#he was trying his darndest

[impsandstars]

I wonder if Blitz’s quirky way of saying hello was something he did every time he hopped over the balcony during their full moon rendezvous. He sounds happy; no “alright let’s get this over with”. It probably made Stolas’s heart flutter a little every time he heard it, not only because it was Blitz but because he sounded excited to be there. Unfortunately in canon we only get this from Blitz on two of the saddest episodes…

[skyloftian-nutcase]

age of calamity prompt: mipha and link post water & fire mission? 👀

With all his strength, training, and the benefits of youth, there were few times Link truly ever felt absolutely exhausted. It had happened far more frequently in the last year, what with all the monster attacks making everyone feel like they were in all out war.

But now that war had actually arrived, Link learned a new level of exhaustion, born from a worry so deep in his heart and soul that he didn’t even know what to do with it.

When Ganon had taken control of all the technology they’d worked so hard to learn and utilize, it had been such a defilement that Link’s blood had boiled with rage while his heart froze with fear. His, Zelda’s, and Impa’s determination helped them push through, of course, and he’d hardly had time to truly register any of his emotions once they’d started moving once more.

He remembered the heart stopping terror as the initial realization hit him though. He remembered feeling his breath utterly stolen away in a dread, a knowledge that the capital was falling, he and Zelda were in danger, his family was in danger, the Champions were trapped—that Mipha was trapped, and, for one moment, he thought he was absolutely powerless to do anything about it.

But he wasn’t powerless. They’d gotten there in time, they’d saved Mipha.

But it had been close. Hylia, it had been close. She’d looked absolutely exhausted - if it hadn’t been for Terrako’s magic, for that man—Sidon, he reminded himself, marveling at how the little fledgling could turn into such a massive Zora—then Mipha would have… would have…

She’d barely had the words to even acknowledge him when he’d finally gotten there. And he’d had to rush off to save Daruk as well.

Now that all the Champions were safe, Link felt himself on the verge of collapse. Zelda was trying to rest, instead worrying and mourning. Link felt awful for her - despite all the lives they’d saved, after all, she’d still lost her father. Link’s own father had barely escaped Castle Town and was recovering.

But now their friends were together once more, Divine Beasts ready for a counterattack. They were all impatient to do so much, to fight back now, even Link, willing to push through his exhaustion and end this.

There was no way they could fight right at this moment, though. Even Link couldn’t. But what he did want to do was check on Mipha. He’d been with Zelda, trying to keep her company, and with his father, but his heart was aching and worrying for the Zora princess as well.

After all she was… she was his friend.

Goddess, he couldn’t really lie to himself anymore. She was far more than a friend to him, and he’d almost lost her.

Link dragged his feet towards the palace. Of the four locations they’d helped free from Ganon’s hold, Zora’s Domain was the most fortified and therefore the safest, so it is where the majority of them were staying to recover until they could plan things out better in the morning. Mipha had been whisked away by her people upon exiting Van Ruta, and Link hadn’t seen her since.

He was allowed easy access to the palace, having visited Mipha multiple times and befriended her family (or, really, King Dorephan had essentially adopted him, he was so charismatically extroverted). The older Prince Sidon was excitedly talking to the king, missing Link entirely for he moment and giving him a chance to sneak into Mipha’s room.

He knocked, clearing his throat nervously (he wanted to see her, genuinely, but going to her bedroom seemed… inappropriate). Initially he heard nothing, and he worried a little more, cracking the door and calling her name softly. Silence was the answer, and he finally peeked around the door to see an empty room.

Where was she? Her family wasn’t distressed at all, so she couldn’t be in worse shape than he thought, right? Did they even know she wasn’t in here?

Link walked into the room quietly, closing the door behind him, examining everything. Mipha’s jewelry was on her little vanity - she always wore it when she went out, unless…

The one time Link saw her without her jewelry was when they’d agreed to sneak out at night - she’d commented that at the least, the headdress was too noisy for such a venture.

Wait. Surely she didn’t…

Narrowing his eyes, Link moved towards the window by the shallow waters where she likely rested. Looking out, he could just make out the area they’d designated for triaging the injured.

He had a funny feeling he knew where she was. Link climbed out of the window, crawling along the side of the palace so he could avoid scrutiny, and then hastily made his way back to the medical encampment. He saw a flesh of red, and he followed it to…

His father’s bed. Where Mipha sat, hands glowing, slowly working on healing his wounds. For his part, Link’s father was fast asleep, having been just as exhausted as everyone else - it was why Link had gone to be with Zelda and comfort her, as he’d felt fairly useless hovering anxiously over the man.

Mipha seemed to notice the scrutiny and glanced up, jumping, startled. “Link!”

He was relieved to see her on her feet, so relieved. After their last encounter—goddess, she looked so much better.

But she was still tired. So, inevitably, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Why aren’t you resting?”

He wanted to kick himself. He should be thanking her for looking after his father, asking her how she’s feeling instead of just scolding her.

But he was scared, tired, and angry too - why didn’t Mipha ever let herself get a break?

The entire situation was crashing down on him, and he didn’t know wha to do with all the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t want to take them out on Mipha, though, so he tried to keep his mouth shut and was nearly mortified to instead feel his eyes stinging with tears of frustration.

The magic glowing over his father subsided, and Mipha hugged herself a little insecurely. “I… I’d already been unable to assist any of the other Champions. I was resting, Link, but when I saw so many injured coming in, I knew the others would need help.”

“You were unable to help because you’d almost died,” Link argued, his voice shaking. “Everyone almost died.”

Mipha swallowed, easily reading how close Link was to falling apart. She clearly was shaken as well—he could only imagine what it felt like to have been so close to death. He saw his friend bite her lip uncertainly, hands wringing in front of her. “T-they did. I… Link, I promised… I promised I’d protect you, and I almost failed.”

Link felt his breath get stolen away. She… he didn’t know what to say, only that he wanted to tell her over and over that this wasn’t somehow her fault.

“I knew,” Mipha continued quietly, and now her own voice shook. “I… I figured I would be the weakest Champion. I was prepared to die if it was to happen. But… I…”

Mipha sniffled, inhaling steadily to try and calm herself, closing her eyes. Link moved towards her in an instant, dragging her into a hug.

His mind and heart were screaming.

