#Zephyr the Jester

[lamneus]

tumblrsexymanreunion

How to hang out with your short friends :3   🚨Get pinged for YCH's , Commission openings Here     Other art sites wlo.link/@sifyro

Posted using PostyBirb

[chocolaminity]

hello Tumblr may I offer you a healthy dose of art dump from December-February

obligatory sorry for putting Z-O-M-B-I-E-S and Guilty Gear and Ina11 and Sanrio in the same post !!!

also obligatory do not follow me for Guilty Gear content I barely know anything of it other than what my brother has told me + what I've seen and I just wanted to draw May because I think she is silly ^^

last two drawings r references from this post and also this vvv

[atarahderek]

HoND themed art dump.

Top left: Zephyr de Chateaupers, as he should've been designed. Cosplaying an airbender.

Top right: "Don't interrupt me!" Got some new watercolor markers, and this was my first bit of practice with them.

Bottom: Clopin strikes me as the type who would enjoy Lady Gaga songs. And also puns. Yes, I know "Roma" is plural and there's only one Rom in the picture. It's for the pun. Let it be for the pun.

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Nine: ichthys

tw: arguing, religious talk

“I think I’m hungover.” 

Soap’s voice is hoarse and gravelly as he pokes at his can of beans with his spoon. The night did not fare well for him in terms of healing, as his left eye has swollen a considerable amount through his slumber, dotting his skin with a deep purple and hyacinth blue. His grumbling is drowned out by Riley’s crass chuckle. 

“Reckon your headache is more from all the fists you tried kissin’ last night, not the alcohol,” he teases. 

“At least I didn’t get my lip split open.” 

“Still can’t believe you all managed to get into trouble without me,” Kyle huffs, feigning hurt emotions as he sips on his coffee. 

Soap grins. “That’s what you get for leaving early, Garrick.” 

While the men compare the wounds they obtained from the night before, you sit in eerie silence as your fingertips prod at your lower lip. Though the events at the saloon feel as if they happened ages ago, you still feel the sordidity of it all taint you. Teeth in flesh. Hands on your waist. A content hum into your jaw. Not even a good night’s sleep is able to cleanse it all from your mind. It lingers like the sting of a stick on your knuckles—like the acidulous bite of words from your father.

The only thing strong enough to pull your attention from it is John’s unwavering gaze from across the dying morning fire. 

“You’re quiet today, Lamb,” he casually notes. 

Looking up from your hardtack, you muster a small smile. “Just tired,” you dismiss. 

It’s not an entire lie. Your sleep was far from restful as you were intermittently interrupted with strange dreams and an overall anxiety from the man who forced himself on you. Really, you’re not sure you’ve had any proper repose since you left your sleepy little Penmosa. 

John nods, but the lingering incredulity in his gaze screams that he doesn’t fully believe you. “We’ll be at Grand Hollow in a few days. We’ll get you in a proper bed in no time, little lamb.” 

You hum in agreement as your teeth crack into the salty hardtack that dusts your palms—you’re unsure if a soft bed will be enough to quell the aches in both your body and mind, but for now you decide to take his word for it. 

Camp is packed up and stored away within a few minutes, and there is no sign that anyone was here besides the smouldering remnants of the fire at your feet. The men are quiet as you ride along wild, untraveled terrain. Their aches buzz through their bodies loud enough for even you to hear over the soft trampling of the horses’ hooves. As you trot along, you notice that John gives Little Wood a wide berth instead of traveling through the heart of town—you imagine he isn’t too keen on treading through the very place he and the boys caused trouble in only a couple hours before. 

Your new hat offers excellent cover from the sun dancing well above you. Without golden rays blinding you, you find yourself squinting less often, and you’re fully able to enjoy the bosky land in all its verdant glory. Lush trees bloom in the distance by the time the group hits the trail again, and the moisture in the grass is so thick you can feel the water condensing on your skin in thick droplets. Even Jester whines, uncomfortable with the sweat permeating through his thick hide. 

There is little reprieve to be found as the pack travels into the woods, slicing through thick bellied trees as you keep close to the trail. A playful zephyr toys with Jester’s mane, causing him to wiggle his head with a pleased huff. Deciding to join him, you knock your hat back until it’s hanging by the cord around your throat, and you hum as the wind cools your sweat-soaked brow. 

Just as your stomach begins to growl, Soap eagerly points out the sight of a lake. Crystalline azure cuts through the fallen trees and berry bushes, and your ears perk enough to hear the faint sound of water lapping at the edges of a shore. None of the horses enjoy trampling over the bramble—Jester, least of all, who you have to coo to in order to convince him not to buck you off when a branch brushes against his stomach—but they are pleasantly surprised when you drop them off to enjoy the algid water of the lake. 

It’s one of the largest lakes you’ve ever seen, spanning for at least a few miles in diameter. The water is clear enough for you to make out curious fish darting through the water as they nibble at wild undergrowth and algae. Kyle eagerly retrieves a folded up fishing pole from his saddle pack, all while muttering something about trying the far side of the lake before vanishing into the wilderness. John does the same, though he doesn’t wander too far from the group while Riley and Soap prepare a fire for lunch. 

With his pants rolled up well above his knees and his shoes and socks discarded along the shore, John wades out into the water with his fishing pole in hand. You watch his muscles bulge through the cotton of his shirt as he rears his arms back, then flicks the pole forward, casting the line far towards the center of the lake where the fish roam in quieter waters.

Closing your eyes, you bask in the obstructed sunlight as nature crescendos around you. Robins chatter as they hop between branches; geese honk as they soar through the air high above your head; a bumble bee rests in a patch of wildflowers next to a fallen log. It’s a far cry from the wailing of cows and bleating of sheep you’re accustomed to in Penmosa. It reminds you of the picnics your mother used to take you on when you were little—very little. 

