#horse bridle needs

[piosplayhouse]

WHY DIDNT ANYONE SHOW ME THE FULL ARTWORK OF THIS PIC BEFORE WTFFFF LIL APPLE'S GIRLFRIEND CANON???!!!!!!??!???!!!!!

[manglechanbluh]

I’ve tried some stuff during my recent Lucky Luke phase, and kind of gave up. But it looks okay so I’m posting it anyways

The first doodle is my revenge on the fact that I never had the chance to braid a horse mane, so Jolly needs an haircut. The second is just him being dramatic and he refuses to move.

[eachuisge-cc]

oh my god there's only two bridles

not for long

[kelpeigh]

Hell is cutting out a matching pair of irregular symmetrical curved pieces out of harness leather

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers. 

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment. 

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse. 

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter. 

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle. 

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.” 

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.” 

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.” 

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him. 

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection. 

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense. 

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had. 

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering. 

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long. 

Knows what can hunt you. 

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.” 

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!” 

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here. 

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves. 

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt. 

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money. 

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable. 

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat. 

Turn back. 

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin. 

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs. 

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other. 

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat. 

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time. 

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place. 

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard. 

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath. 

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it. 

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head. 

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper. 

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed. 

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had. 

The Ghost. 

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal. 

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it. 

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air. 

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips. 

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat. 

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up. 

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts. 

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale. 

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh. 

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you. 

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes. 

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley. 

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop. 

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor. 

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes. 

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances. 

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog. 

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help. 

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold. 

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here. 

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward. 

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey. 

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches. 

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time. 

Eyes like a burial mound. 

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads. 

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense. 

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage. 

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages. 

But the Ghost isn’t even there. 

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.” 

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward. 

Where did it go? 

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear. 

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it. 

Those eyes. 

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state. 

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears. 

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do. 

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close. 

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh. 

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage. 

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough. 

 “H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!” 

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him. 

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering. 

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back. 

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction. 

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise. 

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity. 

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival. 

So run you did. 

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson. 

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage. 

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape. 

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar! 

But the house was different. 

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade. 

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches. 

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly. 

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.” 

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this. 

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves. 

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened. 

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering. 

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live? 

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently. 

This would be your sanctuary for the night. 

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not. 

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers. 

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink. 

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly. 

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings. 

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?” 

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt. 

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.” 

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!” 

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop. 

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive. 

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view. 

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?” 

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen. 

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?” 

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door. 

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force. 

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.” 

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back. 

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring. 

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees. 

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul. 

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches. 

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do. 

The beast patrolled the glade. 

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away. 

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront. 

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork. 

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here. 

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really. 

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action. 

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart. 

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor. 

Your neighbor the Werewolf. 

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him. 

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented. 

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined. 

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside. 

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.” 

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate. 

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling. 

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors. 

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider. 

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.” 

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug. 

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting. 

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.” 

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums. 

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others. 

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.” 

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion. 

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.” 

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.” 

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath. 

An embarrassing giggle meets air. 

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder. 

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room. 

You wake up to the sound of the door opening. 

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality. 

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches. 

All sound ceases. 

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting. 

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers. 

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently. 

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up. 

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form. 

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.” 

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes. 

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways. 

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[knightsickness]

enough knights with dog imagery we need to start doing knights with fucked up horse imagery. noblewomen raised around them as a background presence they’ll submit to the bridle they’re creatures of purpose but don’t get too close be CAREFUL they kick and they’ll take your fingers clean off it’s in their nature. don’t name him you’ll only upset yourself it isn’t a pet. still and empty-eyed and huge. dogs and men feel victory or bloodlust in hunts or in battle do horses feel anything? a job well done? they can’t do anything else. obedient. staring

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 1 : List.

Pairing : Noa x human reader

Warning : A bit of mourning. Otherwise, all clear for this one!

Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words : 3.2k

A/N : It has been a long time since I've written something and it feels pretty good to get back at it with this story! I hope you'll like it and do not hesitate to share your thoughts or like/reblog, it's always appreciated! As English isn't my native language, I'm sorry if you find mistakes or weird wording in there, let me know if you find some and I'll be glad to correct them!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper masterlist.

It wasn't going to be a difficult day. The list was ready, the tasks the same as the day before and the day after. You had to go to the river: catch a fish, fill the flasks with fresh water, bathe… You had to get on your horse and on the way back, stop at the 16th tree on the right, get off, walk 30 steps and fill the bag with blackberries. You had to avoid the brambles and avoid tripping over the prominent root. Get back on the horse and ride home.

Prepare the fish: remove the head and tail, the skin, gut it and remove the bones, light a fire to cook it. Yes, evolution had done many things, but it must have missed the episode where it was necessary to improve the human digestive system. So the fish still had to be cooked.

The garden had to be tended. Over the years, it had evolved too. It had been a long time in the making. A vegetable garden, tomatoes, green beans and, you couldn't quite remember how, artichokes had found their place too. An apple tree was easy to grow. It took time, but it was easy. And then there was this little gem you'd stumbled upon one day: a rosebush. It was an important one. You had to take care of it too.

You always had to do something.

Your hands knew what to do and how to do it. Your legs took you where you needed to go, and at that particular moment, they had led you to your horse. You had to remove his saddle and bridle, check his hooves and remove any stones that might have got stuck on them. Run your hand over his belly to loosen the skin compressed by the girth. And don't forget to give him a drink. When it came to eating, he found everything on his own, except perhaps an apple, which you gave him from time to time to thank him for his help. He knew how to ask, too. In fact, he huffed and gave you a nudge.

Okay, an apple.

He followed you to the apple tree and you climbed onto his back. You could reach the branches, but it was always difficult to keep your balance. Especially when your right hip wasn't working properly. And you sighed. It really wasn't convenient.

You had to go on with the list, what was next?

“ Hearing my voice at least once and speaking so I don't forget.”

This was important. You had to remember how to speak. The world had forgotten, but you must not. You had no right to forget.

“Say something new.”

And you looked around.

“It's cloudy today.”

Which meant rain wasn't far off. Your horse was now grazing beside you.

“You should take shelter.”

You smile, you'd said one more sentence today. Your horse's ears twitched as if to say “I do what I want” and you shrugged. After all, he was the one to decide. But you didn't want to get wet in the rain. You patted his neck and went off to find shelter in your wooden hut.

You've lived here for a long time. A very long time. So long that you no longer needed a torch to light up the big room when night fell or when the clouds darkened the place. You knew exactly where the shaky table was, the armchair with its deformed, hollowed-out seat and even the little plastic pot you kept forgetting to put back on the table to avoid getting your feet caught in it. And despite the years, you never tripped over it.

You were right to come home. You'd just had time to put the water flasks and the cooked fish on the table when a torrent of water hit the floor. The end of the list would have to wait. The timing was perfect, as your stomach signaled that it was time to fill up, and the smell of the wood-fired fish made your mouth water.

Settling back in your armchair, you ate the fish, watching the rain fall against the hut's only window. Eating with your hands was no longer as disturbing as it had been at first. There were a lot of memories that had slipped away over time, but you almost smiled when you thought back to the embarrassment you'd felt the first time you'd had to eat like that. If you'd known back then where you'd end up…

A sigh.

Drops tumbled against the window and some seemed to challenge themselves to get to the bottom first. They were following the path traced by others before them, but obviously not all roads were good ones to take. Some raindrops went straight down, others tried to cut off their opponents' path, and still others weaved in and out to create their own path. Then a raindrop caught your eye. It seemed the most likely to win the mad race. It glided and slalomed proudly until it landed delicately on your windowsill, blending in with its sisters who had landed there before it.

You turned your eyes to the last piece of fish, which you brought to your mouth.

You took one last look out the window, and that's when you caught sight of it.

A shadow.

A shadow had just moved past your window. The rain kept on pounding against it and you could see the trees in the distance stirring in the wind, and you were sure you saw the shadow moving, quickly to the right, but the shadow was gone. There were only raindrops, only the wind, and you could even hear the dull roar of an incipient thunderstorm.

A deep breath. You had to.

Then a sigh.

The rain and wind must have played a trick on you. If the storm picked up, you definitely wouldn't be able to finish your outdoor to-do list. But that didn't matter, there was still plenty to do inside.

First you had to tidy up. Keeping the interior clean and tidy was important, so you couldn't leave the water bottles on the table. You grabbed them and stepped over the little plastic pot that stood between the table and what you could call a kitchen. At least, that's what you would have called this part of the hut back in the day, because there was only a broken sink and a cupboard without a door. You passed the front door and it rattled against the latch in the wind. You had managed to install a branch across the door, allowing you to keep it closed in bad weather. However, as it didn't close very well, the wind always managed to rattle it between the branch and the latch. But you got used to the noise. So you walked past the shaky door to put the water bottles in the cupboard, and when you heard a suspicious rustling sound, you jumped, staring at the door.

You frowned at the unusual sound. You had been holding your breath, but the wind suddenly whistled through the doorframe, which was sorely lacking in hermetic seals. So you breathed out, taking a calmer breath. The wind. Mother Nature was definitely testing your nerves tonight.

Well, you still had to change your clothes. Night was coming on and you couldn't possibly sleep in your day clothes. You stepped over the little plastic pot again and made your way to the wooden chest beside the fireplace to find a t-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts with a hole in the left knee. Maybe one day you'd find a stray piece of fabric while walking through the forest, so you could mend it. But you hadn't yet got to the list asking you to explore the surrounding area.

There were 7 lists divided into 4 sections, themselves arranged in 12 categories. It was your way of keeping track of time. You no longer counted the days, let alone the years; you'd long since lost the very notion of time. But to grow crops, harvest the fruits of the forest and simply follow nature's millimetric events and be able to anticipate them, you needed a reference point. The lists, though mostly identical, were that reference point. Hanging on the wall with pieces of wood you'd carved yourself, they determined your days and the things you had to do.

You didn't really know when or how you'd started making these lists. But judging by the ink, half washed away by the years - some of the lists had even gone back to being blank - it must have been a long time ago.

You put the current day's list back in its place. Tomorrow, you'd have to complete it while carrying out the next one. But there was one more thing you needed to do indoors before settling into your armchair for the night. One last important thing.

From the chest, you took out a picture frame. The corners were worn, the wood had crumbled and you had to handle it carefully to avoid getting splinters in your hands. You set the frame down on the floor by the fireplace, knelt in front of it and reached into the jar on your right to pick a rose petal, which you placed carefully in the right-hand corner of the frame.

You struggled to swallow.

That's where it always got complicated.

Once again, you reached into the jar and pulled out 7 petals. You always needed 7 petals. You placed 6 of them in a circle on the dry twigs in the fireplace and began humming a song whose words you'd long since forgotten. But you remembered the feeling. You felt a lump in your throat, and you often wondered how you managed to keep the song going.