What kind of thing was that to say - I figured I would be the weakest Champion, was prepared to die—had Mipha truly expected not to survive the encounter with Ganon? Yet she’d pushed forward anyway, had promised to protect and heal Link—

He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to feel. He was horrified and terrified and felt so awful for her, he wanted to hold her for the rest of his life and tell her over and over that she had done nothing wrong, that she was an incredible fighter, that he would protect her. Mipha was trembling in his arms, crying quietly, finally letting her own stress out, and Link found himself crying too.

Words came forth before he knew what he was saying, genuine and raw and desperate to be heard. “I love you.”

Mipha’s sniffles turned to outright sobs, and she slid her arms around him. Link rested his head atop hers, cheek pressed against smooth scales, tears slowly sliding downward.

“Link, I—I’m s-sorry—”

Please don’t be.

“We’re at w-war—and I—”

“I know,” he whispered.

He let her cry for a while longer, he let himself cry. He was too drained to figure out how to proceed, to worry about protocol or anything of the sort. He just wanted to be with her, to comfort her and let her hold him in return. He wanted this nightmare to be over, and for a moment, it was just them.

As their tears slowed, the pair slowly, hesitantly pulled apart.

Mipha spoke first, trying to get a hold of herself. “Thank you… thank you for saving me on Vah Ruta.”

Goddess, did she even need to thank him for such a thing? He countered, “Thank you for healing me so many times, for always being there. I… Mipha, I’ll always protect you. I promise.”

Mipha watched him a moment, smiling as a blush stained her white cheeks red. She looked down at her hands, suddenly seeming to remember her usually far more shy nature. “Did… did you mean it…?”

Link blinked, confused. “Mean—why wouldn’t I mean—”

“O-oh, no!” Mipha interrupted, waving her hands. “I mean—I know you would protect me, Link, we’re friends after all, and you’re a Hero and—”

Oh. He knew what she was asking.

Of… of course he meant it. He’d just… been not addressing it. Because… well…

They’d been friends when they were children. And he’d liked her a lot then too. More than any of the other Zora. He was attracted to her kindness, her compassionate heart, her silliness and desire to help. Before his little mind and heart knew what such a love was, he already loved her. Now that they were both older, that feeling had matured, and…

Link swallowed, grabbing hold of his courage. “Yes. I meant it. I love you.”

His words derailed Mipha’s stuttered rambling. The silence gave him an opportunity to continue, saying, “You’re not weak. You gave that blight everything you had. You’re an excellent fighter.”

“Link…” she muttered, clearly unsure what to say, but then she giggled, bubbly and emotional as it was, her eyes glistening with tears. “I…”

Link suddenly felt insecure, suddenly felt like maybe he shouldn’t quite have said everything he had. But he’d… she deserved to be comforted, if nothing else. But maybe he shouldn’t have said…

“I love you too,” Mipha finally replied.

…Oh. Oh.

Oh.

Did he… did she… they…

She actually said it?!

Mipha having some sort of strong feelings for Link had been somewhat apparent for a little while now. Her tripping over herself around him had been downright endearing, honestly. But given that she’d never admitted it, Link had figured it was because it was entirely inappropriate, or that perhaps her feelings were not the same as his. But her—she actually—

He… he really wanted to kiss her. Instead, he just felt himself blush.

A heavy sigh resounded from behind them, and both teenagers nearly jumped out of their skin.

Whirling, they turned to see Abel staring at them under heavy lidded eyes, looking exhausted and exasperated at the same time.

“Papa!” Link gasped, rushing to his father’s side, and Mipha was quick on his heels. “Are you alright?”

“I’m about as well as you appear to be,” his father replied, and he could sense the judgment from the man. He sucked in a cheek and bit on it, sheepish at being called out, but it wasn’t as if he’d had a chance to rest quiet yet. He’d wanted to check on Mipha, and then all this had happened.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Abel, I didn’t finish healing your wounds,” Mipha hastily said, moving to the other side of the bed to get a better view.

“Your Highness, that’s unnecessary,” Abel waved her off as respectfully as he could in his state. “I appreciate your singular resolve to heal everyone - you are a good person, and a testament to the Zora’s compassion. But I… have a favor to ask of Your Highness, if you’ll allow me this.”

“Yes, of course,” Mipha nodded eagerly, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was an automatic gesture, born from a kind heart, always eager to soothe, even if it was a little odd for her to be doing it to the seasoned knight. “What is it?”

“Rest,” Abel replied. It was disguised as a request, kind and gentle, but there was the slightest heaviness to his tone, one that Link knew intimately. This was a command, in the only way that the quiet knight could offer to a princess far above his station.

Mipha swallowed, mirroring Link’s sheepish reaction, and let out a small laugh. “A-ah. Well. I—I suppose I could use a little more rest, but the others—perhaps I can do so after I help—”

“You would be disregarding my request, then, princess,” Abel noted carefully.

Mipha’s mouth snapped shut. Link almost laughed - his father got her.

He’d have to remember that trick

Sighing heavily in defeat, Mipha bowed her head. “Well, I—yes. I’ll just—I’ll go back to the palace, then. Sir Abel, I—I’m sorry I wasn’t able to heal you fully before I go, but I—”

“Mipha,” Link interrupted pleadingly. “Please, don’t be sorry. You’ve done more than enough, I promise.”

His dear friend watched him before smiling gently, genuinely, lovingly. He smiled back at her, heart warming. They exchanged a quiet promise to continue their conversation later, and Mipha excused herself.

Abel sighed heavily again. Link glanced at him, worried. “Papa?”

“You two are ridiculous,” his father grumbled. “If Tilieth had been just as shy as me, you would have never been born.”

Link felt his cheeks scald with heat. “P-Papa!”

His father didn’t comment further, respecting his privacy, but he did yank him into a hug, holding him hostage in the bed with him until the Hero of Hyrule settled in his embrace. Zora’s Domain quieted as evening came, and everyone settled in to rest for the war to come.

Despite the dread hanging in the air, Link smiled, feeling lighter than he had in ages, heart full as Mipha’s words repeated in his mind, as he was safe in his father’s embrace.

I love you too.

[yuwuta]

i hope they cut yuuta’s screen time in s3 and make him look crunchy he does not need to become any more popular

[hoarding-stories]

I think I figured it out. I know what I have to do with this knife! I have to put it into a body. I have to put it into a body over and over, until everything comes out.