Before she got sick. 

Before she was put in the ground. 

“The water is nice, Lamb. You ought to join.” 

John’s invitation catches you by surprise, and your eyes flutter open. Your surroundings feel too bright all of a sudden. Everything fluoresces beneath saffron rays, and a sudden wave of lassitude hits you worse than the back of a hand. Thinking that dousing yourself with a fair amount of water might be a good idea to keep you awake, you find yourself kicking your shoes off, stockings along with them. 

The lake water is brisk against your bare feet, but you grit your teeth and bear the sensation as you roll your pantalets up and hold your skirt above your knees. The sun has warmed the more shallow parts of the water, but you feel the depths grow more algid as you wade out as far as your clothes will allow. 

“Still tired?” John asks. 

He stands a good couple of feet in front of you. You slosh your legs through the water to remind him how close you are. “A little,” you concede. 

“I reckon all the excitement from last night made it hard to get any good sleep,” he muses. “You’re not still thinking too much about what happened at the saloon, are you?” 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You haven’t realized how dry they’ve gotten since you’ve left home. “A little, maybe. I don’t know. It’s all frustrating.” 

John hums, then falls quiet when he feels something pull on the line. He begins to reel, and the ticking sound of the rod drowns out the flies buzzing along the waterline, but then curses when he feels the fish go free. 

“Well, he won’t be bothering you again, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he sighs. It takes him only a short moment to reset his cast, flinging his pole as hard as he can so that the hook goes flying. 

“I’m not really worried about it as much as I’m just… well…” You cut yourself off with a huff. “Well, my life just isn’t really going the way I planned.” 

“Is that so?” John asks with a poorly hidden chuckle. 

“No,” you say tartly. Your eyes pierce daggers through the back of his head, and you pray he can feel the burn. “When I was a kid, I always figured I would have been married by now. I’d be settled down, I’d have a kid or two to tend to. Someone to love. Someone to love me.” 

Looking over his shoulder, John throws you a cheeky smirk. “Someone to go to church with every Sunday?” 

You hold back the urge of rolling your eyes. “I guess.” 

Once again, your tongue wets your lips, and as you wiggle your toes in the muck of the lake bottom, you feel acrid bile bubble in your stomach. Teeth dug into this very same lip last night. You wonder if that bone has the feeling of your mouth memorised just as much as your flesh does. 

“But after last night, I’m starting to think that’s never going to happen,” you admit, and though you are wary of John’s snippy response, you find yourself not caring too much about it. 

“What? That you’d ever find yourself in some godly matrimony?” he goads. 

“That I’d ever find myself in love at all,” you correct with a snap. 

This frustration is new. It feels foreign as it bubbles beneath your skin and lurks in your joints. As your fists tighten around the fabric of your dress, you wonder if this is how your father feels. You wonder if this is the very same emotion that drives him into doing what he does best—hate. 

“Daddy’s always displeased with me. I know you think I’m stupid, but I’m well aware that a good father doesn’t beat his child,” you say, forcing your anger to melt away as your tone takes on something more somber. “I don’t want love because it’s what’s Godly, or what I think Daddy wants, because I know he couldn’t care less, I just… I want it because I always thought it was going to save me.” 

John nods his head as if he understands you. His body twists in the water, keeping his pole straight over the lake, yet his torso turned to you. The brim of his hat shades his eyes from what little sun pokes through the trees, but his irises illuminate through the darkness. Their color is comparable to the lake water kissing your ankles, and you find your tongue aching for the refreshment. 

“Love is powerful, little lamb. It can make smart people do stupid things. It can bring a nation to its knees. But if it’s salvation you want, I’m afraid you only have yourself to count on,” he shares bluntly. “Not even your god is strong enough for that.” 

Eyes narrowing at John, he jerks his head away from your gaze the moment something tugs on his rod, and this time he’s able to keep them on the line. Expert hands reel in the fish with sharp tugs, and it isn’t long before John’s pulling a small, flat sunfish from the water. It wiggles and writhes on the line, but the hook curves through its cheek too violently to free itself. 

“God offers salvation,” you correct. “He sent His son for us.” 

“Oh no, sweetheart, don’t get that twisted in your sweet head. Your god didn’t do shit for you.” 

John’s crass words shock you to your very core, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss of a response. His fingers weave the hook out of the fish’s mouth before he begins to walk past you. Each step he takes sends water splashing around his knees until a few drops manage to soak your skirt. 

“Jesus Christ died on the cross to absolve everyone of their sins!” you say just as he reaches the shore. 

“That boy died on the cross because his daddy told him to,” John chuckles sourly. Holding the fish by its tail, he leans his pole against the fallen log before retrieving a rock from near his feet. “If it weren’t for his all-powerful father telling him to kill himself, he would have much rather lived. He never would have died if that cruel man hadn’t demanded it. That’s not love. That’s dictatorship and self obsession.” 

Your eyes widen so far you fear they might pop free from your skull. “What?” 

After placing the sunfish against the log, John raises the rock over his head, and just like Cain did to his brother Abel, he crushes the fish’s skull in with a single blow. No longer flopping, he’s now free to cut it behind its gills, letting it bleed slowly and without pain. 

“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me,” John quotes with bile. He stares down at the dead fish before wiping the blade of his knife on his thigh. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 

Still standing in the shallow water, you stare at John with parted lips. Your eyes flicker to the gore on the log for only a short moment before you’re looking back up at him. “I didn’t realize you knew The Bible.” 