You hummed, and on the last petal, with the help of a needle, you delicately traced his initials. You had to be careful not to press too hard, you shouldn't pierce the petal, just brush against it enough to see, if you concentrated hard enough, the outline of the letter you were drawing. You also had to blink a few times to see clearly what you were doing. It was important to get it right. Once you'd written the letter on the petal, you laid it at the center of the circle.

It was always at this moment that your hands shook. You needed a moment. Just a bit of time.

You had to wipe your hands over your eyes, the most important thing was to handle the two flints on the floor with care. Your hands had to be steady, not shaking. You interrupted the song to get your breathing under control.

Inhale.

Breathe out.

Grab the flints.

Inhale.

Exhale.

A sharp stroke.

The clatter of the stone threw sparks onto the pile of twigs and a flame sprang up. You started humming again as the fire slowly consumed the wood until it reached the petals of the circle.

A tear.

The fire continued to progress and you stared desperately at the petal in the center, quickly ridding yourself of the tears that were blurring your vision. The flame touched the edge of the petal and you watched the letter “C” burn away and disappear into the ashes.

The flame faded as the twigs gradually disappeared and, once gone, you slipped the petal on the frame back into its jar.

Now you had to put the frame away. Your fingers brushed the edge of the picture inside of it. Despite the years, you had managed, by some miracle, to keep the photograph almost undamaged. At least, sufficiently intact that you could still distinguish the shape of an ape in the center of the picture, despite the cracks.

He was a force of nature. You had taken this photo on a December day, you still knew because you could still discern the white flakes clinging to his dark fur. Back then, you loved taking pictures.

What did they call you again?

The memory keeper.

Even after all this time, it still made you smile. You gently squeezed the frame between your fingers, keeping it balanced on the knees you'd just tucked in towards you. This way, he was a little closer to you.

You made an extra effort to remember the day. He was standing high enough to see everyone around him. He must have been talking about something important; he always had that powerful, soul-piercing stare when he was saying something important. But he always looked…

“Grumpy.”

You concluded your thought in a whisper that knotted your throat. Grumpy. You almost expected to hear him growl, his ego bruised, every time you reminded him that he was sometimes a little too grumpy. “Grumpy because a lot on my shoulders,” he'd snap back at you. “No, grumpy because you're old” you'd always reply, your eyes always playful. And you were the only one who could say such a thing, with the only result being an amused snore coming from him.

And you felt yourself take a deep breath. Of all the pictures you'd taken, this was the last one you had left. You had to put the frame back in the chest, so your fingers tightened even more around the wood. Your head tilted slightly forward, closing your eyes as the wood touched your forehead.

Tonight was difficult.

You took another deep breath, and before the knot in your throat hurt too much, you straightened up and went to put the frame in the chest.

“Caesar, tonight is really difficult,” you whispered, watching the shadow of the lid close over the frame.

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

It had been a restless night. When your eyes opened the next morning, they felt heavy and swollen, and you found yourself rubbing your eyes to try and make the heaviness go away.

Today, there was much to do. After changing from your night clothes to your day ones, you removed the branch blocking the door and let the sun shine in, warming your skin. The fresh early-morning air caressed your skin and you took a few seconds to smell the distinctive light scent that follows a thunderstorm.

No sooner had you taken a few steps forward than your feet bumped into something hard, causing you to lose your balance. In a fraction of a second, you found yourself on your butt on the ground, a stabbing pain in your right hip that had failed to move to stop you from falling.

“Ouch!” was the only thing that slipped out of your mouth.

You straightened up slightly, remaining seated in the grass, to see what had caused your fall and a pile of apples laid exactly under the wobbly small porch that covered your front door.

God, what a dummy not to have put that away last night. You thought to yourself, looking down at your hands full of dirt. You'd have to go to the river to clean it up, and now you'd just have to take your night clothes with you because you'd also have to wash the ones you were wearing-the mud from the storm must have dirtied your current clothes.

A pile of apples. You thought as you rubbed your hands together.

A pile of apples. You glanced at your right hip. Pfft, if you'd made Caesar break it to put it back in its place, you'd never have fallen today. In fact, you'd have avoided more than one fall.

All because of a misplaced pile of apples.

A pile of misplaced apples.

And like a light bulb switching on, your gaze suddenly fell on those apples that actually had nothing to do there. You hadn't gathered them the day before.

Then you heard it. A muffled purr came gently from behind you. Surely you should have turned around, stood up and dealt with it, but you'd found yourself rooted to the spot, eyes glued to those apples, waiting as an orangutan appeared in your field of vision.

And you refused to look at him, your hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking. You weren't afraid. No. But for some obscure reason, your brain had simply decided to freeze.

The orangutan once again let out a rumble, softer this time, and held out his hand to you.

“I'll help.”

His voice made you blink several times. You did your best to snap out of your stupor, but this time your eyes agreed to look at him, and the orangutan seemed delighted.

Just one more moment. It took another second, just one, to see your hand slip into his and before you knew it, you were back on your feet.

“Raka, we must go.”

The second voice surprised you a little. It sounded familiar and your eyes fell on a chimpanzee, a little further away, who had just finished saddling a horse. You frowned, your horse? You were trying to determine whether it was really yours, but the distance didn't allow you to be sure. There was only one way to find out.

So you whistled.

The horse shook its head and the chimpanzee didn't have time to grab the reins before your horse galloped off to meet you. They were going to take your horse… in exchange for a stack of apples?

You grabbed the reins and stroked the horse's neck as he snorted. He chewed the bit and blew heavily through his nostrils.

For a fraction of a second, you forgot about the two large apes who, from the sounds they were making, weren't particularly happy to have lost a chance of obtaining a second means of locomotion: in your peripheral vision, you could see another horse quietly grazing.

Your hands still knew what to do, and it didn't take you long to remove the bridle and bit from your horse's mouth.

“He doesn't like it.” you said simply.

And only silence answered you, so you showed the bridle to the two apes.

“The bit, he doesn't like it, he's not used to it.”

Your answer didn't seem to convince them. They stared at you, dumbstruck, and if you paid close enough attention, you could almost see their mouths hanging wide open. And that left you bewildered. What didn't they understand? You'd heard them talking, so that certainly wasn't the problem.

“You can't take my horse.” You went on, starting to remove the saddle.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that they were staring at you as if you'd just landed from the sky.

“If you want a horse, there's a wild herd to the south, past the river.” And you pointed in the right direction.

They remained silent as tombs, but the chimpanzee followed the direction you pointed with his eyes.

“Just be careful, the group's stallion isn't very friendly.” You thought it important to tell him.

Your gaze fell back on them and the orangutan, Raka, if you'd heard correctly, hadn't moved a muscle. The chimpanzee, on the other hand, was staring at you thoughtfully, as if he was trying to put together a puzzle with a missing piece. He then moved towards you inquisitively, perhaps, confused?

“Echo, speak?”

It was certainly the most surprising sentence you'd ever heard in your life.

[studiosweetpeacc]

Simple Snaffle Bridle

I needed an actual bridle so bad 😭 why did EA give our pretty English ponies only a headcollar?

So here's a basic snaffle bridle based off EA's headcollar. It's a little rough/low poly, but it's a start! Hopefully I'll make a V2 soon with better textures.

Details:

    - 8 swatches (4 colours with both gold and silver metalwear)

    - For adult/elder horses

    - Low-poly + all LODs

    - Requires Horse Ranch DLC

Known Issues:

 - Reins still attach at their original point... it ALMOST lines up, but I haven't figured out how to move the attachment point to make it perfect

    - There's one particular face horses pull in CAS that deforms the buckles on the side (??? why???), but I didn't see any weird stretching in game during my testing, even when horses were opening their mouths etc

Download: Patreon (Free, no ads!)

[demonsword586]

Swish!

Another hit of Lucifer's crop landed on your behind,making you choke on your breath. A hot,stinking sensation soon spread across your whole buttock,leaving behind a thin line of pink on your skin. You subconscioussly bit into the bridle he forced in your mouth a bit before.

But you coudn't linger on the pain of his harsh whip any longer. After all,he didn't spank you for no reason. It was an encouragement. His way of silently telling you to speed up. As soon as that thought appeared in your mind,your hips started picking up their pace.

You lifted up yourself,just enough for the tip of his cock to be the only thing left in your entrance and then slammed your butt right back on his lap,swallowing all of his long shaft once again. You did that repeatedly with a steady rithem. Yet it was clear Lucifer still wasn't pleased.

He had a smirk gracing his face. A playful smirk which he rarely showed. Yet his black eyes gazed at you disppointedly. Was this really all a human was capable of? He knew humans were weak beings,but surely they know how to ride a cock. Perhaps you just needed some more motivation.

In one of his hands he held the rains of your bridle. His hand holding it firmly just like back then when he rode his horse in a race to win his prize. The prize which he had to fight against all other kings to get...you.

Suddenly he tugged roughly on the rains,making your head arch back. A muffled whimper escaped your mouth from the sudden tug.

His other hand let go of the crop and reached behind you. He wrapped his arm around your lower back firmly,stopping your movements. You could feel his hand press against the red marks which he brought out after you entered the stable. He has cruelly whipped your butt and back. The pain overwhelmed your lower back once again as he unintentionally touched the marks left behind.

But thankfully your mind coudn't focus on the sharp pain since something else was bringing delight straight in the deepest parts of you.

As soon as you were firmly planted down on his pelvis,Lucifer's hips which were still throughout the whole time,now quickly lifted. His cock was powerfully thrusted into you,forcing a pathetic moan out of you. The silent king wasn't planning to show you any mercy however.

He didn't even give you time to breathe before he started quickly thrusting into you with all his might. His thrusts were hard and swift. Though,for a devil,he was loving you with a steady pace. But for you it felt like he was hammering his shaft in your channel like a nail. You screamed his name as loudly as you could through the gag. It sounded like a whine of pleasure but also a slight pain.

Meanwhile Lucifer didn't seem to be minding your noises at all. It even looked like he was enjoying it. Like he was enjoying pushing you to your limits. It was like his goal everytime you two coupled. With a husky voice he growled at you.

''Such a pitiful little thing you are. Do you truly belive that I can be satisfied with such little effort? You are forgeting that I'm the oldest of god's creations and a king of pride itself....Still,I cannot judge such a young creature for their inexperience....I shall take it upon myself to show you how to ride me,mortal.''

(Anyway this is how I want Lucifer's card story to go :3)

[jorvikzelda]

So. Star Stable's Spotify header.

I saw this on a little trip to SSO's Spotify page to see if they'd released any music without announcing it again and went hm. This looks kind of weird. I sure hope they haven't stooped so low as to use AI for their promo material. And then I looked closer.

First thing I noticed was the stirrups. Or, should I say... "stirrups".

Did they like... employ someone who doesn't know how tack works? What IS that? Also I'm only noticing this as I'm writing the post but why on earth does the boot not have proper laces or eyelets

And what the fuck are these weird straps on the saddle? And the guitar straps aren't attached to the guitar?? Actually... it can't be... but let me look at the hands. Just real quick

Uh. hm. that's not very hand. Are they fucking using AI

OH BOY.

