#long hair beaver

[suziwest-coatcollection]

Gifted to me by original owner Susan Joy Meyers in April 2022 (Light in the Attic Estates, Brevard, NC). Susan purchased this coat from Bloomingdale's in Manhattan in 1980s.

[transbeeduo]

Giggles. Can u draw cfundbomb

I need to figure out what i want to do for my design for c!hbomb so they get to be on the phone instead (text says “having a wonderful conversation”)

VOTE FOR ME HERE AND GET A DOODLE

[heisokay]

[vivwritesfics]

Grandparents

Jimmy is a frisky little fuck, gets the neighbour cat pregnant. But hey, that's an excuse for the neighbour cats owner to introduce her to the pretty man with the mesmerising blue eyes who also can't wait to become a cat grand parent

1.7K

Beaver had been acting incredibly strange. When her owner acquired her (literally rescued the little cat from a bin - she had been sitting in the apartment dumpster literally chewing a bit of wood, how she got her name), she had never been one to beg for food. 

In the three years she'd owned Beaver, she'd always filled up her bowl in the morning, and then Beaver would sporadically eat from it. She'd never finish the bowl before noon and then yowl for more. 

And Beaver was definitely getting fat. 

Her owner was incredibly worried.

She scheduled an appointment with the vets and then spent maybe two hours trying to coax Beaver into her cat carrier. But the cat was a wild child. If she didn't want to do something, she wasn't going to do it. 

The cat carrier idea was abandoned. "I kinda hate you," her owner muttered with little conviction as she scooped Beaver up into a blanket and left the apartment. 

It was a little awkward, carrying a cat through Monaco like it was a baby. But Beaver was pretty happy to lay in her arms, happier than she would have been in the cat carrier. 

When, at last, they got to the vets, they were the only beings in the waiting room. Thank God, the last thing she needed was a dog freaking Beaver out, or Beaver chasing somebody's pet rodent across the room. 

She couldn't stop her knee from bouncing as they waited to be called. Her eyes couldnt stop drifting across the room, to that ugly, magnified picture of a tick. When they were called (which didn't take too long, maybe everybody else's pets were thriving that day), she carried adjusted her grip on Beaver and carried her into the waiting room. 

Pregnant. Her mangy little street cat who she loved more than anything was pregnant. "Beaver, you hoe," she mumbled as they walked out of the vets office. But then she looked at Beavers swollen belly. She had kittens in there.

Who the hell was the father? Beaver hadn't left her apartment (by choice), so who had gotten her pregnant?

She didn't mean to gasp as loudly as she did. In the hall of the apartment complex, she stopped walking to look at Beaver, her eyes wide. "It's the neighbours cat, isn't it?" She asked, but Beaver didn't confirm or deny. 

But it madde sense, didn't it? The neighbours cat had a habit of breaking into her balcony to check Beaver out. It wouldn't be a surprise if he and Beaver got busy while she was at work. 

"Well," she said to Beaver as she unlocked the apartment door, "at least you've got taste." 

Yeah, the neighbours cat was pretty beautiful. A Bengal, if she knew her cat breeds (which, she barely did). And his owner wasn't bad to look at either. 

The owner that she should probably inform of what was going on. 

She placed Beaver down on the sofa, and she climbed out of the blanket. "Okay, Bea," she said, holding out her hand (so that Beaver could push her head against it). "I'm gonna go and tell your baby daddy's dad what's going on. You stay here and... try not to let any more boy cats in." 

Beaver ignored her and made her way to the bedroom. 

Standing up straight, she brushed the loose cat hairs from her jacket. She grabbed her keys from the side and made her way out of the apartment, to the one just above her own. 

As she waited outside of her cats baby daddy's owners apartment, she could hear an incredible amount of commotion from inside. Well, I say commotion, but it was one single voice, sometimes shouting. She raised her knuckles to the door and knocked. 

The shouting stopped. Their was a pause, so long that she thought he wouldn't answer, before he pulled open the door. 

Eyes so pretty she got lost in them, and quite literally forgot what she was going to say. She'd never properly met her neighbour before, just seen him when walking through the building. Her mind blanked as she continued to stare into those pretty blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" Her neighbour prompted, and she shook herself out of whatever trance he had her under. Witchcraft, I tell you. 

"Uh, yeah. Sorry to bother you but I live in the apartment beneath you with my cat, Beaver, and I think your cat might have gotten mine pregnant."

His face dropped, and then a smile split across it. "Really?" He asked, and she nodded. "Jimmy is going to be a dad?”

"If Jimmy is the pretty little Bengal that Beaver is obsessed with, then yeah, Jimmy is gonna be a dad," she answered, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Suddenly he was reaching into his apartment and grabbing a set of keys. "Can I come meet the momma?" He asked, his voice so excited. How could she say no to that?

On the short journey form his apartment to her own, they introduced themselves. Max was Jimmy's dad, and he was a car mechanic (okay this girl clearly didn't know who Max was, and he didn't want to come out with the whole F1 driver thing. So he took a leaf out of Daniels book and called himself a car mechanic).

(She thought it was a little weird, how did a car mechanic afford a luxury apartment in Monaco? Maybe he was a car mechanic to the stars or something).

"Why is she called Beaver?" Asked Max as she pushed her key into the lock on her apartment door.

She didn't judge him for asking, it was an incredibly strange name for a cat. "Well, when I found her she was chewing this bit of wood and she looked sort of like a mangy little beaver. Turns out she was just a mangy little cat," she said and let Max in.

They might have been in the same building, but her apartment was much smaller than his own. A lot more full, too. Where Max had little else beside his set up in his living room, she had so much stuff. A fluffy colourful rug, a sofa big enough for a whole group of people, a cabinet full of DVDs.

"The little miss is probably in my bedroom," she muttered as she kicked off her shoes. "I'll go and get her."

Max kicked off his own shoes. He took a moment to look around properly, careful not to invade her privacy.

She emerged just a few moments later from a little way down the hall, a little black and white cat in her arms. "This is Beaver," she said, holding the purring kitten towards him.

"Hi Beaver," said Max as he took her from her hands. "I'm Max, Jimmy's dad. You're gonna make me the happiest cat grandpa out there."

Beaver pushed her head against Max's, still purring. "She likes you," said her owner as she sat on the couch.

"They're gonna have the prettiest babies," Max said as he sat beside her, Beaver happily sitting in his lap. As carefully as he could, Max fished his phone out of his pocket and passed it to her. "Give me your number, just in case you guys need anything."

But it wasn't just in case they needed anything. After Max went back to his apartment, they texted almost constantly. It started off being about the cats, but then it went further (I say further, but it was just them sending each other memes, giggling from behind their phone screens as they laid in their respective beds).

Max invited her out for dinner maybe a week before the kittens were born. It wasn't anything fancy; he was just craving something unhealthy and he wanted some company.

And then the kittens were born. As Beaver hid herself away in her closet, she pressed her phone to her ear. "C'mon Max, pick the fuck up" she whispered as she sat on her bed.

She was panicking, admittedly. But who could blame her? Her cat was about to give birth!

Max finally picked up his phone. "Hey, I'm at the pet store. What sort of bed should we get for momma and babies?" He asked, sounding all too relaxed.

"Shut the fuck up and get your ass over here!" She cried. "The babies are coming!"

Max ran out of the pet store. He'd never moved so quick in his life (not with his own two legs, at least). In ten minutes flat he was outside of her apartment door, knocking insistently.

Max was just as stressed as she was. But, upon seeing the look on her face, Max let the stress drop. "She'll be okay," he said, pulling her close for just a moment. For a moment was all they had; they had to get to Beaver.

He took charge, sitting her on the bed with a glass of water. The two of them waited while Beaver gave birth. There wasn't much more they could do. Once the kittens were born, Max brought in towels and blankets. He kept a nice distance to her while he set up a lovely warm bed for her and the kittens.

"They're beautiful," he said, not daring to pick them up. "Should we bring Jimmy down here to meet them?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Let momma and babies rest," she said, laying her head on Max's shoulder.

He squeezed her. "We're gonna be the best cat grandparents," he said. When she held up her hand, Max gave her a high five.

"Can the grandpa take the grandma out for dinner? Is that something a new cat grandparent would enjoy?" He asked, looking down at her with her head still on his shoulder.

She hadn't yet taken her eyes away from the kitten. "Real dinner? Or you just want company?"

"Real dinner, date dinner."

"Love it."

[sweetarethediscords]

The Maiden of The Barren Rime

Winter Wind blows through the valley, pushes us into our homes.

Pleading she knocks at our windows, scorned she continues to roam.

Chapter 1: The Brambled Beauty

Mina quieted at the sound of unfamiliar voices on the wind.

“Are you sure this is the right cabin?” It was a feminine voice, on the younger side, with a slight Tinian accent, most likely from the North Coast judging from the way they dragged the “er” in “sure.”

“Of course this is the right cabin! It’s the only cabin in this damned forest!” A masculine voice spat back. Staunchly Lanholdian, Mina could almost feel the thick tension in their tongue behind her own teeth. The gravel of age and annoyance ground up from the back of their throat.

Mina picked up her pace, leaping up into the treetops, crossing miles in minutes towards the voices with no more sound than the rustle of wind through pine needles.

She stilled. The branch beneath her feet barely creaked.

They were outside her cabin. A young woman with thick glasses and even thicker curly hair checked the compass in her hand as the short, sturdy man beside her impatiently tapped his foot and picked at the split ends of his long, braided beard.

Mina placed a hand on the hilt of her sword as she watched them through the canopy. The man’s leather armor bore a crest depicting a mountain top and three diamonds, with glinting, well-polished stripes on his pauldron pronouncing his rank. Seven; a general of lauded stature. Why he traveled with the young woman was unclear.

She was clearly not a noble. The slight roll forward of her shoulders, the patterned bandanna holding her hair out of her eyes too weathered or wrinkled for even a disguised royal to wear, and a decent soldier would never keep their guard down as much as hers was in an unfamiliar place. Perhaps she had hired the knight as security on her journey.

A journey Mina would take no part in.

She shifted to sit easily and silently, making sure not to catch the beaver skins hanging from her pack beneath her. A few more minutes and they would leave, then she could prep the skins and start to smoke the meat in her satchel as planned.

“Well,” the woman stuffed her compass into her jacket pocket. “At least it’s a nice day out to wait. Sun’s still warm enough to cut the edge off the autumn chill.”

Annoyingly, she made her way to the porch of Mina’s cabin and took a seat on its rough wooden steps. Mina ground her teeth slightly. Maybe a splinter or two would poke her through her patchwork skirt and urge her away.

The man huffed and kicked at a tuft of crabgrass. “You think this chill has an edge? Just wait until you’re on the Peaks.” The tuft came loose, sending dirt and now homeless pill bugs scattering. “If we ever get to the fucking Peaks.”

Dammit, Mina thought. They were here for an expedition.

“Ya know, we could always go with another alpinist,” the woman offered. “Beto Lamar’s homestead is about a day’s ride west from here.”

“A day’s ride but three weeks past our deadline,” the man said. “This girl can bring us back to Lanholde in under a month.” He stomped over and stood on the steps, too proud to sit, but not proud enough to not lean on the railing for support. “She will get us there in a month.”

“Even if she’s already off on an expedition?”

“She’s not,” the man gestured over his shoulder. “The windows are open. And this cabin is too well maintained for its owner to just head off for two months with the windows left open.”

Mina thudded her head against the tree trunk. Of course. An observant and stubborn knight.

She inhaled deeply, held it, then exhaled, taking her frustration down a little, unclenching her jaw just a touch. She'd piss them off enough that they’d rather stand Lamar’s extra three weeks in the cold than put up with her, and if that didn’t work, ask for a ridiculous amount of gold to scare them off.

Three more weeks in the cold. Three more weeks to die. The unwilling thought made her teeth ache.

She climbed down from the pine she had perched in and moved soundlessly towards the drying rack staked beside her cabin. She removed one of the rungs filled with beaver skins from her pack. A loud and forceful snap echoed through the woods as she dropped it into place.

The trespassing pair jumped. The knight drew his sword as the woman bladed her feet into a wide stance, arms lifted, ready to perform some sort of cast.

So they were a magic wielder and a knight.

“Get off the porch,” Mina stated bluntly as she hung another rack.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the knight’s jaw fall agape while the woman’s disposition relaxed. She straightened up out of her fighting stance, and Mina caught the faint sound of a cork squeaking back into a bottle on the wind.

“My apologies, miss. We’re looking for the alpinist that lives here,” she said. “Would that be you?”

“No,” Mina lied. “I’m a hunter. The alpinist lives to the west.”

The woman arched an eyebrow and looked to the knight. He flared his nostrils, puffed out his chest, and stomped over towards her.

“I am Sir Murmir Gargic, general-rank knight of the Lanholde Royal Army, proud servant to King Fritz Reinhardt.”

“Never heard of him,” she lied again.

The knight sputtered, whatever bullshit speech he had prepared dying on his tongue. “You never—”

“Sir Gargic,” the woman whispered behind him, calling his attention and allowing him a moment to regain his composure.

Annoying.

“Well, he’s heard of you, and has specifically recommended that we seek you out to lead us up the Fallow Peaks. We’re in a bit of a time crunch, so if you don’t mind talking terms so we can start the expedition today—”

“If that’s the case, then I guess your king expects you both to die,” Mina droned, mono-toned and matter-of-factly. “I’m a hunter, not an alpinist.”

The knight’s breathing shallowed as her jab at his ruler crawled under his skin. He inhaled deeply, a tirade building, when the woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How much would it cost for you to be an alpinist?” she asked.

Mina drifted her dull gaze over towards the woman, finding her with a smirk on her lips and a knowing glint in her eye.

“Seven thousand gilt one way,” she answered. “The real alpinist to the west charges half that.”

“I’m sure.” The woman shrugged. “But the alpinist we’re looking for fits your description exactly. Female alpinist. Rough around the edges. Lives alone in a cabin deep in the Sandere Woods, five hundred paces off of the last bend in Woodgullet Road, heading northeast.” She rattled off the details as if she were reading them off a sheet of paper.

Mina blinked slowly, then repeated. “Seven thousand gilt one way.”

“Deal.”

Gods fucking dammit. An unfortunately familiar tug pulled at her spine.

