrouded in gloom. the water did not glisten, but her tears did. droplets of gray guilt pour in slow motion down her bloodied cheeks. tears glistening with hurt.

washed up like a sea carcass, phantom fingers pounding in pain. made into a husk by her own self-corrosion. her mind would have been bare, except, you're there. a figment of time, standing there, suffocating in your blank stare. why are you staring like that? it's not even you. ellie can't grasp that truth. it's only her subconscious. projecting an apparition of your mortal flesh and briny blood. salty like the sea she's sitting in.

would you echo that figment in real time?

the past figments she saw had character. one shaking their head, one like a beacon of comfort caressing her shoulder, and never dead. you're not dead, why is she crying?

she cries for everything.

her limbs calcified of stone. nothings' moving. lungs that felt dried up from all the tears leaving her eyes. a throat that strains and tugs with each dense swallow, reminding her of the atmosphere that appeared so devoid of air, thinking, how could she breathe right now? the insoluble pain of self-destruction. the hunger for revenge, snuffed like a breeze to flames. it was all in her head. the choking. her lungs begged for air, and she could not breathe it.

ellie cusps the hand that gushes with beady red blood that drips into the dark murky water, pressurizing the exposed throbbing knuckle. it hurt like hell, an unlivable hell. yet, not a wail is heard by the ocean. only the whimpers and sniffles graze the ears of her highness, the sea, the only one physically there to listen.

behind her, feet are hung at head-level. wooden pillars that scarcely mimicked crucifixion. this place was dark, in all dimensions.

just minutes ago, her skin was forming bruises and jaw nearly caved in from the force of abby's struggled hits. knuckles praying to live. not even the mass of a gun tucked in her jeans had her awareness. no, she didn't use it. she wanted to feel abby fucking dying in her hands. her hands that have siphoned the lives of many before. but, when she realized someone was actually dying in her hands, when she could feel that through her skin, it was over. the flashes of joel in her head beckoned her to stop, without uttering any words. the same mental imagery that motioned her to break skin in the first place.

joel was always there.

soaping up the harshly served reality that projected on the foggy thalassic horizon and toxified the surrounding waters, her mind sails to different times. supposed simplistic times that, by fate, turned rotten.

the day you two met. a mere four years ago. the town was a busy winterscape. you both were the golden age of sixteen, well, not that golden admist the post-apocalypse. steady clanking hoofsteps that striked the concrete track streaming into jackson, mounted on your midnight coat steed that trailed behind tommy's. heads turned at the sounds of large rusty hinges twisting, including hers, watching from beyond the stable's fencing.

goddess above and below, you're were so stunning.

she remembers she was gearing up for group patrol that day when you arrived, the saddles' horn nearly slipping from her bay leather grasp. thoughts of interest and curiosity had slowly piled up from that point. her pupils picking up on each hoofprint left as you pass the open paddock and stroll into the connecting stable. her browlines furrowed, wondering if you we're some backpacker hauled over for a spell, or a new resident.

she's lucky it would be the latter.

the veil of frigid air that seeped her skin and snapped her focus out of a daydream by the echo of dina's voice, calling her,

"earth to ellie?"

and it tethers her back on earth, turning her face to dina. she thought back to how her gloved fingers snapped in her face, asking for her focus, there and then.

"sor- um, what were you saying?" her speech was floaty, stacking on each other as she stuttered.

why was her focus glued to you at that moment? you had literally just entered. fucking hell, must have been something intruding the air. it's unlike herself to be so.. enraptured.

and later that evening, after a session of controlled gunshots mowing down the rigid fungoid heads that dared to disrupt their supply run, she was tired. plain tired.

as it turns out, a sturdy bench baring wooden boards as seats was enough comfort after all that shit. legs beat down to drooping over the woods edge, feeling like jelly. her hair bathed in the dining hall's incandescent lights, rendering a mellow orange halo. lips in pure quietude, she sat as a stranger to the conversation had between joel, jesse and dina.

ellie pondered the expedition for guitar strings that happened weeks ago, still processing what joel had told her. 'there was, no cure.' was it fabrication? what really took place in her state of unconsciousness? this was the beginning of a lurk. an unabating, rough gloom that presides under and through the chamber of her stomach, telling her something wasn't right. a thing she can't exactly point a finger to. a gut hunch that anchors her heart tightly. all is not true. she must seek.

blanked inside the home of her mind, only to be yanked by the wisping holler that ran over her head.

"hey! over here!" it was dina, ushering you over with the jerks of her wrist.

you passioned your way through the meal lines, appearing before her. she recalls how you looked, you were perfect. you wore the same ebony winter jacket that gathered dust on the wall-mounted rack of your farmhouse bedroom. it had its wears and tears and excerpts of journies to tell, but it was perfect on you. it's just a plain jacket. but for her, it was the jacket.

"the house up to yer' standards?" joel asked you, the usual mug of piping hot joe whaffed a steam around the aged and cracked skin of his face. tender in the light.

your voice rang through, "yeah, nothing I could ever bargain." and it cleared a trench between her temples. that rough gloom took a rain check instantly.

a fuzzy feeling that fords neither love or hate embraced the nape of her back. she didn't realize it just then, but, between the vault of aching uncertainty in her gut and the day to day neutrality she feels, a blossoming delight would come from your arrival at jackson, should she consume its goodness.

she didn't remember much of that conversation until the spotlight beamed towards her.

"this is ellie, she jus' came back from patrol. she'll show ya how we handle things 'round here." joel had gestured your sights over to her, to consume her first impression, with a smile that would become signature.

her ears tuned to you.

"hi!" you greeted with the softest wisping of your lips. oh, it made her evening that much more animated.

from that day onward, it was like a sweet lullaby of love. waving from across the horizon for weeks, your hand splayed out flat in the air, and hers curled up a bit. another week passes, and she's inviting you to the tipsy bison on her own accord. months pass, and she's constantly slumbering on your sofa over long nights, preferring it over being alone in her garage home. at this position in your shared timeline, ellie has grown distant from joel. you swore she forgot that old mans' bowed and bearded face sometimes.

it stung to relive the memory of pushing joel away. outside that damned hospital. saint marys' piece of shit. yelling, "don't you fucking, touch me!"

the tears were scorching. they were brought up to be. and they burned. the inside of her throat felt sliced up, chewed up, and ran through with barbed wire. swallowing was too much to bear, just how it is now, sitting on that dark beach.

that same day, she returned to find you waiting at her doorstep, box in hand. worry-struck. ellie took off out of the void, it made sense you were distraught. she felt mutually the same, her wrenching heart suffering the aftermath. the dawn of day she assumed would be spent alone, was sat atop her bed. losing herself in the video game you brought in that box, laying on you while she flicks the joysticks and taps the bumpers. it was a sunny yellow haven. a light she found in the darkness, that was you.

a tightly braided friendship.

and her mind lingers on something you once uttered at the crux of night during a sleepover, entailing the words;

"i like moths now, because of you."

that made her flustered across the span of a whole week, even joel questioned why she was blanking out during patrol training.

she was your moon. someone to subdue the spines that pricked your skin every day. sharp edges that tell you, happiness wasn't meant to stay. battle it all you wanted. moons eventually dim and embellish darkness.

two years pass, and she's being led to the center of an ornamental string-lit dance floor during another peak of winter, by none other than dina.

not you. if only it had been you. or else she wouldn't have felt that specter of gloom wrench her gut in disgusting ways later at dusk.

at least her gut didn't feel as it does now. torn open for this sorrowful sea to behold, exposed to a retch colored with regret. ill aversion.

her hands guided to the small of dina's back, draping like a silk curtain. missing a flinch when her arms huddled ellie's shoulders. not a flinch. ellie didn't love dina, but they were close. pinkies-tied close. it's just dina being dina, right?

"every guy in this room is staring at you right now.." her voice croaked in a demure whisper. the blood cells in her being were fluttering, the weight of her position then and there, made her feel lit up inside a dark room. backed into a corner. she was the spotlight once more.

"maybe they're staring at you.."

they would soon.

you never resented ellie for that night. you liked her, yeah, but it wasn't her fault. it only felt like you'd gulped a clump of metal bolts, weighing like a sick burden inside you. cold and rustic. your will of steel didn't let that shatter you completely, though. bottled it up and bluffed your feelings. it was never her fault. sucked down that bitter shot and let it ferment in your sickly gut packed with a stir. a stir of pungent nausea jabbing thorns in your esophagus. it delivers a nasty taste. but you swore, you wouldn't resent ellie.

ellie was unaware of your shared adoration. what seemed like a one-sided crush, was not. nights left off with a friendly hug could have been so much more divinely satiating. she wishes her body wasn't bound to the now, wishing she could back to then. the past, and express her affection. tell you everything.

a wish brewn too late. a drunken kiss to her buds out of wills' reach binds a woolly, empty headed fizzing to her ears. tossed into a stupor. all she could do was stand still like a willow tree in the windless plains. lips unable to jerk away. then it sunk hard. you're there. you're watching. people are peering. you saw.

"fuck." was emphasized in her toneless breath, narrowly letting loose another swear in the flavor of a loud scream.

in that gloomy darkness, she saw you. illuminated like a beacon too. your face plasters an unbothered exterior, but the eyes, the eyes are a glass screen. you can understand the essence fueling a person's emotion with one meager glimpse. a new gag clots her gullet. she can't show it, but she for heaven above and hell below, could fucking feel it.

you virtually felt a crack in your heart. cracks in a porcelain antique. you're sure the two looked similar.

strung between multiple conclusions, you pondered. if ellie liked dina, you'd have to woefully accept it. and if she didn't, then she didn't. what more could you have proposed at that time. life is life.

your feet carried you with a saunter, skirting the doors brinking you from the ghostly streets of a slumbering town of jackson. a jarring contrast from the lively party howling behind you. even for someone who's experiencing confusion, you walked with a gentle gait.

pausing under the descending pearls of frozen water, casting your eyes heavenward into the starry globe above you. the stars twinkled so perfectly on such a gut-wrenching night as this one. it dawns on you. how the celestial bodies of space feel no pain, no heartbreak. how their life is lived without the mortal trials you face. it must be so easy up there, suspended in space, feeling nothing.

as the snow nestled in the beds of your hair, melting on your blue hot face, you claimed a sense of emptiness in your head amidst the vomit begging to unfurl from your throttle. please, let it be a dream.

piercing isolation.

ended suddenly.

the swinging of a door wooshes through your ears, and capers your sights to its source. and there she was. joining you in the twilight snow-shower. ellie.

she trotted up to you, lone in the wintry streets, and harvested the same pellets of opalite snow that decorated the strands of your hair like constellations hovering above. her head, too, snowflakes cling to her russet bang and lashes, framing her eyes so damn right.

oh, snowy fern eyes. the most serenic evergreen rings encapsulated behind gloss. dewey eyes sitting atop red sweltered cheeks. her lids fluttered back the tears, the tears that might wither the snow, and surely wither her soundness of mind. a quiver of the lip, bent over her teeth. frozen fucking wind that chars the lining of her lungs with ice. every single thing fucking wounded her.

you gazed into one another, emotions roaring loud. she could peer right through you. through the glass windows of your eyes. things were felt and not shown, it was evident in your expression. no words were uttered in those seconds before. before the infamous words you spoke. words that forced everything to the shore.

"do you love dina?"

fucking gag. another smother of disgust gurgling in her gut. the sheer assumption that you believed her heart to be penchant for dina, and not you, drowned her guts. a quick spurt of unease penetrates her whole esse.

here went nothing.

"I love you."

whorled away from your envy like whiplash. it added up by that point. she appeared like a puppet to that kiss on the dance floor. you recalled it then. ellie's teeth were never bared in a smile, more so, it was the true one-sided love. now, she is standing in front of you. physical, mortal, and all. retching out that confession like it was stifled beneath a tombstone.

to ellie, that tombstone represented everything she expected to fail. to be dead. a wish foreseen as ash, fled to the gales of something more worthy.

that wish sailed the breeze, and landed at your feet.

you reached that shore too.