The bit and the reins are... not properly attached to one another, just welded together. The noseband just disappears. The buckles at the top of the bridle don't really exist and the chin strap doesn't fit properly at all. The reins are double on one side, but not the other, and one or both of the reins on the far side almost look attached to the breast collar - or they're just being held a lot looser than the near side rein. Also, you need a very specific type of bit to use double reins, which is not the type of bit that's on this bridle. Or maybe the two weird straps are supposed to be a fucked up martingale, and that's why they're attached to the breast collar? But then why does the horse only have one rein? Also the martingale is attached wrong if that's what it's meant to be, see below (it's never attached directly to the bit). The breast collar is also attached to the underside of the saddle, rather than the saddle itself like it should be. The horse's front shoulder looks like it's drawn by someone who doesn't know very much about horse anatomy, or... y'know... AI.

The cart isn't fucking attached to the fucking horse. Poor guy is dragging that thing along with one singular back leg.

The keyboards all have the wrong number of black keys in the wrong places. And also those knobs do not look right. Oh, and something is DEFINITELY wrong with that drum kit.

And also just look at this fucking horse. Yeah, it's passable as a horse, but have you seen the quality of SSO's horses and horse art??? This isn't even anywhere CLOSE to that

So yeah uh, SSE used fucking AI art for their spotify banner. I feel like this is the greatest punch in the gut they could've possibly sent their laid-off artists' way. You cannot defend this.

[lilbitdepressed27]

Lorraine Day/Fem implied G!Preader

Summary: modern AU you're a helping farm hand at the Days

Warnings: death, violence a little bit.

WC: 4.9k

Author's Note: been wanting to do one for Lorraine. So here it is. Ive also got two AUs for Tara almost done:D. Hopefully they’re done soon. Well hope y'all like it. And like always. Not proofread, so sorry for any mistakes.

It was your second week of working for the Days farm. You had grown around horses and became extremely handed in training horses. Even at such a young age you had a connection with animals. You had grown up wanting to be a veterinarian. Now as senior in high school you landed a job working as a horse trainer. Back in your home town you had helped your grandfather train horses. It was a task you loved doing as a kid. You had missed doing that when you moved to the states a month ago. Your mother also worked for the Days and she told Mr.Day about you.

He had given you a chance and for the past week you had heavenly improved one of the young horses that had been very stubborn. The horse still had his moments but you worked hard to make him listen. You always carried sugar cubes or carrots with you. Using treats to make him listen. It was a way that had always worked for you.

It was a beautiful day outside, the weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. It was the perfect type of weather to have Dante (the horse you were training) out and about. You were also helping the horse be around other horses. Mr.Day had said that he had bought Dante from someone who had no idea how to care for a horse. Dante had been alone and had been neglected his first year of life. So it was a little hard for him to get used to other horses.

"You're doing good kid. Look at him it's like he knows you'll give him a treat if he's good." Mr.Day had been observing how you worked with Dante. He had watched from the moment you stepped foot into the paddock, how Dante kept his eyes on you. He had watched how you spoke to the horse in your native language. The way you spoke so softly and gently to Dante. Showing him you weren't going to hurt him. He had watched how you would award Dante for the smallest things with a treat. Showing him he was a good boy. But also being firm with him when he did something bad.

It had taken him and a few others to even attempt to put on the bridle. They had all been unsuccessful. But after two days of you being with Dante he had let you put on the bridles with no hassle. He wasn't going to lie. He had been a bit jealous. He had spent so much money on Dante only for someone else to be the favorite. He smiled nevertheless. Once he was done with his other work he would stop by to see your progress. And he was honestly amazed. Dante had taken such a liking to you.

"All he needed was some love sir." You smiled back at him, fixing your hat. You like Mr.Day he was a nice man. Letting your mom and you work here. The way he interacted with every single one of his workers was admirable.

"What have I-"

You turned at the sound of a van coming down the driveway. The van looked out of place in place like this. You turned back to Dante who nudged you forward. He had been wondering around the paddock with the saddle on his back. You wanted him to get used to it first before getting on. It was the second day of him wearing it.

"Great job Y/n keep up the good work." 

You nodded as he walked away. Going back to work. You handed the half of an apple to Dante who happily took it. You patted his head moving to get on his back. You moved slowly and gently. Making sure not to scare the horse. You sat on his back as he stood still.

"Good boy Dante. Good boy." You reached over and gave him the other half of the apple. You held his reins wanting him to get used to following the direction of the pull.

"You're doing great Dante. You're such a good boy." At the sound of his neighing you smiled and continued the process. Giving him small treats in award for his good behavior.

You had just taken off his saddle after putting him back in his stable after a good day of training. "Good job today buddy. You did good. Now get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow." You closed the gate to his stable after petting his head. You left the stables looking for your mom. It was almost time to leave and you were starving.

"Come on honey. Let's go. The Days are hosting a small party and they invited us. Don't worry I said maybe another time. I know how tired and hungry you get."

You sighed in relief. You weren't really up to being at a party. Tomorrow was another day and it was probably going to be harder cause Dante was set to make new friends.

*

You and your mother had arrived early at the Days. The sun was out and you were excited. Dante had come a long way. You knew he was a nervous one, which are usually the mostly dangerous ones. But you had a plan.

"Good morning Dante." You smiled when the horse stuck his head out from his stable at the sound of your footsteps approaching. He neighed excitedly, you chuckled and got his bridle. Putting it on after brushing him down. You lead him out of the stables. Another horse was already out, it was the horse you knew as Princess. It was a beautiful all light brown horse. You could see a girl riding the horse from a distance. They were on the other side of paddock.

You felt Dante nudging you forward with his head. You continued your walk to the paddock. Padding Dante's head as you closed the gate to the paddock. Letting Dante a few minutes to roam as you got everything ready for todays training. You had gathered the treats, along with the saddle. You had a few other workers help you divide the paddock. In the stables Dante was far from the other horses, he had shown signs of aggression towards other horses. Mr.Day had to put him in an other stable to make sure Dante didn't hurt himself.

The more you worked with Dante, the more realized that it wasn't aggression. It was fear. Dante had been by himself since he had been born. He just didn't know how to interact with other horses. You were to fix that.

"So you're the new trainer daddy has been talking about." The sound of a sweet but sudden voice had startled you. Turing to the sound of the voice to be faced with a beautiful dark haired woman. A beautiful smile directed your way, the dimples on display had you weak to the knees.

"Uh yes Ms.Day." You knew Mr.Day had a daughter. You just didn't think she would be so beautiful.

"Oh please, call me Lorraine."

Her southern accent was just so attractive, so soothing. You could hear her talk all day. You smiled towards her.

"Nice to you meet you ma'am." You tipped your hat towards her, smiling bit more when she returned the smile. Seeing the dimples on full display was a sight you'd want to see more.

"He looks more approachable now. You have done such great job. Daddy couldn't even get his bridle on."

You smiled feeling a bit proud of Dante's achievements so far. "He just needed some lovin and a bit of patience."

"Mmh well you done a fine job, I didn't catch your name."

"Thank you and it's Y/n."

*

Lorraine watched from the window as the horse trainer rode Dante. It had been a week since she met you and she couldn't stop thinking about you. The way you spoke to not just Dante but also the other animals. Your smile, your eyes, your voice, your laugh. You. She had spent most her time with you. Getting to know you, how you were a straight A student, how you wanted to become a veterinarian.

She knew that what she was feeling for you was wrong, it was wrong. Cause after all she had a boyfriend. A boyfriend she was planning to breakup with, but a boyfriend nevertheless.

"What are you staring at?"

The sudden presence of her mother had startled her. "Mom! What are you doin'? I was just-Enjoyin' the view?"

"Mama!" The blush on her cheeks had her own mother laughing at her.

"Can't blame you honey. Y/n is very handsome. Gotta say if I weren't married-Mother!"

"Aw I'm only joking. It's a shame you aren't single. You both would make such a cute couple."

Lorraine looked away from her mother to look back at you. You were handsome. You were breathtaking. She watched as you smiled at Dante. There was something about you, something that captivated her. She wanted nothing more than to spend time with you. To know you even more. And if she was own thing, it was persistent.

*

"Who's this church mouse. Hiding her all for yourself?"

You jumped up from your leaning down position when a hand touched your backside. Turning around to see an average height brunette. She leaned into your space as you stepped back you looked behind her to see Lorraine standing there with a scowl in her face.

"Leave her alone Max." Lorraine stepped away from her boyfriend to stand in the small space between you and Max. The way Maxine touched you had her feeling a sense of protectiveness. Especially with how uncomfortable you looked.

"Is that what you want sugar."

"Uh yea." You took a step away from Lorraine when she brushed her back side with your front. You had heard her let out a small gasp as she did. She had been so close to your front, you hoped she didn't feel anything. Afraid of what she might think.

"Okay than sugar. I'll be here when you change your mind."

You watched as she walked away, moving your gaze to a boy with glasses who had been glaring at you throughout the whole interaction.

"I'm RJ. Lorraine's boyfriend. Who are you?"

"Y/n." You couldn't help but to feel the disappointment. Of course someone like Lorraine wouldn't be single. You felt your shoulder slump just a bit. You didn't like the way this guy was trying to size you up. The way he was looking at you was giving you the creeps.

"Say sweetheart ever think of going into the movie business?"

"I'm not really an actress." You said as took off your gloves putting them in your back pocket. Facing the older man that had a cowboy hat.

"Oh we don't really do acting if you're catching my drift."

You furrowed your eyebrows confused. Not acting in a movie? What could he possibly-Oh. You felt your eyes widen.

"There we go. Now, if you're interested in making some extra cash. Give me a call." He winked after putting a small card in your chest pocket. Padding your shoulder as he walked away. You fingers took out the card. Your mom has been needing more money.

Lorraine had seen the whole thing as RJ spoke to her. But she hadn't heard a single word that had come out of his name. The bitterness, the jealousy, the protectiveness. She was feeling too much. Just the thought of one the girls touching in such way had her feeling in such way, a way she had never felt.

*

You never pictured yourself as someone to do...those type of movies. Not to mention the extra appendage you had hanging between your legs. It was something you never really talked about. If you did it, you wondered how much money you'd make.

"Are you considering it?"

The sweet southern voice had startled you. Turning your head to see your favorite brunette. You weren't really good at reading people but you weren't blind. You could see the frown that was on her beautiful face. Even though she was trying to hide it.

"I don't know. Maybe? My mama can use the extra cash." You shrugged looking back at the sunset. You had finished your work a while ago and were now just enjoying the sunset.

"If you're looking for extra cash, I can talk to my daddy-No, you don't have to do that." You refused to accept that. You didn't want them to think that you were using Lorraine for extra cash.

"Would you be comfortable with, doing that?"

You turned your head to look at Lorraine. The sun making her freckles stand out more. "Maybe? I don't know. Have you joined them?" You couldn't help but to ask.

"Me? No. RJ doesn't let me."

You furrowed your eyebrows at her. RJ did seem like a controlling type. "Oh, you should do what ever you set your mind to 'Raine." Cheeks hearing up at the slip of the nickname.

Lorraine also felt her cheeks heating up, no one calls her 'Ranie. She liked the nickname. More than what RJ calls her. He had settled on calling her Lori, which she hated. But Raine sounded so much better. Especially since it was coming from your lips.