Foggy eyes land on you as John brings his attention away from the fish. “Go dry off by the fire. Take a nap, if you can manage it. Don’t need you falling asleep on the back of your horse while we’re trying to ride.” 

The fire is a pitiful thing. Made of nothing more than mere twigs and tiny sticks, it doesn’t exude much heat, but you suppose it doesn’t have to. Riley and Soap keep tending to it as you nestle yourself against the trunk of a tree, feet faced towards the flames. Sleep takes you for only a little while before you’re roused awake with a display of dead, gutted fish waiting to be cooked and eaten. 

Kyle informs you that most of what they’ve caught are bluegills, and you’re impressed at their flaky texture and tangy flavor. They’re not like the fish you’re used to the local anglers back in Penmosa catching, though you doubt you’ve ever eaten any fish this fresh in your life. You pick at the flesh with your fingers and shove bite after bite onto your tongue. It melts. Rich oils disperse along your tastebuds, and you find yourself humming, content. 

“Can’t wait to get to Grand Hollow,” Soap muses halfway through lunch.

“You’re just thinking about Lottie’s food, aren’t you?” Kyle teases. 

“Might be,” Soap grins. He lets the comment sit for a moment before he’s tilting his head. “I bet I know what you’re thinking about.” 

Unconvinced, he raises a brow. “Oh?” 

“Don’t play dumb, Garrick. It’s written all over your face. You’re excited to get back to Sofia, aren’t you?” 

Kyle attempts to retort, but the moment he opens his mouth it snaps back shut again. Chewing on the inside of his tongue, he shoves a bite of bluegill past his lips before palming at the back of his neck. 

“Aye, look at him, all bashful like a school boy,” Soap says with a roaring laugh. 

Innocently blinking back and forth between the two men, you wiggle your toes as the fire roasts them. “Who’s Sofia?” 

“Oh, just some girl he’s sweet on,” Soap says flippantly. 

“I am not,” Kyle defends. 

“Sure, it’s why you always wander off to the bakery while we’re there—because you’re not sweet on her.” 

The two men bicker back and forth for a short while, leaving you to giggle and titter while you toss aside cleaned bones and stray scales. While they take turns stabbing each other with words, you find your mind wandering as the fire captures your attention. 

Grand Hollow. The Twin Rose. 

It’s on the way to Blackpeak, which is where we’re headed. 

“So, after we’re done in Grand Hollow, what do you guys plan to do in Blackpeak?” 

Your question reverberates like a gunshot. It silences the four men around you, and yet none of their eyes dart to you. Riley pokes at the fire with a twig, Soap and Kyle continue to eat—but John looks at you with a hum as he shoves his thumb in his mouth to suck it clean. 

“There’s nothing for you in Blackpeak. You’re staying in Grand Hollow,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Well, I know that. But when we first met, you said that you all were headed there, and I guess I’m just curious as to why you would want to go to a place where the law wants you,” you explain cautiously. “At least, that’s what Mr. Beckett said… that you’re wanted in Blackpeak.” 

John’s tongue swipes along the front of his teeth; you can see the way it moves his lips as they prod against them. “Well, that’s none of your business, now is it, sweetheart?” 

His blatantly sharp tone kills the curiosity in your heart, and you find yourself huffing. Shame should be poking at your heart, but for once you feel nothing of the sort. “I suppose you’re right. Nothing you do concerns me at all, John Price.” 

After you’re finished with lunch, your small, makeshift camp is quickly swept away so that everyone can hit the road again. Jester still dislikes walking through overgrown bushes (despite the obnoxiously tall legs he has to carry himself with) but you fare better exiting than you did entering. 

The next three days are grueling. It consists of nothing but early mornings, and late evenings, with short breaks to eat in between. Jester’s saddle rubs the insides of your thighs until you’re sore, and you find angry welts building on the tender skin. The thin cotton of your pantalets offers little comfort compared to the men’s jeans and riding gear, and by the second day you find yourself so desperate that you place a blanket over the saddle to try to comfort your angry skin. It does little—if anything at all—but you tell yourself it’s better than nothing. 

Everyone is quiet for the most part as you wander along the trail, except for short conversations every now and then. Sometime’s Soap will hum a song in a language that sounds old and dead, but otherwise everyone leaves the talking to the coyotes. 

Your mind does plenty of talking, though. Ideas and lost conversations weave through your brain as you stare at the dusty road ahead. You think of your father and the last supper you had together; you think of the moon; but mostly, you think of John. 

It’s uncomfortable to admit how often you think of him—how his words echo in your mind as if your skull is a cavern made only to repeat what you hate to hear. You think of his words at the lake, and his vagarious behavior. In one moment, you’ll have the wolf nudging at the palm of your hand to lap at you with wet tongue—the next, he’s nipping at your wrist as if you struck him. 

In the end, you always seem to recall the scars that dance along his spine. The way they sprawl out like limbs on a tree along his back, slicing through his shoulders and along his flank. Every now and then, you’ll catch him pawing at the back of his neck, and you’ll see pink, raised skin peek out from above the collar of his shirt. A part of you expected them to fade since the last time you saw them in that abandoned barn. 

They’ve done no such thing. 

In the early morning on day four, you notice the path you travel grows more firm. Fixed with wooden boards, or even stone in some cases, there are less tree roots for Jester to trample over and no rocks for him to get stuck in his hooves. There are countless small towns that you quickly blow through, but John doesn’t seem to care about stopping at any of them despite your voiced discomfort. 

You quickly learn why that is as lamp posts begin to line your path as your trail slowly morphs into a proper road. It’s wider than any other you’ve ever seen, and your eye catches carriages for both transport and luxury being pulled by large, shire horses. You take note of strangers with well kept suits and women with dresses larger than you’ve ever seen with frilly hats to match. 