I can't say I'm surprised at this outcome, but the framing of all this is really funny

[rosemarytrash]

i think i'm streaming?? i have no idea. potentially come hang out with me (if i'm doing it right)

[trainer-ace]

ACE-DEX ENTRY: Jolteon

JOLTEON- THE LIGHTNING POKÉMON

Electric type, FAST!

Carnivore. Can use Thunder.

Watch for static and sharp fur!!

[nerdwithapencilagain]

Fantasy traveling merchant guy I came up with aeons ago

unedited version under the cut ig

[mukuberry]

As much as i love 0507 fics, they tend to make Kazui the more open one who makes the first move as if he didn't say "I'll never act on my feelings ever again" in his interrogation

[the-haunted-office]

Okay look, I know it says in Cyrus's bio that he is biromantic with a strong lean towards men, but I really think he's biromantic with a strong lean towards Stanleys. Other than that I don't think he has a preference. x)

[slvttyplum]

denial is such a funny thing because you can deny pretty much anything if people believe you enough, but this particular situation just didn't cut it enough that even you yourself don't believe the lies that came out of your mouth when you told people that you and satoru were just friends.

friends didn't fuck in a car at three a.m. coming from a party; friends didn't sixty-nine late at night out of horniness; friends didn't fuck each other just for the fun of it; everything that the both of you were doing to each other wasn't "friendly."

satoru found it comical when he saw a light of regret slide into your eye whenever you finished. it made him laugh because he knew that you wanted this and knew that there were things that you wanted to do with him that you couldn't even think about doing with anyone else, yet you denied it every time because it was a "mistake."

making sure not to cuddle after and to get out of his house or get him out of your house as fast as you could, throwing a "buddy" in there to assert some boundary, not knowing it had already been crossed and there was no going back. satoru didn't mind your denial of the way things fell, but he just wanted you to stop trying and instead just let things fall into place, so that's what he started to do.

fucking you out of your mind until you were blabbering, clinging out to him as you wrapped your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck as your vision went blurry, droll dripping out the corner of your mouth, trying to stay focused, but satoru's dick feeling like it was buried in your stomach wasn't helping.

sometimes he would go hard just so that he could see your eyes fill with tears and your smile as he ran his arms over your body, touching you all over, kissing your neck, and down to your chest, leaving his mark so that it would be there the next time he saw you. there was no chance of getting it off any time soon because of the pressure he applied.

other times going slow so he could be more intimate with you, mainly teasing you and letting you know that this wasn't just a casual thing; this isn't normal; he wouldn't do this with anyone but you, and that wasn't because the both of you were close, but because this was much more than friendship.

so amused by the situation, he started tracking how many times the two of you fucked each other to see when you would finally put your foot down and stop fucking him, but months went by and he couldn't even track anymore because it was so absurd.

"sixty… we fucked sixty times." he murmured to himself before laughing. you were a piece of work, but he liked it; he knew you, and he knew that you weren't going to keep trying to convince yourself that this was just a friend thing, so he wasn't going to push you into telling him anything.

plus, he liked teasing you during sex; that was the best part—getting you fucked up from how high you got while getting fucked, head banging the headboard, and all—getting you to say the darndest things so he can say them back to you.

he was a patient man; he could wait.

[pearlcigs]

thinking about ghost telling you to do something but you don't move a muscle. "what are ya doing, i just gave you a bloody order." his accent rings thick. "you didn't say simon says." you chime, trying your darndest to not burst into a puddle of laughter. if looks could kill, you'd be dead. when you realize he absolutely does not find this funny you're quickly standing up to go scurry off to do his request. but before you can, the buckle of his belt clinks against the prong. you swallow thickly, watching him pull the belt out of every single loop in one swift motion. "simon says bend over."

[scoutswritingcorner]

Play Fighting 

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW: None!

A/N:Had this idea when I was drifting off to sleep.

Listen- I know Alastor is a gentleman but what if he was a little bit silly? Just a silly little craeture?

So imagine this-

It starts off as you gently nudging his foot with your foot occasionally, he’ll look up at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin so wide you’d think you’d offended the poor man reading his papers! He’d nudge your foot back and go back to his paper.

Then it escalates to you following him around pretending to punch or push him around but not actually touching him, he chuckles and ignores you cause he knows as soon as he looks over at you, you back off or run away. 

Then it’s you actually trying to knock him off his feet. He may be skinny but he is like a brick fucking wall. Hugging his waist as you try to push him down, making silly little noises as you try your darndest. He lets it happen, you’re just as weak as a mouse! You couldn’t possibly hurt him! And if he gets tired? He picks you up and carries you around like a sack of potatoes. But you tire yourself out quicker.

What really gets him is when you turn around and look at Lucifer, “I can fight Alastor, no magic or anything involved! He’s built like a twig!” Oh that’s ground for fighting, little mouse. The second you turn around? He’s placing his cane somewhere safe and taking his favorite jacket off, rolling up his sleeves the whole shebang. Then it’s on.

In a flash he tackles you to the ground and it ends up with you laughing, trying to kick his feet out from under him as you lock hands together. There are taunts involved and bites- he will bite the shit out of you, but not enough to take a chunk out of you. An unsuspecting passerby might think it’s something else but in reality? You guys are just duking it out, somehow you flipped Alastor over and started gloating about it- yeah you get pushed away with his feet and he’s ontop of you again.

It eventually ends up when one of you calls it and then he’s laying on you or pulling you to his chest for a quick little nap. No one says a thing cause what the fuck just happened?

[gotinterest]

I fucking love Kabru as a narrative foil to Laios because its so different from the way narrative foils usually come across like what if this guy was also low support needs autistic in the exact opposite way from you in a way that makes you complete each other and he's obsessed with you but extremely weird about it and you are both freaks and he doesn't even particularly like you but he's also the one person to actively try his darndest to actually understand you more than anyone else but he still straight up does NOT get you at all but he pins all his hopes on you despite not really trusting you in the slightest

And meanwhile you literally don't give a shit about him so much that you straight up keep forgetting who he is and what his name is and that he even exists likejfdlsajgijfdbhjedk

[dotster001]

What kind of parents are they?