"I love you too, ellie."

her name levitating off your tongue with a tone so soothing felt affirming. grounding. this is not a dream.

her eyes transmutated, eclipsed by a sun. what was once dewey, red and puffy, then softened to a set of almonds brazed in sweet syrup. calmer tears that were golden. joyous. lids relax and anchor her brows, straightening out like rows of a poem. after straying so long beneath the falling snow, her nose suffused a red-orangey tint, nostrils even redder.

love passioned its way through the gelid space, accompanied by the humid huffs of your breath. but nothing was as warm, not even a star, as what brought your bodies a few measly steps closer.

a kiss.

huddled in the somber streets was an effigy of igniting amour. two souls stuck together. her arms wrapped around your back like you were the only life she could clutch. reddened knuckles crumpling up the same ebony jacket you attired in the winter, holding you dear. your arms found a natural embrace, cusping her shoulders and marrying fingertips into her coppery mane that tied into her bun.

nothing beats the way you two rolled lips, tasting the skin and smacking slowly. her peachy buds that fit the open groove of your mouth so easily. her lips were formed for you. cells that build her body, are building for you. she existed solely for you. graciously drinking up the kiss like a fucking sweet milkshake.

a taste so addictive, you could die on it.

shit, she's smirking into your lips. ellie, you blasted dork. even the dimples denting her cheeks could poke you back. that's how wide her smile travels from ear to ear, even her cheeks fattened up, creasing those beautiful crinkles at the edges of her eyelines. a true smile.

and once that kiss severed, you saw those bloated, ruddy cheeks plucking the corners of her lips. too fucking adorable.

"well, there's that smile. lost her a while ago, els?" the teaser you were, and the loser she was.

her lips refine into the same toothy, adorable beam. she nearly cringed at your observation. the way you kept notation of how often her midface perks up, it was cute. her flesh bites the bitter cold, and blood that heaped her cheeks burnt so vibrant for you.

she couldn't believe you were true.

"i think you're the only person that makes me smile," she recalled this vividly, trying her darndest to uplift every waking thought about you through a cold shell she fabricated, "fuck, i'm so bad at this.." laugh it off past ellie, laugh it off.

if she pinpoints it correctly, you had said the words "i like bad." jokingly. fashioning the most proud smirk ever. pfft, she giggles every time her brain resurfaces that memory of your snowy brimmed confessions.

"tsskk- u're weird."

"you're a big dork."

"shut up.." her ardent palms pancaked against both of your cheeks, passionately pulling you in for another tangerine sweet kiss.

the ivory supermoon set on a blissful night, luckily enough. ellie ended up fleeing that street, hand in hand mingled with you, towards her home. fuck that dance. fuck those feelings flush of guilt that died right there on that street. being tangled in the sheets with you snuggled in her arms was enough. enough to submerge what galloped through her head.

"i don't need your fucking help joel."

shit.

gods above and below.

what did daylight bring?

bloodshed. blood stains her eyes to this day. she was there. she saw. the blood spilt and it splashed towards her. if joel couldn't reach his torn, bashed and narrowly mutilated hand out to her, his lifeline would. the plasma pumping his heart to sustain life, hurling out like a ribbon of crimson. a downright disrespectful invitation of rememberance abby had chucked to her fucking face.

this memory. this disease, an immoral plague. who the fuck up there in the pristine realms of divinity decides a mortal punishment like this?

that memory, lives on. it weakens the marrow in her bones. turns the tides in her head. she wanted to rip her skin off. her skin that gets to survive. disgust. again. the muscles attached to bone, felt like they didn't belong.

she stopped genuinely breathing after that day.

you saw the will to breathe drain from her eyes. etching into that lodges' oak floors. the first grave she ever dug.

"i'm so sorry, ellie."

was the first swan song she ever heard.

now that rough gloom, plummeted and shapeshifted into a dark cavern of misery. starless, desolate gloom. her room turnt cavernous too. blocking all rays of bright luminosity from injecting a disturbance in her seclusion. era of mental death.

you had been visiting her daily in her time of barren sensitivity, at the least, visiting her door. you uneasily sat on the exterior end of her door. poised aside and smushing your ear into it's solid strength. praying that you might hear any peep of life on the other side, you wait. you miss her bloodcurtiling sobs reserved for nighttime, sowing the conclusion that she, inside, was empty. a husk.

if death is so morbid, why did graves look so peaceful? so prettied up. why are the baby blue hydrangeas sitting atop his freshly cold grave, soft in their glory, delivering such a potent posion. they plant their own seed. clotting ellie's throat with a nest of hydrangeas she'll carry with her forever. roots latched to a deep spring in her spirit that navigates every little emotion. the flowers bulge from her esophagus and cough up in petals of regret, forgiveness, and rejection.

she can't accept that.

she didn't.

she heard the rainy forest calling for her.

seattle is here. seattle is waiting. the old flame lights the new wick, and so it ignites, her immortal foe. revenge.

and she brought you along.

ellie respires every soul set free from mangled bodies she creates. her hands a syphon, the weapon her postman. delivering screaming letters of justice with every pull of her finger on the trigger.

a once starless gloom was snapped in half by her own drive with spheres of guttural fire baying for blood. she wakes up a blood-gutter every sunrise. her face just might fossilize and cherish this total takeover. she was someone new. angled fuming brows, irritable red nostrils flared more than ever, and an awful intensity in her eyes. it made them scintillating, more so, grossly gleaming. irises fern green to hazardous toxin in just a few months.

enemies could read ellie's aura nimbly, if their visions should even grasp it faster than their machetes and hammers meeting a clenched palm. she wasn't just a girl. she was a threat.

miles of blood patterned in her path, splotching the diamond modeled bottoms of her converse like abstract art. she was lost in her own world. driven straight to the goal.

you promised you'd be there every damn sliced throat of the way, no matter what. but this scares you. slowly, the fire burning in her eyes had charred her up till she could barely give anything more.

the fire had only engulfed her when she appeared at the theater's lobby doors, banging the margin of her balled fist on the wood. the fist gloved in crescent scars, peeled cuticles, and raised callouses. when the doors waved open to you, gliding up to her and weaving yourself with her body in a relieved hug, she couldn't do it. it was too much. the torture lingering in her muscle memory stung, frozen hands jittering above the small of your back momentarily.

ellie was enervated.

it took her a second to even hug you back. that was, too kind of you. to embrace her body slathered in the lifeline of someone else. why would you even do that, she thought.

her mind looped on a cycle, processing that damned notion as you pleat the soiled shirt off her back. she couldn't even feel the salient tear in her back, the brutally severed dermis throbbing red, not a whimper soars her gullet when you tend to it. numbness riddled her. stitch her up, and she won't flinch.

then ellie croaked,

"i made her talk."

she was revolted. how could she touch you so tenderly after whacking a metal rod into a beating body 'till they coughed up the words. knackered them up for eternal sleep. the face she just wiped from this earth, blurred. does she even remember what she looked like?

it was your own arm, meshing around her blistered collarbone that prompted her to gauge the value of her life, even just for an iota of solace time.

problem being, she couldn't remain enlightened of her value- without you.

"i don't wanna lose you."

your lips kissed her pain away, pitter by patter along the scruff of her neck to her seared shoulder. every peck embedded with a melodic note that forges a song saying, 'i am here, you won't lose me' without even brushing that past your satiny lips.

won't you seal my hardships with your lips of silk? taint my lips of leather and gums of thorns with your soothing buds?

"you wont."

then that day arrived, when she almost did. a scene depicted by the ten of swords. a major disaster indicated. as the arrow speared the air suddenly, and in no time you could count, it had already paved through the plate of your shoulder and strung out blood to the planks before you. rendering you unconscious.

"please stop!" ellie pleaded, just like she did before. god forbid if she had to witness another loved one being lacerated from life. her limp body prays, prays for your safe survival, and not your safe passage. she wonders if god is even real, if any god is real. do they hear her now? we're they aware when she shrilled for mercy at every red ribbon lashed out from his body? did they welcome him, home?

and right before that cold steel nearly divided your skin, a voice erupted.

"abby!"

thank fuck you hadn't ended up a resemblance of the 'ten of swords' illustration. thank the sun gods that you were able to bask and tan under the light that fondled the rustic farmhouse with her. ellie is so lucky, for someone who doesn't believe in it.

"don't ever let me see you again."

you then retired to that old, rustic farmhouse. aging under the continuous moon phases for two years straight.

it was a strenuous journey getting to where she was supposed to be the happiest. despite all the treasures she owned on that farm property, the lagoon of corn fields and hills of verdancy that sung in spring, mighty splendors anyone might wish for, ellie still lived with a loom. ellie bore tantrums inside the confined loneliness of the farm's supply room, kicking the hilt of a rake as it clatters to the stony ground, yelling, "fuck!" when it startled her badly enough, or when it enraged her ptsd well enough.

reminiscence is woven into the scar risen on your shoulder. it reminds her. every. damn. glance.

every approaching dream was daunting to ellie. she'd wake up. cold beady sweat. go back to sleep, suffocate in her subconscious again, and surface them in a panic once more. not even braving the night with a stroll around the perimeter helped. it only sunk everything deeper.

if she was drunken in her sorrows, would you carry her?

the daylight spent with you was her only source of felicity. the mundane made it feel much more liveable. a day spent baking together, flour dappled on each other's noses, roused as she pushed up behind, and swayed you to the cordial and funky beats thrumming from the viynl player. that day, that simple day made her want to live fully for you. she wanted to be tied to your pinkie with the lusty filaments of love.

and in that humble kitchen laid a promise;

"so- this means you'll marry me?" a stupid smirk muffled ellie's voice out huskily, flowing against the shoreline of your ear.

"can't we just announce ourselves married already?"

"baabeee.." that freckled idiot whined.

"eelllssss.." you rung back.

her arms fastened you tighter, pout puffing on your shoulder, "i wann' make it feel real.." she intoned, inclining up and stuffing her nose into your neck. pretty sure she rubbed all the flour onto you, being the bear hugger she is.

no answer parts your lips.

"babe?"

ellie felt you twirl in her caging arms, perking up to even up with your gaze in curiosity. her brows fumble and arc inwards to visibly show her interest for your next words.

"we're real, els. i don't need a ring or declaration to show that.." your tone caters to her love of soothing sounds, as she breaks into an even toothier smile that trails your words.

"you don't?"

you had leaned in, devoid of words. a quiet kiss to her brows, said so much more than she expected. that inner-loser knocked on the door of her mind and took control. blasted blush coating her cheeks. you really knew how to woo her, cradling her head in your tender cusp.

"i just need you."

"don't go."

the grounding touch of her cheeks held between your hands was not enough. the blank, void, and unnerving night was not enough. nothing was enough to keep her waiting.

what kind of songs do you play when dwindling into internal madness?

her own screams battle the wood boards of that farm too often. her screams synchronize with joels, replaying in her head. scared and unable to hold onto anything. thoughts running amok. she fucking needs you more than she thought.

"ellie- ellie.. I'm here. it's okay."

it's not okay.

it's not okay for her to play pretend and cast an ocean over those feelings 'when she can'. you told her, it's okay. to be broken. but her heart anchors towards an obligation to be picture perfect for you, for anyone. every positive cover-up felt like posion pooling from her mouth. lying til she couldn't feel her lips.

she lied to you once. for someone who despises lies and has been lied to, she lied. that fucking lie hurt. but it was too loud. the gloom that stuck with her for so long has grown into a pounding, jarring sound similar to intense whirring, but echoed. nothing had color at that point. everything was a null void, and every sound was a silence too loud.

a sentence meant to be; "i'm going to find abby." sounded a lot more like,

"i'm so tired, baby." murmured ellie, collapsed flat on the plateau of your chest and drained of energy.

you assumed it was just physical fatigue.

"it's fine, go t'sleep, we can talk later."

ellie's eyes looked so dull, so scarce of humanity. she was tired. each passing day had been vampirically sucking the motivation from her veins. some days, she didn't even catch you calling her name from the farmhouse. earth to ellie, are you still in there?

"I have to finish it." ellie's forehead bent to yours, felt so wrong.

"why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't." her voice nearly shattered into a waterfall of sobbing.

your voice cracked, however, "bullshit, els."

that was the drawing line. she finally breaks and is consumed by that hovering gloom. she lost herself.

ellie dashed every chance of losing you, and yet took it upon herself to leave you, instead.

that fucking thing that leeched off her for so many years is finally getting what it yearns for. greed of revenge to feed the darkness. starving herself as it ingests every fiber barely holding her together.

you spun away with leisure, breaching your hands from her, "I am - not, doing this again."

you couldn't save this. she was leaving. nothing blocks her way.

heart-wrenching silence dawns.