*

"Come on Dante be nice. Make friends, who knows maybe you'll find yourself a girlfriend." It was another day and you had another horse on the other side of the fence. Princess. She was Lorraine's horse. You watched as Dante got closer to the female horse. Sniffing her, Princess was nice and calm letting Dante do as he pleased. He let out an excited neigh. You smiled when he didn't show the aggression he once had.

You sat on the fence as you watched Dante and Princess run back and forth.

"Well looks like they are getting along just fine."  Ever since that day you had grown much closer to Lorraine. A lot closer than before. You both told each other everything. Well mostly everything. She now knows about your extra appendage. You had honestly been mortified when she asked. She had been sitting right in front of you while you both rode Dante. It had been truly mortifying. You couldn't keep your little friend down.

Lorraine on the other hand had never felt so hot and bothered. She didn't care about your...extra appendage. If anything she wanted to-, her whole body heated up at just the mere thought.

Part of you had felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Seeing that Lorraine didn't seem bothered by your difference.

Lorraine had never touched her self in such way that night. The only thoughts in her mind as she pleasured herself was you.

You smiled at the sound of your favorite voice. Seeing her dimpled smile as you looked down at her. She looked awful red, the heat of today must be really bothering today. She barely reached the top of the paddock fence. You chuckled as you got off the fence to stand beside her.

"Well hello to you to 'Raine." You tipped your hat, loving the blush on her cheeks. You loved how easy it was to fluster her.

Lorraine had loved the nickname you gave her. It was a name you only used. The warmness that spread in her heart had her almost swooning. "Hi Y/nn." She couldn't help the smile that made its way on to her face. The way you were looking down at her with your arms crossed. Your arm muscles bulging through your tight shirt. She was sure the blush on her cheeks had gotten bigger. She just hoped you couldn't tell.

"So how have you been. I heard you were going on trip with your boyfrie-we leave in two days and I'm not dating him anymore." She gladly accepted the side hug that you offered. Your warm body pressed on to hers. She leaned into your embrace. Feeling herself relax as you ran your fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry to hear that 'Raine." You weren't. You had met RJ and even though he seemed nice at first. Once you got to know him more, he was a complete asshole. He talked down to Lorraine, spoke to her like her opinion didn't matter. You had wanted to punch his teeth in when he kept degrading her as a person. But a look from her had you biting your tongue.

"No you ain't. You hated RJ just as much as daddy did." She giggled, remembering how you would glare at RJ any time he would cut her off when she was talking.

You let out a small laugh, before letting Lorraine go so you could continue doing your job. Taking some hay from the truck to feed Dante and Princess.

"They want you to come, Wayne said he's been waiting for you to call, you know."

"I got to thinking about that and I don't know maybe I'll give it a try." Your eyes never leaving hers. A confidence you never felt before, flowing off you in waves it felt like.

Lorraine bit her lip to hide her smirk. "Maybe you should."

*

The confidence you felt before had all and vanished. Wayne had been excited when he heard you were tagging along. The vision he was seeing had apparently been upgraded. You were now gonna have a roll of the ranchers helper. One that would have a sex scene with one of the daughters. Which happened to be Lorraine.

Lorraine had asked to be in the movie. RJ had tried to fight it but no one listened to him. The look shared between you and Lorraine had been filled with so much. But yet no words came out. The cabin that Wayne had rented looked like something out of a horror movie. The elderly couple also gave you a creepy vibe.

"Okay, ladies. Are you ready? And don't worry about those old folk." Wayne said in excitement. They had already filmed some scenes, now you were being led into a room. Anxiety slowly making its way through your mind. You saw RJ holding the camera first. He refused look at you. You were nothing but a towel and your sports bra. Seeing as you would be naked, you had to tell Wayne and the others about your little friend. Surprisingly they had taken it well. Maxine making a joke about wanting to see it. A joke Lorraine didn't find funny.

Upon entering the room, you were left frozen on your feet. There near the bed was Lorraine getting her hair done by Maxine and Bobby. As much as you tried not to, you felt yourself harden. She was in just her panties and yellow bra. A sight you were now for sure to fantasize about.

"Wait! Before we begin none of you are virgins right?"

You and Lorraine both shook your heads.

With excitement Wayne led you to the bed and had you lay down on your back. Sitting up on your elbows as Lorraine crawled onto your lap. Your throat dried up at how sexy she looked. The way her steady hands gripped the towel. It had your heart racing.

In that moment it was just you and Lorraine. No one else.

*

Lorraine had never been left so satisfied but yet hungry for more. The way you had left her shaking, seeing stars, the stretch, the places you hit that she didn't even know of. The way you handled her, the way you had looked down her as you railed into her. She never she had never felt so sore, her lower region ached. But it was a type of ache that only one person could fix.

You.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" You had wanted to check on Lorraine the moment Bobby and Maxine helped her after the filming. You never knew you could feel so horny. Even after everything. You wanted more of Lorraine.

Lorraine felt her cheeks heat up, it was way past dark now but she couldn't sleep. "Yea I'm okay." She felt your warmth the second you sat next to her on the bed.

"I-" You both said at the same time, then laughed lightly. You didn't want things to be awkward.

"I like you. As more than a friend." Lorraine blurted out. She refused to look your way. Cursing herself for not keeping her mouth shut. Now she had foolishly thought that you felt the same just because of what happened earlier that day. Now she wanted nothing more than to di-your lips were on hers completely cutting her off. She felt herself lean into your body more, her own hands clutching your shirt to bring you closer to her.

"I like you to 'Raine." You whispered to her. Your lips only centimeters away from hers. You had never felt so happy like you did in that moment. Just before you could continue the door swung open.

"Sorry to interrupt you ladies but RJ is missing."

*

Splitting up from Lorraine had been an awful idea. You shouldn't have listen to Wayne. Cause this elderly people were fucking crazy. You never knew an old man could be so strong. You fought with that old bat as he had tried to beat you with what looked like a bat. He had gotten a few good hits in, including a knife wound to your thigh. He would have won if you hadn't gotten a thick tree branch and swung it. The branch had connected to the old man's temple rendering him unconscious.

You stumbled away. Trying to stop the bleeding on your thigh. You needed to find Lorraine. Praying to the lord above that she was okay.

Crossing the lake to only trip. Falling hard on to the dirt floor. You groaned in pain the wounds you had burning in pain from the sudden movement. You looked back to what you tripped over, your eyes widening in fear and grief. There was Jackson eyes wide open, no life in the eyes that once held so much.

Getting up was harder but yet you still did. The need to find Lorraine was stronger.

Getting to the cabin was closer now. You limped up the steps. Using the wall to study yourself, trying to be as quiet as possible. You needed to find your phone. Wayne had told you not bring it. Said something about disconnecting with the outside world. But you hadn't listened and snuck it into your bag. Calling the police, and hoping that Lorraine was in the cabin.

The phone call was quick. The dispatcher promising to send the police. But you knew it would be awhile before they arrived. The farm was in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town being almost an hour away.

Getting into the farm house was your next option to find Lorraine. Upon entering the house, the loud noise of the tv was the first thing you heard. But the more you tried to focus, the clearer you heard someone crying.

With no other option you followed the noise into the kitchen. Seeing a door with some blood on it along with a hole. The crying being much clearer now. "Lorraine?"

"Y/n? Oh thank god you're okay. Please get me outta here. These people are fucking crazy." Lorraine sobbed, she felt relief that you were still alive. But the fear she felt was still there and growing at the sight of your beat up face and body. The pain of her broken fingers making her whole arm hurt.

You moved quickly to unlock the door. Her body falling into yours. You held her making sure not to hurt her.

"We have to hide. The cops are on their way. Here let me see." You took off your shirt carefully wrapping Lorraine's injured hand. Apologizing when she cried in pain. "Come on."

You both froze in fear at the sound of what sounded like Maxine screaming followed by a loud gun shot. You were faster to react, taking a hold of Lorraine's uninjured hand and leading her up the stairs. The more you tried to find somewhere to hide. The more fear you felt like those crazy people would get to you and Lorraine. That's when you saw the door to the attic. You moved quickly to get the rope and pull it down. The ladder falling, making sure to catch it before it made a loud noise.

"Come on. Go." You made sure that Lorraine made up the ladder safely before following her. Getting the ladder back up and closing the door. Lorraine was right behind you her face buried into your shoulder as she tried her best not to make a sound. Her shoulders still shaking form trying to control her sobs.

You heard the old man murmuring to himself. "Damn gun. Damn kids. I'll show them. I'll show them."

At the sound of something hard hitting the floor. You looked down through the small cracks on the floor boards. Seeing that he had dropped the gun. Taking in that he no longer had any bullets.

"I'll find them. I'll find them."

Dread feeling your body when he looked up, it looked like he was looking right at you. "Found you." Gripping the rope to hold the door in place.

"Fuck, Lorraine find another way out." Your grip tightening when you heard the old man trying to pull on the rope that was on the other side. Hearing him hitting the other side with a hard object. You were not going to let this crazy bastard get any where near Lorraine.

"There's a window." Lorraine did not want to die on this farm. And she sure as hell did not want you to either. Ignoring the pain she used both hands to open the window. But it had been nailed shut. So she used the lamp to break the window. Moving faster when she was hearing you struggle to hold the rope.

"Go Lorraine. I'll be right behind you."

"No but I-Go!"

Once she was out you let go of the rope, running the best you could with your injured leg to the window. Lorraine helping you out the window with her good hand.

"We're going to have to jump. Look the bed of the truck has hay. Co-" Your sentence being cut off when a sharp pain came from your back. The blade going in and out, your limbs losing their strength far too quickly. Before being pushed off the roof. Faintly hearing Lorraine's scream. Then gun shots ringing out before your world faded into darkness.

*

Bright lights were the first thing you saw. Sound being muffled, the pain from before being numbed. You looked around to see your mom sitting by your side. At the sight of her you finally let yourself cry. Hearing you cry, your mom looked up. Her own eyes filling with tears.

"Oh my baby." She knew, she knew she shouldn't have let you gone when you had asked to go on that stupid trip. But she had seen how excited you were, you had finally found a good friend in Lorraine. And since Lorraine was going as well, she thought that everything would be okay. It was just a normal trip between friends. But good god had she been wrong. 

"Where's Lorraine? Is she okay? Please tell me-She's okay sweetheart. Three broken fingers. But she's okay. She's been begging to see you." Your mother couldn't stop crying. She remembers the call. How the officers called her telling her how you had been stabbed and beat. How the people that owned that farm had tried to kill you and Lorraine. How that crazy old couple had succeeded in killing Lorraine's friends. Although they couldn't find the body of Bobby's.

"Take me to her please. I have to make sure she's okay."

Your mother nodded. Knowing very well that there was going to be no stopping you. "I'll tell Mr.Day that he could bring Lorraine in."

It wasn't long till the door to room was pushed open and Lorraine came in followed by her dad and mom.

Lorraine cried tears of joy and relief. Seeing you fall off that roof had been the worst feeling. Not knowing if you were dead. She remembers screaming. Before the sirens were heard. Along with shouting from the police and the old man. He had shouted and threatened to kill her. But the second he moved towards her he had been shot and killed. The crazy old lady as well.