Requested by @stygianoir

A/N: as per usual with these long ones, staff and non NRC will be a separate post that I someday make

CW:raising kids, but gn. No talk of whether birthed or adopted

3k follower masterlist

Riddle Rosehearts

1 kid

Riddle is a learn as you go kind of parent. Breaking the chain is hard. It takes generations. He knows that, so was always hesitant to ever raise kids. But with you he thinks he can speed up the process. He is a little strict, you can't win every battle, but he's much more understanding. And that's the difference between him and his mother. If he makes a mistake, or upsets your child, he takes the time to understand and grow from it.

Trey Clover

3-8 kids

He's a jovial father. He's calm but everyone can see he's just so happy to have this life. He's the kind who will quietly sit with the kids to help them with homework, boop their noses with chocolate frosting, tell the worst dad jokes ever that make them laugh so hard they pee, and tucks them in snuggly so "the monsters can't reach them". A soft man, who when he passes, the kids will always remember dad as someone who had a smile for everyone.

Cater Diamond

0-2 kids

Honestly, Cay Cay is one of the ones who if you wanted to have kids, you'd have to try hard to convince him. But for the sake of these HC's, we'll ignore the 0. In all honestly, he starts out incredibly scared and tense. He's worry he'll break the kids. But he slowly gets over it, and becomes the cool dad. The dilf at pta meetings His holiday cards are always the best, he sets up a haunted house for the neighborhood during Halloween, puts on a light show during the winter, dresses the kids in modern fashion…a lot of parents are so jealous. They wouldn't be so jealous if they knew the literal blood sweat and tears he puts into it all though. You need to tell him to calm down from time to time.

Ace Trappolla

2-5 kids

Hybrid of cool dad, and concerning dad. He'll let the kids do pretty much whatever they want, as long as they don't disrespect you. Sure you and your friends can go snowboarding, but your room better be fucking spotless, or you'll be praying to the seven for your soul. Yeah you're friends can- what the fuck do you just say about Y/N? No more friends. You're grounded. You'll have to try your darndest to get him to watch his language. Spoiler alert, he never will.

Deuce Spade

3 kids

Deuce is the kind of dad where, when people asks if he wants to raise a boy or a girl, he says boy. Not because he doesn't want a girl, he's just scared he'll fuck her up on accident with some of his behavioral tendencies. But in the end…he's a girl dad. He raises three girls, whether by birth or adoption, that's just how his luck turns out. And he's the best goddamn girl dad ever. By kid three, he only wants girls, cause how the fuck do you boy dad? Even as the girls get older, he isn't scared of some of the things that come with women. He always carries pads and pain killers. Anytime they need advice on relationships, and societal problems, they know they can go to dad.

Leona Kingscholar

1 kid

The one is a struggle for him. He doesn't want to have a second born who will go through what he did. So only one kid. That's it. He…to his surprise…turns out to be exactly the way Mufasa raises Simba. Stern when necessary, but totally down to rough house and play. He never even thought he had the energy for a kid…turns out he does. He loves his little rat more than life itself, and will do anything to prep him for life so that he can have the things Leona never did.

Ruggie Bucchi

5-8 kids

Teaches his kids early on to be light fingered. Imagine a bunch of hooligans running through the street, and when they're gone, you realize you're wallet is gone too. That's your kids. But only when you're not looking. He's raised them to understand not to snitch on dad. 😒 Otherwise no one can have fun. Other than that, he's a really soft dad. Playing with the kids, good for hugs, cooking meals that get them all their nutrients, but also provide comfort. The moment he can afford it, Ruggie is becoming your perfect little househusband.

Jack Howl

5 kids

He's the kind of dad that outsiders worry is a little cold and distant. But that's not the case. They just don't know how to read him. He has his own language that his kids perfectly understand. Left eyebrow quirked=what do you think you're doing? Right side of mouth quirked up=I'm so proud of you. Left side quirked down=that's not funny. Etc etc. The kids can always count in dad for snuggles if they are sad or have a bad dream. Even if he doesn't always remember to verbalize it, they always know they are loved.

Azul Ashengrotto

4

He's the one who has every step of his parenting and finances planned, to flawless perfection. And then immediately panics when he realizes you can't plan for everything, children are unpredictable. The first kid that breaks a bone, he's just wanting to go back to his octopus pot. Not to mention if your kids are birthed, he's not prepared for half octomer, half human, kids. He's unprepared, and very scared, but he's a loving dad…even if he seems too tense sometimes.

Jade Leech

1-3

He's the Gomez Adams, raising little Wednesdays. Female and male Wednesdays, but Wednesdays nonetheless. So excited, big smile, happy to be alive with you, and with your kids! Meanwhile the kids are all dark and brooding. It always looks so professional when you all walk up in business attire, Jade smiling, as the kids, also in business attire, have the darkest expressions on their faces. 

Floyd Leech

2-15

Rough housing dad. He raises a bunch of chaotic rascals. They're all sweet kids, but damn some of them have so much energy it scares the neighbor parents. Then they'll look over and see eel merman wrestling three of them and laughing like a mad man. He'll bandage them up, and give them kisses on their boo boos, but he won't calm down. Not that he needs to, they don't want him to calm down. Dad's fun!

Kalim al Asim

8-whenever you say to stop 😁

Party dad! He's a, "we rather you tried it at home than with strangers" kinda guy. By the time he is parenting, he's a little better at self control though, so he's willing to be that buffer, and help kid's stop before their limits. Also, he's the kind that pouts if his kids don't say, "I love you" when he drops them somewhere.

Jamil Viper

1-2

Strict dad. Old habits die hard. Or don't at all. You'll have to be self aware if he's too hard on the kids. The thing is, he has only had his freedom for so long, and his kids. The reason he's like this is because he's scared. His kids have a freedom that previous generations of Vipers never had. He doesn't want them to throw it away. He's terrified one misstep and they'll lose everything. You'll have to calm him down sometimes. But the kids, especially the older they get, will understand that this is how dad protects them. He also gives out expensive gifts if he thinks he's taken things a step too far… the kids love that.