Just as you open your mouth to ask where you’re at, you see it. It looms just up the road on a big oak board adorned with paint and the neatest script you’ve ever seen. 

Welcome to Grand Hollow the Golden Heart of the United States

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | early access to chapters here

[tubborucho]

Watermunch (and Badboyhalo) – Just let me be selfish, possessive; I don't know how to be anything else

taglist: @smallz-o @salineroses-two-point-oh @animator-vs-animation @deadfishisyeq @snyland @missstrawberry @frubbotoxicyuri @haloberry @thecardboardbutterfly @avianchorus @qtubbo @an-egghead @codaattheend @mikaikaika @radio-zephyr @routeriver @luminouslotuses @lilpaa

dm me if you want in or out of taglist

credits:

1. https://pin.it/4JmQ2acB9

2. https://pin.it/7iZtaIn4c

3. https://pin.it/5LzdEOgr3

4. Henry Miller, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller 1932-1953

5. https://pin.it/6TEmM2jEv

6. Phoebe Bridgers – I Know The End

7. They Might Be Giants – Kiss Me, Son of God

8. The National – Val Jester

9. "Making It Newer" Reeve F.D.

10. "Deathless" Catherynne M. Valente

11. Savage Garden – I Knew I Loved You

12. https://pin.it/5bcvsAD0m

13. https://www.interviewmagazine.com/film/claire-denis-is-in-no-rush-to-make-films-for-you-high-life

14. https://pin.it/5w1msnhbj

[raynecx-0o]

Okay, Tumblr family tree

@ilovewomen--8 adopted me so parent hooray

@angry-oil-slick11 and @violetscowgirl are my siblings (not adopted by zephyr as far as I know)

I am married to @elayathenerd (well, dating lol)

I have adopted you, @yourworstamericangirrl @ning-ningx300 @kikidoesthings @bambienthralled @unt1ed-sh0el4ces @strangesunny (it won’t let me tag them due to their permissions) @glitchheart1828 @ender-afton @giverofdonuts @tiredutaitenerd935 @ceciliacipriani and @lesbianadhdchaos

In laws are @zayzay250 and @ivorykiram (Vern is dating Jester and Zari has platonically married Val)

That’s everyone as far as I know, I’m probably forgetting some people

Awesome sauce ty

[dragonsarecats38]

Hounds get too use to advanced mechs.

Really. Sometimes Handlers just need to throw their hounds back in the tin can with jets and a machine gun. The hounds will still do as their told. Any disassociation with not feeling their usual neural interface is just a skill issue...

~My Loyal Hound / Chapter excerpt~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/60985282/chapters/155794648

===============================================

The Jester-Class may have been slower, but it had its advantages. Caitlyn aimed, then pressed the trigger. The side-mounted machine gun roared to life, sending rounds into the Zephyr's frame. The mech exploded in a burst of fire and debris, disintegrating almost instantly. 

A void started to pull at Caitlyn’s chest. Where she could once feel the powerful push of Lysithia’s thrusters though her muscles, now there was only emptiness. There was no light pulse flowing under her from the power core and warmth through her arms after firing never came. Just a phantom of what should've been Lysithia and the migraine that now pained her head.

“First one down,” Caitlyn murmured, her eyes already searching for the next target. She could hear Handler Crane’s approving silence over the comms, but Caitlyn knew better than to expect praise. “Nice shot. Keep moving. The Titans are on their way.” She lingered through statics on the comms for a moment. “X38, status report. I’m seeing fluctuations in brain activity from your suit… Migraines again?”

She could only let out a muffled grunt in response, her head was throbbing as she pushed the Jester-Class forward, its heavy footsteps causing the ground to tremble slightly.

================================================

[voidplume-vane]

Headcanon Questions - Operator Version

via @thefreefencer's original post!

Words beneath the cut!

1. Who is your Operator? Did they leave their old name behind and picked something more appropriate for themselves?

The Operator is Abi (AH-bee, Obby) - her name is a small remnant of whoever she was aboard the Zariman Ten-Zero. She cradles it close to her chest. 

2. During the Old War, what were they and what was the Warframe they were assigned to?

She was assigned to an Orokin executor - to protect, to entertain, equal parts hound and jester. Mirage was the vessel best suited to her ends and the frame she wore most, with Zephyr or Volt as common alternatives.

3. Which Tenno school defines your Operator and why?

Naramon. Ye olde ‘knowledge is power’ schtick, but it has its uses! Mapping her enemies' nervous systems is the worst part. Everything else comes together real quick, after that.

4. Did they have friends or close relationships with any other Tenno?

She had a few close friends before the Fall. Partners in mischief, siblings in trauma. She remembers them as fruit, sunlight, laughter. Their names and faces wisp at the fringes of her memory but she keeps their moments fondly.

5. What role did they play during the Tenno Insurrection against the Orokin?

"When the ninth beat rang a torrent of blood filled the stadium, loosed by Tenno blades." Hers were among the first to bite deep, twin blades carving a ghastly smile across her master’s throat. There was no enthusiasm in the doing, only a solemn focus. She remained by their side until they grew cold - it did not take long, the Golden Lords were not known for their warmth - then left without further ceremony to visit death upon The Rest.

6. Why did your Tenno go into the Second Dream?

Because Lotus asked.

7. What is your Operator's Warframe of choice and why?

High-mobility frames are preferred overall, most often her Volt. There’s a yearning for motion, an adrenaline hunger she shares with the frame’s lingering ego; through much trial and error (and some Helminth experimentation) she’s found a balance that sates both their appetites. She’s not opposed to other Warframes if the situation calls for nuance, but if she gets to choose, she chooses Volt.