Sir Gargic fished out a scroll from one of the pouches on his belt, while the woman brandished a quill and a bottle of ink. He scrawled something down on it, then turned the parchment in her direction: a contract of duty.

His thick, stubby finger pointed at the 7,000g written next to the terms of payment. “Seven-thousand gilt to be delivered direct from the Capitol’s treasury upon our safe arrival.” His finger traveled down the page to a long signature line. “All you need to do is sign here.”

She did, reluctantly. Her arm dragged by that damned tug.

“Mina,” the woman read her name aloud, standing on the tips of her toes to watch as she wrote it. “I’m Wera Alrust.”

Mina snapped the quill once she finished, dropped it to the ground, and headed into her cabin.

“Where are you going?” Sir Gargic barked behind her. “You’re under contract to—”

“Packing,” Mina answered. “Can’t climb a ten-thousand-foot cliff face with just a bow, a sword, and a can-do attitude.” She paused in the doorway. “Just two going up?”

“Five,” Wera answered. “Six if you count yourself.”

“I don’t.”

Last-minute trips up the Fallow Peaks were nothing new to Mina, as much as she loathed them. They were always inconvenient and pressing, which meant the travelers were stressed and distracted — which meant the death count was usually higher than the average one or two losses. Expeditions such as this were few and far between, at least. Most travelers knew to prepare well in advance for the perilous journey, contracting her months ahead of time instead of minutes.

She closed all the windows and locked the shutters, made sure her books and sheet music were lifted off the ground in case the fall rains caused the lake to flood, and tucked the more expensive of her instruments away as she filled the pack she kept by the door.

“Flint, whytewing leathers, tarp, rations, climbing axes…” she muttered to herself as she rifled through it — taking stock to make sure she had everything she needed — then picked up a fiddle and bow leaning against a hard wooden chair. She loosened up the strings a bit and unstrung the bow to keep the horse hairs from snapping, then shoved it in with the rest of her gear.

“Where are the other three?” she asked as she stepped back outside and locked the door.

“Back on the road, waiting with the wagon,” Wera replied.

“You can’t take a wagon up a mountain.”

“We don’t plan to.” She was, frustratingly, smiling at Mina when she turned around. “Ready to go?”

“Lead the way.”

Sir Gargic headed off, impatience and frustration bringing out the ill-manner child in him. With such thin skin, it wouldn’t be long before he broke their contract, or he died. Rabbet’s Pass most likely, which would be convenient. She could leave his corpse in the caves there, and they wouldn’t have too far of a walk back to Sandere afterwards.

After only a few wrong turns through the thick wood, the seldom-used road emerged. A simple covered wagon pulled off to the side let the four horses that drove it graze lazily, while two more members of their party hung around it: an old woman with her hair up in a tight bun, sitting on the ground making daisy chains out of dandelions, and a young man with a sharp haircut and a well-coiffed mustache scrawling in a notebook as he sat in the driver’s seat.

Sir Gargic’s spine straightened and chest puffed out as he put on a bit of bravado. “We’ve returned!” he cried, waving grandly.

The old woman and mustached man looked up from their work. The woman abandoned her dandelions and stood to meet them, while the young man looked them over and flipped to another page in his book; quill taking off in a fury.

“Ah! Are you the young lady who will be guiding us?” The old woman smiled sweetly. “My name’s Tanir and the boy on the cart is Enoch.” She turned over her shoulder and hollered, “Wave hello, Enoch!”

Enoch raised his hand partially, too engrossed in whatever he was writing to look away.

“Mina.” Mina met Tanir’s gaze, and the old woman’s brow furrowed. She was looking for the appropriate response, a sign of expression to source Mina’s first impression of her. Mina watched her bottom lip shift subtly, a minuscule pucker as her teeth bit behind it uneased to find nothing.  

Annoy the knight. Unnerve the old woman. Now she just had to find the others’ weaknesses.

“You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road. They’ll slow us down and will be hunted by the beasts of the Harrow.”

“Oh, uh—” Tanir swallowed. “That sounds like something you should discuss with Master Windenhofer. I’ll go get him for you.” She flashed another smile, this one fueled by nerves, and hurried off into the back of the wagon.

Enoch snapped his notebook shut and leaned over the side of the driver’s seat. He rested his chin on his hand dramatically, abandoning the fierce focus he held when writing to gaze at Mina with puppy dog eyes. “Did you know you are extremely beautiful for an alpinist?”

Sir Gargic sputtered with embarrassment. Wera shot Enoch a disgusted look.

Mina stared at him blankly.

“I know,” she said after a moment.

Enoch choked on his spit at her response. Wera burst out into a fit of laughter, drawing Mina’s attention.

Laughter wasn’t a response she was used to receiving.

“Don’t forget to write that one down,” Wera wheezed through her giggles. “‘My attempts at flirtation failed tremendously as usual.’ A good archivist doesn’t leave out any details!”

“Enough of that, Enoch!” Sir Gargic snipped, hitting him on the arm. “She comes highly recommended by The Crown of Lanholde, and you will address her with the respect that such a recommendation warrants!”

“S-sorry, M-mina,” Enoch stammered, still caught off guard by her curtness as he leaned back away from her, rubbing his injured arm.

“I hear we have a new face joining our motley crew!” a warm, deep voice cheered from inside the wagon. The cart bounced as a tall, lean man, with a wide smile and a thick shag haircut, stepped out of it, Tanir following behind.

“Hello, I am Sebastian Windenhofer. It is wonderful to meet you!” the man extended his hand out in greeting.

A soft breeze blew between them as Mina considered his outstretched hand. His fingers were long, as to be expected of someone of his height, and his palms were oddly covered with an even layer of callous.

She did not shake it.

“Mina,” she said to the hand, in the same bland manner that she had introduced herself to everyone else.

Sebastian seemed unbothered by his spurned handshake, and instead clasped his hands together and nodded his head softly, “Mina.” There was a slight hum to the ‘M’ as he said it. “Tanir mentioned that you wished to speak to me about something regarding the horses?”

Mina’s distant stare met his attentive gaze. Sebastian didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“The woods are too thick for a wagon to fit through, and the mountains are too steep,” she answered. “The Harrowed Woods that border Sandere and the Peaks are filled with hungry monsters who will be lured by the thought of a four-course horse meal, too.”

“I see.” Sebastian brought his hand up and tapped his fingertips lightly against his lips as he thought. “Would it be better for the horses if we left the wagon and let them loose now as opposed to when we get closer?”

Mina paused, and tilted her head to the side, caught off guard by his question.

“Have I spoken out of turn?” his voice wavered.

“No, it’s just that I’ve never had someone ask to let the horses out early,” she replied, much more candidly than she intended. She straightened her head, collecting herself. “There’d be less chance of them being attacked. Not many monsters here in these woods.”

“That settles it, then.” Sebastian addressed his crew, “Gather your belongings, we will be continuing on foot from here. Wera and Sir Gargic, unhitch the horses and send them back down the road, please.”

“Ugh, my penmanship gets so poor when we’re walking,” Enoch groaned as he slid down from the driver’s seat.

“Guess you’ll have to save your sonnets for when we’re in Lanholde,” Wera remarked as she started unbuckling one of the horse’s bridles. “We’ve got nothing but walking ahead of us now.”

Sebastian returned his attention to Mina. “It should only take us a few minutes to get packed up. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?” He reached inside his overcoat and pulled out a tea kettle and mug. Twirling the mug around his finger by its handle, he juggled the kettle with one hand and caught it by its base. Steam rose from its spout.

Not just a magic user. He was a wizard, capable enough to demonstrate his talents so casually.

Or cocky enough to make a big show over the few skills he did have.

“No,” Mina replied, tapping the canteen attached to her belt. “I have a canteen.”

She could have just left it at ‘no’.

“Of course.” He threw the tea set into the air as if he were throwing away a piece of paper over his shoulder and with a snap of his fingers they vanished.

Definitely a show-off.

“I have a few things to pack myself if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, smiling again, still wide as it shifted to a slightly different shape, then headed back into the covered wagon.

Mina watched him walk away.

If he wasn’t just a show-off, then maybe they’d make it a mile past Rabbet’s Pass.

🜁

“So, Mina, would you care to tell us a little about yourself?” Sebastian asked as they walked up the rest of the road. Considering how chatty they were while getting their shit together, Mina didn’t have any hope of a quiet walk to the Harrow’s beginning. “I’m sure there’s much more to you than living in these woods and leading expeditions through the Fallow Peaks.”

“That’s all there is to know,” she replied.

Sebastian chuckled, a rumble out from his chest that buzzed in Mina’s ears. “I’m sure that’s not true. What about ‘how you got started leading expeditions’? Doesn’t seem like a job someone just falls into.”

“It’s not.”

“Then how’d it happen for you?”

“Someone had to do it. So I did it.”

“And what did that entail?”

“Doing it.”

“Sebastian,” Tanir interjected, “perhaps it’d be best if we shared a little bit about ourselves first.” She smiled at Mina. Mina kept her gaze forward, praying that the treeline would take mercy on her and move closer on its own. “I’m the company medic, been working with Sebastian since he had a particularly rough encounter collecting basilisk venom a few summers back. Poor thing hobbled to my home half turned to stone, and insisted I travel with him on his adventures ever since.”

“You faced off against a basilisk?” Enoch piped up from the back of the pack. “When we rest for the evening, you’ll have to sit down with me and give me the full story. You too, Tanir. It should definitely be added to my records.”

“Are you volunteering to go next then, Enoch?” Sebastian asked.

“I— uh—” Enoch jogged up in front of them and turned to walk backwards as he spoke, “Well I met—”

“Don’t walk like that,” Mina interrupted. “If you fall and break something, we’ll have to leave you behind, or I’ll have to kill you.”

His steps slowed as his eyes widened. “Wh-what?”

“It’s quicker than the duskwolves tearing into your flesh and snapping your neck.” It was brutal imagery, but not entirely false.

“She’s kidding, Enoch,” Sebastian said.

Enoch’s voice hollowed. “H-how can you tell?”

“Because if you did break something, Tanir would gladly patch you up,” he reasoned.

“Though I’d give you a scolding while I did it for not listening to the expert,” Tanir added, drawing out the title expert to appease Mina’s non-existent good side. “So turn around and continue your story.”

“Right.” Enoch turned around quickly at her instruction, gathered his composure with a shudder of his shoulders, and turned his head slightly to the side to speak, “I met Sebastian on a truly fate-defining day. Wandering the Coast of Carvons, I was lost, looking for inspiration to strike.”

Wera groaned.

“And it did! As I sat on the beach, begging the great and powerful ocean to lend me some of its majesty, a geyser of sand erupted from underneath of me, sending me skyrocketing through the air. Whilst I fell from the heavens, I looked down at the ground below me. What once was a beach was now a golden temple! And upon the roof of this temple stood the great Sebastian Windenhofer, my new muse! Since that day, I have traveled alongside him, cataloging his adventures to tell the world of his greatness.”

“You know that the rest of us were on top of that temple too, right?” Wera chided before addressing Mina. “Please take his tales with a grain of salt. For an archivist, he seems to have a selective memory. I’m the cartographer. Sebastian was the first person to hire me out of school, and I’ve been traveling with him ever since.”

She looked back at Enoch and snickered, “See? Short, sweet, and to the point. Your turn, Sir Gargic.”

“Indeed.” Somehow, the knight puffed his swollen chest even bigger. “Unlike the rest of my compatriots, I am not under the employ of Master Windenhofer, but rather a liaison of The Crown of Lanholde. They’ve tasked the two of us with uncovering and collecting a few precious artifacts that The Crown has a vested interest in. We are on the last leg of this journey now.”

Everyone’s attention landed on Mina, heavy with expectation, a burdensome weight. They had offered their stories without her agreement. There was no need for her to respond. Responding would only embolden them to keep prying.

Sebastian broke the thick silence and turned to Tanir, “Did you really have to tell the basilisk story, Tani?”

“It’s one of my first and favorite memories of you,” she replied.

“You should’ve waited for winter,” Mina commented, against her better judgment. “Basilisks get sluggish and less alert in the cold. You can sneak up behind them and slice off their heads in one strike if your blade is sharp enough. Just make sure to cut about a foot below their jaw so that you don’t pierce the venom gland.”

Her unexpected advice, matter-of-fact and brutal, garnered shocked and confused expressions from everyone but the wizard. Maybe it was the right call, then. The more alien she seemed, the better off they all would be.

“Aha! You’re a hunter too!” Sebastian — frustratingly — cheered. “I knew there was more to you!”

 If Mina could meaningfully scowl, she would have. The sight of his smile stabbed at the corner of her eye as she kept her gaze forward. Wizards were known to be fascinated by curiously temperamental creatures, of course it would be harder to break him.

“Now, do you have any other comments, questions, concerns for our happy little troop? Perhaps some tips on how to deal with those duskwolves you—”

“You’re all loud,” she stated. “It’ll draw things to us, and cause trouble on the Peaks.”

“Why’s that?” Tanir asked.

“Avalanches.”

“Wait,” Enoch said. “There’s going to be snow on these mountains?”

“What did you think we bought all those cold weather clothes for?” Wera scoffed.

“Lanholde has a cooler climate. I just thought winter wear was the fashion there.”

Wera sent a pleading look Sebastian’s way. “Did you really have to hire him, ‘Bastian? We could have just left him stranded on that beach.”

“True,” Sebastian shrugged, “but we need entertainment on this journey, and watching the two of you bicker could rival some of the best traveling shows.”

As those around Mina talked, and laughed, and teased each other, the surrounding trees grew in number. Their trunks twisted, more gnarled and oddly shaped, their canopy so thick it shifted the shade of the lower leaves lighter from the lack of sunlight. The group came to a halt as the road ended at a wall of forest: the start of the Harrowed Wood.

“Right. Which of you can fight?” Mina asked as she headed to the front of the pack.

All of them raised their hands.

Wera and Sir Gargic she understood but the others… “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“We wouldn’t have gotten this far if we couldn’t hold our own, lass,” Sir Gargic said. “Trust me, I was wary myself when I first met them, but even Enoch is worthwhile in a scrap.”

“Hey!” Enoch whined.