Vil Schoenheit

1

There's no way this man doesn't raise a high achieving, future ex gifted child. So at first, he'll beam with pride as his child produces the best results, grades, magic, appearances, etc. It'll be a bit of a learning curve when the crash hits, and won't understand right away. But once he does, he becomes the biggest advocate for mental health services,and getting kids the care and enrichment they need. He does speeches, runs rallies, becomes the face of any movement that has to do with his kid. 

Rook Hunt

15

Teaches his kids to hunt like wild animals. He's the kind of dad that says, "I'm gonna take the kids out!" And later you find them in the middle of the woods, hiding in the bushes, waiting to jump you in a tickle pile that is inescapable. He's raising wild animals. And yet…somehow…the kids seem normal as they age? At least that's what you see…

Epel Felmier

5-7

Another one who raises hooligans. You have a bunch of freckled, sunburned kids, all who live outdoors and climb trees. But the kids are never alone when they are hooligans. Dad is always in the tree with them.

Idia Shroud

2

Scared shitless. He's a gentle parent, but, God, is he terrified. Everyone knows it. Anytime the kids get sick, or hurt, or sad, he's always worried it's cause he fucked up in some way. But once he calms down, he's always good at calming them down. He's gentle and understanding…once he gets out of his own head.

Malleus Draconia

1-15

He has to raise the future heir. So on the one hand, he has to be strict. But he makes it clear early on, that there's separation from work and home. Aka, sometimes he is father, king of darkness, and sometimes he is dad, server of applesauce. The kids are smart enough to know the difference, and figure out which Malleus they are talking to.

Lilia Vanrouge

3

When you and Lilia discuss raising a family together, you aren't expecting Silver to come to you with stories of how he was left in the middle of the woods for training…and if you don't say anything, you're destined to be raising kids with Lilia Vanrouge, delightful scamp, and general to Malleus Draconia's armies. If you have that conversation, you'll be raising kids with Lilia Vanerouge, delightful scamp, and nothing else. Usually. Make sure if he's giggling, and you can't find the kids anywhere, you know exactly where they are.

Silver

1-2

Quiet dad. A lot like Trey. He's soft and gentle, and the kids can count on him for snuggles, whether he's awake or not. A man of few words, but perfect for a lullaby, deep life advice, and snuggles.

Sebek Zigvolt

3-6

Soccer dad. Angrily yelling at his kids when they are subpar, and angrily yelling at other kids when they come for his kids. Fiercely loyal to the end, and to a fault, he will protect his family at all costs, even if he does grump and groan about it the whole time.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 11)

first chapter >> last chapter

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Your heart could very well have stopped beating and you’d be none the wiser.

By now, you’ve experienced fear in all its varietals. The stomach churning and the latent, the languid; the swift moving silverfish slipping out of your grasp. The monstrous rising beast of it the day you turned around to find the master of the house turning the lock on the door and trapping you in with him. Then the delayed panic in the aftermath of bringing the bust down over his head and hearing his skull crack under its weight, the blood pooling around his body, almost aureole-like. Pondering the miraculous like, well, isn’t that just the devil of it. A halo for a man intent on your ruin.

 The fear washing over you now is entirely new though. Like a rapid exhalation. Of course you were right all along . Right to expect the devil showing up on your doorstep. The weeks of silence had imbued you with a sense of confidence. An arrogant, undeserved confidence that whispered in your ear to let your guard down. 

But you know now that the world is not large enough to hide in. It is a wasteland of false prophets and false directions. There are no second chances.

The only consolation is the silence from the man behind the counter as he studies the warrant. You imagine him standing there giving it a good once over, his face maybe scrunching up as it calls to mind the woman that just walked through his door. You wonder if they thought to add a sketch of your likeness, whether there’ll be a woman on the warrant that looks an awful lot like you. 

You stay put behind the shelf though, not risking so much as a peep. 

“Any information you might have would be much obliged,” Graves says, trying to coax an answer out.

After a few more seconds, the shop attendant answers with a rueful, “Can’t say I have, sir. You want me to leave this with the sheriff?”

Graves breathes out through his nose in frustration. “Now, are you positive about that? Take a closer look—I don’t mind waitin’ a bit longer for you to sift through your memories. I’m sure a town as big as this must get passersby from time to time.”

“No. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m certain. Never seen a woman fitting this description or name. Couldn’t even tell you the last time we had a stranger come through town and stay longer than a day.”

“I see.” It’s hard to tell whether Graves takes him at his word or not. The aura of menace that the man exudes suggests that anything said to him might rouse his suspicions. That they’ve already been roused, in fact. It makes even you second guess the man behind the counter, wondering if perhaps he knows and simply stays his tongue. 

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Still want me to pass this along to the sheriff?”

The floorboards creak under his feet when Graves takes a step back. “If you don’t mind. Been having the darndest time tryin’ to track down the man and, frankly, I’ve got other obligations. I do appreciate your time though.”

You stay hidden behind the shelf, listening to the sound of the spurs on his boots rattling as he leaves. The chime on the door jingles when it slams shut. You flinch at the sound. For a minute after his departure, you wonder if the door will burst back open and he’ll come crashing in, heading straight for the back to haul you out by your hair.  

A minute passes and nothing happens. The floor beneath you still feels like it might give out at any moment.

When you take your first step, the nausea comes rushing up. 

“Mrs. Price,” the shop attendant says, perking up at the sight of you coming out from behind the shelf. “I forgot you were still here.”

You feel like an automaton or a ball-jointed doll, your movements stiff as you approach him. Morbidly curious as to what you’ll see on the warrant spread out on the counter separating the two of you. When you look down, your breath comes shuddering out. 

The sketch on the paper does bear a passing resemblance to you, but only if you squint. Nothing that anyone could point to and claim with certainty that it depicts you. Underneath the sketch, you balk when you see your real name. It’s jarring to even look at. Though you’ve gone most of your life answering to it, the past few weeks have disabused you of any connection to it. Now, you feel permeable, malleable—a substance that has been reshaped into something new. That girl on the warrant is gone now. Done and dusted. So detached from memory that even the sketch of her depicts someone else, proves false. 

Still, you’re shaken by how close he’d gotten. Supposing Graves had come in while you’d been within sight. Supposing he’d looked you in the eye and asked you directly, and you’d stuttered under his sharklike gaze and drawn further scrutiny. You almost can’t believe how close it’d grazed you. The sharp edge of fate like a blade now sheathed again. 