"that's up to you."

her heels unhurriedly turned in an instant, abandoning you, and her dreams born of soft blue dasies. her omens of happiness and trust, becoming a fatuous foreground. the door waving shut behind her would soon come to bite her in the heart.

now she sits. almost dying in that water. the water was her gloom all along. she was the vessel, she paid the price, it's free. now she bleeds into it. red rivers dance and make a mockery of her weeping body.

she tried.

it won.

she tried for the false clone of you haunting her mind. it's the only thing she had left of you.

she tried so hard to be strong. only she and the gods above know that.

you wouldn't though.

coming home to jackson a walking carcass, pinning her hopes on you being there. it was obvious you moved from the farmhouse. why would you live there alone?

so, she stands. inside your old jackson home, to divulge its absence of you. no, you weren't there. you weren't in jackson. all that remains are old memories crammed into boxes. motionless without a requiem.

ellie closes in on one of these.

and what she finds is painful.

that winter jacket.

she clutches it tight to her barren eyes, burrowing the trench of her nose with your lingering scent. the scenes trance her mind. visions of you tackling her in the thick mud puddle on your farm's acres, an enchanting laugh wheezing in your throat. visions of holding your stomach while you scrubbed fine china of its grub and stains, wishing you two had a real family, a child, by some miracle. recollections of you, legs sitting pretty across her lap as she thrashed a controller, casting her evil curse whenever the game ticked her off just enough and how you giggled at her. the everlasting evocation of you two, kissing under that snow-ether night, vowing a love to extend across times bounds.

the jacket smells so fucking good.

"please.." whispered ellie, with a taut countenance, "where are you.."

not a clue of where you went is in those walls.

are you dead? nobody knows.

where she left the farmhouse, you left her entirely. unknowing if it stems from love, hate, or neutrality. the guilt felt disgusting, once more. the pain stung in her lung far harsher. the air siphoning out.

in a room so devoid of air, and you, how could she breathe?

you can't pay in blood and sacrifice. ellie has learned that. she paid in loss of something that didn't have to go.

love was understanding each other's limits, and so was losing each other. she just never realized you had limits plummeting down on you, until the new moon phase had begun, and it was too late.

that figment of you is all she has left.

𓍢ִ໋-likes and reblogs appreciated, bright blessings!

249 notes · View notes

everythingelseisextra · 9 months

Text

The Ends of The Earth

Part Eighteen: Love Song (Tommy's POV)

Author's Note: From here on out, the story will be quite a bit darker. We are reaching the climax. There will be no graphic sexual assault, but there will be heavy implications of such. Once again, read at your own discretion. Description: You and Tommy go for a ride, and, later, an incident leads to a major change. Warnings: blood, guns, references to sexual assault and rape, canon-typical violence, Tommy fucking up again, language Word Count: 4937 (sorry) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist @cookiez56-blog @skxawngs @h0neylemon

The moon will be full tonight.

Dusk falls and you saddle Draco, your last horse of the day. You’ve been sleeping more these days, finding some kind of peace in the companionship of Tommy. Still, you sometimes wake up tired, exhausted by old phantoms of scars and the touch of rough hands. It’s a flip of a coin whether you rest, or find yourself awake at night.

You haven’t seen Tom all day. He woke before you did, and you heard the echo of his footsteps as he left the room, the creak of the door as he closed it behind him. You’ve found him to be quiet, light on his feet and gentle with his hands, and he barely wakes you when he moves about the room. You know, though, that he’ll find you when he returns, as he always does. So, before you go mount your horse, you wait for him. He’d never tell you, but you’re certain that he worries when he returns and you’re not in the yard.

Minutes later, he appears. Hands shoved in the pockets of his suit jacket, eyes firmly on the ground in front of him, face hidden under the shadow of his cap. You turn to watch him approach, scanning him only to find dark shadows under his eyes and a pallid, stressed paleness to his skin. You nod to yourself and turn away, heading towards Nifty’s stall without a word. Tommy stops by Draco’s head, stroking his nose, murmuring to him.

You bring Nifty out and tie him next to Draco, then face Tommy, meeting his blue eyes, confirming quietly the plan that’s formed in your head. The horses touch noses, greeting each other, nuzzling. Tommy nods and you smile at him, reaching out to briefly touch his arm, then walking to the tack room to pull Nifty’s saddle out for yourself.

A few minutes pass, and you’ve tacked up Nifty and handed Tommy the bridle for Draco. The two of you mount, and slowly, the horses take you out of the barn, out past Arrow House, and towards the hills that remind so strongly of the countryside around your old home. This is the routine you’ve created together, the silent agreement of getting away from the life that he feels stuck in. It harkens back to who he used to be, and you think that, sometimes, it gives him the chance to feel like a boy again, to claim back a childhood that wasn’t fully what he needed. On rough days, when he comes home with the expression of a beaten man, you go for a ride together. Sometimes you go fully in silence, not interrupting the rush of the wind and the chill of the weather. Other times, you speak quietly, talking about nothing and everything, all the little things that usually go unnoticed. You share a need for expressing the sharp darker edges of your personalities. You think that, often, you look around you and want to tell someone that you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, holding on, when really you just want to fall. But how can you say that to someone other than him? How could anyone but him understand what you’re trying to put into words?

Early Spring turns the trees into bones, thin and white and strong. You turn your head, steering your horse one-handed, and run your eyes over Tommy. They stop on a spot of red on his cuff, half-hidden beneath his suit jacket.

It explains the drawn expression on his face. You don’t question whether it was necessary. You gather your reins and pick up the trot, posting in silence, and he follows you faithfully. You choose the route and he follows, giving up control for once in his life. The horse’s hooves beat unwaveringly on the path, and then quiet as you turn off the beaten trail, leading the two of you through the grass, out to the tamed wilderness.

He breaks the silence. “Where’re we going?”

You glance back at him, slowing your horse. “I found somewhere new. Trust me.”

He inclines his head slightly. You look forward once more, tracking your way through the barren, but starkly beautiful hills. The groggy sun sends arcing shadows down over the pale grass, cast from the bare trees and shrubs and the moving bodies of the horses. In contrast to the muted land, the sky boasts bright burdens, red and orange and streaks of yellow and pink through the clouds.

After a while, you slow to a walk, sighing as your hips and thighs fall into the familiar swing of NIfty’s movement. You don’t look back at him when you speak.

“Who was it?”

He thinks before he responds to you, probably considering a way to avoid answering truthfully before giving up, deciding that honesty goes the furthest with you. “A man who had eyes for a young girl.”

Your blood freezes over, then slowly thaws out, leaving you with a tingling sensation through your veins. You huff a breath, hand shaking on the reins before you clamp it down on Nifty’s mane, and nod slowly. “You’re doing things without asking me about them first.”

“I didn’t think it was my responsibility to inform you of business that doesn’t—”

“Tom, you’re walking blindly into a dark room you’ve never been in before that I have memorized. If you’re going to do this against my will, at least let me advise you.” Draco’s ears flick towards you, as if he too listens to what you have to say. “I used to know this world you’re trying to destroy. I probably still do. Let me help you.”

He looks down at Draco’s arched neck, chest rising and falling with a sigh. “It was a man who thought I was interested in one of the girls. It was his girl, he said. I told him I wouldn’t interfere. He must’ve seen the look on my face because he was coming at me, yelling about ownership and first-come, first-served.” His eyes flick to yours, trying to read an empty page. “I didn’t kill him.”

“It was self defense and a petty bar fight.” You close your eyes for a moment, trying to fight off the fierce beating of your heart. “You were good not to kill him.”

He makes a small, noncommittal noise, and you open your eyes.

“Tell me what you’re planning.”

He shakes his head, a small movement, slow and hesitant.

“Why not?” You stop your horse, and Draco stops instinctively. “Why not tell the only person who knows what this is like, Thomas?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you passively.

“I won’t try to stop you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You meet his eyes. The wind rushes past you, whipping the words out of your mouth and sending them hurtling away. “I know I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You’re as stubborn as I am.”

“I will tell you when the time comes.” His voice is steady, certain. “That time is not now.”

“Fine.” You shake your head, shivering faintly in the cold. Anger burns quietly in you, that you are not being allowed to save yourself, that you have to rely on a man who will not tell you how he plans to be your savior. Years and years of dreaming and rage has turned your madness into something holy. It’s almost silent, an ember buried in the ashes, but it exists, and it’s inconsolable. Your anger is what allows you to pull the trigger and smash a skull, allows you to tolerate pain and suffering in order to reach your goal. Whoever said that anger was iron, heavy and burdening, should’ve known it was made of fire, light and destructive and glowing in the dark.

You turn back and face the hill you’re about to climb. Once again, there is no path. Craggy rocks scatter over the surface, broken in places, and small ditches and gopher holes pattern it. Still, in the midst of the minutely dangerous land, there are hoofprints laid down from the first time you’d come this way. It is the road less taken.

You slide your leg back and pick up the canter. Your heart rises in your chest as the frigid wind casts across you and you’re taken over by the strength of the animal beneath you. Behind you, the shadow of Draco and Tommy ripples on the uneven ground. Slowly, you release the reins, and let the retired racehorse relive his days on the track, stretching out his legs and flattening out.

The summit nears, but out of the corner of your eye, you see Draco falter, then slow. You do the same, stopping and twisting in the saddle to face him.

“Where are we going?” Tommy lifts his head to gesture towards the flattening hill above you. “That’s a dead end, there.”

“If you want me to trust that you’re going to take care of yourself, you get to trust me that I’m not going to lead us off a cliff. Believe it or not, I also don’t want to die.” You smile faintly, a little thrill shocking through you at the truth of the words. Despite the conflict, despite the instability of your circumstance, you feel alive for the first time since before you were sent to France. And you don’t want it to end.

“I trust you,” he insists.

“Good, then let’s go.” You look forward and slip once again into a canter. Before you know it, you’re at the summit, riding along a flat ridge, a gentle decline on either side of you. You live, for a moment, in the pink sky, swimming through the clouds on frigid air, nothing around you but emptiness. Then you blink, and the land comes back into focus, and the height makes your heart skip a beat. You grin.

Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you see Tommy’s head swiveling, on alert, taking in the view of the world, and, in a way, his world. His massive house suddenly small enough to pinch between two fingers. Problems shrunken in the scheme of sunset.

You walk along the ridge in silence, watching the sun drown in the color of the horizon. You used to ride like this on your own, trying to make the world seem small, trying to break out of the shell you lived in by literally gaining some perspective. It was quiet, yes, but never peaceful, to go out by yourself. The singular hoofsteps did little to drown out your thoughts, little to shift the tides of emotion that rippled in and out of you. It promoted a deep emptiness you could never explain, a hunger for something like the love you had for the other girl, your comrade in the war of your childhood, so ravenous that you felt you would eat yourself alive from it. The price of freedom was loneliness.

You watch your shadows travel over the craggy edge of the path you’ve created, and, slowing your horse to near Draco, you ask a question that’s been hanging on you for days.

“Why don’t you wake me when you have nightmares?”

Usually, you’re called back to the land of the living too late, once he’s sat up and calmed himself, except for when he talks in his sleep. You catch the jagged end of his fear, the deep breath of centering, the relaxing of tensed muscles. Asking a question, offering comfort, doing anything other than watching helplessly makes him shy away from you, the closest you’ve ever seen him get to nervous. And, so, you smile sadly and wait for him to lay back down before you allow sleep to wash back over you.

“Why don’t you?” His response is not an accusation, not shutting you down. It sounds genuine. You know he plays games, know he struggles to turn off the finely-dressed, hard-masked version of himself, and part of you goes out to him when he’s earnest.

“Because it feels… private.” It’s true that you don’t wake him when you dream. Like him, you want to boast a certain toughness, like the world could kick you while you were down and you’d still stand up, spit out a tooth, and grin. There’s no amount of rakish armor to subconscious terror. There’s no hiding the effect it has in the first moments after. It feels different, though, for you than to him. “But you’ve told me what you dream about. I know it already.”

“It feels private because it is. You’re asking me to let you in on who I am when there’s no business to be done and no fight to be won. It’s not impressive and it’s not pleasant to look at.” His voice remains even, casual, as if this means nothing, as if he hasn’t allowed you to catch a glimpse into his mind. Draco tosses his head, his mane catching on the dying light.