“Cartographer, you’re with me at the front,” she instructed before they wasted more time chatting. “Medic and Archivist in the center. Wizard and Knight in the back. Listen more than you talk. Keep an eye out for anything moving that shouldn’t be. If you see something, say something. And if something does attack us, no matter what happens, stay behind me.”

Mina didn’t wait for them to finish pairing off before weaving her way through the trees. She didn’t even acknowledge Wera as she hustled to fall in place beside her.

“So,” Wera drawled after a few minutes of silence between them, “why’d you pick me for the front?”

“You’re a mapmaker,” Mina replied. She didn’t look at Wera as she spoke, her stare focused on surveying the forest in front of them. “If you make a map of the Harrow and the Peaks and take down the trail I use, I may never have to lead people through here again.”

If she had to suffer through another expedition, at least she could make this one of use.

“You seem a little young to retire,” Wera remarked. “And you need income to upkeep that cabin of yours, right? Though with seven thousand gilt an expedition, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself something a little sturdier to live in.”

She could feel the pressure of Wera studying her face, looking for something she’d never find.

“There are other ways to make money that don’t involve being bothered.” She changed the subject, “People think that there are just wolves, bears, various small-time magical beasts here. The Harrow is untouched. Nature and magic are uncontrolled and unforgiving.”

“Probably because of the runoff from the Peaks or some past geological event. I’ll make a note to have Enoch look into it.” Wera took out a small notepad and jotted something down. “If that’s the case then I’d bet there are many ways to cross over into parts of Elphyne here too, probably a bunch of fae circles, areas where the veil is thin. Would you be able to point them out when we pass them?”

“Just write down the trail taken and there’s no need to worry about any of that.”

She heard Wera’s pen skip on the page and a heavy exhale out of her nose.

There it was. She hated being talked down to.

Wera abandoned the topic and turned to basic questions about the flora and landmarks, easy enough that Mina could answer with little thought as she tuned one ear to the forest as best she could through the whispers of those walking a little too far behind her.

“Would you look at that,” Sir Gargic remarked, voice slightly muffled and strained. He talked out of the corner of his mouth in a bad attempt to be quiet. “She’s actually talking to Wera.”

“People do often talk to each other,” Sebastian said coolly, not feeding the knight’s judgment.

“Yes, but she’s so—”

“Are we talking about the Brambled Beauty?” Enoch whispered.

“The what?” Sebastian deadpanned.

“You don’t like it, sir? I’m trying to figure out the perfect way to describe such a terrifying and alluring creature.”

“Alluring?” Sir Gargic guffawed, “She’s so cold!”

“Yes! She’s cold!” Tanir added, voice peaking with a burst of realization.

Mina ground her teeth to keep from chewing them out. It was better that they didn’t know how well she could hear, and she had bore much harsher digs than their rude observations anyways.

“Just because she’s different than us doesn’t make her less of a person,” Sebastian chided. “And Tanir it’s unlike you to make assumptions about someone you’ve just met.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was just—”

A low gurgle deep within the ground, quiet and out of place in the harmony of forest sounds, environmental interrogation, and gossiping whispers, stilled Mina’s stride. She barred her arm across Wera’s chest, stopping the preoccupied cartographer, and held her other hand up to halt those behind them.

Their footfalls and chitchat ceased abruptly. Mina turned her head to the side, putting a finger to her lips to signal them to stay silent and wait.

She drew forth the sword that rested on her hip and crept forward, listening, eyes fixated on the forest floor. The gurgle reached her ears once more, louder and more guttural; hungry. Mina stopped, bladed her feet, and whistled a line of bird song.

“A meadowlark?” Sebastian whispered.

For a fleeting moment, she noted how keen his ear was, then a massive maw erupted out of the earth, lunging at her. Wind at her heels, Mina leaped at it, rocketing towards the toothy mouth at incredible speed, and drove her blade down through its top lip. The beast let out a terrible, gargling roar, shaking off the actual dirt and plants from its mimicking hide to reveal an ornery terramawg.

With the momentum of her jump and the leverage of her impaled sword, Mina vaulted over the bulbous amphibian’s earthen hide. She snapped her hips around, pivoting midair to face the beast’s back, and drew forth her bow in the same fluid motion.

The air stilled as Mina ran her fingers from the grip of her bow to its string. The water in the air collected, crystallized under the brush of her fingertips, forming an arrow of pure ice. She aimed for the creature’s third, slitted eye, a weak point that rested on the nape of its neck, and fired. A roaring gust of wind shook the trees, following in her arrow’s wake as it soared through the air, embedding itself deep into the terramawg’s brain.

Mina kept her focus on the beast as she descended, landing on a nearby tree bough without a glance back. The terramawg seized, the frost from her arrow glaciating its mind, and collapsed into a blubbery heap, returning to the mass of earth and withering foliage it disguised itself as.

Mina secured her bow on her back and slid down the tree’s trunk.

“Keep moving,” she said to the group as she retrieved her sword from the terramawg’s corpse.

It was as if they too had been immobilized by her ice. Sir Gargic’s hand rested on the hilt of his broadsword. Tanir had pulled out a handaxe from somewhere. Three thin daggers were laced between Enoch’s fingers like claws. A swirl of inky liquid hovered over Wera’s palm, while her other hand rested on her chest. Sebastian’s hands were coated in flame.

All of their mouths hung agape.

A dull pang pushed against Mina’s chest at the sight.

“Great Gods. Save some for the rest of us next time, will ya?” Sir Gargic shuddered.

“It was quicker if I handled it,” she stated. “Now come on. There’s more ground to cover before nightfall.” Mina turned on her heels and walked away, stepping across the terramawg’s body and taking care to drive her heels in a little harder as she did so.

“Hey, wait up!” Wera ran after her, manipulating the ink back in its vial and pulling out her notebook once again.“How were you able to tell where it was?”

Tanir pulled a stupefied Enoch along, “Come on. You should be jumping with joy. Action like that is sure to make your book even more exciting.”

“Well,” Sir Gargic remarked to Sebastian with a heavy exhale, “I guess we know why she’s so cold now.”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgment, nothing more. Nothing until moments later, when under his breath a murmured thought slipped out.

“The wind even changed direction.”

The reverence in his tone, unheard by everyone else, bristled against the back of Mina’s neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Maiden of the Barren Rime! Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read it.

To show my appreciation, here's a 50% off discount code you can use when ordering The Maiden of the Barren Rime E-Book off of my website: MBRTUMBLR50

The code expires on May 31st at 11:59pm so make sure to use it or share it with a friend by then!

[pseudowho]

My next Smutfic...

...I'm going to use all Tier 5 to 6 synonyms for a penis, and see if it's still sexy.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento lifted you against the wall, his thigh between your legs as you squeaked in alarm, pleasure pooling deep in your belly. His schlong dongadoodle was now so apparent, rock solid against his thigh.

"Tell me," he rumbled, low and mesmerising against your throat, "do you want my custard launcher in your pussy...or your mouth?"

"In-- in my mouth--" you choked out, "I want your purple-helmeted warrior of love in my mouth, Kento."

Forcing you to your knees, your mouth watered at the sight of Kento's tan banana against your lips-- and Kento gave you exactly what you had asked for.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Ah--shit--" Ino groaned, gripping you by the fat of your hips as you sunk down onto his beaver basher.

You shook and mewled, his heat-seeking moisture missile stretching your plush, velvet walls so nicely. You had always loved how his mayo-shooting hotdog gun felt as it kissed your cervix, so deep, so sweet as Ino plaited his fingers behind your neck and pulled you in, his kiss breath-stealing and honest.

"Only for you," Ino whimpered as you rocked your hips on his Little Ino, "this steamin' semen truck is only for you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Take it-- take it-- hnnnng--" Higuruma's seed shot deep into your pussy, his meter long king kong dong pulsing as he moaned, his thighs flush against your arse.

You moved to pull away, exhausted and shaking; Hiromi gripped your thighs, holding you in place, his yoghurt shotgun still hard inside you; "Don't move," he croaked, voice breaking from the strength of his orgasm, "my baloney pony stays until I'm finished with you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Come on pretty girl-- I know my single barrelled pump-action bollock's the biggest you've ever had, but-- haah-- don't cry."

Gojo folded your thighs hard against your chest as you cried with pleasure and pain, his beef whistle pounding into you at a relentless pace. Tears streamed into your hair as you begged.

"Satoru-- your thundersword-- please--"

Gojo pulled out, his spawn hammer dripping precum as he stroked it, flipping you onto your belly before slamming back into you so powerfully that you squealed.

"Thought we were done? Plenty more left in this whoopie stick yet, sweetheart."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Inumaki's breath trembled with anticipation; there you were, eyes full of tears, pink lips parted just for him, and he couldn't deny himself from leaning down and kissing you sweetly, his lips usually so forbidden, and now electric against yours. You kissed him back, leaving him breathless, pulling away with a gasp.

"Wing wang doodle," he murmured, his breath fanning warmly over your mouth. Your eyes pricked with tears, wishing you could communicate in more than just penis synonyms.

Inumaki's thumb brushed softly over your eyes, his meeting yours in silent understanding; "Piss weasel," he reassured softly. You nodded, nose against his as you gave him a watery smile.

"Baby arm. Flesh flute," he whispered against your lips; with those words, you knew you were done for, finally caving to stay the night as he pressed you gently back onto his bed.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

I write because they understandably won't let me out of the house anymore.

[sunnitheapollokid]

more leo x daughter of poseidon pls!!!

🐚┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。WHAT A GREEK TRAGEDY!

leo valdez x daughter of poseidon headcanons & bonus blurb for y’all <3

📬 sunni’s notes : you got it artist!!! i’m having so much fun writing these two NSBAHAB like cmon. but can we talk about HOW MUCH I LOVE AND MISS THE BEACH i haven’t seen the beach in like two years it makes me wanna curl up and cry </3 and this fireboy and watergirl thing RAAAHHH also which do you guys prefer as a leo face claim?? because i use benoftheweek alot (also bc hes one of my comfort ytbers) im totally not biased. THIS IS A LITTLE SHORT SO MAYBE ANOTHER PART??? guys i actually need to shut up why is this so long okay have fun with this teehee!! lub u!!

⊹ HERE WE GO LEO BF HCS!!

⊹ since most poseidon kids are from the beach, leo’s from texas, you would kind of see it as a teasing opportunity.

⊹ “how’s my lil cowboy?”

⊹ “i’m going to tape your mouth.”

⊹ even though this, leo wants to show you texas so bad.

⊹ he tells you all the good bbq places, the best rodeos in town, fucking buc-ee’s.

⊹ out of topic but yall i literally have the buc-ee’s easter shirt the hype is real i love that shirt <3

⊹ ACTUALLY,

⊹ leo gets you that exact shirt. for your birthday.

⊹ since it’s the color of seafoam and it matched your eyes, he flew across manhattan and the absolute sea to get that for you for your birthday.

⊹ you chuckled at the beaver at the front of the shirt but you loved the effort regardless.

⊹ if you could, you would wear that shirt to sleep every night.

⊹ it’s canon that leo cooks right?

⊹ good. because he loves cooking for you, not just any food, BLUE FOOD.

⊹ i’m slamming my credit card on the table.

⊹ blue pancakes, blue soup, blue tacos.

⊹ he does it just to see the smile on your face.

⊹ also, whenever he goes on quests, he manages to sneak in goldfish or whale crackers for you when he gets back because they don’t have it back at camp and they remind him of you.

⊹ leo’s on a quest with piper and jason right? they’re fighting monsters yada-yada, and they have to flee. they left their stuff behind but leo goes to grab his backpack and piper just goes,

⊹ “for zues’ sake leo, LEAVE THE BACKPACK!!”

⊹ “HELL NO MY GIRLFRIEND’S SNACKS ARE IN HERE!”

⊹ this goes for seashells too. if the quest happens to come across like a beach, he’ll collect shells for your hair or just to have you decorate in your room.

⊹ this man is so stupid in love with you.

⊹ i like to think that leo makes cute lil sea animals for you out of scrap metal.

⊹ you have a metal whale, an otter, and a jellyfish sitting by your lamp.

⊹ leo calls them your guys’ children.

⊹ you’ll accidentally slip out and cuss, and he’ll have his ears over the animals.

⊹ “don’t say that infront of bubbles baby!”

⊹ the giggle you’d let out.

⊹ gods, he’d be melting.

⊹ anyway, leo would ask percy to teach him surfing.

⊹ he can skate?

⊹ watch him surf too.

bonus blurb — longer showers? ✧˖*°࿐

leo knocked on the girls’ locker room, “she done yet?!” he yelled. piper opened the door, with a scream in leo’s face, “no buttface! go away!” leo groaned, burying his face in his hands as piper slammed the door.

when you’re a daughter of poseidon, who happened to be leo’s girlfriend, you usually take longer showers. like, long showers. showers that can maybe even last the whole day.

and poor leo was suffering by the other side of the door, his girlfriend already spending an hour and a half in the shower.

“i am going to die out here.” leo mumbled to himself. and after waiting another half an hour by the steps and getting weird stares from other campers, (name) stepped out with her hair dry, perfect, and covered in pretty white shells. “oh hey baby.”

leo lifted his head up and, “FINAAALLYY.”

[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Marked By The Wolf

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors – DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: ~4.8K (ya waited extra-long; ya get an extra-long chapter)

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: It’s the night of the full moon. The plan? Invite Sy over to the cabin to keep an eye on him in case he shifts. WCGW? 

Warnings: verbal fight, angst

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me, guys! And I see y’all reblogging the masterlist for the series. And I thank you so much for keeping this story alive! A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. Cuz ya girl was struggling with this chapter for many moons.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Over the next day or so, you get to know Jace. You’d learned his full first name, but “only ko’u makuahine calls me Jason”. Growing up in Hawaii shaped the man he is today, and he misses home a lot. But with Walter in his pack, and being Faye’s godfather, he’s made his own little family.

For a while, it seems like he may be flirting with you. But that quickly fades into something else. You’re only mildly upset when he refers to you as kaikuahine. Firstly, because you had no idea what it meant. Secondly, because when you found out it meant ‘sister’, you had to remind yourself that you have a perfectly great werewolf boyfriend of your own already.

‘Calm down, girl,’ you thought, thinking of your eager beaver.