Lorraine felt herself shake at the sight of your beat body under bright lights. Seeing you motioning for her to get closer. She wasn't one to deny you. Quickly getting to you and hugging you. Body melting in your embrace, careful not hurt your wounds. "Thank god your alright. I was so scared."

You moved your arms around her waist bringing her in closer to you. You looked towards Lorraine's parents. Who gave you a nod with a small smile before stepping out of the room followed by your mother.

Lorraine got comfortable on your bed. Loving the way your arms wrapped themselves around her. She thankful that you were alright. Her body being able to relax in your warmth. The steady heart beat lulling her into a deep.

:)

[ghouljams]

Imagining cowboy!Konig and his darling running into each other on a trial, only darling’s mare has gone lame so they have to ride back together on Konig’s horse to keep any weight off the mare. 🥺👉👈

You think your filly might actually hate you. She's so sweet when she wants to be, but most of the time she is actively working to make your life harder. You were having a wonderful time on the little trail behind your pasture, enjoying the nice weather and your new life. She was also having a wonderful time stepping on a snake.

You barely managed to stay on her as she bucked, swinging off when you got her stable for long enough. When you pulled the upset black and green noodle off of her she gave you the biggest saddest eyes you'd ever seen and limped like she was going to die. As much as you hate her, you feel your heart clench, the prospect of losing your only friend in this place absolutely devastating.

You do your best to calm her down and grab her bridle to lead her back to the pasture. Her limp has to be at least 80% drama as you lead her down the trail, it's a long walk back and you are working your way up to some pretty major tears.

Hoofbeats echo down the trail behind you as you hastily scrub the tears out of your eyes. Good, great, just what you need, an audience to your misery. The horse, and its rider, pull to a stop behind you.

"Are you alright Fraulein?" The rider asks, voice soft and- oh no. Oh noooo. No it's the guy from next door. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You scrub your face again just to be sure you're really not teary eyed and turn to look at him.

His brows are drawn together in concern, a black bandana held over the lower half of his face with one hand as he holds his horse's reigns with the other. You really have to tip your head back to look at him sitting on that draft horse.

"I'm alright, um, Honey stepped on a snake," you tell him, voice tight to keep the wobble out of it. His concern only seems to grow, leaning to give his horse some command before hopping off. He's quick to tie his bandana in place as he walks closer to you.

"What sort of snake?" He asks, crouching next to your filly's lame leg. You frown as you think.

"Black, with green stripes, I think."

"Ah," his shoulders shake a little, when he looks up at you there's laughter in his eyes, "nothing to worry about then, just a garter snake." He stands and you feel your heart swell.

"Really?" You ask, watching him click his tongue to summon his horse closer.

"Yes really, she'll be fine." His hands close over your hips and you scramble to settle your hands on his shoulders as he lifts you into his horse's sadle. You stare down at him and his smiles up at you. At least, you think he's smiling, you can see the way his cheeks make his eyes squint, the sparkle in the blue of his iris. "Better to stay off her until she gets past the dramatics," he tells you and you nod, because you don't actually think you can get off this horse. Your legs actually sort of hurt stretched over the sadle like they are.

König hooks a lead to her from his own pack and fixes up a little horse train, with Honey still looking sad and sorry as she's tied to his giant colt. You half think König is going to walk until he hooks his foot in a stirrup and hops up behind you.

You freeze, holding onto the horn of the saddle as he reaches around you to take the reigns. You are not prepared for the way his hips slot behind yours, and slide with the rhythm of the horse's movement.

"Sorry," he tells you, leaning to speak in your ear, "it's a long walk back, just bear with it." You suppress a shiver, trying to keep still so you don't seem too eager to feel him press against you. König's hips grind against you like you're made for it, a toy he picked up to keep on his sadle. You're reminded of how easy it was for him to pick you up, how every time he does it feels like you must weigh nothing to him.

His thighs bracket yours, pressing them close to the horse, keeping you held in the seat the same way his arms are. Boxing you in so all you can do is hold onto the horn and try to keep some distance between you. Either König isn't having it or you're worse at this than you thought because it feels like you're almost in his lap as you both ride. Ignoring the way you can feel him pressing hard against your ass. Maybe you grind back against him a little just to feel how big he is, but who's to say that wasn't just the movement of the horse?

[spaceshipellie]

everything’s about you to me

ellie williams x reader

chapter three: bathe me clean

masterlist for other chapters (prev) (next) *✧･ﾟ: wc: 5.9k

summary: in the midst of the apocalypse, you and ellie find each other after you’ve both lost everything. what started out as a mere safety in numbers pairing, turns into something imperishable. however, after some time you get separated, leaving you both to believe the other is dead. four years later you find a commune in wyoming.

warnings: tlou au, violence, knives, guns, dead bodies, murder, stab wounds, self inflicted injuries, ellie’s dad humour, 18+ MDNI

author’s note: this took me a lot longer to write than i was expecting so hope people are still interested in this series lol, i’m kinda proud of it and thank you for being patient <3 as always lmk what you think!

♪ ‘cause the world could be burning, and all i’d be thinking, is “how are you doing, baby?”

A few days had passed and you and Ellie had decided it was a good idea to investigate the town. You were in the kitchen, checking through your backpack to make sure you had what you needed. You had to make sure you packed enough so you had resources out there, especially considering the town was several miles away, but not too much that it meant your bag was too heavy to move swiftly with.

“You got the map?” Ellie asked, zipping up her own bag and slinging it on her back. You noticed she had traded her blue shirt for a brown, long sleeve shirt that must have been Jack’s. It was slightly oversized on her but not too much.

“Yeah.”

You put your bag on, attaching the machete on the side and putting the pistol in your back pocket. You had already locked and secured the front door so you followed Ellie out the back and towards the barn. She grabbed the brown leather bridle from a hook and took it over to Harley, stroking her peach-fuzz soft nose before hooking it over her ears and buckling it up.

“Where did you learn to do that?” you asked, watching as Ellie scrunched her face in concentration.

“I read about it.”

She then grabbed the saddle and the forest green blanket underneath and slung it over Harley’s back. She studied it for a moment, adjusting its position until it seemed to slot better with the curve of the horse’s back. Harley stood patiently, kicking one of her hooves on the floor and snorted a soft breath. Ellie reached under her stomach for the band that dangled down, bringing it up to her side.

“Okay okay, let’s remember how to do this,” she mumbled to herself, fingers fiddling with the buckles. She stuck her fingers in between the band and Harley’s stomach to check the tightness and yanked around at the stirrups before giving Harley a pat on the neck, seeming satisfied with it all.

“That should be fine,” she said, turning to you. You blinked a couple of times, not realising how hard you had been staring at her hands working. You nodded, standing back as she led Harley out of the barn.

Ellie put one foot in the stirrup and held onto the saddle as she swung her other leg up and over. She adjusted her hips in the seat, bunching the reins in one hand before taking her foot out the stirrup and holding out her other hand to you.

“You ever ridden a horse before?” you asked.

“Nope, you?”

You grabbed her hand, putting your foot in the free stirrup to support you as she helped pull you up. You had to hop a little on the foot that was on the ground cursing a “fuck,” as Harley took a step forward as your leg flew over.

“Never,” you said as your ass hit Harley’s back.

She chuckled. “Well, this’ll be fun.”

She replaced your feet in the stirrups and indicated for the horse to start walking. The sudden jolt made you keenly aware that this was definitely the closest you and Ellie had ever been. Instinctively, she put her free hand on your knee for a second steadying you before moving it back to rest on her thigh.

“You okay back there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

Your chest was pressed against her backpack, brushing up and down slightly with the movements of the horse. Harley walked through the field until you reached the road, the clack of her feet louder now that they were on the concrete. You held the map in both hands so it didn’t blow away, looking to see if you were heading in the right direction.

“According to this, we walk down this road for about a mile then we go right when we hit the junction,” you observed before folding it and shoving it back in your pocket, hands resting on your thighs.

“Seems easy enough, ‘least it’s not raining.”

“You’ve jinxed it now,” you teased.

“Oh shit,” she laughed.

It felt wrong to laugh too but you did. It felt selfish laughing when so many bad things had happened lately. It felt insensitive to laugh when your mom wasn’t around to hear it. Up until now, you thought you might never laugh or even smile again. You knew that it would take you a long time to heal after her death for who could put a restraint on grief. Yet you didn’t want to feel like actual poison was running through your veins anymore.

After losing your dad, it had been anger that had controlled you. You had fallen into a frenzy where everything you did was erratic and irascible. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you anymore. Your fingertips would claw at anything that made you feel as though you had found some retribution for what had happened to him. You thought at the time that it was the worst pain you had ever felt, but you’ve come to quickly realise that sadness is worse than anger. Anger can blindley carry you through whereas sadness makes your limbs too heavy to even move.

After losing your mom, you were overwhelmed with sadness. Everything hurt permanently and instead of time moving rapidly as a distraction, it had slowed to an impossible pace, as if it had pins holding your eyes open to watch the events play out over and over again. Her speaking to you, hugging you, leaving you.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” you shook your head, snapping out of your thoughts.

“I said what does the map say after we turn right?”

“Oh right, um,” you flustered as you tried to pull the map out of your pocket, fingers suddenly feeling slippery as you tried to unfold it. “Um, oh fuck, fuck.”

Your hand flew out as the piece of paper floated to the ground, whisking along with the breeze. Harley staggered back and forth on her feet as your weight shifted, naturally trying to follow the direction of the fallen map.

“Woah, careful,” Ellie’s hand suddenly gripped your leg firmly and your hand darted out to grab her arm to stop you from sliding off.

“Sorry, but shit, the map,” you said pointing.

“I know, here,” she held her hand out for you to take, “get off for a second.”

You complied and she did the same, rushing to stamp on the measly bit of paper so it didn’t go any further. She picked it up and shook off some of the dirt, wiping it before holding it up to you.

“See? Good as new.” She chuckled at her own sarcasm.

Your stomach lurched with anxiety. You had barely left the house and you’d nearly lost the very thing that could help you navigate this place.

“Hey, don’t stress. We’ve got it,” Ellie said, noticing the way you were wringing your hands and nibbling your lip.

You met her eyes and nodded. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

She handed you back the map and you folded it up, safely tucking it in your pocket. She mounted Harley, once again holding her hand out to help you on.

“I had a look, after we go right we need to go left at a gas station,” Ellie informed you, asking Harley to walk again.

“Okay.”

“If you need to hold on, don’t be shy. I’d rather you not actually fall off.”

You nervously placed your hands just below her waist, lightly fisting the fabric of her shirt so as to not touch her body too much. She had just said to not be shy but that didn’t mean you weren’t. You spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence, taking in the sights of greenery around you. How it shined under the strips of sunlight that poked through the huge clouds.

“Have a look in my bag a second, there should be a book in there.”

“Did you not see me nearly fall on my face? I don’t think I’m good enough to read and ride a horse,” you jested.

“Not that kind of book,” Ellie laughed, “just look.”