“Why do you have to be impressive to me?” You halt Nifty to allow Tommy to catch up to you, so you can look him in the eye.

His voice grows quiet, his eyes holding steady with yours, the lowering sun reflecting like an ember in his pupils. “Because, I have to make up for the fact that it’s me.”

Something sharp shoots through your heart, and you breathe deeply, hands tightening on the reins. Mixed thoughts rumble like an earthquake in your mind. He does have something to make up for; he made a mistake, and for that, you have to hold him accountable. But, not for being himself. You can’t blame him for that, can’t punish him for having to work to be good to you. Horses have taught you that you can never discipline someone for trying. You can never hurt someone for a failed attempt.

He has quite literally fought a war, and is still battling it with every breath he takes, and he is learning to be kind to you, which is a war in and of itself.

You don’t know how to express to him that, one way or another, you want him. Not the performance he puts on, not the shallow and violent image he creates, not the emotionless husk he can become when hurting. Maybe to some people, there wouldn’t be much more to him than that, but you know. You know that beneath the cracked and rocky surface, there’s black soil, soft and rich, and you have a shovel, and you’re ready to dig.

“Please, don’t.” It’s pathetic that that’s the only response you can come up with. “Don’t make up for it. I’m not— you hurt me, Tom, but I’m not angry, not anymore, and I barely blame you for it, though maybe I should. It’s like being a victim can become a habit, and I’m trying to break it, and all I need is for you to help me do that. Don’t make up for it. I want you to be you. That’s what I like.”

“It’s not something to be turned on and off.” He clicks his tongue and Draco moves forward, and you pick up the trot to get ahead of him again, continuing to lead the way.

“Well, you can wake me up when you dream.” You shrug. “That would be a start.”

“You can do the same.” His voice is light. You catch a small smile on his lips.

“Oh, we making deals now?” You lean your head back, looking up at the blazing sky. Pink clouds wandering through bloody red, darkening. A cold breeze searching for warmth to steal.

“I got the impression you wanted equality.” He almost chides you, teasing, and you feel your heart lift.

“So, we’re in agreement, then.” Ahead of you, an overcropping looms, dark and sharp rock casting a shadow over the ridge you wander on. “You wake me, I wake you.”

You step into the shadow of the overcropping, cool air raising the hair on your arms. You urge Nifty forward, thirsting for the view, the rush of a great height, the faint fear of a vertiginous cliff. The dark edge of the rock over you comes into sight, the ridge you walk on curling around it. Your eyes pin to the darkening sky beyond it, now a deep, warm orange, and, slowly, you turn the corner.

The cliff drops off in front of you. The view underneath it brings layers upon layers of green; hills and rippling grass, pathways and roads cutting through them. On the horizon, the dark, glowing smudge of a city stands, faint lights twinkling. Above, there’s color. Beyond description, sprawled out luxuriously across the dome of the sky. Deep blues twist into pinks and oranges and purples, splattered with the brightest stars shining through. The sun rests half-gone on the stark line of the horizon, the space around it golden. Wind whistles and the horses grow still, almost respectful of the culmination of the long walk they’d just taken.

“How did you find this?” Tommy asks quietly.

You shrug. “Had a bad day. Wanted to find the ends of the earth.”

For a while, you watch the sun lower, the sky darken, and the world slowly fall asleep. The horses swish their tails, ears turned back to listen to any possible cues you might give. Twilight comes, and faint purple surrounds you.

“We should go back.” Tommy breaks the silence, tugging on the reins to back his horse away, about to turn towards the overcropping’s edge, back to where you came from.

“No,” you say.

“No?”

“No.” You shake your head. “We’re staying here until it’s dark. The horses can find their way at night.”

“Why would we do that?” There’s faint amusement in his deep voice.

“Because.” You turn to look at him. “How long has it been since you wasted some time? How long’s it been since you fully watched the sunset?”

He considers you, blue eyes holding as much darkness as the falling night, then his lips purse slightly and he nods to you. “We stay til the sun is gone. No longer.”

“No longer.” You mock him, shooting him a grin. “C’mon, Tom, waste a moment with me and quit thinking about the work you have to do at home.”

He offers you a faint smile back, lifting his chin to face the lilac horizon. “The air is cleaner up here. Helps clear the muck.”

“It’s crisp. Makes you feel a little more alive.” That’s why you brought him here, to the end of your little earth, this cliff’s edge between the city, the wild lands, and Arrow House. For some, the rush of the cool night air would mean little. But the two of you have learned that the smaller things in life are what keep you alive. The two of you know how to give yourself another reason.

“Yep.” There’s a sort of settling in the word, like he’s come back to himself after a long day of pretending to be someone else. It’s low and rumbling, quiet, like he’s holding something else back, too hesitant to place another phrase into the ether between you.

“What?” You ask, twisting to place a hand on the cantle of your saddle and face him.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you.” You say it gently, and Draco’s ears prick towards you, recognizing your calming tone of voice. “Too much going on in that head for it to be nothing.”

“I said it was nothing, then it’s nothing.” His voice grows defensive.

“Alright.” You look back at the sunless sky, light still spread over the horizon like a blanket. “It’s nothing.”

—

You’ve known he’s been hiding something for a while now. He’s good at hiding it, you’ll admit that, but still, you can see it. He allows you to probe his day, his work, his thoughts, except for certain odd corners. Little details he won’t confide, locations and names and blocks of time that he leaves out. You don’t ask him why, don’t ask him what. His words amble through your mind, and you track them carefully, trying to piece it together. You remember infiltration, and you remember the men who touched you, the men who drugged you, the men who hurt you and never faltered.

Part of you blames yourself for the events that transpired next. You hoard your worries like a dragon with gold, unwilling or unable to disrupt the peace that hovers over Arrow House. The men who came after you are dead, and the fear of being pushed out, thrown into a world that will never welcome you, has dissipated. You are too much a coward to speak up.

It happens all at once, it seems. Your slow, steady life speeds up exponentially, cascading out from a single, horrible event.

Night falls. The horses sleep in their stables or out in the pasture, and the house is quiet. You sit on the floor in the entryway, toying with the hem of your shirt, worry icing your veins over like some internal ice age. Time ticks on, and you’ve heard nothing from him, and you hate to be the woman left at home, waiting for the man to come back. Part of your independence fades away the longer you sit and wait for him. Still, his line of work is dangerous, and he usually calls.

You lean your head back and close your eyes. The silence buzzes around you. Frances has gone to sleep already. Your mind drifts, and despite your best efforts, you slip into a kind of frenzied stupor, images flashing in your mind's eye, brow furrowing, not quite awake but not quite asleep.

The front door bangs open and you’re on your feet, backing away and drawing yourself up, preparing to fight. The world spins; you stood up too fast. Bright lights shine into your eyes, and a silhouette marches up the doorway, shouting something you don’t comprehend and you stumble backwards, about to turn and run.

“Help me get him inside!”

You recognize the voice and falter, poised, ready to bolt.

“I said, help me get him inside! Come on, don’t bloody run away from me. Help me!” Arthur. His voice shakes, anger and fear mixed together. “Come on, woman, get your man.”

You come back to yourself and walk forward, then, as Arthur comes fully into view, start into a jog. You see blood. Smeared up his front, as if he’d been carrying someone bleeding profusely. Your heart stutters in your chest and you flat-out run towards the car in the driveway. Arthur follows behind you.

You find Thomas laying in the back seat and your eyes sweep quickly over his body. Eyes open, breathing hard, fresh blood spilling from what looks to be his chest, dripping down onto the seat beneath him. He groans and writhes, as if trying to escape the apparent pain, then falls still and quiet when his eyes land on you.

“What did you do?” You matter to him as Arthur appears behind you. Silently, you move over to let him take Tommy’s front half and drag him out of the car, then you take up the rear and support his legs, holding him up.

“Got himself shot, is what he did.” Arthur shakes his head, face in sharp relief in the headlights. “Shoulda seen the other men, though.”

“Do you know what happened?” You reach the doorstep and head inside. Arthur seems to know where to go, what to do, so you follow his lead. You’ve done many things in your life, but doctoring a gunshot wound is not one of them. “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

“Just a bullet.” He shrugs and moves into the kitchen, pulling out a chair to place Tommy down on it.

“Just a bullet?” You stare at him, momentarily stunned by the incredulity of this family and the amount of bullshit stored in their heads.

“Aye. Just a fucking bullet, isn’t that right, Tom?” Arthur cuffs his shoulder and Tommy nods vaguely, his eyes still stuck on you. He’s been quiet. Too quiet. “Alright, you stay with him, keep him upright, keep his fucking eyes open. Got it?”

“Got it.” You don’t ask where he’s going, just watch him stalk off, with that predator’s walk all the brother’s seem to have, one filled with confidence and self-assertion. Once he’s gone, you turn to Tommy, lean down, and lift his chin. “What the fuck did you do?”

Clear blue eyes stare into yours, and you can almost see the thoughts chugging behind them, despite the pain he must be in.

“Thomas.” Your other hand reaches out and slowly shifts his jacket away from the right side of his chest, where most of the blood appears to be coming from. A hole in his shirt, turning the white to pure crimson, not on his chest, but on his shoulder, marks where the bullet pierced him. “You tell me. You tell me what happened before Arthur comes back, or I will make a not-fun experience even worse.”

Your heart races. His eyes slowly close and you shake him roughly. He winces, brow furrowing, tsking quietly. “There’s been a setback. It’ll be dealt with.”

“A setback in what?” Your tone darkens. His eyes open and bore into yours, gaze so intense that chills rise up your spine. He doesn’t respond, so your grip on his chin tightens. “A setback in what?”

“There’s a girl. Hollis. Went to get her out today. Found a man with her. I couldn’t let him fucking live. Couldn’t do it.” His eyes stay steady on yours. “The bartender heard me. Sent men in. Got lucky getting out the way I did.”

“Thomas,” Your tone is deadly quiet. “You killed a client. You were seen on the way out. They know who you are. They probably followed you here. There’s no fucking muzzle on the mouth that just bit you, and they are coming after you. I told you that you couldn’t win this war.”

He groans, leaning his head back on the chair. His blood drips serenely onto the floor. “It’ll be handled.”

You grab his shoulder, just above the bullet wound, and he gasps as the pressure shifts the skin around it. “You’ve doomed us both. Do you understand that? You’ve fucked both of us over and there’s nothing—”

You take a breath, then stand up, turning to face the door. “There’s nothing you can do…”

But you. You can stop all of this in a moment. You can satisfy the bloodlust and the predatory need of the men he’s angered, you can give them a chew-toy, a distraction, a pacification. There’s an extra pair of lights pulling into the driveway.

You look down at him. “You fucker.”

You almost laugh. You either comply, give yourself up, or you watch Tommy and Arthur and likely Frances and Charlie be killed or, worse, taken in. This is the fragile thing about freedom. It doesn’t fully belong to you, not now, not ever. It relies on a web of people to hold you up, and when one person stumbles and falls, the rest tumbles down with it. You just didn’t expect that person to be Tommy. Freedom is the line that connects you to him, and you are about to hang yourself with it.

There’s a try at the front door, then the quiet clicking of someone picking the lock. Footsteps move slowly into the house, at least four pairs of them.

You take one final look at him. You are Tantalus submerged in water, the apple above you, and you have given up on reaching. Those blue eyes, that perfect face, the sudden realization in his expression.

“Run,” he says. “Just fucking run. Forget about us and run.”

You shake your head. “I fucking love you, you know that?”

It’s the trolley problem. It’s a philosopher’s dream. It’s the moment that you decide what kind of person you want to be. It’s when you decide, finally, that you won’t run.

There’s a rumbling sound in your ears, like thousands of people rolling over in their graves. There’s a look on his face that you’ve never seen before, some kind of shock and awe and terror and deep, unspeakable sadness. You smile faintly as the footsteps stop in the doorway and, out of the corner of your eye, you see a gun raised to point directly at him.

You will walk gladly into hell knowing that you’ve caught a glimpse of heaven. You will face the brimstone face on, and you won’t expect to be saved. There is no purgatory for you, not anymore. This body belongs to you. Nothing they do to it will ever change that. It is yours, it is yours, it is yours. In a thousand agonies, it belongs to you, and you love it for that fact.

You turn to face the men in the doorway, slowly raising your arms above your head. You are a child again, and you are watching your mother give you away, and you are watching the first love of your life be shot. Never again. Never again will you helplessly stand by as someone you love is hurt.