Walter notices the way your demeanor changes and takes your hand, leading you upstairs. Your confusion only amuses Jace, who seems to know something you don’t. Once you make it into Walter’s bedroom, you are spun against the door. He attacks your neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive flesh until you tangle your fingers in his chestnut curls. Your mind reels, wondering what’s gotten into him.

And then it hits you.

He’s…jealous!

Oh, this is too good. That’s twice tonight that he’s been struck with jealousy. Earlier with Sy’s thirst trap and now with your flirtatious nature. You are beyond flattered, but you refuse to let this man get too far gone. With your hand in his hair, you tighten your fingers and pry him from your neck.

Once his face is in front of yours, you notice his wild eyes where black replaces blue. He looks ready to eat you, and as much as you would like that, you decide to try and calm the beast within.

“Walter, baby? I need you to calm down for a sec,” you beg, both hands tangling in his hair to soothe his soul, “Come on back to me, baby.”

Blinking once, then twice, his eyes finally focus on you, and the trance is gone. His giant paws rush to your face and then to the tender skin of your neck where his teeth were grazing. He winces when you grimace at the feel of his thumb on your sore flesh.

“Pup, I am so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I was−”

“Jealous?” you supply, already knowing what this was.

“I can’t help it. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. It’s jealousy, sure. But it feels deeper than that. I felt the need to mark you as mine. You’re sort of a natural flirt, you know that?” he probes, a soft smile on his face.

“Well, I mean, I can see that. I guess I’ve never really thought about it. No one has ever brought it up,” you explain, looking back on all the times that men thought you were flirting with them but were just being nice. 

“Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to make sure that Jace knew you were taken. He has an effect on women,” he expresses, “But it seems he only sees you as a sister, so I don’t have to worry about you two riding off into the sunset, now do I?” 

“Wow, that was kinda bitchy. But also, incredibly hot that you thought I could be influenced by another big pretty werewolf,” you tease, leaning up on your tippy toes to place a kiss on the end of his nose before pushing back from the door so you could open it and leave.

“You think he’s pretty?” Walter shouts after you.

You laugh, swiftly jogging down the stairs to find an equally amused Jace sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, perfectly at home.

Trying to keep yourself from feeling embarrassed, you plop down next to him on the couch. While you are snuggling into his side, he chuckles and jokes that you should watch out for “the big, bad wolf”. Just as the words leave his mouth, Walter appears on the other side of you, having leapt over the couch. You’re officially squeezed in between the two large wolves, and you suddenly feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Between the warmth radiating from both men, the way they commented on the Forged in Fire episode playing in the background, and the long day finally catching up with you, you had no choice but to fall asleep. You remember leaning your head against Jace’s beefy shoulder after he splayed both arms along the back of the couch. At some point during the night, you awake to find yourself sprawled across both of their laps. Your head is in Walter’s lap and your blanket-covered feet are shoved under Jace’s thigh.

The television screen asking if you’re still watching illuminates the faces of the snoring wolves at either side of you. Walter’s hand on your shoulder twitches as he feels you shifting. Shuffling your ankles, Jace sleepily readjusts to give you room before lowering his thigh back over your feet. All of this was done while they were asleep as if it was second nature to want to keep you safe and warm.

And you weren’t going to complain about being in a literal wolf pile. Instead, you snuggle into your blanket and let yourself drift off again.

When you awaken, the mid-morning sun is flooding through the windows. You’re still on the couch, but no longer surrounded by your wolf-shaped furnaces. Getting up from the couch, you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and go in search of coffee. 

Shuffling into the kitchen, you brush past where Walter is plating some waffles. You make it to the coffee machine and pour yourself a cup, adding in your sugar and cream and stirring it until it hits that perfect shade. Taking that first sip is nirvana. As the temperature of the hot beverage slides down your throat, you are warmed from the inside out. Now, you can officially say you have woken up.

You turn around to lean against the counter and are surprised to see both wolves looking at you and smiling. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just we were trying to get your attention, but I see Walter was right about you loving java. You have your priorities straight, is all,” Jace winks at you before sipping his coffee.

Walter chuckles and shoves a plateful of waffles, bacon, and eggs to one of the empty seats and nods for you to eat. “Don’t worry, Pup. I think it’s cute that you need your morning fuel before intelligent social interaction.”

“Thanks, Wolfie,” you hum, leaning in to peck him on the cheek before sitting down to tuck into your plate.

“And the nicknames are elevating my sugar levels as we speak,” Jace teases, expertly catching the waffle that Walter throws his way.

“Look, Jace and I have an idea. We just need you to put the pieces in motion,” Walter begins, explaining the plan to you while you eat. You stayed mostly silent, letting him lay everything out.

Jace pops in here and there with a few tweaks when he sees you start to feel a bit overwhelmed, “If at any time you feel uncomfortable, don’t hesitate. We’re there in case anything happens.”

“I guess I have a call to make. Oh, and do you fellas think you can go grocery shopping? I need a few things if I wanna make sure I have enough to feed all of you,” you lament, factoring in that Sy used to eat you out of house and home on multiple occasions. Might as well have too much than too little. You give Wolfie and Jace your shopping list and head upstairs to shower and make a very important phone call.

Early evening rolls in and you are relishing the smell of your pot roast with vegetables simmering as it permeates the first floor of the house. Wolfie has been at your side for most of the afternoon and even now because you’ve been like a chicken with your head cut off, anxious nerves making you fuss over every little thing. 

And he couldn’t blame you for being on high alert. He did ask you to invite over your ex-fiancé during a full moon, under the guise of getting together for a football game, so that he and Jace could find out if Sy is a werewolf. ‘A simple plan,’ said no one in this situation.

Olivia was invited over to help you set up and possibly help you with cooking. But alas, fair Olivia has found her Prince Charming in Jace. And just as Walter said, he does have an effect on women. You have to stop and giggle to yourself as she throws her head back in laughter and touches his arm, her signature move. Great, those two can swoon each other all night while you try and keep the peace between a wolf and a hard place.

The roast was not going to cook any faster with you standing over the crock pot, so you step away from the kitchen and join the others as they sit in the living room. Jace and Liv sit on the couch as Walter sits in one of the loungers. Just as you sit down to rest your bones in the other chair, you notice the guys exchanging a look. 

You hear the rumble of Sy’s old pickup and your heart drops into your stomach. You shoot up from your seat and adjust your turtleneck dress that hugs your body like a glove before walking to the front door. You step outside as Sy is pulling into the driveway. Swallowing your apprehension, you walk across the lawn to meet him. 

Smiling as he exits his truck, Sy wraps you up in a bear hug. When he lifts you off the ground, you squeak, and he just laughs before putting you back down. You get a whiff of him, and you feel an instant urge to bury your nose in his neck, or his perfectly trimmed beard. Fighting that urge, you playfully swat at Sy’s meaty, flannel-clad bicep and try not to stare at his veiny forearms. 

The man always had great arms; you would have complimented him on them once upon a time. But that was a long time ago, and even though you wanted to devour him where he stood, you weren’t about to let him know that. His head was big enough without you adding your horniness to it.

He steps to the truck bed and reaches a hand in to pick up a case of your favorite beer. He seems pretty pleased with himself and not at all nervous about meeting your new boyfriend. You should’ve known better than to think he would miss the opportunity to annoy your current beau.

You lead him inside where he immediately sniffs the air and exclaims, “Oh, my God! Please tell me that is your pot roast.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and nervously reply, “Um, yeah. It’s probably just about done if you want some.”

“If I want some? Of course, it’s my favorite meal,” Sy earnestly comments, and you can’t help but bashfully thank him.

A throat is cleared, and Walter appears at your side, planting a nuzzling kiss on your neck as he snakes an arm around you, making you giggle. 

“Walter, this is Sy. Sy, this is Walter, my boyfriend,” you introduce them, smiling to yourself as they offer a hand for a handshake and exchange pleasantries.

“Pleasure ta meetcha, Walter.” “Likewise, Sy.” 

They were still shaking each other’s hands until you realized they were having a staring contest. 

“Seriously?!” you gripe, equally mad at both of them, “You’re both grown men, right?” You push through their still-joined hands and go into the kitchen.

Olivia rises from the couch and admonishes them as well, “Good going, guys,” as she follows you into the kitchen.

“What?” they say in unison, looking at the only other man in the room. Jace shakes his head, looking between the two of them and taking a pull off his beer.

Walter walks into the kitchen, already apologizing as he approaches where you are sitting at the table. He takes your hand in his and holds it against his chest. It’s less what he says, and more of how he says it. He sounds genuine and he means every word. You peck him on the cheek, forgiving him. Olivia makes sure to tease you about how cute you two are.

Sy saunters in once Walter exits, placing the case of beer on the kitchen counter before opening it, removing two bottles, and handing one to you. Clinking the neck of his bottle against yours, he uncaps his and takes and takes a long pull. Taking a long look at you, he leans back and surveys your level of anger, trying to assess exactly how mad you are.

“Walter seems nice,” he starts in that fatherly tone that always gets a smile out of you. 

You shake your head and laugh despite yourself wanting to be mad at him. “You know, he actually is very nice. Just give him a chance to surprise you before you hate his guts, ok? That’s all I ask.”

“Oh, is that all? Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” he grumbles, pouting for a second. “Look, I’ll be on my best behavior like Church on Sunday if I can get some of that pot roast.” He turns those blue topaz eyes on you, and you’re putty in his hands, suddenly wishing Liv wasn’t in the room to watch that little moment. 

You rise from your seat, dishing out some of the roast and potatoes and carrots onto a plate for Sy, and place it in front of him. You light up when he closes his eyes at the first bite. His groan of satisfaction is more than enough to signal that you did a great job. But the pat he gives your knee is so warm and so intimate that your muscles instantly react to his touch, wishing it lingered for a second more.

“Liv, can Sy and I have a second to talk?” you plead, hoping that she would give you some space.

“Sure. I’ll just go back to fawning over Jace. He’s so pretty I wanna cry,” she professes, patting your shoulder as she exits the kitchen.

Your eyes follow Olivia as she leaves, and then they snap back to where Sy is sitting smiling at you. And you know this particular smile well. 

“Sy, why are you smiling at me like that? You said you would be on your best behavior and that smile is not your best behavior,” you sigh, rolling your eyes, “I know that smile got me to do a lot of things back in the day.”

“A lot of fun things come to mind,” he murmurs, bringing his beer up to his lips to drain before rising to get another and lean on the counter, “But that is not why I’m here tonight. Don’t worry, I’m only here to make sure my favorite girl’s being taken care of. I will be a perfect gentleman, even to yer old man.”

Rising from your seat, you finally open your beer and stand next to him. Taking a sip, you bump his shoulder with yours. “One question I have for you. Why did you agree to come over? I mean, you could have hung up the phone or cursed me out when I asked you over to spend time with me. At my boyfriend’s cabin. In the woods. Just saying that now makes me wonder what was going through your head.”

“Not gonna lie, I loved seeing you the other day. Even though you weren’t exactly pleased to see me, you still told me to be careful out there in the woods. Look, I like having you in my life. If that means I have you as a friend, it’s much better than not having you at all,” he confesses, and your world shatters around you when you look up into his eyes and see his sincerity.

You open your mouth to speak but the words won’t take shape and you’re left looking for the answer in his face. The eyes you got lost in a million times before. The lips you kissed every chance you got. Standing this close, you can breathe each other’s breath. If you only stood on your tippy-toes and leaned in, you’d be right−

“Am I interrupting something?” Olivia’s voice snaps you back to reality and you put some space between you and Sy. She walks in between you two to grab another beer. She gives Sy a look before turning her attention to you, “Your boyfriend’s wondering where you are, bee-tee-dubs.” She throws out her arm, gesturing for you to lead the way back to the living room instead of finishing your conversation. You miss her giving Sy another pointed stare before following you out.

The night goes on as planned, at first. You all watch a college football game, Walter’s alma mater vs their rivals, who just happen to be Sy’s alma mater. You and Sy met after college, and he mentioned having played lacrosse, but he’s never shown interest in football. Until tonight, of course.

It’s been a long time since you and Sy spent time together, but you know his temperament. And he’s off. He doesn’t look like himself either, as if he’s covering up something. With the way that Walter and Jace keep sharing looks, you see he is on their radar as well.

Olivia and Jace occupy the two loungers, so you are sitting in between Walter and Sy on the couch. How lucky! You’re in the perfect spot to listen to Sy rooting loudly for his team and making snide comments all because he doesn’t wanna sit next to you and your new boyfriend. 

Walter, on the other hand, is quiet for the most part but trembling with anger. He’s letting Sy get to him, and you can’t stand it anymore. You’re suddenly jealous of Olivia who fell asleep halfway into the game.

You unwrap yourself from around Walter and turn to Sy. “Kitchen. Now.”

He doesn’t answer and mutely follows you, taken aback when you turn on him once you’re both in the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing? You are being such an ass. I’m trying to hold out an olive branch, but you are not meeting me in the middle, Sy,” you snap, feeling like you could spit fire.

“And why did you even invite me? To parade your new man all over me? I thought maybe we could try and be friends, but now I see all you wanna do is remind me that I wasn’t good enough for you,” Sy erupts, his voice booming and full of rage. 

“That’s not fair,” you gasp.

“All’s fair in love, Bug,” he cautions, sweat starting to drip down his forehead, “Look, I’m gonna go before either of us says something we’ll regret.” He turns and storms out of the kitchen before you can step any closer to him, but you are on his tail when he steps out of the front door.

You reach him, putting your hand on his shoulder as you try to stop him. He turns back to you, his eyes closed in a pained expression. His skin is flushed as he rips open his flannel, making it easier for you to see his Adonis belt just above his jeans. The bite mark is nowhere to be seen, having already healed. When he starts to hyperventilate, you try to soothe him by calling his name. Fast as lightning, Walter appears between you and Sy.

“Sy, you have to try and stay calm. You aren’t making this easy on yourself. Let it happen,” Walter holds his hands out, showing he means no harm as he tries to step closer to Sy. Walter starts to shift after removing his sweater and jeans.

“Back off, man,” Sy warns, feeling like he could explode with the heat beneath his skin.

“You can do this, just open your eyes,” Walter replies, before his mouth becomes a snout and talking is impossible.

But when Sy finally opens his eyes, they start to glow. His neck twists at a freakish angle, the sounds of bones crunching has you terrified. Reddish-brown fur sprouts out of his skin as his hands stretch into clawed paws. His confused screams are horrifying. Jace’s booming voice is talking over his cries, talking him through the transformation. 