8. Do they side with any of the Faction Syndicates like Steel Meridian/New Loka/etc?

Her Post-New War activities have her aligned with Solaris United. An earlier Abi would have avoided the pull to root herself so deeply in one place, but Venus is the nest she returns to these days. There’s something akin to family, there.

9. How different are they from the Drifter?

As different as two sides of a coin, a sun and its reflection, a moon and its shadow. One is a child, numbed by a thousand thousand deaths. The other is a starseed, honed on the violence of passing time. The Operator is the firm back of a hand, Drifter is a open palm. 

10. How does your Operator see your Drifter?

Drifter is an estranged sibling, a long-lost childhood friend. Abi loves them. She's fascinated by their differences, yet they’re the only one who (possibly, probably, maybe) remembers what it was like Before All This. There’s a familial comfort in that.

There are rare moments when Drifter is the one who got off easy, who lived in a storybook while Abi was passed holster to holster, the one who saved the day when Abi could not. An underdeveloped child who filled the shoes of a war machine. The whispers are insidious and often cut deep, but she doesn’t let them fester. Abi loves the Drifter.

[timetoprey]

Quick Jester Zephyr doodle <3

Au where she works for mammon or something .

[husk-not-whiskers]

*two demons walked up to the bar, one was wearing a spacesuit, the glass on the face was cracked, but his face wasn't visible.*

"hi!..could i get uhmmm...an auhhmmm....."

*the second demon spoke up, he had an outfit that was like a jester's kind of.*

"i'll take a whiskey and my friend here will just take the lightest thing ya got, he's never had any drinks before."

@callysto-and-zephyr

“Just a standard beer then?” He asks as he turns around to grab some whiskey

[thejesterofmoths]

Hey, look, I drew my halfelves, and then drew Zaiden again because he doesn't get attention. Tumblr likes sadbois, right? Lol (Jester and Zephyr are the left and right ones too lol)

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Six: peel

tw: man handling, corset ripping (sorta), non-con undressing, john price has anger issues

The sun is kinder today than it was yesterday. 

Brooding clouds blanket the sky with dynamic shades of grey, blocking out the unforgiving golden rays that would otherwise beat against the back of your neck. A kind zephyr plays with the hem of your dress as you trot along the path behind Soap. The wind toys with his hair—that odd shaped cut that still reminds you of a horse’s rear—and you watch him grumble and huff as his fingers intermittently attempt to smooth the strands down. 

Your horse whinnies and huffs beneath you, prompting you to lean forward and give him a few pats on his flank. Though, you suppose this isn’t your horse. Not truly, anyway. He still belongs to that stranger whose corpse now feeds God’s lesser creatures in the midst of some field. You wonder what his name is. Would a man who was capable of diminishing you into nothing but meat even bother naming a creature at all? 

“Kyle?” you call. 

You hear the dull thud of horse’s hooves behind you temporarily quicken before slowing back to a leisurely gallop. “Yeah?” 

“What do you suppose would be a good name for him?” you ask. 

“For the horse?” 

“Yes. It feels cruel not giving him a name,” you explain. “I keep thinking of him as nothing but the horse in my mind.” 

Kyle sits in thought for a moment as he tugs on the collar of his shirt. The first button comes loose, exposing his sternum. Huffing, he looks down at himself and shakes his head before ignoring it. 

“Well, I’m always fond of animal names,” he shares. 

“Animal names?” you repeat. 

“Yeah. Like Bear, here. I reckon yours looks like a Goat to me,” Kyle humors. 

“Goat? I’m not calling him Goat, that just feels… cruel.” 

He shrugs but is unable to hide the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth. “You could always name him Jester after his previous owner.” 

Jaw falling slack, your scoff escapes you before you’re able to smother it. “Now that is especially merciless.” 

“Rather funny, if you think about it.” 

“I don’t want to think about it.” 

Stentorian rolling thunder suddenly erupts in the distance, and your horse—who you now cannot stop thinking of as Jester—shivers as he perks his head up. Squinting, you focus your eyes on the horizon as clouds billow in the distance with lightning that cracks across the sky as if it’s trying to illuminate Heaven’s basement. There’s a stark contrast between the viridian earth and the darkness of the sky that makes the world suddenly feel ten times larger. The wind picks up and it’s cool enough to have your skin perking with goosebumps. Even Kyle seems uncomfortable as he adjusts his hat to sit lower on his brow. 

“You got a poncho in that carpet bag of yours, Lamb?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t have one… I think Riley packed my coat but…” 

“You should put it on,” he warns. “I think we’re about to have a lovely shower.” 

The rain begins just as you shoulder your coat over your torso. It begins as a soft drizzle—nothing but small spackles of spit that hit the crown of your head and the back of your hands as you grip the reins. Jester’s skin twitches with each drop that hits him, but he follows along the trail even as it morphs into sloshing mud. 

The lowering countryside only darkens as the storm progresses from a summer squall to a full blown tempest. Sheets of deluge pelt the earth and you along with it, and while your coat offers some reprieve at first, it very quickly becomes overwhelmed as every stitch and fibre soaks up the moisture. Now, it sits heavier than sin upon your shoulders and back as you keep your head bowed to protect your eyes from the oncoming precipitation. 

Thunder cracks louder than a gun and twice as angry as your father while lightning spears through the sky in the distance. It fractures the clouds like the broken shards of a mirror, and temporarily leaves you blind. Your cracked knuckles revel in the cold water soaking your skin, but you find the joints in your fingers going stiff. You can’t see a single thing through the brume. Mist hangs so thick in the air that you’re not sure if you’re even still above water. 