As you step away, giving yourself up to the men who will never care for you, never respect any part of you, never see you as anything more than a few holes to use, you hear a quiet response behind you.

“I love you, too.”

#only the wild ones #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic

230 notes · View notes

midnightsun-if · 8 months

Note

So we've seen what our lovely older siblings think of our ROs, but I was curious about Persephone? Maybe even Blake too, though they might be the "no one is good enough for my bestie" type of person

Honestly, Persephone is the type of person who looks at the relationships and goes; if they chose you, and you chose them, and it’s actual love, then I don’t really have any other opinions about it— as long as you’re happy. There are two ROs she doesn’t particularly like/is wary of, but I don’t want to spoil anything… So, I’ll just leave it at that.

Blake on the other hand?

Koda: He’s a fun guy to hangout with, someone that wouldn’t a fly and would probably cry if he did. Honestly, Blake doesn’t know how they could dislike Koda— he doesn’t do anything to deserve such a harsh emotion. Plus free piggyback rides on a Kodiak Bear can never get old.

Scarlett: She scares them… Ever since The Incident, Blake has done their best to try and stay off her radar unless they’re near sufficient cover and can get away with teasing her. Now that their best friend is dating her? And they have the ultimate get out of a jail free card? It’s open season. (On a serious note, Blake admires Scarlett and has a kindred bond with her in some ways due to events that I can’t spoil.)

Cyrus/Cyra: Aiming high aren’t you? They’d be completely amused/amazed that you found love with the Crown Heir… In fact, they may even give you a high five. Blake likes C, even though they think they get in their head too much, but they can clearly see how much the Phoenix cares for you. Plus, the bird jokes write themselves which is another bonus for Blake.

Quinn: They had their initial misgivings towards the Grant Heir— as Blake knows a bit more about the Grant Pack than you do— but after meeting them? Blake could clearly tell that they’re nothing like the family in which they hail from, and Blake might actually feel bad for assuming that they would be. Blake, as it seems to be a pattern when it comes to shifters, would want to have a shoulder ride when Quinn is shifted… Then they’re completely cleared in your best friends book.

Caden: Blake knows absolutely nothing about Caden… You know that one meme— I think it’s from The Office with Dwight and Angela, where she just appears?— that’s them in a nutshell. Blake isn’t necessarily unsettled by Caden, but they do find it a little creepy the way they’re able to just vanish. And, yes, they know it’s a Phantom thing, but still! They’d probably gift Caden with a bell or something… All in all, Blake would see how Caden centered you and you brought them out of their shell— it’s a win win.

Sloane: They’re very up in the air about Sloane. On one hand, they have a badass wardrobe and overall aesthetic, and they just sort of look cool all around. On the other hand? They’re sort of a dick. But! The longer Blake is exposed to Sloane, and the level of care they show you, plus when Sloane actually gets comfortable around Blake, then Blake will understand that they had nothing to worry about to begin with. (They’d totally ask if a saddle could fit on Sloane’s lupine form for them to ride.)

Blake: 0/10, would not recommend.

Reginald/Regina: Blake finds their overall cluelessness about the supernatural world incredibly endearing— especially since they’re actively trying to learn more. The only time Blake would worry about the relationship is when the long term effects are discussed, and the potential courses that could be taken (and the results that could come about). They patiently answer all of R’s questions, while subtly getting them to agree to be on their trivia team for game night, and just generally enjoys their time with R.

Truly, as long as you’re happy then Blake is happy. That’s all that matters in the end.

#midnight sun #asks #ro: blake herrera #ro: koda kingston #ro: r presley #ro: c aurelia #ro: caden randall #ro: quinn grant #ro: sloane addams #ro: scarlett voltaire #scenario asks #sc: persephone #also persephone should be the second oldest #sorry if I confused that somewhere along the line!

72 notes · View notes

renlyslittlerose · 9 months

Text

Last week was the one year anniversary of me posting my first obikin fic, and over the last year being a part of the fandom has brought me so much joy and happiness and enthusiasm once again. Some of you knew me before 2019 and were aware that I was working on my Masters in the Classics, which included a massive thesis. While working on the thesis I was also working part-time at the museum, as well as battling a few chronic illnesses - some of which still affect me today - all of which drained me physically and emotionally. When I had finished my thesis and graduated from the program I was well and truly burnt out.

2020 was rough for everyone, and I was contented to just exist without doing much of anything that could be seen as creatively productive. But then 2020 came and passed and I thought maybe I should get back on the saddle, and started working on my own original story. I fell off of social media, didn’t interact in fandom, and tried to grind out a story that wasn’t working like I had hoped it would. 2021 and I still wasn’t ‘feeling it’; I had gone from writing about 1-2k words a day to 500 words a week - if I was lucky. A part of me wondered if I was tapped out for good, that I didn’t have it in me anymore, and that my thesis was my last creative outlet - my last hooray. I know it sounds a bit dramatic, but when you go from creating almost every day since you were sixteen years old, to suddenly believe that the well has run dry is terrifying. Maybe I was done for good - maybe I wouldn’t create something I was proud of.

And then Kenobi came out. I was a massive prequels fan since I was nine years old and the Phantom Menace came out, and an even bigger Darth Vader fan, but I had never interacted with the fandom in any meaningful way. I was contented to just watch the films and the shows and leave it at that. But as I was watching I had the epiphany that Obi-Wan and Anakin were actually ~roommates all along. I started reading obikin fic, came back on tumblr to see what sort of fandom there was, and suddenly found myself with ideas again, and a desire to create something.

So I wrote my first fic ‘Sacred to the Gods’ based off of a thesis I wrote during my undergrad about the psychology of a Greek demigod. It took me about a week to write, but in that time I had a lot of fun - the words started to come more easily, the vibes were there, and the passion was slowly but surely returning. One fic turned into another, and then another, and suddenly I had written two multi-chaptered long-form fics, some shorter multi-chaptered ones, and a bunch of oneshots, all about our favourite duo.

And in the that span of time, not only was I able to rediscover my passion for writing and feel inspired again, but I met so many amazing, incredible, kind, passionate, creative people who welcomed me with open arms. I was used to fandom being sort of a gate-keepy thing, where if you were the new kid in town it would take you a while to work your way into any circles. But it didn’t happen with this fandom. I went up to a few people, held out my macaroni art, and was overjoyed to see them take it and immediately put it up on their fridge.

There are a lot of people I want to thank, and I should thank, from those who read my stuff, those who send me asks on tumblr, those who bookmark and kudos and comment, and those who followed me, but there isn’t any space to do all that. So I hope that a general ‘THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU’ will suffice. Thank you for giving me my passion back, thank you for supporting me, thank you for being an awesome community that has it’s issues, but still cares deeply about the art they’re creating, and who care about fostering a community.

However, there are a few people I would specifically like to address, because I don’t think this post would be complete without you. I’ll put it behind a cut because this post is already cumbersome:

@bi-wan || My beloved! You were the first person to follow me on tumblr after reading one of my fanfictions, and the first to reach out to me to be my friend. Thank you for reaching your hand out to me and dragging me into the fold. Because of you I’ve made so many good friends who I treasure dearly - including you. 🥰

@ragnarlothcat || I feel like you and Cam are a packaged deal, and so I thank you for being curious about me and checking out my work, and for allowing me to occupy both you and Cam’s comfy little raccoon haven. You’re so supportive, and your work was some of the first I read in the fandom which truly secured my desire to be a part of it. Thank you 💖

@intermundia || I’ve told you this before, but you were the first person I approached in the fandom when I decided I wanted to dip my toes into the experience, and your warmth and welcoming nature secured my desires to be a part of this group. The fact that you support my stories and are so passionate about it really fuels my desires to keep creating (as well as feeding my ego). Thank you for being such a good presence in the fandom.👑

@theseptemberist || I have a feeling that Will told you about me, and I am so glad that he did because we’ve struck up such a friendship that I can’t see myself without. Our chats on discord over the past few months have been wonderful in so many ways that are too innumerous to say here. Thank you for sharing your heart, and for being so kind and empathetic. And thank you for sharing your encyclopedic knowledge of fandom tea ☕

@unspuncreature || Just like Rag and Cam come as a team, you and Cal (and Wren, even though I’ve never spoken to her but feel like I know her) are the trio that delight and entertain. Thank you for your brilliant art and creativity, thank you for letting me bounce all my ideas off of you, and thank you for collaborating with me. You’re brilliant 💗

@kyberkenobi || Beyond the fact that your filthy brain inspires me and delights me, and the fact that you’re willing to goed me on when I come up with something that’s delightfully nasty, your maturity when it comes to fandom is refreshing. At the threat of sounding like a proud grandma, you’re still so young and yet you’ve got a lot of shit figured out - most importantly, that fandom is supposed to be for fun and write what you want to write. Can’t wait for us to finally collaborate one of these days 💕

@dininginspace || What can I say? You’re a delight, you’re incredibly funny, you’re kind and understanding, and you’re the best cheerleader a loser like me could ask for. The fact that you jumped on the Buffy bandwagon when I drove by on it secures you as one of my favourite people. Thank you so much for your early and continued support 🧛‍♂️

@nuandia || Thank you for chatting with me all the time; keep up your writing, it’s brilliant and worth it, even if you doubt it sometimes. 💖

@grapenehifics || I had just finished watching MASH when you commented on Moonlight Serenade. The noise I made when I saw your username, followed by the continued joy I get whenever I see you on my dash or in my inbox, or when I see you’ve posted something new for the world to enjoy. 🧡

@palfriendpatine66 || You’re a delight. You’ve got things figured out, and how you can write so much with the life you’ve got is incredible. Keep going - you’re a gem. 💎

@binaryeclipse || Love chatting with you on discord, and being able to throw out random things about Canada into the chat that doesn’t need explaining - you just get it. Especially when it comes to Alberta politics. It doesn’t always feel like a safe space out there when you’re an Albertan who loves her province but also hates so many things about it, but you make me feel as if I can be a contradictory mess and still feel as if I belong in Canada. Your muse will come back soon, I trust in this ✨

@treescape || Your work is sublime and an inspiration. I read your fics first when I went hunting for things to read, and was immediately captivated. When you followed me back and weren’t at all weirded out by me bounding over to you like an excitable golden retriever, I was very grateful - I am very grateful. Can’t wait to see what you create next. 💛

@starsdies || Thank you for listening to me; thank you for being so inspiring; thank you for helping with community events and exchanges. And thank you for streaming The Last of Us for me because I’m too cheap to buy HBO Max. 🙏

@tessiete || You fact-checked the details I put into Moonlight and all I can say is THANK YOU. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting too lost in the details, but its people like you who google that shit that makes me feel good about my obsessions. 🌸

#personal #obikin #thank you everyone #I know this is messy and gushy and gross but whatever #Im sick with a cold so I get to be mushy gushy

88 notes · View notes

sw5w · 3 months

Text

Jar Jar Holds on to the Cannon

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:58:02

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Naboo #Great Grass Plains #Battle of Naboo #Battle of the Great Grass Plains #AAT #Armored Assault Tank Mk I #primary laser cannon #haillu #Jar Jar Binks #unidentified kaadu #unidentified militiagung #unidentified Gungan #fambaa-skin saddle #titavian feather #main cannon elevator

2 notes · View notes

bnuuys-writing · 10 months

Text

Chapter Three. Prima Donna.

Here is chapter three of the Phantom of The Opera x Twisted Wonderland! <3 You Leona and Malleus simps get the best of both worlds! Extra long chapter for yall for the wait!

~Bnuuy out!

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three(You are here!), Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Leona's Ending, Malleus' Ending

TW: Violence, death, choking, noose, uhhh i might be missing something but idk!

Shockwaves rippled through your body as a small tug was pulling you forward through the mirror. Leona’s voice was muted out into the background through the whispers of the mysterious angel in front of you, hypnotizing you almost to follow him without an ounce of fear; almost as if you knew this angel already.

In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came.

As you both traversed down the corridor, arms protruding out from the walls as you tore your gaze away from him finally to look at the lights flooding your path. To be precise, it was a little bit creepy to just have such stone-like arms holding these candelabras to light your way down this dank corridor of stone that seemed to just descend…

That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name.