Doubling over, Sy grunts in agony as he falls on all fours. Letting out a howl, his jeans fall away as he transforms for the first time. You scream, taking a step back when he sniffs the air and he takes one step toward you. 

Sy paces back and forth in front of Walter, seeming to weigh his options. Walter’s wolf form stands an inch or two taller than Sy as he puts distance between you and the new wolf.

Just as the tension is insurmountable, a throat is cleared, and you all look to see Jace standing in the driveway. Nonchalant, but his eyes keenly take in the scene in front of him as he nods at Walter. Olivia is at Jace’s side, dumbfounded by what she is witnessing. When she notices that rumbling sound coming from Jace is him growling, she throws away fear in place of curiosity.

The two wolves are kicking dust up with their feet, squaring off until Jace steps a bit closer to back up his brother. Sy had a chance of maybe beating Walter. But a new wolf up against two bonded brother wolves? No way in hell. 

You step in between the three of them. Holding out your hands, you plead with them not to fight. Walter’s nose nudges at your legs and he huffs in Sy’s face. Walter shifts back, picking up his jeans to put back on, and crossing his arms across his massive chest.

Walter and Jace move closer to Sy as he snarls at them until he sees you, clinging to Olivia. Tears fall from your eyes and something inside of Sy breaks. Looking to you, he can see the fear on your face and you wonder if that is what causes him to want to shift back into human form. The two brothers talk Sy down, telling him how to return to human form.

Once his bones have settled and the whining howls stop, Sy is in the fetal position on the lawn. Shivering, sweaty, and scared. His clothes are ruined, but you think you remember seeing a blanket in the truck bed earlier. You ask Olivia to get the blanket while you caress Sy’s face. 

Once the blanket is around his middle, you accept help from Walter to lift him up. Sy uses his last ounce of energy to push Walter away. 

Coming back to himself, Sy refocuses his anger on Walter. “This has nothing to do with you. Gonna need you to step aside,” Sy fumes, cranky from the changes he doesn’t understand he’s going through.

“That’s just not gonna happen. Maybe if you weren’t trying to move in on what’s mine, I’d be sorry for what I’ve done,” Walter seethes, “After all, I’m the one that bit you.”

You and Sy are both in a state of shock but for different reasons. Sy just found out werewolves are real, and your boyfriend just referred to you as “what’s his'. 

“You did this to me?” Sy’s rage peaks.

“Hey, hey. Focus on my voice, come back. You don’t wanna do this,” you trail off as Sy calms down. 

His irises are back to their brilliant blue and you can see recognition in them. He looks tired, but he is no worse for wear.

“Can we get outta here? Go someplace we can just…talk?” Sy insists.

You think for a second about how pissed you are at Walter for being extremely callous about turning Sy, not to mention talking about you as if you were a piece of property to be owned. You turn to look back at Walter before answering Sy.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you affirm, putting one of Sy’s arms around your neck to help him walk back to his truck. 

You watch Jace stand in front of Walter to stop him from following after you. “Let her cool off, you did just kinda refer to her as ‘what’s mine’, and generally women don’t like that outside of the bedroom.”

Olivia steps over to Walter, putting a hand on his shoulder, her expression calm and collected. “He won’t hurt her. He cares too much about her to do that.”

You get into the driver’s seat after putting Sy in the passenger side, not allowing him to drive. You caution a glance at Walter, instantly regretting looking at his mournful face. Turning the car on, you back out of the driveway and drive out to Sy’s place. 

As you drive there from muscle memory, you look over at Sy now and then. The streetlights of the town dash across his solemn face and bare chest as he sleeps. You almost don’t want to wake him when you make it to his house, he looks so peaceful and not like his life has been turned upside-down. You wake him with the back of your hand smoothing down his face. He grabs it, lost for a moment before he sees your face and where he is.

You help him get inside and suddenly feel exhausted as well. You loiter in the living room while he grabs a glass of water from the kitchen. You didn’t really plan how you were going to get back to Walter’s cabin tonight. And if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t want to go back tonight.

Sy comes back out, gulping down water from his glass while holding the blanket low around his middle. 

“Is it okay if we wait to talk? I’m tired as hell. I’ll take the couch if that’s alright?” You ask, sitting down on the couch and starting to move the pillows.

“You’re not staying out here. You’re sleeping in the bedroom. I’ll take the couch. I’ll grab you something to sleep in,” he rattles on, moving to the bedroom as you stand from the couch and look at your feet.

Sy comes back out to the living room. He’s barefoot, shirtless, and in a pair of grey sweatpants. He just can’t help himself, you think.

“I left you a shirt and some shorts on the bed. Let me know if you need anything, alright?” he advises, using a hand on the small of your back to guide you to the bedroom.

You laugh when you see Sy left you his Mötley Crüe shirt. While putting on the shirt and the boxers, you look at the bed and you know that you don’t want to sleep alone. You don’t care that this will only further complicate your relationship, but you need to not be alone right now. Your bare feet pad across the wood floor as you go back out to the living room. 

Sy hears you and picks his head up to look at you. “You alright, Bug?”

“I don’t wanna sleep alone. I know that’s probably−”

Sy was already up and ushering you back into the bedroom before you could finish your sentence. You pull back the covers so you both can climb in. You enter first and then he slides under the blanket next to you. He lays on his back, you on your side facing away from him. You wiggle your body backward until you come into contact with his warmth. You reach back for his arm and pull it around you.

“Is this okay?” you hesitate, suddenly afraid that you’re asking too much.

“Yeah. S’ok,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your neck. If he notices the shiver that goes down your spine, you’re grateful that he doesn’t mention it.

“Good night, Sy,” you murmur, yawning at the end of your sentence.

“G’night, Bug,” he breathes.

As you drift off to sleep, you think how different you imagined this day ending. You didn’t expect to be in your ex’s arms tonight instead of Walter’s. But you did expect to be in a werewolf’s embrace. Sy’s breath evens out behind you, the rising and falling of his chest against your back is enough to lull you into a peaceful slumber.

To be continued...

A/N: I would love to know what you think of this chapter!

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[beansprean]

I mean, he is Catholic, they are nothing if not believers in rituals 😂

My Familiar’s Ghost part 50

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. At the house; close up of a round table ringed with half melted candles. In the center is a taxidermy beaver grinning and wearing a wig resembling Nandor’s hair, a cape and cravat, and fiddling its little clawed hands together. Offscreen, ghost Guillermo asks, ‘A beaver?’ Nadja snaps back, ‘You don’t think it fits him?’ Guillermo responds ‘No, it’s…fine.’ 1b. Reverse shot of Nadja, Dolly, and ghost Guillermo looking down at the table together with small frowns. Dolly says, ‘It should work well enough as a conduit.’ Guillermo furrows his brow and asks, ‘So…that’s it?’ His wraith cloak is nearly complete. 1c. Repeat. Dolly looks off to the side and says ‘Well…we should also get something with his essence on it.’ Nadja scowls and rolls her eyes, quipping ‘That shouldn’t be too hard.’ Guillermo perks up with an ‘Oh!’

2a. Wide shot from behind Guillermo as he voops away in a bright blue vapor, saying, ‘I’m on it!’ Nadja and Dolly watch with blank expressions, a small long handled lighter sitting on the table in front of Dolly. 2b. Close up on Nadja and Dolly. Nadja absently scratches beaver-Nandor’s head as she turns to her spirit and asks, ‘You really think this will work? I mean, you’re me, and I’ve never heard of a ritual like this.’ Dolly begins to roll up her sleeves and replies ‘It’s not up to me.’ 2c. Close up on Dolly as she picks up the lighter with one hand and lights the candle in front of her, tucking in the ends of her sleeves with her opposite hand. She explains, ‘Guillermo has the power to do this on his own; we just don’t have time for him to figure it out.’ 2d. Wide shot of both Nadjas smiling and nodding together in solidarity. Nadja: ‘Ahh, the ritual of legitimacy. Just like with uncle Yiannis’s traumatized horse.’ Dolly: ‘Exactly. He only had to believe the ragweed would wipe her memory. And then he stopped whining about us taking her out to smash hornet nests.’ 2e. Extreme close up of Dolly’s left eye flicking over as Guillermo phases through the wall in the background with a grin, announcing, ‘Got it!’ He is holding a cream-colored blouse in both hands. 2f. Close up on the blouse as Guillermo lays it out on the table. A rip is visible on the left breast; it’s the same shirt Nandor was wearing when Guillermo attacked him in a fit or wraithly rage. Blood is still stained on the fabric. Guillermo asks, ‘Um, I hope this is good enough?’ 2g. Shoulders up of Nadja and Dolly as they both hold a thumb up and reply, ‘Perfect!’ Nadja’s wide grin is uneasy and Dolly’s usually impassive porcelain face betrays a bit of the same uncertainty. /end ID

[whoyacallinyellow]

Borrowed Time hurt me a lot omg- Now I offer you even more angst.

It's sad that Javier became the very thing in 1911 that he swore to destroy (working as a hitman for a tyrant government) but it would be even sadder if (as a part 2 ig of borrowed time) Javier and his love meet again but this time, he was there to arrest her and bring her to town to hang.

Borrowed Time II

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR1-2 events Content: 18+, low honor Javier, angst, betrayal, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: I-II changed to second pov (wc - 4133) / pc: pinterest a/n: i can feel this request in my veins, so here’s my mediocre yapping! live, laugh, angst 

Summary: Following the events of Beaver Hollow and your departure, Javier falls into work with Allende. After your reunion he reflects on his time with you, to only turn you in by nightfall. 

It was a warm day in New Austin, the orange rays blanketing the barren dirt landscape, and not a cloud in the sky. Javier only imagined finding himself wandering these lands again, but yet he returned on what seemed to be borrowed time.

A few years had passed since he last saw you at Beaver Hollow. The man could not bear to show his face, the embarrassment of being wrong about Dutch was an ego check it say the very least. 

Yet your note lived in the far corner of his mind, a small cabin just north of MacFarlane's Ranch from his understanding. 

It did not take the man long to find it, local cowpokes cowered at the sight of the large Mexican outlaw sitting upon an even larger steed, interrogating them about a maiden. It was almost as if the best pieces of you resembled him, immediately reminding the folk of who it was he was searching for. 

Boaz grunted against Javier’s spurs, digging deep into the loose red dirt below. The sunbeams which crept through the dry pine trees created quite the atmosphere, allowing Javier to get lost in his head, even if it were just for a few moments of bliss. 

Despite the directions given to him, Javier hoped you had moved on after all these years, fled somewhere safer, started a new life, perhaps changed your name as well. Somewhere he would never find you. 

Boaz continued to race down the winding path, feeding Javier’s anticipation against the warm breeze. As it gusted past the side of his head, loose strands from his tied hair tickled his ears, merely reminding the man how badly he needed a haircut. 

The starving grass which bordered West Elizabeth held a yellow tinge, the land rolled and waved, flourishing with birds and wildlife. Javier reckoned he has not been to the area before, but you were not lying about how appealing it was— a perfect home for you two. 

Upon whipping around the corner, abruptly revealed a small cabin with songbirds singing to him in the trees. The place was quiet, cozy, and seemingly inhabited, with small smoke stacks exhausting from the brick chimney. 

Bringing Boaz to a halt, there was no sign of you— but sure enough a big black cloud skulked in the nearby pen, following you wherever you wandered like a burden. 

Javier stiffly slid off Boaz, his knees nearly giving out from under him as his boots crunched onto the dirt. The beast was grazing on hay as he approached the fence post 

After whistling and calling your shire a few times, Javier was promptly ignored, perhaps the slow and ominous brute heard the man call him el diablo one too many times. 

He was still a strong believer the only reason the horse broke for you was out of pity— you looked like a child struggling to climb him every endeavor. Maybe the beast had a soft spot for you, just like himself. 

But now the old shire was relieved from his saddle, serenading in the New Austin sun, not bothered to obey the envious man’s command. 

Javier leaned against the corral post, admiring what he could have had with you, the thought of being a family man loomed over his shoulders and displayed no signs of leaving. 

You and Javier ran together prior to joining Dutch, less for money and more for survival. Your past crimes covered bounty boards and train stations as a permanent reminder, never forgetting the wrongs that were written. That price only increased once Mexico inevitably caught wind of all the messy jobs in neighboring lands. 

He drowned and you sank with him, the price of his sins were bricks added to your back. Being his accessory, the government saw you as a pawn, smart and knowledgeable, if caught— Javier would come for you, and they would be ready for him. 

Those days were nearly from another lifetime. 

Now under Allende’s ruling fist, he offered him a twisted plea deal of sorts; protection at the cost of something the man held more dearly than life itself—you. Your capture was not about the money nor status, but simply a test of his loyalty to Allende; if Javier did this job, he’d do anything. 

The poor man’s convoluted loyalty never got him far, proving time and time again, leading him only to dead ends and false hopes. Charismatic attributes and big promises was something Javier foolishly gave everything to with a blind eye, something you always warned him about.  

“Javier?—“ 

Your voice could have made him leap out of his own skin. As he hesitantly turned towards you, his gut twisted into something mean. You were beautiful as ever, after all these years you waited for him— just like you promised. 

“Never thought I’d see you again, especially in the west.” You spoke again in disbelief, rag wiping your hands clean of a job he should have been doing. 

Your voice only lived in his memories, hearing it again nearly whipped Javier back into shape, feeling sick for your puppy love he desperately relied on so long ago. 

“Home sweet home.” The man swallowed dryly, throwing his arms out awkwardly and gesturing towards the open lands around you both. 

Before his thoughts could catch up to the moment, you ran to embrace him, flinging yourself into his arms with a long awaited kiss. Javier grunted softly against your lips, staggering back to support you, the extra attention only reminding him how saddle sore he really was.  

Just for a moment things felt normal, a feeling he was searching for since you split. He had a place in this cruel world once again, everywhere had a price on his head, no place to retreat to besides you— you were home. 

Perhaps he could head tail between his legs back to Allende, saying you disappeared. 

Maybe he could take you to Canada, or a tropical island— oh, anywhere but Guarma. 

We must leave,

Javier’s unsaid words pricked beneath his skin, prodding relentlessly at his deepest desires for redemption. 