Keeping one hand gripping her shirt, you unzipped her bag and dug around for something book shaped. When you felt it you pulled it out.

“No Pun Intended: Volume Two,” you read outloud, “what the hell is this?”

“Open it and read something,” Ellie pushed, grinning to herself.

You flicked through the pages.

“I stayed up all night wondering where the sun went. Then it dawned on me.”

Ellie laughed. “Funny, right?”

“Sure,” you smiled, unconvinced.

“C’mon, read some more.”

You turned the page.

“I never trust stairs because they’re always up to something,” you snickered, flicking through more pages.

“These are so dumb,” you commented before finding another. “I had a crazy dream last night. I was swimming in an ocean of orange soda. Turns out it was just a Fanta sea.”

“I don’t get it,” Ellie said, frowning in confusion.

“Me neither.”

“I’ve got one,” she started excitedly, already laughing at her own joke. “Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? I heard the food was good but it had no atmosphere.”

You put the book over your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh escaping your lips. “These jokes are so stupid.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughing.”

“No, I’m not,” a smile evident in your voice.

“Yes you are, I can hear you,” she chuckled, turning her head around for a second trying to look at you.

“Okay, fine. I laughed. But you’re the one who’s memorised some of them!”

“Who knows when you’ll need an emergency pun!”

You squeezed Ellie’s side where your hand was and it made her jump. “You’re so weird.”

About an hour later, you arrived at what you heavily presumed to be the town. The gas station you had passed on the way you thought you would check out on the way back if supplies in the town weren’t great. On approach, you could see terraced buildings lining the streets. It looked like a typical small town. Shops with broken windows. Cars parked in skewed positions with flat tyres. Street signs half covered in vines that grew thick across brick walls. A general eerily quiet atmosphere. Very normal. Ellie pulled Harley to a stop and you both got off.

“Where should we look first?”

“Um, maybe make our way down these,” Ellie gestured to a row of shops on your left. You climbed over the open window pane, carefully avoiding any of the broken glass on the floor. You seemed to be in a pharmacy with its clinically white walls and flooring. The shelves were mostly empty, some completely knocked over with various items littering the ground. You naturally both went to different sides, scanning for anything useful. There wasn’t a great deal where you were looking, just some paracetamol that expired the same year as the outbreak, some expired baby formula, definitely won’t be needing that, and some dust covered sunglasses. They had massive frames with electric blue lenses. Beside them on the wall you saw a ripped poster of a guy who was also wearing sunglasses and a colourful open shirt, carrying a large board on a beach. You smirked to yourself and wiped the lenses clean before putting them on and looking up at where Ellie was.

“Think I might save these for my next beach visit. You know, try ‘n’ catch some waves,” you joked, putting on your best surfer dude voice for the last sentence.

“Hot,” Ellie laughed, stepping closer to you and slapping a huge, wide brimmed straw hat on her head. It had a reduced sticker on it which made sense considering the world went to shit about a month after summer. “I’ll join you.”

Getting into character, you sauntered over to her and rested an arm on the shelf beside her, popping your hip and resting your hand on it. You pitched your voice lower. “What brings you to the beach, pretty lady?”

Ellie pitched her voice higher, pretending to twirl her hair around her finger. “Oh, you know, just wanna work on my tan.”

“Well lemme know if you want any,” you pretended to flex your muscles, “any surfing lessons.”

“Oh I will,” she fake giggled before you both burst out laughing.

“That hat looks ridiculous,” you said, slapping the front of the rim.

“These don’t look any better.” She tapped on the lens of the sunglasses.

“No really? I thought I looked cool.” You took them off, pretending to be disappointed.

Ellie chuckled and frisbee-threw the hat across the store. You continued your searches for supplies, again coming up against nothing. You crouched under a knocked over shelf, more broken glass crunching under your feet.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Ellie’s voice. She was grinning smugly at something small in her hands.

“What is it?”

She held up and wiggled a tiny plastic bag containing thin rolls of paper.

“Weed?”

“The one and only. Saving that for later,” she smiled, shoving it in her pocket.

You smiled at how excited she seemed. You had smoked once when you were fifteen with Amy but you both had no idea what you were doing so you’re not even sure if you did it right. You just remember it making you feel a bit wobbly and your throat had felt scratchy and burnt.

“I’m not having any luck here, wanna try next door?” you suggested and she nodded.

After searching through the row of shops you decide to find the supermarket, using the map for directions. It was a large, standalone building with rusted cars parked sporadically in the carpark. A few with windows broken and dented hoods, some completely destroyed from crashing into each other. It made you stop and think for a second about how terrifying and confusing it must have been when the outbreak hit. One minute you’re hearing the sounds of shopping carts across gravel whilst you load your shopping into the car and then you hear screams and screeching tires trying to escape.

“This seems to be it,” Ellie pondered. She suddenly mumbled a “shit” and you followed her eyes down to a skeleton beneath ripped clothing on the ground by the door. You grimaced thinking about how long that had been there and how many people had walked past the decomposing person over the years. Perhaps not many as this seemed to be the epitome of a ghost town.

Not being shocked by the sight, Ellie began trying to shove the broken automatic doors apart further. You watched as the wind blew a piece of her hair across her face, catching it in the corner of her mouth. You wanted to reach out and fix it for her, frowning to yourself as you weren’t sure why you had the urge to do that. Instead, you helped her pry the doors apart, each slipping through once there was enough room. You glanced around the expanse of aisle, noticing the signs that hung above them. The chipped cream floor was littered with anything from knocked over produce, broken shopping baskets, ripped pieces of board, broken glass, smears of blood and other unknown substances. The deeper you looked the darker it got, the light from outside only travelling so far, especially seeing as on one side some of the windows had large pieces of cardboard taped to them. Maybe that person out the front had been camping out here once upon a time.

“I’ll start left, you start right and we’ll meet in the middle?” you suggested. Ellie merely nodded before heading to the far right aisle. There were fifteen of them in total so hopefully you would find something.

You had made your way down to aisle four and had lucked out in finding some scissors and matches. Shaking a box upside down to see if anything came out of it you suddenly heard a rattle which sounded like the door. You inched your way towards the back, careful to not to bump into anything and give your location away. You prayed the sound was just Ellie, but you weren’t about to call out her name to find out.

“In here,” a gruff voice sounded. Fuck.

Footsteps clambered in, rubber soles screeching on the floor. You couldn’t detect how many there might be but you were definitely outnumbered. You made a mental note of where your weapons were and clutched your machete. You racked your brain for what to do, fear boiling up inside you. You could hear the movements from these newcomers spread out, shadows slipping underneath the shelving units. You slipped around to the end, peering round to see if the next aisle was clear. It wasn’t.

A woman was walking towards you, a gun in her outstretched hands. You moved quickly back into aisle four before she could see you but you knew you weren’t safe to stay there. You trod carefully down to the other end, towards the front of the supermarket but there was someone guarding the door. Knowing that you would have to face one of them no matter what direction you went in, you decided you had a better chance against the woman who could be turning in your direction any second now. You paid close attention to any noises you heard although the building was eerily silent as you made your way back up to the other, darker end of the aisle. Your body faltered as you heard a squelch in the distance followed by a low, agonising grunt.

Having reached the end, you braved peering around the corner again only to see the woman with her back to you, slowly walking away. You swapped your machete out for your switchblade and took your opportunity to wrap a tight arm around her neck and puncture it. She choked out a splutter of bubbling blood, dropping her gun as you brought her body down slowly to the ground. You snatched the gun from the floor and moved forwards in hopes of finding Ellie.

The next aisle was clear so you kept moving before a hand suddenly slapped itself over your mouth and an arm held a firm grip around you, yanking you back into them and onto the floor behind a freezer unit. Your eyes widened and your body went rigid until you glanced down and saw the brown shirt sleeve. Bringing your knees closer to your chest so that they weren’t sticking out the side of the freezer you slowly turned your head. Your eyes met Ellie’s as she removed her hand from you and brought a finger to her lips to be quiet. You noticed some blood smeared on her hand. Your worried eyes darted between hers as she tightened her lips in a line.

“They got Milo.” you heard a sinister voice.

“Sadie too,” a shakier voice said.

“C’mon, let’s find those little shits,” the first voice commanded.

Your back pressed harder into Ellie and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You both knew you couldn’t just wait there, they would find you eventually, but you had no idea how many of them were left.

“We’ll take out the guard at the door and run,” Ellie whispered so quietly she had to practically press her lips against your ear in order for you to hear.

She snaked her arm away from you and gave you a gentle push, indicating for you to shift away so she could sneak a look over the freezer. You were now both crouched as she peered over before snapping her head back down. She pointed left and you nodded slowly before beginning to move forwards, still in your crouched position. You held your breath as you emerged from behind the freezer, exposing yourself to the possible dangers. Swiftly, you ducked into one of the aisles, Ellie following suit.

You moved down the aisle with careful speed, wanting to just get out of there. A dark shadow flashed before your eyes before a tall man with a scar starting from his cheek and finishing on his neck appeared. You halted and immediately rushed back up the aisle to create more distance, now behind Ellie as you both ran. A sharp, dense pain hit your thigh as you yelped and stumbled to the ground. You looked down at your leg and saw a knife that the man had thrown at you lodged in your flesh. Beneath the rip it made in your jeans, blood spilled down your leg.

Your eyes darted up to the sound of heavy boots stomping towards you. Ellie reached for your hand as you tried to scramble your way up but a rough hand gripped and yanked at your ankle, pulling you onto your back and away from her outstretched hand. You tried to kick as the man climbed on top of you, a cry coming from your lips as he ripped the knife out. With your legs stuck under his weight, you tried to blindly grab for your machete. You could hear Ellie’s grunts in the distance and assumed she had also been grabbed. Your frantic fingers managed to get a hold on the weapon and pull it out from its location on the side of your backpack but before you could swing, the man gripped your wrist. With everything you had, you tried to fight against his strength but it was no use. With his other hand he slammed his knife down and you screamed as the metal punctured your arm. He then pulled your machete out of your weakened grasp and tossed it so it skidded along the floor far away from you. You looked into his hardened eyes, your own glossing over. Your fingers scratched at him as you tried to push him off but your actions were cut short when he pulled the knife out of your arm and brought it up above your chest, thick fingers adjusting to get a stronger hold on the handle. Your crimson blood dripped from the blade and clung in splotches to the fabric of your top. Whether or not Ellie was okay flashed through your mind before your ears started ringing and your eyes squeezed shut at the sudden splash of something on your face.

A gunshot echoed through the store and when you opened your eyes you realised the only thing holding the man up anymore was your grip on him. You gasped at the glassy look he had in his eyes as you shoved his corpse off of you, the knife he had clattering to the ground. You sat up and tentatively brought your hand up to your face and swiped your cheek before looking at the blood that coated your fingertips. Turning your head you saw Ellie with an enraged look on her face and a shotgun pointed in your direction. At her feet lay another dead body, blood spilled and smeared around it. She lowered her gun and her expression softened ever so slightly as she walked towards you, crouching at your side.