“Would you mind taking this to the sheriff?” he asks, not realizing the gift he’s given you. “I’m a bit tied up minding the shop.”

You nod wordlessly and take the folded up warrant from him.

It burns red hot in your hands when you step outside. You glance around nervously, unsure as to whether Graves had stuck around to question more people. You wouldn’t be surprised if he were still within earshot. 

You waver in the street with the folded piece of paper tucked in your hands. A horse pulling along a cart laden with firewood creaks as it passes, rousing you from the trance you’d fallen into. You flinch, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. It’s blinding suddenly. A clear sky, the clouds long since taken away by the wind. 

John could be anywhere at this time of day. Despite the fear curdling in your belly, you can’t help the knee jerk reaction to go to him. That’s precisely what you don’t want to do though. You don’t want to be around the county sheriff on the day a bounty hunter came into town looking for you. 

A crow sitting on the roof of a building across the street caws and flaps its wings, taking off into the sky. 

You want to be anywhere but in town waiting anxiously for John to come find you. You don’t want to lay eyes on him and see that he’s found you out. The thought of John finding out about the man you killed back east is beyond contemplation. It nearly has you keeling over in the middle of the street. You can hardly bear the thought. How could you bear to live a moment beyond that, withering under his disapproval? His contempt? 

You don’t think you can.

Every shadow fills you with dread. A barmaid comes out to toss a bucket of dirty water in the alley and you flinch like you’ve been caught. You keep your head down as you walk, eyes straight on the ground. Someone calls out your fake name and you ignore them. 

Your instinct, as usual, is to run. Abscond from the scene of the crime. Even if the thought hurts. Even though you’d let yourself begin to hope that the times of trouble had passed you by. That perhaps you could’ve made a home out here in the middle of nowhere. You should have known that those dreams were just that. You should have known better than to want. These days, it is dangerous to long for anything.

It’s better if you fade from memory like a bad dream, you think when you spot Buttercup fixed to the post outside the sheriff’s office. Better if they think of you with a bad taste in their mouth and nothing more. A girl that came and stole their sheriff’s heart and his horse and then vanished into the night. 

When one of her black eyes fixes on you, you still in your advance. A horse can’t possibly read your intentions, but you feel like she does somehow. Like she knows you intend to take her and flee. She shifts, hooves coming up and back down, and you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth suddenly, nerves taking on. You won’t let yourself be ruled by them though. There are bigger things to fear.  

“Come on, Buttercup,” you whisper, hesitating before smoothing your hand down her nose. You flinch when she nickers. “I just—I need you to help me, okay?”

It’s an outrageously bad idea. Even to you that’s obvious. You don’t have nearly enough experience riding solo or even with John trailing behind you on another horse to help offer correction if you falter on your own. You’re blinded by fear though, practically shaking as you undo Buttercup’s lead from the post outside the sheriff’s office. 

You’re clumsy trying to hoist yourself up onto her without John to boost you up and hold you steady. It takes a couple of tries before you manage to swing your leg over, and you curse under your breath when your dress bunches up around your waist, exposing the bare flesh of your legs. There aren’t many people roaming the street, fortunately for you.

Buttercup resists at first when you tug lightly on the reins to guide her away. She stomps her foot when you try again, giving a light whinny. Panic seizes you, a coil in your belly. You’ve only ever ridden her before with John at your side; you wonder if she’ll even listen to you in his absence or if even she can tell you’re about to do something foolish and wants nothing to do with it. 

“Please, girl,” you beg. “I promise—I’ll figure out some way to get you back.”

On the third attempt, she finally listens. The way she abruptly breaks into a fast trot nearly sends you toppling over. You catch yourself by clutching the horn, tight enough that your knuckles ache. Your forehead breaks out in a nervous sweat. Buttercup covers ground fast, and without John sitting behind you like a silent sentinel, you feel control slip out of your slippery hands, clammy with sweat too. 

“Whoa, girl,” you breathe, trying to calm her by stroking a hand down her neck. 

It does precious little to calm her down. You remember something John once said about animals smelling fear. They know it like your name. 

You lose control of her fast. Almost in the blink of an eye, you go from steering Buttercup towards John’s house to holding on for dear life. Your body rocks with hers and you’re forced to tighten your thighs around her midsection when she breaks into a gallop, your hands still clinging tight to the reins. Her hooves kick up dust and dirt in her haste, sending it flying behind you. 

“Slow down!” you shout, but the words are swept away by the wind, already behind you. 

Not once have you ever ridden a horse at this speed. Your direction seems like more of a suggestion to Buttercup, and not one she’s inclined to take. The town rapidly vanishes behind you, the vegetation sparse for the first few hundred yards, arid scrubland scorched by the sun and fed off of by the horses and mules coming in and out of town. The sun beats down hot on your head, no hat to shield you from the heat.

You can’t imagine you would’ve been able to hold it down though, you think wildly, mind still in a flurry of panic. It would’ve flown right off ages before. 

Your breath comes out in hitched pants as you clutch with all your might to the horn of the saddle, your hands soon transferring to her mane for better purchase. Buttercup moves like a rogue wave beneath you, like something sailors only speak about in hushed whispers. She takes a wide arc around John’s property, heading towards the mountains instead, and no amount of trying to steer her with your legs seems to work. 

Your head whips back to watch the house pass, the dark shape of it sailing past you, and it nearly causes you to lose your balance. Looking back in front of you only makes it worse. Panic courses through you when you stare ahead only for the world in front of you to spin. Bile creeps up your throat. You swallow it back, but only just.

The half-formulated plan you’d had in mind is long gone. All you can focus on now is remaining astride the horse beating dirt under you. Any thought of bringing her to a halt dissipates. Even the thought of escape evaporates into thin air. 

Only when you feel Buttercup slow to a trot do you peel open your eyes. The breath you let out as you look around is short, panic still churning in your guts.

Over the weeks since John married you and took you home, he’s taken you through the mountains a fair few times, familiarizing you with the land to the best of his abilities in such a short amount of time. But the wilderness stretches far and the terrain beyond John’s homestead is rough, treacherous. 

When you look around, you realize that you don’t recognize this part of the mountainside. 