“Oh—amor.” 

Was all the man could choke out, the words exiting pitiful and weak, a near cry for help you assumed was just your bittersweet reunion. 

Leaning away you smiled coyly at him, admiring your lost cowboy;

Your time apart was not easy on Javier, his hardened stare and the chip on his shoulder now set in stone. 

The constant blazing sun of Mexico, along with surviving off rationed canned beans really took a toll on the man. His face was dull and lacking the usual pigment he wore so handsomely when Mr. Pearson cooked for everyone. 

Javier’s newfound demeanor only put emphasis on his sharp brows peeking from under his bowler cap brim, residing above dark cunning eyes, ready to match any cowpuncher who dared challenge him. 

Over Javier’s shoulder was where his mount rested, hoove digging into the dirt at the end of the cabin’s path. 

“—and Boaz?” You began after a shared silence, slowly approaching the overworked horse. 

“Still kickin’.” He uttered gently, a large hand scratching the back of his neck. 

Boaz never really liked you, or anyone besides Javier that is. It wasn’t until the gang hunkered down in Colter for the stubborn bastard to take a liking to you. 

The weather and unpredictable circumstances was not easy on the gang, including the horses, causing rations to be small among the mounts. 

You always carried treats in your satchel to gain Boaz’s affection, and your efforts would eventually succeed in Colter. You would secretly slip him sugar cubes every time you left the shack, he must have appreciated the extra attention. Javier barely recognized Boaz trotting up to him in the snow, you mounted on top wearing a proud grin. 

You wore a similar grin now, full of satisfaction and pride that he returned to you— with warmth flowing through him, his heart rapidly thumped in his ears, all the pent up feelings for you were reopening like floodgates. 

“What’a nice feller, huh.” You cooed to the mount after a slow approach. 

Showing no distress Boaz allowed your kind pats and rubs. Tenderly nudging you, the horse’s chops tried sneaking its way into your pockets, searching for the snacks you usually held after a long journey. 

“Ai, fácil!” 

Javier exclaimed, quickly guiding Boaz’s large snout away, the loving gestures nearly toppling you over. 

“Guess I’m glad he still remembers me.” You beamed, tipping your hat lower to shield yourself from the beating sun. 

“Or perhaps your donations, amor.” Javier quipped softly, his eyes wandering meekly. 

Something besides time passing seemed different about him, you could not quite pinpoint it. Javier was always a timid man at first when it came to his lover, maybe your time apart presented this old side of him. 

You knelt slightly, peeking under his sunken head which hung towards the ground. 

“Javier? You don’t look so good.” 

Your soft words managed to dig their way through his ringing ears, the man squinted his eyes tightly before swiping his lids with rough fingers. 

“Uh— maybe you oughta sit for a bit, I think you’re overdressed for this heat.” 

Your words broke through once again, giving a small tug on his poncho, his disoriented vision cluttered with black floating spots as you guided towards the porch. 

As his vision continued to warp, the cabin doubled and skewed while you put him in the shade. 

Javier knew you were speaking, your voice fading in and out irreguarly, piercing his ears every so often. 

The words felt like they were being consumed by the ocean, his head bobbed up and down as if he were drowning. All he could think about was Dutch’s screams over the storm and waves, as he was about to be consumed by the large void. 

But Dutch snagged him before being swept away, yanking him upon the tiny rowboat that threatened to tip from the added stress. Javier’s senses were waterlogged, rejecting the mean salty water from his lungs. As he gasped for air; the only thing he thought of was you. 

“S’alright, son, You’re not dying today!” Was the first thing he heard. He faded in and out of consciousness as Dutch beat the sea water out of him, his ribcage rattling under each and every smack. 

Javier sometimes wonders if Dutch should have just let him die, abandon him and allow the dark waters to engulf him whole, repaying his sins to his maker. Maybe his death would free you of your burdens. 

He felt like his time had withered before Dutch had saved him anyways. Being a prisoner in Guarma is what convinced him that he would never make it back to you, sealing the deal. Your previous words borrowed time scratched at his skin again, yearning to be acknowledged. 

“Ah well, I knew you’d come crawling back, you’re here for a reason.” You would always say to him after a particularly dangerous run with the gang. He would dismiss you with a mumble and a kiss, but always knew he was lucky to be alive as more of his brothers began to fall. 

Sometimes he would catch you talking to a disgruntled Arthur as he packed his horse. 

Upon inquiring about your words, Arthur being a somewhat vague man would shortly grumble; 

“Jus’ focus on the job, and returnin’ to your woman, Javier.” 

—and he always did. Javier knew you did not worry about him much, at least outwardly. But he did notice Arthur’s presence whenever trouble presented itself. 

~

“Javier— some water.” 

Your words along with a canteen dangled in front of him, the prior hallucination of a watery grave was almost enough to empty his stomach. 

Javier stared back towards your shire lounging in his corral, his mind once again wandering back to the life he could have had with you. 

In the midst of his tunneling vision, a lean coyote lingered through his gaze, stalking towards him, icy eyes sending daggers into his before diminishing. 

“Javier. Say something.” Your words were now much clearer to him, breaking through his consciousness, the ringing disappeared from his mind fog. 

“‘M alright.” He muttered, spitting out the bitter taste from his mouth. 

“I reckon you oughta take it easy, being an old man n’ all now.”

Javier frowned at you and blinked a couple times, jaw agape, processing the pun you made at his dismay. 

“Ha— so sorry, chica, ‘suppose I’m no longer the young buck you remember.” 

He replied sarcastically, his voice both bold and hoarse as he raised back to his feet, every step whining for rest. 

“Ride with me?” Javier suddenly asked as if nothing happened. It took you by surprise, he had just arrived after all. 

“Alright.” You obliged shortly after a pause. “Let me grab my belt.” You continued, motioning towards the missing holsters on your frame. 

“No need.” He cut you off quickly, his voice leaving traces of urgency. 

“Boaz is packed.” 

You eyed him up, watching the man shutter under your antagonizing gaze, how he hoped you were not suspicious of his intentions after all this time. But rightfully so, the man was yellow-bellied. 

But you had no reason not to trust him. 

You were not exactly sure where Javier was taking you, but for now his company was enough to keep you satisfied. The ride was eerily quiet, even for his standards, being a man of few words. 

After riding a little down south he brought you to a small mountain that overlooked Mexico. He perched you both on a small flat area, just in time for the sun to sink below the land. 

Javier stared over the horizon, he never really did think about how big the south was, yet how small he felt in comparison. A glimmer caught onto his peripheral, turning towards the shine was the pendent he had given you, when you both first started running with the gang. 

The feeling presented itself again, feeling so small in the world— you were the home he had been searching for since the gang's fallout. It was always you. 

He sank into his memories, a vessel of his former self was all that remained. 

You two were quite away from your newly shared camp, with all the members and leads, the moments you had alone became quite sparse. 

“What do you think, Javi?” Your sudden presence caught him off guard. 

“The gang?—“ he pondered your words, leaning against a shady oak. 

“I suppose they’re family for now, señorita. We’re much safer, and they’re good to us.” Javier replied, a hand brushing over the stubble on his jaw. You smiled gently with a nod, making your uneasiness all too obvious. 

“It’s just temporary, amor, once we have the money to get on our feet— it’ll be the two of us again.” He reassured, a polite arm sliding around your waist. 

Javier remembers the look in your eye, doubtful and full of sorrow, but you still trusted him, knowing he would never lead you astray. The same he thought about Dutch.  

Repositioning himself behind you, he dug a necklace from his pocket, draping it over your chest and clasping it. You fidgeted in surprise against his movements, gazing down at the beautiful silver pendant that glistened off the very same sun. Before you could say a word he planted a kiss on your lips, gentle and quick before mounting Boaz. 

“I promise!” 

He called out. After blowing a kiss to you, he was off to assist the gang. He didn’t have much money at the time, but Javier always knew how to make things work—

Oh how naive of him— bright eyed and lovesick, he wanted to make a woman out of you, settle down. That is, before Dutch’s plan captivated him. Which ultimately led to this mess, but who is he kidding, he never really had a chance anyways. 

Javier thought back with immense regret, wishing he was more romantic with you in a way, officially making you his chica earlier on, instead of prolonging it due to the possibility of death. He always feared that courting would further your heartbreak if something bad were to happen. 

It was his own unaddressed way to cope with the harsh reality of survival and being an outlaw, he always prioritized your safety over intimacy until joining the gang. When he looks back on it, your shared time at Horseshoe Overlook and Clemons Point were some of the best times of his life. 

Around that time of riding with the gang was when your relationship with him really began to evolve. The potential competition of other men drove Javier and his intimacy up a wall— his usual gentle lips ghosting over yours turned into small nips, and purple blotches he would mark on your neck late at night. A tight palm covering your mouth which muffled the moans of his name, words the man would kill to hear in such an uncaged manner. He entertained no confusion of who you belonged to; even if he did not make things official until that night at the lake.  

Javier had nearly forgotten the sun had already set, and he somehow had no recollection of it. He looked down at you, only in a thin shirt as you gazed longingly off the mountain side.

The final sunset you shared was simply a ticking clock for him. 

“Cold?” He whispered, words he could barely choke out. 

“A little.” You replied, big doe-like eyes staring up at him, holding so much love for the man. Love he was not sure he ever deserved. 

Forcing his gaze away quickly he arose, soles of his feet vibrating and pulsing with each step. After approaching Boaz his shaking hands freed his bedroll clasps, attention locked upon his rifle poking out of the saddle. 

His head spun, finally digging himself out of his trance. After returning to you, he draped the cloth over you in vain. 

“You okay?” You suddenly asked, your hush voice startling him, he sighed in despair. 

The words you said to him at Beaver Hollow replayed through his mind,

Leave with me. Let’s run away. 

But he could not get them out, his chest quivered under the constraint of his uneven breaths. 

“Course.” He managed to form the word, you nodded in contentment, fresh air filling your nose. 

His response would have to do for now, you decided to cut him some slack since he returned to you, after all. 

By now you knew him well enough. Some nights he would stay up and collect his thoughts before laying beside you. You always respected his space, he had his demons, like everyone else. Soon enough in your slumber  you would feel his protective arms drape around you, his steady breaths hitting the nape of your neck, tense body encapsulating yours— those were the nights you felt the safest, and knew he was going to manage just fine. 

Other nights Javier would stay up while you were by your lonesome. He always feared something would kill the both of you while asleep, reluctantly you agreed. But the man always let you rest, you needed it more, that is for putting up with him all day round. 

It was those nights he always coaxed you to sleep, you insisted he shouldn’t be awake alone, but eventually would give into the soft lulls he would sing, wordlessly agreeing that there was no point for the both of you to be cranky and tired in the morning. 

—But there he sat, only to turn into the monster he swore to protect you from. 

“I love you, Javier.” 

Your words racked his brain, digging and clawing invasively into each one of his bones. Javier thought he imagined them until he looked over to find you staring this entire time. You knew there was something seriously wrong, but surely he would tell you within due time. 

Javier’s voice was lost, swallowing suppressed sobs down his dry throat, he nearly felt like he was drowning once again in the frame he called a body. 

Just like the days he would not say it back while pursuing a lead, with doubts he would not make it back to your arms— but he always did, it was the least he could do. It felt like lifetimes ago to him, how could the man choke out a te amo before sending you in? 

Instead, he planted a kiss on your soft lips, lingering there for a moment, knowing it would be your last. 

Looming below in the shadows, trailing to the border resided monsters he used to protect you from— two Mexican soldiers camped out by the tracks. Their lanterns flickering softly in the distance, patiently waiting for the man to arrive at the agreed meeting spot. 

Javier shivered, feeling like a young boy again. His eyes fixated on the stock of his rifle that Boaz held. 

Your breaths became shallow, harmonizing with the warm night’s breeze as you fell into a slumber. You trusted Javier’s judgment on setting up camp or heading home, you perhaps allowed yourself to get a little too comfortable. 

It all happened so fast for him, and there was no going back. Javier’s mind blurred as he rode, Boaz fussing and fighting under his control. His very own horse feared the  monster he had become, maybe poor Boaz thought he was Javier’s next victim. 

He rode fast— but not fast enough to flee from himself. 

A coyote lurked around the darkness, gazing at Javier from behind the two Mexican soldiers who taunted him, puffing on their big cigars from Uncle Sam.  

The coyote disappeared as Javier reached for his revolver, patiently waiting for the man to shoot him— but he never did. 

The soldier simply laughed, knowing Javier’s bark had no bite. While under Allende’s power, he was simply a coward a soldier would not even match out of pity.  

Soon enough the two men fled into the night, banter that could be heard a mile away through the ravines. Anyone could have mistaken them for sick hyenas. 

He could hear their stallions riding hard in triumph, with a new prize Javier held so close for many years, he watched the soldiers grow smaller and smaller over the uneven land until the darkness swallowed them whole, taking a piece of him along. 

The nighttimes ahead would find Javier in a one horse town saloon, nodding off more times than he could remember. His glass turned from full to empty until his vision doubled. 

Javier was not sure how many days had passed, the whiskey dulling his mind and senses, but the thoughts still ate him alive. 

Did you think he would come for you? Or would you be envious, spilling everything you could before meeting the gallows. 

Javier hid in his palms, knowing he got it all wrong— it should have been him. 

It did not take too long for the man to get kicked out from the saloon due to his drunken stupor, not even the bartender wanted his dirty money. 

Javier took Boaz to what he thought was east, the coyote returned to accompany him, lurking around on the monotone forest floors he traveled. 

The night breeze made Javier reminisce of the times at camp, the very same breeze that whipped through your hair as you would drag him off somewhere secluded, your mischievous grin reflecting off the summer night's moon as you snuck off into the bushes. 

You gave everything to each other— all for nothing it seems.

Javier sank lower into himself before eventually staggering off Boaz. It only took him a few unsteady steps to empty his bowels on the dirt path, elbows hoisting him up on his shaky bent knees. 

Peeking out from his jacket cuff was a scar he once wore proudly on his wrist. A scar he earned in some honky tonk town just because another man looked at you wrong. The mere thought of it worsened his nausea.  

All signs pointed to you, and you were gone because of reasons he barely understood himself— He feared he didn’t know what loyalty was anymore. Or what he stood for in fact. 