“Aye, pishin' it doon out here!” Soap barks over the clamor. He’s placed a hat on his head to protect his face from the storm, but you can still see the way his hair peeks out, completely soaked. 

“How far is Little Wood from here?” Kyle calls out. 

John is quiet for a moment as he assesses the road ahead. “Too far to count on.” 

“Is there anywhere closer? I can’t see shit out here,” Soap asks. 

“We’d sooner freeze to death before making it to any town,” Riley grumbles. 

Kyle hisses through his teeth. “Well we can’t camp here! We’re too exposed!” 

The next crack of thunder sends your shoulders stiffening before every muscle in your body starts to twitch. Skin tensing and jaw chattering, you try to keep your sniffling to a minimum as the men deliberate your options. You can’t recall a time that the summer has ever felt so frigid before. Yet now, soaked to the bone, you fear your fingers may fall off from your palms as nothing more than stumps. Between the rain cooling your skin, and the wind biting into your flesh, you’re certain you’ll be dead come morning. 

“Riley!” John shouts, seemingly deciding on a course of action. “I want you to ride east of here. Soap, you go west. Ten minutes, yeah? Any trees, any structures, you find it and report back.” 

Neither men speak a word before they nod and speed off in separate directions. John’s horse trots closer to you, but you still can’t raise your head as the rain continues to pelt you. You attempt to pull your coat closer to your body. It squelches as water rings free from the fabric. 

“How are we doing, Lamb?” John asks, his voice a surprisingly sharp susurrus that cuts through the pitter-patter of rain. 

“I’m fine,” you say, consonants interrupted by your chattering teeth. 

“We’ll get you someplace warm,” he assures. “And we’ll invest in a hat for you eventually…” 

Riley and Soap return a few minutes later. While Riley’s search bore no fruit, Soap rambles on about some old abandoned farmland hidden just over the ridge to the left of the trail. Everyone concurs immediately, and you find Jester galloping after the others while Soap leads the way. You pray the horse knows what he’s doing—you’re blindly believing in him while your eyes are useless through the storm. 

As you come along the edge of the property, you quickly notice that several old fallen pine trees have made the farmhouse useless, but the vacant barn is still mostly intact. The doors open and close just fine to protect from the algid wind, and while the small hole in the roof would be troublesome to a farmer, Kyle notes how it’ll make perfect ventilation to light a fire inside without inadvertently suffocating everyone. Old straw and rotting hay lines the back wall, but the horses hardly seem to mind as they nuzzle through the dry bedding. 

Once everyone is inside, John shuts the doors behind him, darkening the barn. The shadows don’t persist for too long before both him and Riley light a fire from old paneling. Flames burst to life, and it’s only then that you feel you’re able to breathe a sigh of relief through your clacking teeth. 

“Alright everyone,” John says as he stands. He removes his hat from his head—his hair is surprisingly dry—and flicks the moisture from the brim before glancing at everyone. “Get warm. Get dry. We’ll rest here until this shit blows over.” 

No one argues. Everyone begins removing their layers where they wring them out to dry in some far corner. Riley even removes the mask on his face—that black bandana that always seems to obscure him—and you find yourself gawking at the sight of him. Scarred, crooked nose, and thin lips. He looks more normal than you had anticipated for a man as secretive as him, yet the moment his eyes find you, you decide to concern yourself with your own situation instead. 

Numb, trembling fingers have difficulty undoing the buttons on your coat, yet you slowly begin to manage. One by one, they pop free from their facets and you slip it from your shoulders as best as you can manage as it clings to the fabric of your overdress. Once you’re free of it, you wring out the moisture that plagues it before adding it to the makeshift rack that Kyle set up on the left wall. 

Still shivering, you slowly begin to waddle towards the fire John tends as he adds larger and larger pieces of wood to feed the flames. They devour it with excited fingers as the blaze opens its maw and swallows it whole, leaving behind sparks that sputter into the air where they dance and die into nothing more than just a memory. 

Just as your feet begin to skirt the warmth of the fire, John’s eyes lock onto you. Huffing, he pokes at the logs on the fire with a stick. “Thought I told you to get dry.” 

Your brows furrow, you gesture to the blaze. “I’m working on it.” 

Shaking his head, John wipes stray moisture off of his face. “Not wearing that.  You’ll freeze if you keep that on.” 

“But all my other clothes are wet, and I’m not… I’m not going to wear just my chemise,” you argue. 

Though John is crouched down, his aura is foreboding. A strange callosity fogs up the azure hue of his eyes as he tilts his head in thought, gaze lowering to the way rainwater drips from the skirt of your dress. Then, he stands, and suddenly he is a towering, immovable beast. 

“I’m not asking, sweetheart,” he says sternly. 

Though you’re soaked to the bone, your mouth suddenly grows sere. “I-It’s not proper,” you argue. “Being like that in front of men—in front of all of you. My daddy he- he would…” 

Words fail you as your father’s old soliloquies invade your mind. Purity—virtue—chastity. You’ve seen the way he looks at the prostitutes who manage to sneak their way into town. Scandalized and bitter, he would always berate them unabashed. Scantily clad whores fucking out of wedlock and using their bodies for sin. 

Dress pure. Stay covered. 

John’s hands gesture to the dilapidated barn around him. “Daddy isn’t here right now, is he?”

Save yourself for your husband, should one ever marry a tragedy such as yourself. 

“I’ll be fine like this,” you insist. 

“You’re shivering out of your damn skin,” John retorts as he steps around the fire. “If you stay wet, you’ll be a corpse come morning. Now come, let’s get this off.” 