The trail Buttercup takes you down is cut haphazard into the landscape—a crude, handmade path, not one seared into the ground from frequent travel. It feels distinctly wilder than where you’ve been before. Your head swivels around as you try to look for something that might jog your memory. The striated mountainside tells you nothing. The trees out this deep into the mountains are thicker and older, gnarled root systems bursting up from the earth and coiling around the nearby rocks like snakes winding around their prey. 

You sit up a bit straighter, still shaking when you rub your hand down Buttercup’s neck. “You know where we are, girl?”

She puffs out a breath.

That tells you nothing, but she keeps going down the same path deeper into the woods. No amount of squeezing your thighs or patting her neck gets her to stop. You should be thankful that she’s at least no longer sprinting, that you can actually sit up and catch your breath now, but the fear from earlier is but a paltry shadow compared to that which is brewing in you now. 

Every crick and snapping twig makes your head spin round. You stare intensely past the treeline, searching for the barest hint of motion. You don’t know much about these parts, but you know that this is no place for a woman by her lonesome. Even a man on his own out here might feel jumpy. This far out of the way, only cougars and bears take refuge, and the odd band of outlaws making camp for the night and taking advantage of the relative isolation this far out west. 

“Come on, girl, we can’t be out here,” you whisper, leaning closer to Buttercup to hopefully muffle your voice. Even as low as you speak, it still seems to echo.

You don’t know where you’re meant to go though. In the flurry of panic that had come over you at Graves’ arrival, you’d bolted without thought. Without a compass or map, you’re as good as lost in the unsettled land deep in the mountains. 

As that reality dawns on you, you realize that you haven’t had a drink of water in quite some time. 

An hour must pass with Buttercup stubbornly refusing to listen to your commands to turn back. Maybe longer. She resists even when you pull on the reins. In truth, you don’t blame her. Your commands come feeble, no strength behind them. The fear of being bucked off her back makes you soft. John would be gruff, unyielding—you can’t imagine him giving into fear.

That somehow upsets you even more. You can’t help but wish more than anything that he were here with you. 

The temperature drops as the sun begins to set. Without the sun beating down on you, you shiver in the cold air. There’s nothing to keep you warm other than the clothes on your back. Your lips smack when you part them, parched after hours without water. You haven’t stumbled across a river or stream in the hours since starting down this path.

Then, from behind you, you hear it. 

The name that isn’t yours. You don’t catch it at first until it comes again, louder this time. When you look over your shoulder and down the path behind you, John’s furious face stares back at you, his lips worked into a flat line. 

The way you gasp must spook Buttercup, because she abruptly breaks into a gallop, forcing you to hunker down and hold on. You want desperately to look back, torn between relief and distress, but you stare ahead instead. 

The black horse he rides gains on you fast, legs pumping beneath its massive body. It’s not a horse you’ve seen before. Maybe borrowed in his haste to chase after you. You don’t let yourself digest that thought though, too concerned with remaining astride. 

Despite its size, it collapses the distance between you two quickly, nearly on you now. Instinct has you leaning into Buttercup, trying to get as low as possible and let the air glide around you. Her gallop quickens into a sprint. You’re just holding on now, facing straight ahead, no chance of being more than a passenger on this trip. 

John shouts at you from your rear to bring Buttercup to a stop. You squeeze your lips together instead of shouting back that you can’t. If you open your mouth, you think your stomach will come straight out. 

Your body jostles around on top of your horse, on the verge of slipping off with every passing second. When she takes a turn too quickly down a trail leading up into the mountains and you slide a bit to one side on the saddle, only your foot in the stirrup catching you, your heart stops. Fear is ice inverted; poured over you. It drenches you in another layer of sweat that dries rapidly in the air whipping around you. 

Hot and cold. The ground seems to come towards you every time Buttercup’s legs kick up. Always on the verge of falling and breaking every bone in your body. You suck your tongue to the roof of your mouth so it doesn’t get caught between your clacking teeth and bitten right off. 

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the cacophony of stomping hooves. 

A glance to your right finds him close enough to graze with your fingertips. Your heart jumps in your chest.

“Pull up!” he shouts again, but all you can do is stare uncomprehendingly. 

You don’t know if he can see the terror in your eyes. It must be splayed clean across your face. He has to see the way his words mean nothing to you. Your panic effaces any meaning; all you hear is noise and anger pouring from his mouth, and trampled dirt and labored breath. 

When his horse pulls up alongside yours, he gets close enough to lean over and snatch the reins out of your hands. He pulls firm, tugging Buttercup’s head back until she almost rears up and you scream, hands fisting in her mane. 

Your body lurches forward when she comes back down, slumped over the saddle horn. It digs hard into your stomach. There’ll be a bruise there come morning, but nothing like the bruises that’ll bloom between your thighs. Even now the ache radiates down your body. You look up at the sound of John’s breath panting out like a bull, and he glares down at you with undisguised fury, the angriest you’ve ever seen him. 

“What in the blazes were you thinkin’?” he booms. Even the horse he sits astride shakes its head at the sound. “There’s nothing out here but outlaws and predators!”

The hand fisted in Buttercup’s reins pulls her closer, and he guides both horses into a slow trot and then to a stop. You can feel the way Buttercup’s ribs expand and contract under your legs. 

“Stop it— don’t touch me!” you snap when he reaches for you, smacking his hand away.

“Darlin’, if you get off that damned horse—” John warns, but you’re already swinging your leg over the saddle as the words come out of his mouth. 

You almost trip over the stirrup when you slide off Buttercup’s back and take off on foot. You fist the skirt of your dress in both hands to lift it as you run, letting it swish around you with the force of your strides. A curse and grunt come from back behind you. The sound of John’s boots hitting the dirt is loud, and when he chases after you, his boots pound into the earth.  

It’s a desperate last move, but all you can think is that you’d rather be anywhere else but in his arms. You’d rather take your chances with the wolves and bears in the woods, or with the bandits and brigands on the trails leading to the next town. 

You barely make it past the next tree before he barrels into you and takes you both to the ground, the world spinning as you fall down. He angles his body to take the brunt of the impact, but you still cry out when your hip hits the ground hard. The way he pulls you into his chest just barely keeps your head from slamming into a rock. 

“Goddamn it, woman,” John spits. “Where d’ya think you’re even going? There ain’t nowhere to run out here!”