Your blind love killed you in the end, and it was his cross to bear. 

The sky was dark and dull, which was just as familiar as a bottle and a glass. Not a single star in the sky greeted him, leaving him to fester alone. 

The wind howled violently through the trees, causing the leaves to rustle and sway. A northern was quickly sneaking upon the lands of New Austin. 

His lone coyote joined him on a distant cliffside, coat black as sin, mocking the cowboy who lingered below. 

~

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Hi!

After reading your Eagle Flies fic i was wondering if you could do some more😅

Maybe a fic where the reader is in the gang and they see each other for the first time when Eagle Flies comes seeking Dutch’s help with the horses and it’s basically love at first sight so after they finish helping them they meet somewhere and do the deed because the attraction is too much😏

Thank you so much! 🫶🏻

Every Man Gets His Wish

(Eagle Flies x Fem!Reader Smut)

I got midterms this week and I'm somehow finding the time to write

Warnings: just smut

You had not been content in a long time. Being holed up in a cave was not on your bucket list. It felt as though it were an admission of your status as a criminal, as well as the others. Your misery was akin to what you felt like in Colter, though you often wondered if your life had somehow been better back when you were still stuck in the unforgiving cold of the mountains. 

Yet something about the damp, cool air of Beaver Hollow was strangely reminiscent of your time then. An ominous vapor seemed to pool on the campgrounds, seeping round corners and fogging your vision. The thick atmosphere of your new ‘home’ felt like malevolent hands circling around your neck and sliding down your collarbone, where the crisp air cut deeper than any knife. You could not remember the last time you enjoyed yourself. You could no longer ask someone to play poker or dominoes with you without feeling strangely guilty for wanting to enjoy yourself. Conversations with the camp girls were hushed in tone, and there was an anxious layer beneath your words, as you all wanted to avoid pointing out the obvious. There was a visible rift in camp that you were too scared to acknowledge out loud, and whenever someone like Pearson would openly speak about the hopelessness of the situation, you felt a strange and unwelcome feeling in your gut. 

You could not focus as you stared off into the dense forests surrounding the camp, shotgun in hand. The sound of wind blowing through the trees highlighted the somber tone you felt. A part of you wished you could be anywhere else but here; but you had nowhere to go. You closed your bleary eyes and felt the world continue to move past you, and you felt strangely comforted by this. 

“Excuse me, (Name).” 

It was Charles, and the firm gentleness of his voice tore down your moment of hazy tranquility. You opened your eyes and blinked away the brightness of sunshine that cast on your face through tree leaves, adjusting your gaze, and beholding the love of your life. 

Besides Charles stood a man of dark complexion, his firm and sharp features framed by soft-looking, wispy black hair; a singular braid down his face. You could tell he held himself with pride, and the seriousness in his features suggested he wasn’t here for pleasure, rather business (Much to your dismay). 

“Oh, hello there. Who’s this?” You asked Charles, unable to look the other man directly in the eyes. 

“This is Eagle Flies, from the Wapiti Tribe. He’s come to ask us for help, regarding some… horses.” There was reluctance in the way Charles mentioned the horses. As if he were in disbelief that that was the reason behind all this. 

“Pleasure to meet you, uh, what was it again?”

“(Name). And the pleasure’s all mine.”

Eagle Flies held his hand out towards you to shake, to which you looked at him hesitantly, before taking it. The tension between the two of you was palpable. His grip was warm and languid. You briefly slid your fingers over his rough palm as you let go, letting your fingertips dance as you gauged his reaction to your strangely intimate and decisive gesture. Yet you found yourself shocked to see him do the same to you, if for a moment, by allowing your fingertips to linger together for a second longer as you departed your hand. 

“We’re just going to go talk to Dutch, he’s this way.” Charles led Eagle Flies past you, and you tailed them soon after, it was customary to keep an eye on new arrivals in the camp after all. In the few precious seconds there were before you all arrived at Dutch’s tent, both you and Eagle Flies exchanged wanting smiles with one another, and you felt excitement bubble within you like a school girl struck with puppy love. This was perhaps the most roused you had been in a long time. 

Dutch had dismissed you as soon as he was introduced to Eagle Flies, and as such, you moved away from the group and kept your distance. But still close enough to where you could listen in on what they were discussing. The sudden change in Eagle Flies’ demeanor was jarring. Your bathetic moment of tension was replaced by his self-gratifying maundering. He spoke of horses and his tribe, of starvation and the military. His passion seeped through his every word.

And at this moment, you found his liveliness to be refreshing. Not just refreshing in the way that he was something new and unwonted. 

But he was raw.

How many nights had you laid in your tent, parched beyond belief of any excitement and feverishness, incapable of being quenched by the mundane monotony of your everyday life, dreaming of something or someone as decisive and emotionally rousing as Eagle Flies. And though you had only experienced fleeting relief by him, you were hooked. 

Your eyes traced his figure, up and down. He was lean, but he was muscular, and you could tell even through his baggy clothes. His arms were decorated with prominent veins and small scars that you’d love to trace and rub. His stature was tall and proud, and you’d love to see how easily you could make him fold. 

As if he felt you staring at him, he looked over at you once again, flashing a coquettish smile. Before you could return an equally suggestive look, he was off with Arthur, Dutch, and Charles. You followed behind them once again, frantically asking where they were off to. Dutch and Eagle Flies were on their horses before the other two, bespeaking of their fervor for whatever they were off to do. 

“Dutch insists we help Eagle Flies retrieve his tribe's horses.” Charles explained. 

“I don’t understand, we can always just get them more horses.” Arthur whispered harshly. You nodded in understanding, looking far more concerned than you truly should’ve been. 

“I told Eagle Flies’ father I would not involve myself in this conflict. Really, we’re just going to make sure they don’t get killed.” Charles added begrudgingly. His exasperation was clear as he shook his head and looked off in Dutch’s direction, disdained. 

“You boys, be safe, please.” Part of your statement sounded pleading, desperate. For their safety of course, but also for Eagle Flies’ safety. It’d be a shame to have a fine young man such as him be harmed, killed even. 

With that, they departed from camp, and would not be seen for a few hours. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually, Arthur and Charles made their presence known in camp, and you greeted them with relief and excitement. They explained Dutch and Eagle Flies had gone off to deliver the horses at the reservation, and that he’d return shortly after. As for Eagle Flies whereabouts after the matter, you weren’t sure. And you knew it wasn’t wise to go looking for him. One, because you just met the guy. And second, because you weren’t sure what you’d do if you did find him. There wasn’t much in terms of emotional connection between the two of you, but there was a carnal allurement that was undeniable. 

After bidding Arthur and Charles goodbye and goodnight, you returned to your post as watchman. You began staring off into the impenetrable woods once again, unable to focus and keep your bawdy thoughts at bay. You felt a clenching feeling between your legs, and you began shifting and rubbing your thighs together in your standing position to try and alleviate the pressure building. 

In your sexually charged stupor, you barely took notice of the dark silhouette approaching through the pitch black greenness. Your thoughts were crudely interrupted by a twig snapping, and as if it were second nature, you raised your shotgun and pointed it at whatever or whoever was standing there. Your finger ghosted the trigger as you awaited for the culprit to make themselves known, and much to your surprise, it was Eagle Flies. 

“(Name).”

“What are you doing here?” You asked bluntly, lowering the gun to your side. You looked behind you at camp, wondering if anyone was watching you two. You also looked behind him, squinting your eyes in the darkness. 

“I didn’t come with anyone. I’m alone.” He reassured. He smiled at you once again, but this time it was more sincere, and not incited by desire. He approached you swiftly, and you allowed him. His proximity to you now was so close you could feel heat emanating from him, and you stared at his chest before craning your neck to look up at him. The tension was unmistakable once again, and you somehow found yourself drawing impossibly closer to him. Despite the bubbling apprehensiveness in his throat, he still found a way to speak to you. 

“I wanted to come see you…” Suddenly, he found himself struggling to put together a sentence. “You’re so beautiful and…” His hands shakily came up to your sides and hovered on the curves of your hips, as if waiting for permission. You looked behind you once again, before turning around and leaning up towards him, connecting your lips and nudging his mouth open. His mouth tasted delicately salty, like tears. You reached over to touch Eagle Flies’ face, and he allowed himself to be touched. The contact felt good. And after a moment of hesitation he began kissing back clumsily, suggesting inexperience and nerves. He’d been quite bold in coming all this way to see you, but now that he was getting what he came for, he was mortified. When you felt his rigidness, you felt terribly compassionate for him. You were both quite young and he was strung up in circumstances that disallowed him to enjoy lives’ more carnal pleasures. You wanted to show him a gesture of benevolence, something that might make him feel as good as he was young. 

You pushed away shortly after and studied his face. He looked dumbfounded, completely wrapped around your finger at that point.

"Why did you stop?" He asked with a pout, now a mixture of nerves and insatiable excitement. You found it incredibly cute. 

"I just can't believe you came all this way to get your rocks off." You teased, a hand resting on his left pectoral. He looks around in embarrassment, unable to hide his burning face. More confidently this time, he wrapped his arms behind your back and leaned down.

"Couldn't help myself." He closed the distance between your lips, and your tender kiss from before contrasted the primal desperation in this kiss. It was now that the two of you couldn't keep your hands away from each other, body's fitting together perfectly. The two of you resorted to groping each other ineptly, kissing each other with sloppy wet mouths. The swapping of saliva was loud and wanton as tongues slid against one another. His tongue grazed your palate as he took fistfuls of your ass into his hands. He shuddered in unrestrained pleasure when he felt your soft breasts through your chemise in his palms, taking a moment to knead the flesh gently before squeezing. With shaky hands, he took a hold of your chemise, tugging experimentally at the fabric before yanking it fully over your head. He nearly drooled at the sight of your breasts, your nipples becoming hard when the cool air of the camp surrounded them. He slowly moved his hands towards your breasts, pulling and squeezing your pebbled nipples before cupping your breasts and pushing them together. 

His excitement was almost juvenile, as if he were a teenager getting his first lay with a girl. You moaned into his mouth, half pain and half pleasured surprise by how rough he was. Without breaking your heated kiss, the two of you backed deeper into the woods against a tree. The sound of clothes rustling and needy mouths panting pierced the silence in the woods. His twitching cock chafed against his dress pants and became uncomfortable. He sucked on your swollen bottom lip before capturing you in another messy wet kiss. He excitedly took your wrist and moved it down his torso (partially so you could feel his abs) and let your hand rest on his erection, waiting expectantly for you to do something. 

You giggled in between clumsy kisses, squeezing the bulge and ripping a moan from him. It was amazing to you how little it took to have him this loud. You rubbed him leisurely through his pants, giving the occasional squeeze. Two of his fingers were inside the cotton of your bloomers, resting there with questioning. You gave his cock a particularly hard squeeze that encouraged his hand to traverse further, brushing through thick curls before sliding his finger down your vulva and to your sticky, warm folds. You sobbed in excitement, his tongue already tracing a wet path down your neck and chest. You swore you could hear his rapid heart beat; his shaky breaths that could be described as uneasy. 

Your hands were unfastening Eagle Flies’ pants and tugging them open, freeing his weeping cock. He was painfully hard, and it was his turn to sob again at feeling your lithe hands caress him. His hand remained in your bloomers in vain, as he was too engrossed in the feeling of you stroking him (And given his inexperience, he wasn’t too sure what to do). 

Your steady rhythm showed skill that was born out of practice. And good practice it was, because he had thrown his head back and was whining. To his surprise, you had gotten down on your knees before him, continuing to stroke him next to your face. He knew what you intended to do, and he was sure as hell going to enjoy it. 

“Ever had your cock sucked?” You asked venereally. He shook his head no, and you noticed how his breath hitched everytime you ghosted your lips on his tip. 

“Good.” You smiled, before spitting on his cock. You spread the saliva over his tip, mixing it with his pre cum and slathering his cock with wetness. He did not even attempt to stifle his moans, and he went slack jawed when your plump lips enveloped his tip, sucking gently and delicately. Instinctively, his hand raked through your hair and gripped your roots, forcing your head down further. Normally you would’ve scoffed at his inconsiderateness, but you couldn’t blame him. It was his first blowjob after all. 

You hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your head, attempting to set your own rhythm against Eagle Flies’ forceful one. Eventually, you simply allowed him to take lead, swallowing around him when you felt the beginning of a gag. The slurps and wet choking sounds were music to his ears, and it only spurred him on. He began cursing under his breath and bunched your hair into a ponytail, tugging and pushing harshly when he felt like it. Feeling your warm wet tongue caress his cock had him weak in the knees. As for your knees, they were sore and uncomfortable. The hard dirt floor of the woods was not kind to your bare skin as twigs and pebbles dug into tender knees. You were also at the point of choking and gagging constantly around Eagle Flies, overproducing an absurd amount of saliva to help your sore mouth. But despite the discomfort of having his cock shoved down your throat, you actually quite enjoyed being handled so roughly. 

Without warning, hot thick ropes of cum shot down your throat and flooded your mouth, but the downright adorable whimpers he let out made up for it all tenfold. His body shuddered in pleasure as he deposited himself into your throat, and he sore he could pass out from overstimulation when you slowly pulled your head off of him with a pop. 

“Holy shit…” He panted, watching through bleary eyes as you stood up. You wiped your mouth with the back of your palm, cleaning up any remaining cum and saliva, inelegantly wiping it off on your bloomers. He leaned his weight on the tree behind him, unable to support himself fully. He was still in the midst of recovery when you stepped forward and began unbuttoning his shirt, becoming restless half way through the tedious task and yanking open the rest of his shirt. His eyes widened in surprise, too taken aback to react immediately. 

“Oh I’m loving what I’m seeing.” You purred, feeling up his abs before tracing your hand down his happy trail. You roughly took a hold of his cock, causing him to yelp. You leaned up to him, speaking in a whisper as you squeezed the base of his cock impossibly tight. 

“I’m gonna teach you how to pleasure a lady. Now get down on your knees, boy.”

He kneeled in blind obedience, shuffling to the side to allow you space to lean against the tree. You stroked his hair and cooed at him when he gripped the back of your thighs. Deciding to finally do something for you, he began tracing open mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, stopping right before your clothed cunt. Your pussy throbbed painfully at this point, and you wanted nothing more than to shove his face in there already. 