His hand hardly brushes your arm before you’re shouldering him away, and the way he raises his eyebrow and tilts his head down has you regretting your actions. He is not kind to you when he places his hands on you once more. Fingers digging into your waist, he forces your body to spin as he faces you away from him. Flailing arms attempt to reach behind you to push him away, and when that doesn’t work you twist, but he huffs and pulls you against him as he tugs on the lacing of your corset. 

“Stop it!” you shriek. “John Price, get your hands off of me!”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself because you’re being a prude,” he growls. As he works on ripping your clothes apart, you feel everything loosen. Your corset, your overdress—all of it. You attempt to hold up your overdress, but John rips it from your hands as he forces it down over your hips; you feel your skin scream as he inadvertently pinches the flesh of your thighs. “I told you I’d get you to Grand Hollow, so like it or not, you’re cargo now, sweetheart.” 

Raging against him, you step forward only to trip on the skirt of your dress. Someone chuckles as you fall into soft straw bedding with only your hands to catch you, but you try to push it out of your mind as John follows you, sinking to his knees before you as you twist on your back. He tugs the rest of your over-dress down your legs before tossing it to the side and then working on your shoes and stockings. You don’t even bother to kick or fight against him as he peels you, revealing all the layers you wish he wouldn’t. 

Panting, John sits back on his haunches with one of your stockings still in hand. You’re now bare before him, donning nothing but your chemise and pantalettes. You can do nothing but wipe frustrated tears off your cheeks as he stares down at you. “You are the most headache-inducing cargo I’ve ever had the misfortune of traveling with,” he says with a sigh—you can scarcely tell if he’s joking or not. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows as more tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes, obscuring your vision as if you’re still in the tempest outside. “If I’m such a nuisance, then why’d you even help me!” you wail. “I know it’s not out of the kindness of your own heart!” 

Silence stretches between you and John as the rain continues to beat against the roof of the barn. You wonder how you got here—how you went from shooting a rifle with him this morning, to now screaming at him half naked next to a campfire while his posse watches on with curious eyes and poorly-hidden smirks. 

Despite the malice on his tongue, John looks at you softly. His face relaxes as his eyes study you, inspecting every inch of your face until he traverses lower. When he reaches your breasts, you watch as his pupils dilate and swallow the blue of his eyes until there’s nearly nothing left. Self conscious fingers rests on your chest where they brush against the fragile chain of your necklace. 

John’s eyes lock onto the shimmering jewelry as the campfire bathes you in amber light. Eyes narrowing, you clutch the cross charm in your palm, hiding it from his view. 

The moment it’s out of sight, John huffs before he pushes himself back up to his feet with a grunt. Keeping eye contact, he gathers your shapeless dress from the ground before turning his back and meandering to where your coat is hanging with everyone else’s clothes. 

“Garrick, get Lamb a blanket,” he murmurs. “I’m not keen on letting her freeze.” 

You spend the evening swaddled in a cotton blanket perched next to the campfire as you try to save your last shred of decency. Even the men shed their layers, opting to lounge in their undergarments to keep their legs covered, yet unabashedly show the bare skin of their chests. Riley has more scars than you can count with thick keloids dotting along his chest and arms, and you notice a fair bit of tattoos that you’d never caught on to before. Kyle falls asleep almost immediately as he lays on his stomach next to the fire like a purring cat, and Soap nods off half naked by Riley’s side. 

The only person who keeps their sopping wet clothes on is John. You watch him as he eats, grey shirt clinging to every inch of his torso as if it’s a second skin. When he catches you glaring at him, he greets you with a smile as he continues to chew on his supper. 

If you were braver, you’d mutter the word hypocrite under your breath. 

Later, you’re lulled to sleep by the raindrops beating against the roof and Riley’s soft snoring from across the campfire. This is perhaps the coziest you’ve felt since you left home, despite your rather unfortunate change in wardrobe (or lack thereof). Nestled in a bed of straw, cocooned in a blanket—you don’t think people often get this type of luxury when traveling. Not that you’d consider having your clothes ripped off something to be envied; even in your slumber you find yourself still upset with John Price. 

In your dreams, you’re braver. Stronger. You’ve got a silver tongue that’s as sharp as a knife yet as pretty as a songbird. There’s been countless dreams where you’ve brought your father to his knees instead of the other way around—you do not make him bleed, but you do make him beg. 

Yet, with John Price, you find yourself stunned. That piercing blue of his eyes cuts through your dreamscape as if it’s nothing but the soft mud at your feet, and you find yourself tongue tied. 

When morning comes, you’re roused by rustling. The relentless downpour must have ceased sometime in the night because it’s eerily silent as your eyes flutter open, still laying on your side. Quiet sunlight peeks through the hole in the roof on the far side of the barn, cutting through the air to illuminate the figure hunched over the fire. 

Broad shoulders face you as they curve and rummage through ash, sending sparks flying as more wood is added to feed the dying embers. Thick muscles line straight along a strong spine, and you watch how they contract with movement. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man like this—you don’t think you like the feeling that twists in your stomach at the sight. It burrows, boiling hot into your abdomen before fluttering lower and lower. 

The feeling vanishes when your groggy brain makes sense of the discoloration on his skin. 

They’re scars, you realize. Long, puffy scars that dissect the muscles of that strong back. They’re akin to a bear’s favorite scratching tree—nothing but angry pink lines that desecrate the skin of another human being. Then, there’s smaller scars. Circular holes that dot along fat scapulas and the back of his neck. You swallow the way your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of such violence, even if it’s now only a memory of scar tissue and keloids.  