Returning your gaze to the masked figure, the trick of the light playing with your mind as you thought for a second his eyes were slitted like cats, and that he had horns and fangs… Yet, with a blink from your eyes proved you wrong, there was no image of those at all. Just pure emerald green eyes boring into your own, then without a second to spare, his gaze returned forward as your feet patted along after him in your trance like state.

And do I dream again? For now, I find the Phantom of The Opera is here, within my mind.

All you could think about was this tall handsome stranger leading you down the corridors and guiding you down the stairs. His movement smooth as silk as his cape billowed after him, gloved hands squeezing your own within them. For a second, you thought you could call out his name yet no name came out from your mouth, only the idea of this man… Creature was neither man nor angel. He once again turned to face you, a smirk plastered upon his porcelain skin as his eyes bore down upon you once more.

Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet.

He was gentle as his gloves gently grasped your waist to lead you down another flight of stairs, for your noble steed was resting down below them. Its black silky mane shaking off any water as it seemed to nod its head at you, letting out a loud snort. A look within its eyes of ‘you need to run’ yet you didnt heed its plea for your own safety. Slowly with ease, you were lifted up onto the horse’s saddle and with a click of a tongue, you were well on your way. You couldn't help but let him do whatever he liked as your head felt heavy with ease, as if under a subservient spell to just follow this strange man.

Though you turn from me, to glance behind. The Phantom of The Opera is there inside your mind.

Your eyes couldn't help but wander back up the stairs, where you had just come from as the horse’s head rears slightly out of fear. A gloved hand cups your chin to bring your gaze back down to a familiar pair of shockingly beautiful green eyes, boring into your mind once more as a gentle reminder that you must keep moving forward. A small whisper of a promise of rest will soon come, just have to keep moving for now.

Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear.

It's me, they hear.

Your eyes trailed down the figure's hair, down his back, down to his very feet. He was tall, elegant and mysterious. Certainly, this man had a reputation to uphold on his own… Perhaps he was misunderstood? Your angel was misunderstood? Feeling your eyes on him made his body tremble with a pleased shiver, finally having you to himself and away from that brudish Lion. A flicker of his form once more before looking back at you with a small smirk, a promise of what's to come.

In one combined, the Phantom of The Opera is there, in my mind.

Carefully, he was gentle at grasping your waist and letting you off of the horse who seemed not to pleased at seeing you go so soon. Afterall, the horse seemed as if it wanted to protect you itself from the strange Phantom in front of you, in a way, it reminded you of someone that you couldn't put your finger on… Was it a cat? No, you didn't have a cat here in the opera house… Though its eyes said it all as it watched you get onto the gondola with the assistance from the mysterious man.

Beware of the Phantom of The Opera.

Your eyes wandered around the statues that were stuck upright against the water, what seemed to be holding up the walls and roofing of the area. Gargoyle like as their claws dug into the roof above you, their mouths wide open as they spewed out slow rivers of water to add to the ambiance. Turning around to face the strange figure, his eyes already were boring into your form as a graceful smile appeared upon his face as his gaze returned upwards as a gate began to open. Moss and algae rose up with it as you ventured into the new room that was filled with music sheets everywhere, curtains covering possible mirrors as what seemed to shine below them, and candelabras shining your way around to a beautiful stand holding a violin and harpsichord. Feeling the boat hit the edge, the stranger hopped down the side of the boat, making his way through the water and onto the stone walkway.

What's a great way to win your favor in this moment when he had such great competition against Leona? Yeah. He saw that ‘Little Y/N’ moment between you and Leona; and he was seething behind that mirror and his mask, not to mention his small spell holding up his disguise faded away for a moment as he went to collect you. He refuses to lose to a stubborn, lazy lion when you deserve so much more as the future Ruler of Briar Valley.

“Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination, silently the senses abandon their defenses.” What better to woo you and earn your affection other than song? Afterall, Lilia did teach him all that he knew and he was highly praised for being so well trained. Afterall, he did teach you everything that he knew. Looking down at your form as you still sat in the boat, he could only smile as he walked back down to you with his hand outstretched for you to take.

“Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light.” A small hope flickers within his body in hopes of having you remember NRC, having your walks late at night around the desolate land of the Ramshackle. That's right Y/N, turn your thoughts away from the Savannah’s sunlight and more towards Briar Valley’s twilight. He was careful as he pulled you up and into his arms as he bridal carried you onto the stone, not letting a speck of water touch your form. “And listen to the music of the night.” He would hum out, leading you into a waltz around his home for the moment. Feeling your hand on his chest and the other wrapped within his own gloved hand, a smile could only return to his lips as he held you close.

“Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar, and you'll live as you've never lived before.” Waltzing over fallen over pages of music, over mitch matched carpet, broken stone that remained in place thanks to Malleus’ simple spell of repairing it the best he could before the book would stop him or break the stone back over again. He couldn't help himself as he brought you closer to him, spinning you around as he closed his eyes at feeling your back against his chest.

“Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind. In this darkness which you know you can not fight.” Letting your hands drop from his own, only to feel your hands take his own and place them on your waist once more caused his cheeks to flare up slightly. You were letting him touch you so privately, he couldn't handle it much longer if you kept letting him do whatever he liked with your eager persistence of letting your body say ‘continue’. “The darkness of the music of the night” He would lean down to whisper into your ear, letting out a pleased hum as he felt your body weight lean onto him slightly. That is until you broke away just to turn around and face him. Perhaps his spell of having you hypnotized stopped working? His magic had been acting funny ever since he entered the book.

No matter, he would not let you go. Especially now that he has you.

“Let your mind start a journey though a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before, Let your soul take you where you long to be!” Finally, he has you ensnared. Cornered. His. And he wasn't about to let his prey get out of this trap so easily. Pulling you by your hands closer to him, letting them wrap around his neck as his eyes bore deep into your soul once more, knowing he has you well within his snare and trap. “Only then can you belong to me.”

Spinning you around once more, feeling your hands upon his own did he let his desires the better of him. His hands trailed along your stomach down to your thighs, and the other up your chest and around your neck as he continued to sing; “Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.” And touch you did, the hand that held his own on your thigh broke free as you reached up to his face, cupping it gently as your back was pressed against his chest. Willingly, like a cat who was receiving the best pets, he leaned his head into your cupped hand as he slowly brought you around a corner in slow swaying movements.

“Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in. To the power of the music that I write; The power of the music of the night” Around the corner was a piece he had made unknowingly. You, as a doll, within your own wedding outfit he had personally made for you himself. Once your eyes had made connection to this wedding outfit, everything felt light and woozy. Malleus was fast to catch you, holding you close against him as he picked you up within a bridal carry. Perhaps he should attempt courting you first before showing you your wedding outfit… Though the thought escaped his mind as he gently brought you down to rest within his dragon shaped bed.

“You alone can make my song take flight… Help me make the music of the night” He would whisper out softly to you, placing a soft kiss against your forehead before pulling away. Oh, how his heart ached for your beautiful eyes to open and look at him once more, tell him Yes; I do, though something was bothering him deep within. It wasn't long before guilt set in as he remembered a certain fae’s words of Never To Kidnap your Lover, its simply bad manners… Sighing and with a snap of his fingers, you had returned to your bed above the surface to a surprise of both Silver and Sebek who were both equally surprised to see your form back so soon!

Once morning has arrived, Sebek and Silver went out with Lilia and reported their finding with you, and how exhausted you are after your night with Malleus- Correction; The Phantom. Outside inside the foyer of the Opera house stood Azul, reading the newspaper with a letter in hand. Of course, the public was talking about their show and their not one, but TWO missing sopranos! Perhaps it was the fact that a simple chorus girl took The one and Only Vil Schoenheit?

"It would seem that you also have a letter…” Jade’s voice rung out into Azul’s ear, making the man jump slightly as he was clutching a letter within his hand, Jade held one within his left hand while Floyd just looked overall annoyed while reading the newspaper. What silly little humans, making such a big deal about their precious shrimpy stealing the spotlight for once away from Vil. “Pray tell, what does your letter say?” Jade asked out curiously, that simple slime still playing on his face as he looked down at Azul opening up the letter that was sealed by green wax in the form of a dragon head.

“Dear Azul, what a charming gala. Y/N was in the worlds sublime. We were hardly bereft when Vil left. On that note, the diva is a disaster. Must you cast her when he's seasons past his prime?” Azul read out and sighed, shaking his head slightly as he rubbed his temples. Afterall, they couldn't JUST get rid of Vil Shoenheit due to him also being stuck in the book with them! “And yours, Jade?”

“Dear Floyd and Jade, just a brief reminder my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost, by return of post. PTO; No one likes a debtor so it's better if my orders are obeyed!” Jade read out and chuckled, looking over at a still very annoyed Floyd who only rolled his eyes. “So laaaaame~! Neh… I miss Shrimpy… I dont want to be in this story anymore Azul- Why did you also have to go on and drag me in..?”

Azul’s glasses cracked slightly internally as he remembered how in fact the trio of them got in here without making a contracted deal of pay to get you back to safety. Floyd’s wide arms had pushed them all into Leona’s back as they were all transported in. Opening his mouth, he quickly closed it as he saw a certain lion approaching the trio of them very quickly. “And what can we do for you, sir?” Azul asked out bitterly towards Leona who could only let out an annoyed growl at him.

“Where are they?” Leona’s voice rang out and they all immediately knew he was looking for their star; Y/N. Not the previous and precious star (who a certain someone thought they were seasons past his prime…) Vil Shoenheit. “I take it that you sent me this note.” His voice was strained as he stared down Azul with fire behind his eyes. Afterall, this cephalopod was quite able to slink out even the stickiest situations but this rage meant; I'm going to burn down all of your contracts again.

“Of course they’re not with us- including that letter. We didn't write that at all either.” Azul stated out quickly and adjusted his bowtie, clearing his throat as he tried to summon any courage to face the lion with his smiling buddies behind him. “But do enlighten us on that letter of yours, we have also received our own letters accordingly from the one and only; Opera Ghost.”

“Do not fear for your precious Y/N, the Angel of Music has them under his wing. Make no attempt to see them ever again.” Leona read out with an annoyed growl bubbling out from his throat, sending an irritated look from a now shouting Vil who has now entered the Opera House, and a smiling Rook Hunt following hot on Vil’s tail.

“I have your letter- A Letter that I rather resent, Kingscholar.” Vil hissed out, an irritated look plastered upon his face. Yet, before anyone could ask him to read it outloud, Vil had given it to Rook Hunt who had begun to read it loudly enough for all of them to hear without struggling.

“Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered. Y/N L/N will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for great misfortune if you dare attempt to take their place.” Rook finished out as he folded up the note only for Floyd to grab them all and begin to rip them to pieces. Azul cleared his throat which made everyone look over at him with gazes filled with confusion, mixed with anger or frustration.

“Far to many notes for my taste, and most of them about Y/N. All we’ve heard since we came has been Y/N’s name-!” Azul was cut off by Lilia clearing his throat behind him, making the cephalopod jump in surprise and Jade’s eyes widened slightly as he looked behind him. Lilia stood with Sebek and Silver posted at each of his side, but Lilia just seemed smug as he let out a small chuckle.

“Y/N has returned.” Lilia hummed out, shooting a playful glance at everyone, Azul could only roll his eyes and Jade jumped in at the chance he could.

“And where precisely are they now?” Jade asked out, and this seemed to perk up Leona’s attention as both men stared down the smaller male who didnt seem phased at them both trying to intimidate him.

“I thought it best they were alone” Lilia stated once more with a nod of his head, and Silver spoke up after him stating softly; “They needed rest.”

“I'm going to go see them.” Leona stated as he began to push through the crowd only to be stopped by Sebek who glared up at the male. “No, they will see no one currently.” Sebek stood up for you, a mere human without magic! But after all the years that he had known you having been in the same first year classes as you, he thought it would be right to finally stand up for you- Especially to his Master’s enemy.

“Will they sing?!” Vil and Rook stated out, one more urgent than the other only for Lilia to turn to face them, that still playful smirk plastered upon his face as he looked up at them both. Instead of answering them, he pulled out another note that was sealed up with green wax in the shape of a dragon head. “Here, I have a note.”

“Let me see it.” Floyd was quick to speak as he ripped the note away from Lilia’s hand who didn't seem all too bothered by the eel’s demeanor. Floyd was quick to open the note as he began to read it out loud, squinting his eyes down at the words.