“Here,” she mumbled as she ripped a piece from the hem of her shirt to make a tourniquet for your leg. You winced as she tightened the knot and her eyes glanced quickly to your face before noticing the stab wound on your arm. She ripped off another strip of material and did the same thing before holding your arm to help you stand up. You scrunched your face in pain at the weight being put on your leg but gritted your teeth to bear it.

“Was that all of them?” you asked.

“Think so, I haven’t seen anyone else.”

You hobbled towards the door of the supermarket, Ellie keeping a firm grip on your arm to support you. She hadn’t let on that she had any injuries but you could tell she had suffered beatings of her own by the way she slouched and strained her face. When you reached the door she let go of you to pry the doors open again. As soon as her hands gripped them a scrawny body came out of nowhere and wrapped a metal pole tight around Ellie’s neck. You screamed her name as her hands flew to grab the stranger's arm, trying to pull it away from her as they stumbled back. The man looked young and scared yet he desperately held his firm grip on the pole.

Ignoring your injuries, you grabbed your switchblade and threw yourself at him. The impact made him loosen his grip letting Ellie free. She was bent over, coughing and holding her neck as you tackled the boy to the ground. The fear you had felt about nearly losing your own life as well as Ellie’s transitioned into red anger as the faces of everyone you had lost flickered through your mind like embers. You fell completely inside your own head to the point where it felt like your ears were stuffed with cotton wool, blocking out the cries and screams of the man as you stabbed his chest over and over again with your knife. The sticky blood splattered your hands and stomach as you remained on top of him, repeatedly releasing your rage with every slash. He started to choke on bright blood as his eyes lost light. A pinching grip on both your arms was the only thing that snatched you from the trance, your vision and hearing becoming clear again. Ellie’s shouts became louder and clearer.

“That’s enough, that’s enough! Stop!”

She pulled you off of the man, your switchblade slipping out of your red hands. You sat sideways with your legs bent and looked up at her sat on her knees in front of you, her hands still holding your arms. She looked into your eyes with concern and took in your bewildered expression.

“I-” you choked on your words. The adrenaline was still running through your body.

“It’s okay, let’s go home.”

Ellie grabbed your switchblade off the floor and wiped it on her jeans before shoving it in her pocket along with hers before helping you to your feet once again. You both wobbled your way out and thankfully over to Harley who hadn’t been harmed. She neighed and kicked her front foot upon seeing you as if she was grateful you were still there. You steadied yourself by placing a hand on Harley’s neck whilst Ellie lifted herself up. She held her hand out for you and you braced yourself as you heaved your aching body up and onto the horses back. You had no embarrassment this time about holding onto Ellie’s waist as she gently kicked her feet for Harley to go.

The ride home felt like an eternity. The adrenaline had soon worn off, allowing the searing pain to sink in. Ellie had occasionally checked in on you with a quick “you still with me back there?” to which you’d mumble out a yes. All you wanted was to lie down. When you reached the house you climbed off of Harley and made your way to the back door whilst Ellie secured her in the stable. As soon as you got through the door you slumped into one of the dining chairs. You groaned as you shoved your backpack off, revelling in the removal of its heavy weight. Ellie came in and dropped her bag down also before rotating one of her sore shoulders and sighing.

“Wait there,” she instructed.

“I don’t plan on moving any time soon,” you joked as she dug through the kitchen cupboards.

She pulled out a first aid kit and some alcohol before marching back over to you and setting them on the table. She pulled a chair for herself to sit in and placed it in front of you. Your knees bumped as she opened up the first aid kit. She then paused, realising that in order for her to access your wounds you would have to take your clothes off.

“Um,” she started. It then clicked for you too.

“Oh right, um, yeah, you know, I can do it if you–fuck,” you groaned as you started to stand up. Her hand darted out to stop you but she quickly brought it back.

“It’s fine,” she laughed nervously, “if you don’t mind, I don’t.”

You nodded in appreciation, pausing before fumbling with the makeshift tourniquet on your thigh. You tried to swallow a groan as the pressure on your leg was released. You hesitantly undid the button and zipper on your jeans before resting your weight on your other leg so you could push the rigid denim down, exposing the nasty, deep gash on the side of your leg. You pulled your top down over your underwear and looked at Ellie who was looking intently at the wound. She didn’t seem phased, only concentrated on helping you. She poured a bit of sterile rain water onto a cloth and dabbed to clean any grime out of it, pausing to look at you when you flinched.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“It’s fine, you’re not the one who stabbed me.”

She chuckled at your dumb joke and continued dabbing the wound. You became very aware of how her fingers softly touched your bare skin. It felt like that shouldn’t be something to think about right now but you couldn’t help but watch how she was delicately looking after you.

“Okay, this definitely will hurt,” she said, grabbing the alcohol and twisting the cap off.

You shifted in your seat, readying yourself. You had suffered stab wounds before but that didn’t mean you had gotten used to it. You let out a string of curses as the splash of alcohol burned. It dripped to the floor in tinted red droplets as she pressed the cloth to the cut again, applying pressure whilst she grabbed the roll of bandages with her free hand.

“Hold this, keep the pressure on,” she gestured with her head to her hand on your leg and you swapped with her.

She started to wrap the bandage around your thigh, your hand slipping away as the wound was covered and she used her switchblade to cut through it and tie the bandage off. You thanked her before she gestured to your arm.

“I’ll go and get you some clean clothes then do your arm.”

She ran up the stairs and returned with a top and some loose pyjama trousers and handed them to you. You thanked her and winced as you pulled the trousers on before peeling your sweaty, blood soaked top off, leaving you in a vest. Ellie resumed her role as nurse and treated your arm the same way she had done your leg. She gave you a soft look as she helped you pull the fresh top on.

“Can I help you now? What about changing this–”

“Don’t,” she cut you off and sat back as you tried to reach for her bandaged right arm.

You sat back too, mumbling an awkward sorry whilst her eyes darted nervously side to side.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s fine.”

A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell. You couldn’t help but stare at the bandage and wonder why she didn’t want your help. Especially seeing as she was completely fine helping you. You didn’t know what to assume but you could only suspect that something horrific had happened to her to make her suddenly shift from sweet to closed off in an instant.

“You should get some rest,” she whispered, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded and made an attempt to stand, groaning as you did so. A hot flash of burning pain pounded in your leg as you put your weight on it. Ellie quickly snapped a hand out to support you.

“Maybe you should just stay on the couch.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Your lips tightened as she helped you shuffle to the living room where you not-so-gracefully flopped onto the couch. You thanked her again and both mumbled goodnights before she disappeared upstairs, leaving you alone with your pain and curious thoughts about her.

ELLIE’S POV

Ellie’s fingers tapped nervously on her wrist where her hands rested on her stomach. It was in the early hours of the morning and she was staring up at the ceiling, her body feeling restless and flighty. She couldn’t keep this up any longer, not now that she wasn’t travelling alone. She was scared to death about how you would react and how you’d see her if you knew. She had to do something to hide it, something much more convincing than a raggedy bandage. The mattress springs screeched as she got up from the bed. She made her way to the bathroom and rummaged as quietly as she could through the cupboards.

“Fuck, nothing.”

She carefully descended the stairs, nose scrunching at the loud creak from the top step. She had to find something fast so that you wouldn’t accidentally wake up. She crept into the kitchen and started looking through all of the cupboards. Her wavering eyes suddenly landed on a white bottle. Hesitantly, she reached her hand out for it and stood up, staring at the glaring warning labels. Her eyes quickly scanned the small print to see if it was strong enough to do the job and when she deemed it was, she turned her head to peer out the kitchen door and into the living room. You were still fast asleep. Grabbing the bandages and a bottle of the sterile water that was still left out on the table, she went back upstairs and set the things down on the bathroom floor by the bathtub and shut the door. She took a big breath and stared at the items before her. Shaking her head to rid it of the doubtful thoughts she quickly knelt on the ground and yanked up her sleeve, peeling off the bandage. The scarred indents of the bite mark revealed themselves and she brushed a hand over it.

“Ok ok ok,” she chanted quietly to herself in an attempt to psych herself up.

She grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off, grimacing at the chemicals unnerving scent. She clenched her right fist and held out her arm over the bath. Her teeth gritted as she held the bottle ready to pour, occasionally tipping it back each time it got close to releasing the liquid.

“Fuck, come on.”

She clenched her jaw and tried to swallow a grunt as she poured the substance over the bite. Her skin stung but it took a few minutes before she could see it turning red with irritation. Her fist tensed as she let the chemical stab away at her skin, ensuring that it would blister enough to cover the bite mark. She tried to focus on keeping a steady breath to avoid thinking about the pain and when she had had enough, she quickly rinsed her arm thoroughly with the water before bandaging it up. She slumped to the ground and hung her sorry head low between her bent knees, looking down at her arms before her. She didn’t even realise she was crying until she felt a tear drop on her hand. She sat there and quietly sobbed until her head started to hurt. She figured she should put the bottle back in the kitchen where she found it to avoid any suspicion from you before she climbed into bed. Her eyes felt sore and heavy, a contrasting drowsy feeling to the lightening pain that was prickling her arm. But eventually, she was able to sleep.

taglist *✧･ﾟ: @bellasfavelesbo@ximtiredx @abbyily @heartzjules @gold-dustwomxn @sawaagyapong @aouiaa @pinkigirl @nil-eena @ucannotcompare @cherriesxinthespring @blvebanisters @lonelyfooryouonly @ellieslegalwife @carmellie @iheartgeto @faceache111 @lveunoialv @jajsnjz @simpforellie @frickfrack-paddywack-ukulel-blog @unicycl @cass00x @lizziee-williamss1 @muthafuckingstargirl @kattirin @corpsebridenightamare @hopeless-y @eleactric @666eve999 @wavesgocrash

[herecirmsims]

Solo Horse And Rider

Nine poses for a solo rider and horse, plus all-in-ones. There are some issues with clipping reins (when using posed versions) and floating feet - please see details beneath cut!

You will need: - Pose Player - Teleport Any Sim - Horse Ranch EP

Useful, but not required for the poses to work: - Iberian saddle and Medieval Engraved Bridle With Reins - Reins For Posing Bridle

Download here (always free) SFS | Patreon

TOU: you may adjust for personal use to avoid clipping etc., but please do not reupload/paywall/claim as your own.

Other CC used: Leg bells and braided mane/tail/forelock by SchrodCat | Default replacement horse skin by @minervamagicka | Celebrimbor armour by @plazasims | a slightly edited version of Apricot Blossom Preset by Simsboo

I'd love to see them used! You can tag me on Twitter, Instagram, or Tumblr. I repost. ❤️ Thank you @ts4-poses and @alwaysfreecc!

You can easily browse more of my posepacks using my Ko-Fi gallery. Tips are appreciated but never required!

Details of known issues under cut to save your dash:

These poses have been annoying me for months lmao. I made them last year but ran into a couple of issues: at the time, all-in-one horse and rider poses posed out of alignment when placed off-lot with TOOL, and I also couldn't stop the reins from clipping in game (they are posed, and don't clip in Blender). I specifically wanted poses with reins because I have a hard time drawing them in, as I only have a mouse.