Your head spins. When you open your mouth, all you can taste is rust and salt, sweat dripping off your upper lip. You can feel the heat of his chest against your back and he doesn’t give you a chance to gather your bearings before hauling you to your feet, tugging both of your arms behind your back. 

“Let me go!” you scream, trying to wrestle out of his hold to no avail. 

You know he doesn’t understand, but you can’t help the way you try to fight your way out of his hold. There’s no explanation that’ll make sense to him other than the truth, which you clamp tight in your chest. There's no telling if he already knows, if maybe Graves finally tracked him down or if someone else brought their suspicions to his attention, but you won't go spilling the truth yourself. 

He’s a solid mass behind you, breath labored from hours spent tracking you. You wonder if he noticed mere moments after you took Buttercup and left or whether he came back to the sheriff’s office only to find the two of you gone. 

John holds your wrists in one big hand at the small of your back and gives you a mean shake. “I don’t know what’s got you so riled up, but you better fix this attitude of yours and explain yourself before we get home or so help me God, I’ll take my belt to your ass.”

The mention of him belting your backside makes your hands go clammy, but you must have abandoned your common sense a mile back because your mouth keeps running. “I’ll gut you like a pig if you touch a hair on my head!” 

“We’ll just see about that,” he grunts, and you can hear the raw edged smirk in his voice and the anger behind it. 

When he leads you stumbling towards the horses waiting in the middle of the trail, you realize that capture had always been an inevitability in your mind. Maybe it even comes as a relief to know that the jig is up. 

You just hadn’t realized that it would be someone else hauling you back by your hair.

[pastrymechanic]

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘༘ florida wind + troubles

➯ y/n is at a race where she runs into a high school memory she’d like to forget. thankfully ollie comes to her rescue.

➯ very fearful to post my first little writing but i tried my darndest so enjoy or not. constructive criticism is welcome 🌷

➯ warnings: high school bullies but hey we got ollie standing up for y/n!!

the rosso corsa sundress billowed in the soft yet humid miami wind. the peace of being back in beachy paradise felt like she was almost floating on a cloud while she flowed through the familiar paddock, speaking to fans and collecting gifts for ollie.

her sunglasses were pushed up to her head as she slid friendship bracelets onto her wrist, taking photos with fans while simultaneously collecting letters and plushies for her boyfriend. after it seemed most of the fans had been noticed and all important gifts had been placed carefully in her beige tote bag she began the walk back to the ferrari motorhome, passing the jet black mercedes garage as she goes. 

she doesn’t think twice as she passes other paddock goers, walking by two girls waiting near the mercedes motorhome until a familiar italian face pops his head out waving to the girl skipping along her way through the floridan paddock. a simple wave and smile to kimi is given before she continues on until a hand grabs her freckled arm and her journey back is cut short.

a quick squeal and she jumps back, heart thumping through her chest as the sunglasses previously rested atop her head, fall to the sidewalk and she meets the eyes of who stopped her. it felt as if every single high school memory flooded back to her in a second. the insults, the rude looks, the violence for a girl she’d tried to forget.

“y/n? long time no see, finally got to a race, i see.” the girl’s arms crossed over the sky blue dress, one y/n adored with its contrast against the hateful girl’s tan skin. 

“oh, yeah. you know my boyfriend got me paddock passes.” she let out an awkward laugh, twisting the ends of her sunglasses in her hands, desperately trying get this conversation to end faster. why years later did she have to run into her old high school “friend”?

“oh? where is he?” the girl stood behind her blast from the past asked, a matching dress in moss green adorning her body as she smirked at the memory of a girl.

“oh he’s just waiting for me in uhm, ferrari.” she spoke vaguely, trying desperately not to let them in on her private life even more than she already had.

“you don’t have to lie to us, y/n. it’s okay if momma bought the tickets for you.” the girl faked a frown. while y/n let out a deep breath, currently hoping and praying anyone would come pull her away, unfortunately the small curly headed mercedes driver seemed to disappear after a quick greeting from his close friend’s girlfriend.

“listen, i just want to enjoy my day with my boyfriend.” y/n tried to brush off the conversation, gently as the people pleaser she always was and will be.

“oh shut up like you actually have a boyfriend. give it up, if i don’t have one right now then you certainly can’t.” her old friend groaned, her hands dropping down to her sides in exasperation. almost as if she genuinely didn’t believe the girl stood before he once again, but who was she kidding she most definitely didn’t believe y/n.

just as she felt as though it would never end a hand snaked around her waist and the familiar british accent spoke beside her.

“hello amore mio, i was waiting for you.” (my love) y/n could barely turn her head before ollie turned her head for her and gave her a sweet yet short peck she’d never get tired of. 

“oh uhm just got caught up.” she smiled at him, leaning on his shoulder as he looked towards the girls. after years he could read the girl before him like a book and obviously these people were a bother, he just couldn’t figure out how.

“oh? i’m oliver.” he nodded towards the two girls who seemed gobsmacked,  both rushing to speak to their old celebrity crush.

“oh my gosh ollie, i love you so much. i’m an old friend of y/n.” the previously harsh girl put her best smile on her face with a hand extended, promptly ignored by ollie.

“it’s oliver.” ollie corrected and y/n couldn’t help but let a small smile through at his sternness before he whisked her away back to ferrari, her dress twirling making her feel like a less woodsy, more motor oil version of giselle from enchanted.

“do you know i love you?” y/n looked up at the ferrari driver, a genuine smile shone up to him as he smiled back down, his happiness stemming from her sunshine smile.

“and i. love. you.” ollie fit a kiss between each word as they entered his driver’s room before she pulled away with a series of giggles.

“thanks for saving me from my high school bully.” her voice barely above a whisper, as her eyes searched the briton’s face. her eyes filled with memories flashing through them, her mind only brought back to the present by ollie’s voice.

“you’re welcome love, it’s my offical duty as your lovely f1 driver boyfriend.” y/n gave a playful smack to his chest before rolling her eyes at his joking ego. with a small laugh she pulled him back into a hug so tight he thought he might loose his head to her  love before any crash into a barrier. after her hold loosened ollie pulled back with pure love in his eyes before sighing in contentment at the girl before him. her gorgeous eyes staring back at him with her hair slightly tangled from the florida wind. oh how he would protect her from everyone who troubled her. anytime, anywhere.