“Gentleman, I have now sent you some notes on how my theater is to be run. You have not followed my instructions, I shall give you one last chance. Y/n L/n has returned to you, and I am anxious to see their career progress. In the new production of ‘Il Muto’ You will therefore cast Vil as the pageboy, and put Y/n in the role of the Countess. The role for the pageboy is silent which makes my casting, in a world, idea.

I will watch this performance in my normal seat in box five which will be kept empty for me, should these commands be ignored; a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.

I remain, Gentleman, your faithful obedient servant,

O.G”

“Its all a ploy to help Y/n!” At this point, Vil was fed up with the occurring offenses against his career. Angry, he began to march off with Rook hastily following behind his Queen. Attempting to coo and calm the poor Highness with words of adorations and promising that he is still the fairest of them all. Azul, Floyd and Jade were urgent in rushing after their star as well, trying their best to soothe their star in hopes of making him stay to perform Il Muto for the crowd of fans that wanted to hear him sing.

“Your public needs you.” Jade stated out smoothly, smiling at him.

“We need you too!” Azul rushed out quickly which made Vil turn to him, burning hot coals within his lilac eyes as he glared down Azul.

“Would you rather not have your precious little Ingenue?” Vil hissed out, eyes squinting down at the certain octo-mer who could only clear his throat and straighten out his back.

“No, the world wants you.” Azul stated out with certainty as they brought back their star into the opera house. Dressing him up in the finest of all silk, offering chocolates, furs and even a new puppy to please their dear Star. Though Vil was merciless as his shoe was removed by Rook Hunt, and a bottle of Champagne was poured into it before getting handed over to Azul who could only cringe at the idea of drinking out of a shoe. Though they needed Vil to stay for them… Bottoms up, as he drank it all quickly and fast.

Soon enough, the night of the performance arrived with much doting and begging for Vil to stay every single day, every single practice. Of course, it was also very fun for Vil to be so close to you considering in this production of Il Muto, you two have to pretend to kiss; Now, he doesn't hate you, but does scold you on how to walk, act, stand- Makes you perfect. You don't know why Vil is so hard on you, well actually; you think you do. Afterall, you did take his role in the play Hannibal. Perhaps that's why he works you to the bone every single day? Who knows.

The audience laughs, claps and cheers for certain moments within it. Of course, Vil is the star and you? The potato. The Spudling. The role with no voice. It felt like all of it was going too fast, but perhaps that was a good thing for you- After that night with the Phantom, everything has seemed like a blur. Sebek and Silver were the ones to ground you (with Lilia’s council to do so) and making sure you were aware of all situations around you; Especially keeping Leona away from you.

Throwing off your disguise as being a maid, you could only look at Vil as you remembered your posture and fixed it under his hard gaze, with a loud fwoop! From his fan, you two leaned together to pretend to kiss as Vil smirked at you. You were always so priceless, how he adored his little spudling of a potato. You could stare at the initmmidating actor with a sweatdrop rolling down your forehead as you couldnt keep your gazes locked together. Luckily for you, the time has passed enough for you two to pull away only for you to take a few steps back in fear as you looked up and saw him.

“Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty?” The voice rang out loudly from above the chandelier, and you already knew who it was. Your Angel of Music, the Phantom of The Opera…

“It's him, the Phantom of the Opera… He's here…” You whispered out in shock, breathless as you kept your gaze up at the form retreating back into the wall filled with cherubs and clouds. As much as Vil didn't want to scold you, the book forced the words out from his mouth as his gaze hardened upon your form, a sneer coming from him.

“Your part is silent, little potato.” Vil seethed out as he walked off to the side as Azul and Jade were calming the crowd, Floyd didn't want to currently as he was dozing off in his seat at such a boring performance. Hell, teasing Riddle was more exciting than this! Soon enough, Vil was back on stage with you as he glared at you, and you could only lower your gaze into the floor in defeat. No, there was no need to be afraid of your Angel of Music, he is probably just upset that his seat was taken in the one place he could be accepted.

Starting the song over, Vil began to sing until his voice broke into a loud croak, panic flushed through his system but he attempted to remain calm as he continued to sing only for more croaks of frogs to come out from him. Who had used a potion like this upon him?! How dare they! Quickly, Azul and Jade rushed down to the stage as the curtains began to close, leaving a poor stage actor out as Jade and Azul appeared behind the mass of red curtains as the crowd continued to laugh away at Vil’s dismay.

“We are so sorry about that, the play will continue in ten minutes time while the role of the Countess will be played.” Azul started to speak out only for an arm to reach into the curtain, grabbing you by the forearm and pull you out behind the curtains and into the front of the stage in front of all the audience. “By Y/N L/N!” Azul finished as Jade waved you off, rushing you to go get changed.

“But we will now turn your attention to act three, the ballet… The Ballet now!” Jade spoke out quickly and nodded his head as the two of them departed back into the curtains while the stage was getting set up for the ballet. Meanwhile, Malleus was having a hard time sneaking his way out from there, having had a certain pesky little flea following him around the ropes and bridges backstage.

Malleus was patient but only for you, most certainly he would be throwing a tantrum right now, but with his lack of magic he couldn't summon a storm like he usually could. Damn book. Rushing around, the pesky little flea followed him only for Malleus to stop and turn, a feral growl emitting from his throat as puffs of green flames hissed out from the sides of his mouth. This in turn sparked fear into the man as he had now just come to realize that he was following the all too dangerous; The Phantom of The Opera.

The game of cat and mouse was swapped around as Malleus began to chase him down, hissing like a feral beast while down below Sebek and Silver brought their sheeps to the stage. Silver seemed to have ease while guiding his sheep along and Sebek couldn't get his to stop kneeling, as the audience just laughed along at the silly ballet they were performing for them. Lilia was there to help you change as a red rose with a ribbon tied around it was there upon your dresser, greeting you with passion you wouldnt understand just yet.

Flutes played elegantly as the ballet dancers spun and jumped, sheep getting guided along the stage yet there was a hidden strange feeling within the air, tension was rising and Sebek and Silver already knew it was the Young Masters doing. Speaking of which, it would have seemed like the cat had caught its prey and was strangling it tightly, Malleus’ eyes burned with fire as he stared down the man with rage while the man could make half gasped pleas to be let go, yet he had seen too much. Once he was done playing, he pushed the man off with a sinister smile as a noose was certain to break the man's neck if he wasn't already dead.

Screams erupted from the audience and performers- Minus Sebek and Silver who were there to protect the women from getting hit with the dead body swinging around before it was utterly dropped to the floor with a loud THUMP. The audience began to stand up, wishing to leave only for Azul to shout out for them to remain seated that this was only and simply an accident.

Leona was up and running first though, ignoring the urgent cries of people within the theater and Azul’s urgency for people to stay seated, he needed to find you before that damn lizard finds you again. With a small shout coming from him as he felt your hands grab his own, for once in his whole lazy lifetime, worry flashed in his eyes as he followed you up… and Up.. and Up. Until there was no up besides a door as you bursted through it all, you couldn't stop with the adrenaline pumping through you as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“There is no Phantom of The Opera!” Leona stated out, he knew that there was a murder but you were long gone, how could you have known? As well the Phantom of The Opera was Malleus Draconia, a lizard who got everything he wanted. So he was truthful in his statement but he seemed to swallow his words as he looked at you looking so lost, a plea in your eyes as you looked at your childhood friend. Silence ensued before you spoke once more as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Leona i’ve been there to his world of unending night, to a world where daylight dissolves into darkness… Leona I’ve seen him! Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face so distorted and evil, it was hardly a face in the darkness…” You seemed to pause as your form turned away from Leona, looking over the statues of knights on horses, Angels with their spears and of course, a single grotesque within the corner. A beast upon the innocents.

“But his voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound, in that night there was music in my mind! And through music, my soul began to soar!” You stated out, looking around wearily as you seemed within a daze as you remember that night so clearly and barely of the blurred days after it. “And I heard as I never heard before…”

“What you heard was a dream and nothing more…” Leona whispered out, walking towards you only to pause as you turn to him with sadness enveloping in your eyes.

“Yet in his eyes… All the sadness of the world… Those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore…” You finished out as you closed your eyes only for your voice to ring out around you from an all too familiar voice, head ducking as tears dripped down your cheeks in uncertainty as Leona seemed pissed at hearing Malleus’ voice echoing, yet he had to calm you down first before chasing after that damn lizard.

“No more talk of darkness- Forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you.” Leona started out, hating that he had to sing it all out for you but here he is, singing to calm you as he enveloped your form within his body. “Let me be your freedom. Let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you.” Leona finished out, pulling away slightly to bring his large hand up, callused and rough from being the Savannah but you didn't seem to mind as his thumb brushed away any tears that seemed to escape your shining eyes.

“Say you love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always, promise me that all you say is true…That's all I ask of you” You responded out in song, a smile spreading from cheek to cheek as you looked up at your childhood best friend. Leona’s heartbeat could only speed up as a small dusting of pink was reaching across his cheeks as he couldnt take his eyes off of you. How dare this book force him to look into your doe-like eyes and force him to sing out his love for you! He has a reputation to upkeep you know!

“Let me be your shelter. Let me be your light. You're safe, no one will find you, your fears are far behind you.” Leona stated out softly to you, yet loud enough just to piss off that Lizard that was hiding behind that grotesque statue, Leona can in fact smell him. He wanted to make that damn lizard jealous. Of what he and you had that Malleus could, in fact, NOT have. Afterall, he was your childhood best friend in this story. Keeping his eyes locked upon yours, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth as he looked at you.

“All I want is freedom. A world with no more night. And you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me.” Bringing a hand to cup Leona’s cheek, the tears long gone from your own cheeks as you seemed to look up at him with that unconditional love- After All, you have loved your childhood best friend and even after he was there to support you after your fathers death- you had never stopped loving him after the loss of connection.

“Then say you'll share with me. One love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude.” Leona started out, bold and loudly just to keep pissing off Malleus. He could hear the sound of nails scratching into stone, so whatever he was doing was indeed pissing him off. Afterall, Leona couldn't deny his soul and heart anymore, he truly did love you and wanted only you to be his Queen back at his home. “Say you need me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too… Y/n, that's all I ask of you.”

“Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you.” You continued as you felt him pull you closer, not knowing of the presence begging, almost pleading on his hands and knees for you to stop singing with Leona. How he needed you, wanted you, for the seven! He loves you! He needed you to stop singing with his rival as he could feel his heart ripping apart slowly. Yet, like Lovers intertwined in loves duet, you continued.

“Share each day with me each night, each morning! Love me, that's all I ask of you” You couldn’t help yourself as Leona’s left hand cupped your cheek, bringing you closer to him as you felt a flurry of emotions setting through you and coursing through your body. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he was clear to dip his head enough to press a well deserved, needed and cherished kiss upon your lips. Oh, how Leona waited years for this moment, and at least, he finally has it. He finally had a stroke of luck and the universe had gifted you unto him. Though it wasnt over just yet, feeling you pull away and lock gazes with him with that same doe look, he was head over heels.

“Say you love me…” You whispered out, a silent plea that he would, but he had one better than saying the words and that would slap Malleus in the face hard.

“You know I do.” He whispered back out to you, a smug smirk upon his face as he looked upon your face, filled with all sorts of beauty as the frost of the air nips at both of your cheeks. Though, it could also just be that he is a fantastic kisser, yet he shall keep his pride down just for this sweet, tender moment between you two.

“Anywhere you go, let me go too!” You both sang out once more, hugging each other even tighter if that was possible. Leona’s hand was still cupping your cheek while the other rested upon your hip, at the same time your arms were wrapped around his neck.

“Love me… That's all I ask of you…” With another kiss sealing the deal, you were quicker to pull away this time, excitement coursing through your veins as you were officially being courted by your childhood crush. Your now real and extremely smug lover now.

“Order your fine horses, be with them at the door. And soon, you’ll always be beside me. Be there to guard and to guide me..” You were quick to speak, ready to get out the door as quickly as you could. To get away from the Phantom, your Opera House life, away from everyone. The door shut with a soft click, but it was deafeningly loud for Malleus as he stepped out from behind the stone only to find the sweet rose you left behind. Had you had this on your person this entire time?

“I gave you my music… Made your song take wing… And now, how you’ve repaid me.. Denied me and betrayed me..” With a shaky voice, he knelt down as he could feel the tears pricking the edges of his eyes, picking up the rose he had gifted to you.