My off-lot bug seems to have been solved, and although I still haven't figured out why the reins are slightly off in game, I figured it probably doesn't matter: in the time Horse Ranch has been out, I've noticed most people draw reins in themselves.

I adjusted them slightly to work with the gorgeous new medieval saddle and stirrups by @morningstarequestrian , since that's what I'd be using my poses with, but although the rider's feet are resting on the stirrups in Blender, in game they hover. I don't know why and by this point I don't care enough to find out LMAO.

I've kept the original placement of the rider's hands and the reins on the horse rig, so you can use it with the LeiaMaria bridle for posed (but occasionally clipping) reins, or with any other bridle and draw the reins in yourself. In medieval art, most horses are shown to have two reins (one decorated, one 'normal') so I think using it with Morningstar's Medieval Bridle like this works fine (I would have drawn reins in myself if I wasn't lazy). The poses work with EA saddles, but I don't have other CC saddles-with-stirrups so can't say if the placement is off for others. 

[buckarooranch]

Howdy, folks! 🌻

Well, dust off them cowboy hats 'cause we're back in the saddle again, and it feels finer than a cool breeze on a hot day!

Today, we're unveilin' a brand new tack set tailor-made for all you 'basic' lovers out there.

This here set's got everything you need: a sturdy western saddle, a trusty bridle, and a snug pad for your trusty steed. It comes in 8 different basic colors, so you can mix and match with all your other gear without breakin' a sweat.

Now, don't be shy! Once you've rigged up your horse with this here set, snap a pic and give us a holler! We would love to see your beautiful creations with this set. So, don't hold back—tag us and let's see them horses lookin' fine. 🤠🐎

Details:

- 8 Western Saddle & Bridle variations

- 8 Saddlepad variations

- The Set is for Elder/Adult horses.

This set requires the Horse Ranch DLC.

Releases: 2nd of June - 17:00 CET

🌻 ~ Howdy

Some inspiration pictures:

Patreon (Early Access!) | Website

[cmncisspnandmore]

Coming home to you; Part 4

Parinings: Captain John Price X Wife! Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.1k

New to the series? Catch up here: Part 3

You sigh as you slide off Captain's back, your boots hitting the ground with a loud thud. It was a far drop off Captain, with how large he was. You pat the side of his neck as you grab the reins guiding him over to the fence. 

This was the second section of fence that had been broken in a month. You let go ofC  Captain's reins, and he goes to graze in the grass next to you. A soft breeze blows your hair into your face as you crouch down next to the broken wire fence. You carefully pick up one of the thick wires and inspect it. 

It was cut, not broken by some animal, the break was too clean for it to have snapped under the pressure. Someone had cut your fence, but who? You lived in the middle of nowhere, there was nothing but acres of empty land around you. Most of which was owned by you and the neighbor down the road. You were the only two houses on this side of the road. Your neighbors across the street, the Rosens, owned most of the land over on their side.

There have been a few instances over the last few years that people have wandered onto your property thinking it was hunting ground. There was a lot of wildlife that lived in the woods behind your fenced pastures. But in the past year or so you hadn't had much of an issue thanks to the signage you had put up with your neighbor. You carefully put the cut wire down, your eyes trailing along the fence. 

One of the posts was uprooted, it is now laying on the ground. That was going to be a pain to fix. If there was one thing you hated about fixing fences was digging in the fence posts. The posts themselves were almost as big as you, and they weighed a lot. You sigh, turning back towards the large Shire horse as he grazes. His large brown eyes look towards you as he lifts his head. Grass stuck out of his mouth as he took a few steps towards you. His black and white muzzle coming to bump into your arm. 

“Someone’s messing with our fences… Do you know anything about that?” You ask him, as you pet his neck. Captain finishes chewing his grass before he tosses his head up and down, his top lip pulled up in a smile.

“Oh really? Do you?” You smile at his antics, a soft huff coming from him as your fingers stroke his nose. “Silly old thing, if only you could talk.” 

You spend a few more moments petting Captain, before you glance over your shoulder at the fence post again. With a heavy sigh you pull your phone from your back pocket and dial John. 

“Hello?” His gruff voice answers on the second ring.

“Hi,” you smile into the phone.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, you can hear shuffling in the background.

“Yeah, I mean, no. I don't know,” you sigh, “the fence in the back pasture was cut. And one of the posts is down.”

“Cut?” he asks, “are you sure it was cut?” 

Running a hand through your hair you sigh, “Yeah I'm sure, can you come out and help me fix it?” 

“Yeah, give me a few moments to get the gates open, and everything we need to fix it in the truck.” 

“Okay, i’ll see you when you get here,” you hang up the phone, sliding it into your back pocket. “Looks like we’ll be out here for a while, let's get that tack off you.” Captain seems to understand, as he lowers his head so you can easily remove his bridle. You carefully lay his saddle and the rest of his tack over a portion of the fence and take a seat in the tall grass. It only takes Captain a few moments to notice you're sitting in the grass before he comes over. His large hooves stopped a few feet from you. Glancing up you smile at the huge animal, as he leans his head down and nudges you hard with his head. 

“Oh I'm sorry, did I not invite you to sit with me?” You smile as the large animal maneuvers himself to kay in the grass next to you. He lays on his side,his large head resting on your thigh as you stroke your fingers through his slightly tangled mane. The Captain's mane was long and black, the strands thick and coarse in between your fingers. As the sun warms your skin you, take some time to plait his mane into intricate 4 and 5 strand braids. Weaving in small yellow flowers that were around you. Captain although hard headed at times, wanted nothing more than to please you. He enjoyed laying the fields with you, letting you pet him and do as you pleased. He was tolerant of you grooming him, and he often fell asleep as you braided his mane, or brushed him.

As you tie off the end of your last plait, the rumbling of a truck coming from behind you. The noise causes Captain to stand, getting to his feet as his large ears turn in the direction of the sound. He steps in front of you, putting his large body between you and the truck. As the truck comes closer you move to stand next to Captain as he lets out a whinny. 

“Easy boy, it’s just John,” you soothe him, as he stamps his hooves into the ground.

The dark gray truck pulls to a stop next to the broken fence line. The door  slamming shut as your husband walks around the front. As soon as Captain sees him, he visibly relaxes.

“See i told you, silly horse,” You pat his neck as you walk away from him. Captain returns to grazing as you walk up to your husband. His boonie hat pulled down to shield his eyes from the sun. “Hi love,” you smile as you stand in front of your husband.

“Hello Beautiful,” he smiles, his large hands coming to rest on your waist as he gently tugs you towards him. Your hands lay softly on his chest, the warmth of his chest seeping through his shirt. Through the thin material of his shirt you could feel his muscles flexing, as he leant down to press a kiss to your hair. “Care to show me the broken wire?” He smiles down at you.

“It's over here,” you step away, walking over to the cut fencing. John takes a moment. Bending down to inspect the wire, after a moment he stands, brushing his hands on his pants.

“You’re right, it was definitely cut, and that post was pulled from the ground,” he points over to the fallen post. “I don't know why someone would cut the fence… It’s clearly posted that this is private land not hunting grounds. And even the last time we found someone hunting on the land they left the fences very well alone.”

“I'm not sure, but we need to get that fixed before we let the animals back here. The last thing we need is to find that the sheep have wandered off, or that Captain and Rookie have taken themselves for a hack by themselves,” you sigh, walking over the bed of the truck and grabbing the thick work gloves from the back. You also grab the post hole digger from the back of the truck, as John cuts the broken wire from the other post. 

After he throws the cut wire into the back of the truck he grabs the post hole digger from you. “I can dig the hole if you want to attach new wire to the fence post that's still in the ground over there.” He smiles at you as he hauls the heavy piece of equipment over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. 

“Oh, how cute, you thought I was going to dig the hole?’ You smile cheekily at your husband. John doesn't reply, he just shakes his head as he walks over to redig the fence post hole. 

You pull on a pair of thick work gloves and carefully go about fastening the wire to the standing fence post. The sun beats down on both you and John as you work in comfortable silence. It only takes him 20 minutes to dig the new hole and place the post, where it would've taken you almost an hour. As you twist the wire around itself to fasten it to the post John comes over. His shadow falls over you as he watches you finish twisting it together. 

“You’re better at fastening the wire than I am. The damn stuff just makes me mad, I don't have the patience for such tasks anymore,” he grumbles. You look up over your shoulder, the sun glaring from being John makes him more shadow than actual features.

“Did you lose all your patience in your old age?” You tease. 

“I lost it when they assigned Soap to my task force,” he smiles as he shakes his head. 

“Well, there had to be someone other than me adding to your grey hairs,” you smirk.

“Darling no one gives me more grey hair than you,” John laughs, as he crouches down next to you. You finish tying off the wire and reach over, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“It just adds to your charm, you should really be thanking me, if i'm being honest.”

“Oh? I should be thanking you for aging me?” He raises a brow.

“One hundred percent, gives you that whole sexy older man vibe. You know this younger generation are all about going for older men. The more mature males, the sophisticated ones, the ones who probably know their way around a woman.” 

“And do i?” He asks, standing to his full height, his hand catching yours as he pulls you up with him.

“Do you what?” You look up at him.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, “know my way around a woman.” 

A shiver runs through your body, the hair on your arms standing up as his hands circle your waist, pulling you flush against his front. A blush creeping up your neck and painting your cheeks. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, seeping into your skin like, settling into your bones. “You definitely know your way around a woman,” you breathe.

“Good answer,” he smiles down at you, his hand coming up to brush along your cheek. “Look at you, all flustered over a simple conversation.” 

You roll your eyes at him, stepping out of his arms, “what can I say? It’s all the grey hair.”

John smiles, shaking his head as he wipes his hands on his jeans. He walks over to the rest of the supplies and piles them into the truck, making sure to secure the bed.

Captain walks over, his nose bumping into your shoulder, a soft nicker for your attention. You turn towards the horse, petting the sides of his face, brushing some stray grass from his muzzle. He tosses his head up, his lip curling upward in a smile as John walks towards you. 

“Nice smile, Captain,” John laughs at the large animal, pulling a peppermint from his pocket. He holds it out on his flat palm, as Captain eats it from his hand. The loud crunching of the mint between his teeth filled the quiet. 

“The fence is all fixed so there shouldn't be any wandering animals, I have to head back to the house, i need to do some work in my office today,” John's hands rest on your shoulders as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

Turning your head you look up at him, a small smile on his lips, “Okay, i’ll follow. Could you take Captain's tack?” 

John gives a subtle nod, “Need a boost up?”

“Yes please,” you smile, grabbing a handful of Captain's mane. John moves his hands to your waist and hoists you up onto Captain's back. As you settle onto his back, John's hand moves to your thigh, patting it gently. 

“Hey Love?” You call as he starts walking back to the truck. He looks back at you over his shoulder, boonie hat blocking his eyes. 

“Yes?”

“RACE YOU HOME!” You yell, giving Captain a kick in the side and the old Shire horse takes off. Your hands gripping chunks of his mane as his hooves pound into the ground. You look over your shoulder, John getting smaller in the distance as he throws Captains tack into the back of the truck and hurries to climb in. You laugh as Captain picks up speed, the sound of the truck turning over in the distance.

Taglist: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world