Each slash was made with unbridled, virulent enjoyment. 

As if feeling your gaze, John Price glances over his shoulder to look at you. While the dawn’s glory illuminates him as if he’s an angel, his dull eyes scream that he’s anything but. He is haunted by nameless ghosts, and you’ve just witnessed the apparition for yourself. 

“Go back to sleep, little lamb,” he murmurs. His voice is soft as he returns his attention back to the fire before him. “There’s still time to rest.”

Mouth having gone dry, you stare at him for a moment longer before pulling your blanket closer to your chin. “You ought to do the same.” 

John scoffs. “You sound like my mum.” 

“You look tired.” 

“Been dealing with naughty animals,” he goads. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “I don’t mean to… be difficult.” 

Sighing, John places one more expertly placed piece of wood onto the fire before his body twists to hide his scars from you. He’s sitting now, fully facing you. Dark curls of sparse hair cover his chest where it trails down through the softness of his stomach, and then lower. With one leg bent and his arm resting on his knee, he offers you the softest smile he can muster. 

“You’re not difficult,” he assures. “I’m just not a good man. Not a very patient one, either.” 

Humming, you think for a moment. “I just still don’t know if what I did was right… leaving, I mean. I’m scared all the time, and I think it makes me do stupid things.” 

“You did the right thing,” he says earnestly. “Leaving isn’t easy, but your life will be better in Grand Hollow, I’ll make sure of it. Trust me, Lamb, your daddy isn’t missing you, and you shouldn’t miss him, either. He’s just missing the control he had over you.” 

Bottom lip trembling, you nod at his words before nuzzling further into your makeshift bed. John sighs once more before leaning forward. His fingers brush against the exposed skin of your shoulders as he draws your blanket higher up—he’s warm. Warm like a kiss to the crown of a head.

“Don’t think about it too hard, love,” he shushes. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

John leaves you to rest after that. His feet are soft through the barn as he tests the dryness of the clothes hanging up on the left wall, but your brain pushes out the noise. With your eyes closed, you still think of him: the scars on his back, the warmth of his fingers, the comfort of his voice. For a moment, you think you might be going insane as that odd burn returns to plague your stomach, but it’s quickly washed away as the fire crackling next to you lulls you back to sleep.

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[iheartbadd]

Please watch Zephyr the Jester’s Ace Attorney let’s plays, dude’s my favorite AA let’s player. He goes in fully blind and has great reactions to everything and is funny af. Making this post here/now bc he just hit meeting Tyrell Badd in AAI2 and continues to be a True Badd Lover™️ as certified by this blog 

[riveramorylunar]

Original Characters:

The Wishbones -

Xander Wishbone, Alison Montgomery, Everly Duke, Piper Richmond, Annabelle Finley, Luca Daisie, Alice Wonder, Cassandra Zephyr, Bradyn Eryx, Arin Priestly, Chandler Luna, Lorelei Juniper, Cameron Emerson, Solaris Ellington, Jupiter Lexington & Rosalie Fallon

Bounded To The Royals Of Hell -

Bradyn Eryx, Arin Priestly, Chandler Luna, Lorelei Juniper, Lorelei Juniper,

The Art Professor -

Viktoria Alaric, Selene Kennedy,Amira Lyric, Esperanza Joyce, Anastasia Vivian, Rhianna Vasquez, Leslie Rosemary, Kassandra Ramirez, Monique Castillo, Esther Knox, Delilah Flores, Rebekah Dalton, Sabrina Delcruz, Kiersten Estrada & Harmony Cortez

Daughter Of The Little Mermaid -

Lenore DeVille, Skadi Frost, Blythe Heart, Dawn Solaris(Sun Goddess), Astraea Callisto(Moon Goddess), Sparky Jester[Jester/Clown], Everly, Zyrsa, Ilora & Aldith

The Culinary Professor -

Valeriya Koroleva

The Music Professor -

Cyinthia Sanderson

Lost Warriors Of Elysium -

Hailey Freya, Candace Brooke, Everleigh Kinsley, Aria Kinsley

Other Characters -

Blake Peirce, Raven Sokolov, Logan Silva, Jade Antoniov, Jess Novikov(AFAB), Jennifer Belair, Charlotte Alavi, Comet Ivanova, Cedar Sokolov, Ren Belov, Victoria Harris, Kira Petrov, Amelia Belfiore, Eleanor Ashmore, Addison Petrov, Amari Queen, Harley James, Emilia Madison, Thora Stein, Esmeray Daring, Lilian Ginger, Evelyn Beauty, Clover Sable, Skylin Iverson, Haven Moonstone, Spencer Shadow

Marvel Original Characters -

Alexander Sable, Billie Sinclair, Rosalie Dawson, Mercury Salem Storm[Venom Spider](AFAB), Remy Jules Storm[Shadow Spider](AFAB), Gemini Belova [Frost Widow], Constantine Titan Evermore [Deadpool](AFAB) & Esmeray Natasha Dawn[Moonknight](AFAB)

Dc Original Characters -

Amethyst Luthor Zor-el, Angela Trevor Prince & Raven Knight Kane

Monster High Original Characters -

Ebony Sage, Shiloh Casper, Everest Talon & Aspen Red

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

A/N: More will be added at some point

[paranormalmothman]

uhh Dib i think we have another red-texted character coming

(i figured since Zephyr's here I should most likely bring in red jester guy)

as long as they don’t hate me and aren’t evil, It’s all good!

[eternityhistoria]

I AM GETTING FLASHBACKS LMFAO. the 2021s WERE FUCKING CRAZY. ; we were all over zephyr and jester MAN we do not fuck around.