“He was bound to love you when he heard you sing… Oh Y/n…” He shook as a few tears dripped down his mask onto the snow covered floor as he could hear your love song with Leona echoing within his mind. Oh, how he seethed. How he raged. How lonely he is… Sadness just as quick as it had arrived swooped into anger.

“You will curse the day you did not do,

All that the Phantom asked of you!”

62 notes · View notes

flightpolling · 3 months

Text

All Polls | Results

If you are looking for a specific gene I would recommend ctrl+f to find this list is Long :) Gene Polls will be linked as/when they are posted and updated with Overall winning opinion once they close

Modern/Parallel Primaries

Bar - Positive Leaning Neutral (36.6%)

Basic - Neutral (44.5%)

Boa - Love! (45.4%)

Boulder - Love! (39.5%)

Cherub - Like (35.8%)

Chrysocolla - Love! (49.1%)

Cinder - Love! (60%)

Clown - Like (37.2%)

Crystal - Like ( 30.6%)

Fade - Love! (51.4%)

Falcon - Like ( 38.6%)

Fern - Like (43.3%)

Flaunt - Love! (59.3%)

Giraffe - Like (43%)

Ground - Neutral (43.4%)

Harlequin - Love! (62.3%)

Iridescent - Like (32.8%)

Jaguar - Love! (45.6%)

Jupiter - Neutral (42.9%)

Laced - Neutral (40.7%)

Leopard - Like (38.2%)

Lionfish - Like (32.3%)

Metallic - Like (36.6%)

Mosaic - Dislike (32.3%)

Petals - Like (37.1%)

Pharaoh - Love! (42.8%)

Piebald - Like (31.4%)

Pinstripe - Like (37.6%)

Poison - Love! (40%)

Python - Love! (49.2%)

Ribbon - Like (41.3%)

Ripple - Positive-leaning Neutral (35.6%)

Savannah - Like (41%)

Skink - Love! (45.6%)

Slime - Like (30%)

Speckle - Neutral (36.1%)

Starmap - Love! (42%)

Stitched - Neutral (28.3%)

Swirl - Like (44.7%)

Tapir - Like (41.3%)

Tide - Love! (40%)

Tiger - Like (43%)

Vipera - Neutral (41.7%)

Wasp - Love! (42.3%)

Modern/Parallel Secondaries

Alloy - Like (40.5%)

Basic - Neutral (48.9%)

Bee - Love! (69.2%)

Blaze - Love! (57%)

Blend - Love! (44.7%)

Breakup - Neutral (31.3%)

Butterfly - Love! (44%)

Clouded - Neutral (48.6%)

Constellation - Love! (58.5%)

Current - Positive-leaning Neutral (36.3%)

Daub - Neutral (45.3%)

Edged - Neutral (40.6%)

Eel - Like (41.2%)

Eye Spots - Neutral (44.6%)

Facet - Like (33.8%)

Fissure - Neutral (45.2%)

Flair - Love! (73.7%)

Foam - Love! (51%)

Freckle - Neutral (39.7%)

Hex - Neutral (43.1%)

Hypnotic - Negative-leaning Neutral (3.7%)

Jester - Love! (54.8%)

Malachite - Love! (48.6%)

Marbled - Like (45.4%)

Morph - Like (42.4%)

Myrid - Love (46.6%)

Noxtide - Love! (44.8%)

Paint - Neutral (33.5%)

Paisley - Like (41.5%)

Patchwork - Like (26.7%)

Peregrine - Like (40.5%)

Rosette - Like (34%)

Saddle - Like (48.9%)

Safari - Neutral (41.7%)

Sarcophagus - Love! (38.1%)

Saturn - Neutral ( 35.4%)

Seraph - Like (35.3%)

Shimmer - Like (36.2%)

Sludge - Like (31.6%)

Spinner - Like (44.9%)

Striation - Like (41.5%)

Stripes - Neutral (44.1%)

Toxin - Like (41.6%)

Trail - Like (40.5%)

Modern/Parallel Tertiaries

Basic - Neutral (41.6)

Capsule - Love! (49.8%)

Circuit - Neutral (31.6%)

Contour - Positive-leaning Neutral ( 37%)

Crackle - Neutral (34.8%)

Filigree - Positive-Leaning Neutral (29.7%)

Firebreather - Like (34.1%)

Firefly - Like (31.7%)

Flecks - Like (37.5%)

Gembond - Neutral (34.7%)

Ghost - Like (38.3%)

Glimmer - Love! (60.2%)

Glowtail - Like (34.5%)

Keel - Dislike (36.7%)

Koi - Love! (45.1%)

Lace - Neutral ( 35%)

Okapi - Like (37.9%)

Opal - Love! (40.5%)

Peacock - Like (34.2%)

Points - Neutral (38.1%)

Polkadot - Neutral (32.9%)

Ringlets - Neutral (37.7%)

Runes - Love! (44.2%)

Scales - Balanced Neutral (29.4%)

Smirch Dislike (36.8%)

Smoke - Neutral (37.2%)

Soap - Like (31%)

Sparkle - Like (35.9%)

Spines - Neutral (41.7%)

Stained - Love! (47.4%)

Thylacine - Like (36.1%)

Underbelly - Love! (36%)

Veined - Like (44%)

Wish - Like (32.2%)

Ancient Primaries

Arapaima (Sandsurge) - Like (36.8%)

Arc (Veilspun) - Like (36.3%)

Bright (Veilspun) - Leaning Negative Neutral (36.8%)

Candy (Aether) - Neutral (35.8%)

Candycane (Banescale) - Neutral (46.6%)

Caterpillar (Auraboa) - Like (40.8%)

Checkers (Undertide) - Negative-leaning Neutral ( 30.6%)

Chevron (Banescale) - Like (42.7%)

Diamond (Aberration) - Like (38%)

Love (Auraboa) - Like (37.9%)

Marble (Banescale) - Like ( 34.8%)

Mochlus (Auraboa) - Love!! (60.2%)

Octopus (Undertide) - Like (39.3%)

Orb (Aberration) (Auraboa) - Like (31.9%)

Phantom (Gaoler) - Like (45.8%)

Ragged (Banescale) - Love! (45.4%)

Rattlesnake (Sandsurge) (Auraboa) - Like (35.2%)

Sailfish (Sandsurge) - Love! (43.8%)

Shaggy (Gaoler) - Positive-leaning Neutral (45.7%)

Shell (Veilspun) - Like (37.3%)

Sphinxmoth (Veilspun) - Like (38.8%)

Spool (Aether) - Like (41.3%)

Twinkle (Aether) - Like (34.5%)

Varnish (Auraboa) - Love! (37.2%)

Wicker (Auraboa) - Neutral (44.3%)

Wolf (Undertide) - Positive-leaning Neutral (40.1%)

Wrought (Sandsurge) - Positive-leaning Neutral (37.7%)

Ancient Secondaries

Affection (Auraboa) - Like (38.3%)

Arowana (Sandsurge) - Like (45.9%)

Arrow (Banescale) - Like (43.8%)

Chess (Undertide) - Postive-leaning Neutral (33.1%)

Diamondback (Sandsurge) (Auraboa) - Like (50.3%)

Flicker (Aether) - Like (34.1%)

Hawkmoth (Veilspun) - Like (44.7%)

Icing (Aether) - Neutral (37.2%)

Lacquer (Auraboa) - Like (39.1%)

Larvae (Auraboa) - Like (40.2%)

Loop (Veilspun) - Like (49.3%)

Marlin (Sandsurge) - Love! (47.4%)

Mottle (Banescale) - Neutral (45.9%)

Pack (Undertide) - Neutral (49. 3%)

Rings (Undertide) - Like (43.2%)

Riopa (Auraboa) - Love! (62.3%)

Spade (Aberration) - Like (42%)

Spire (Sandsurge) - Neutral (45.5%)

Spirit (Gaoler) - Neutral (51.9%)

Streak (Gaoler) - Neutral (51.7%)

Sugarplum (Banescale) - Negative-leaning Neutral (40.6%)

Tear (Banescale) - Love! (44.4%)

Thread (Aether) - Like (45.6%)

Vivid (Veilspun) - Like (41.3%)

Weaver (Aberration) (Auraboa) - Like (41%)

Web (Veilspun) - Like (48.9%)

Woven (Auraboa) - Neutral (38.1%)

Ancient Tertiaries

Angler (Gaoler) (Veilspun) (Undertide) - Like (34.1%)

Augment (Aberration) (Sandsurge) - Love! (57.8%)

Batty (Auraboa) - Neutral (41.4%)

Beard (Sandsurge) - Love! (28.7%)

Beetle (Veilspun) - Neutral (32.7%)

Blossom (Gaoler) (Undertide) - Love! (41.6%)

Braids (Aberration) (Gaoler) - Neutral (41.2%)

Branches (Veilspun) (Sandsurge) (Auraboa) (Undertide) - Love! (46.4%)

Brightshine (Undertide) (Veilspun)

Carnivore (All, except Auraboa) - Love! (34.7%)

Chitin (Sandsurge) - Like (33.9%)

Crest (Auraboa) (Sandsurge) - Neutral (5.5%)

Crystalline (Aether) (Gaoler) - Neutral (35.5%)

Darts (Sandsurge) - Like (49.1%)

Diaphanous (Veilspun) - Love! (44.1 %)

Fangs (Aberration) - Neutral (41.6%)

Fans (Aberration) (Banescale) (Gaoler) - Positive-leaning Neutral (38%)

Featherbeard (Undertide) - Neutral (41.9%)

Fishbone (Auraboa) (Sandsurge) - Like (39.8%)

Flameforger (Aberration) (Banescale) - Love! (42.1%)

Flutter (Aether) - Like (36.3%)

Frills (Aberration) - Like (31.4%)

Gliders (Banescale) - Neutral (37.9%)

Gnarlhorns (Gaoler) - Love! (38.9%)

Jellyfish (Undertide) - Love! (42,2%)

Jewels (Aberration) - Neutral (40.3%)

Kumo (Aberration) (Sandsurge) - Like ( 34%)

Medusa (Auraboa) - Love! (34.4%)

Monarch (Aether) (Banescale) - Like (39%)

Mop (Veilspun) - Neutral (35.5%)

Mucus (Aberration) - Neutral (35.4%)

Nudibranch (Undertide) - Like (41%)

Paradise (Auraboa) - Like (39.1%)

Pinions (Gaoler) - Like (25.1%)

Plating (Undertide) - Neutral (38.9%)

Polypore (Aberration) - Love! (29.8%)

Porcupine (Auraboa) (Banescale) (Undertide) - Neutral (40.4%)

Pufferfish (Undertide) - Neutral (36.8%)

Remora (Undertide) - Like (39.6%)

Riot (Aberration) (Gaoler) - Neutral (33.1%)

Rockbreaker (Auraboa) (Sandsurge) - Neutral (33.3%)

Sailfin (Undertide) (Auraboa) - Like (40.6%)

Scorpion (Gaoler) - Positive-leaning Neutral (38.3%)

Scuttle (Auraboa) - Love! (39.6%)

Shardflank (Gaoler) - Like (40.1%)

Shark (Sandsurge) - Like (32.6%)

Skeletal (Aberration) (Banescale) - Like (35.5%)

Space (Aether) - Love! (24.8%)

Spectre (Sandsurge) - Like (40.6%)

Squiggle (Banescale) - Neutral (35%)

Starfall (Aether) (Sandsurge) - Like (38.1%)

Stinger (Aeth) (Aura) - Like (39.3%)

Tentacles (Undertide) - Positive-leaning Neutral (31.2%)

Terracotta (Auraboa) - Neutral (40.6%)

Thorns (Veilspun) (Auraboa) (Aberration) - Neutral (36.5%)

Thundercrack (Sandsurge) (Gaoler) - Like (41.7%)

Topcoat (Auraboa) - Like (36%) Trickmurk (Aether) (Veilspun) - Love! (42.7%)

Trimmings (Banescale) - Neutral (44.1%)

Weathered (Gaoler) - Like (50.8%)

Whiskers (Aether) - Positive-leaning Neutral (33.3%)

Willow (Auraboa) - Like (31.1%)

Wintercoat (Gaoler) - Neutral (43%)

Wraith (Banescale) - Love! (53.8%)

#flightpolling #ultimate fr gene survey #long post

21 notes · View notes