“Yeah, just like that.” You praised, stroking a hand through his hair. You scratched his scalp and watched the way his eyes slid closed, signifying just how good it felt. 

“Now, remove my bloomers.” You commanded, and he quickly followed your orders. The crisp air hit your core, and you whimpered when you felt the cool wetness of your pussy. Eagle Flies saw your thick curls for himself, and you allowed him the luxury of getting a better view by throwing your leg over his shoulder. You jut your hips towards his face, smirking excitedly. He looked from your core to you and back, looking so cute you wanted to make him cry tears of pleasure. 

“Take your thumbs and spread my cunt apart.” You commanded. Unlike his shakiness from earlier, he all too enthusiastically parted your folds, revealing a rose of wetness. You used your own hand to find your clit and tapped, guiding one of his hands onto it after. The pad of his calloused finger met your clit and you jerked your hips, nodding your head hurriedly. He began circling his finger slowly, testing to see what pace and rhythm you did and didn’t like. And eventually, much like he had done to you, you took ahold of his hair and shoved his face into your cunt. He knew at once to suck on your clit, almost sucking a little too harshly. He would occasionally flick his tongue out before laying it flat, circling the bud playfully, even giving open mouthed kisses that would transition back into him sucking. 

You could not contain your squeals and moans, continuing to shove his face in deeper. His nose brushed against curls, mouth molding fully into you. Yet he absolutely loved the feeling of suffocating on your pussy, unable to suck in a full breath because he was too preoccupied with eating you out. Your slick ran down your inner thighs, which he would collect with his fingers before rubbing your clit with it furiously. You were teetering on the edge of orgasm, but you weren’t quite there yet. 

At once, you ordered him to stand, and he already knew what came next. You let your bloomers pool at your feet before kicking them off to the side. In a moment of wordless communication, you lifted your leg to his hip and he knew to lift it, before taking a hold of your other knee and picking you up fully. His hands cupped your ass as you wrapped your legs around him, and he couldn’t help but get in a few squeezes. His strength was impressive, and you swore you got wetter at the sight of his biceps flexing. 

You wrapped one arm around his neck and moved the other down, grasping his cock and lining it up with your pussy. His chest rumbled when it slid against your entrance, unable to fathom how wet and sloppy everything was. Slowly, he pushed in, choking on a moan in the process. You sighed before burying your head in his shoulder, finding comfort in his cool, damp skin. 

His eyes were blown wide with lust, and he dug his fingers into your ass as he prepared to thrust into you. His feet planted firmly into the ground when he began moving your hips, his cock throbbing uncontrollably inside your velvety and slick walls. He grit his teeth as he began an unsteady pace, his hips stuttering from the pleasure. He moved your hips in time to meet his thrusts, and his pace could only be described as desperate. He panted and moaned into the open air, while your own screams were muffled by his shoulder. 

The burning stretch of having your pussy carved out was breathtaking, especially given how wet you were. Not to mention it was being done by this fine man. The unmistakable plap of your pussy being pounded would be hard to miss by any gang members who were awake, and you were sure to get shit for it the next morning from anyone who did hear. But you couldn’t care less. You were being fucked hard and good by Eagle Flies. 

Eagle Flies sucked in ragged breaths next to your ear, adding to your senses being flooded. The salty taste of sweat on his shoulder as you began licking. The scent of earth mixing with the thick scent of sex. The feeling of sweaty skin on sweaty skin. Feeling his damp muscles and flexing abs. And especially the loud wet sounds of the sinful acts you were committing. 

You came with a burning white flash, your vision clouding as you cried out in pure bliss. Eagle Flies began to growl and shudder, which you understood as him being close. After a few more sloppy thrusts, he pulled out, and you felt his wet cock on your ass. He hurriedly fisted his cock with one hand before shooting his cum onto the earth beneath you. 

The two of you came down from your highs, and he set you down gently on the floor (Somewhere where you wouldn’t step on his cum). Despite being exhausted, he still held the same excitement and giddiness from earlier. He was, in a way, proud of himself, for having come all this way and getting what he wanted. Seems it paid off.

He helped you get dressed, even going as far as to gather your chemise from near the camp entrance. The whole time, he had that blissfully dazed smile that you found endearing. 

“So uh…” He began, but you already knew the rest of that sentence. 

“You did good.” You responded, dusting off your top, to which he nodded happily. 

“Guess it really was worth coming all this way huh?" He joked, attempting to button his shirt back up but finding a few of them missing. You humored him with a laugh, but you truly did find it amusing, touching almost. 

"I assume you'll be leaving now?" You asked, motioning towards the dark trail that led away from Beaver Hollow. He nodded, pursing his lips in dismay when he saw the darkness that lay ahead. 

"Yeah…" 

You giggled and crossed your arms, before leaning up to give him a kiss. 

"Well, don't be afraid to come back, Mister Eagle Flies." You winked and picked up your weapon, beginning to walk away, but not without slapping his ass first. 

And with that, he was off, bruised ego but giddy nonetheless. Paytah was gonna get an earful. 

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Went a little crazy with this one

[total-drama-takes-the-squeakquel]

she's bland. she's boring. she's too dependent on Mike. she isn't funny. her voice is annoying. she's hypocritical. she had a part in eliminating her only friend who was genetically mutated by toxic waste. she only hated Scott after he eliminated Mike. her hair is unnaturally dyed. she apologizes for everything even when knowing she will never reach the forgiveness bestowed in our hearts. she's annoying. she calls Dawn weird, yet laughs when Cameron puts spaghetti on his head, even though that's unsanitary and unusual. she wars pigtails. she changed into a macho warrior only to regress to her old bland self an episode later. she has a flower growing out of her head. she snapped at Anne Maria, even before her and Mike ere even in a relationship. she snapped at Anne Maria. her first line in All-Stars is "Mike". she wasn't even worthy of a line in "Food Fright". she gets mad at Mike in "Grand Chef Auto" for choosing to compete instead of saving her, even though he saved her like, 260 times. she doesn't wear gray sweat pants. she's apart of the worst relationship in Total Drama history. she wears long pants with a crop top. her anorexia needs to be taken care of. her old design was better. she says she loves oddballs, yet when Dakota and Dawn try to befriend her, she's like "lol f**k you circus freaks. where's my perfectly unflawed Mike at." she's the leading cause of chlamydia in the United States. her and Mike haven't even kissed on the lips yet, while Anne Maria and Mike have kissed twice. she likes Cameron. her shoes are tacky. she abused a beaver. she's able to fly up a tree. she acquired super powers from Mike withdrawal. she's an embarrassment to a show that was supposed to be satire. wtf is an Indie Chick is it a soup. her niceness is a result of my high blood sugar. she makes me want to vomit all over myself. she's the reason I cry myself to sleep everynight and the reason I'll never be able to have children. she's Zoey. her boob crack is showing

-

[sweetarethediscords]

The Maiden of The Barren Rime

Winter Wind blows through the valley, pushes us into our homes.

Pleading she knocks at our windows, scorned she continues to roam.

Chapter 1: The Brambled Beauty

Mina quieted at the sound of unfamiliar voices on the wind.

“Are you sure this is the right cabin?” It was a feminine voice, on the younger side, with a slight Tinian accent, most likely from the North Coast judging from the way they dragged the “er” in “sure.”

“Of course this is the right cabin! It’s the only cabin in this damned forest!” A masculine voice spat back. Staunchly Lanholdian, Mina could almost feel the thick tension in their tongue behind her own teeth. The gravel of age and annoyance ground up from the back of their throat.

Mina picked up her pace, leaping up into the treetops, crossing miles in minutes towards the voices with no more sound than the rustle of wind through pine needles.

She stilled. The branch beneath her feet barely creaked.

They were outside her cabin. A young woman with thick glasses and even thicker curly hair checked the compass in her hand as the short, sturdy man beside her impatiently tapped his foot and picked at the split ends of his long, braided beard.

Mina placed a hand on the hilt of her sword as she watched them through the canopy. The man’s leather armor bore a crest depicting a mountain top and three diamonds, with glinting, well-polished stripes on his pauldron pronouncing his rank. Seven; a general of lauded stature. Why he traveled with the young woman was unclear.

She was clearly not a noble. The slight roll forward of her shoulders, the patterned bandanna holding her hair out of her eyes too weathered or wrinkled for even a disguised royal to wear, and a decent soldier would never keep their guard down as much as hers was in an unfamiliar place. Perhaps she had hired the knight as security on her journey.

A journey Mina would take no part in.

She shifted to sit easily and silently, making sure not to catch the beaver skins hanging from her pack beneath her. A few more minutes and they would leave, then she could prep the skins and start to smoke the meat in her satchel as planned.

“Well,” the woman stuffed her compass into her jacket pocket. “At least it’s a nice day out to wait. Sun’s still warm enough to cut the edge off the autumn chill.”

Annoyingly, she made her way to the porch of Mina’s cabin and took a seat on its rough wooden steps. Mina ground her teeth slightly. Maybe a splinter or two would poke her through her patchwork skirt and urge her away.

The man huffed and kicked at a tuft of crabgrass. “You think this chill has an edge? Just wait until you’re on the Peaks.” The tuft came loose, sending dirt and now homeless pill bugs scattering. “If we ever get to the fucking Peaks.”

Dammit, Mina thought. They were here for an expedition.

“Ya know, we could always go with another alpinist,” the woman offered. “Beto Lamar’s homestead is about a day’s ride west from here.”

“A day’s ride but three weeks past our deadline,” the man said. “This girl can bring us back to Lanholde in under a month.” He stomped over and stood on the steps, too proud to sit, but not proud enough to not lean on the railing for support. “She will get us there in a month.”

“Even if she’s already off on an expedition?”

“She’s not,” the man gestured over his shoulder. “The windows are open. And this cabin is too well maintained for its owner to just head off for two months with the windows left open.”

Mina thudded her head against the tree trunk. Of course. An observant and stubborn knight.

She inhaled deeply, held it, then exhaled, taking her frustration down a little, unclenching her jaw just a touch. She'd piss them off enough that they’d rather stand Lamar’s extra three weeks in the cold than put up with her, and if that didn’t work, ask for a ridiculous amount of gold to scare them off.

Three more weeks in the cold. Three more weeks to die. The unwilling thought made her teeth ache.

She climbed down from the pine she had perched in and moved soundlessly towards the drying rack staked beside her cabin. She removed one of the rungs filled with beaver skins from her pack. A loud and forceful snap echoed through the woods as she dropped it into place.

The trespassing pair jumped. The knight drew his sword as the woman bladed her feet into a wide stance, arms lifted, ready to perform some sort of cast.

So they were a magic wielder and a knight.

“Get off the porch,” Mina stated bluntly as she hung another rack.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the knight’s jaw fall agape while the woman’s disposition relaxed. She straightened up out of her fighting stance, and Mina caught the faint sound of a cork squeaking back into a bottle on the wind.

“My apologies, miss. We’re looking for the alpinist that lives here,” she said. “Would that be you?”

“No,” Mina lied. “I’m a hunter. The alpinist lives to the west.”

The woman arched an eyebrow and looked to the knight. He flared his nostrils, puffed out his chest, and stomped over towards her.

“I am Sir Murmir Gargic, general-rank knight of the Lanholde Royal Army, proud servant to King Fritz Reinhardt.”

“Never heard of him,” she lied again.

The knight sputtered, whatever bullshit speech he had prepared dying on his tongue. “You never—”

“Sir Gargic,” the woman whispered behind him, calling his attention and allowing him a moment to regain his composure.

Annoying.

“Well, he’s heard of you, and has specifically recommended that we seek you out to lead us up the Fallow Peaks. We’re in a bit of a time crunch, so if you don’t mind talking terms so we can start the expedition today—”

“If that’s the case, then I guess your king expects you both to die,” Mina droned, mono-toned and matter-of-factly. “I’m a hunter, not an alpinist.”

The knight’s breathing shallowed as her jab at his ruler crawled under his skin. He inhaled deeply, a tirade building, when the woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How much would it cost for you to be an alpinist?” she asked.

Mina drifted her dull gaze over towards the woman, finding her with a smirk on her lips and a knowing glint in her eye.

“Seven thousand gilt one way,” she answered. “The real alpinist to the west charges half that.”

“I’m sure.” The woman shrugged. “But the alpinist we’re looking for fits your description exactly. Female alpinist. Rough around the edges. Lives alone in a cabin deep in the Sandere Woods, five hundred paces off of the last bend in Woodgullet Road, heading northeast.” She rattled off the details as if she were reading them off a sheet of paper.

Mina blinked slowly, then repeated. “Seven thousand gilt one way.”

“Deal.”

Gods fucking dammit. An unfortunately familiar tug pulled at her spine.

Sir Gargic fished out a scroll from one of the pouches on his belt, while the woman brandished a quill and a bottle of ink. He scrawled something down on it, then turned the parchment in her direction: a contract of duty.

His thick, stubby finger pointed at the 7,000g written next to the terms of payment. “Seven-thousand gilt to be delivered direct from the Capitol’s treasury upon our safe arrival.” His finger traveled down the page to a long signature line. “All you need to do is sign here.”

She did, reluctantly. Her arm dragged by that damned tug.

“Mina,” the woman read her name aloud, standing on the tips of her toes to watch as she wrote it. “I’m Wera Alrust.”

Mina snapped the quill once she finished, dropped it to the ground, and headed into her cabin.

“Where are you going?” Sir Gargic barked behind her. “You’re under contract to—”

“Packing,” Mina answered. “Can’t climb a ten-thousand-foot cliff face with just a bow, a sword, and a can-do attitude.” She paused in the doorway. “Just two going up?”

“Five,” Wera answered. “Six if you count yourself.”

“I don’t.”

Last-minute trips up the Fallow Peaks were nothing new to Mina, as much as she loathed them. They were always inconvenient and pressing, which meant the travelers were stressed and distracted — which meant the death count was usually higher than the average one or two losses. Expeditions such as this were few and far between, at least. Most travelers knew to prepare well in advance for the perilous journey, contracting her months ahead of time instead of minutes.

She closed all the windows and locked the shutters, made sure her books and sheet music were lifted off the ground in case the fall rains caused the lake to flood, and tucked the more expensive of her instruments away as she filled the pack she kept by the door.

“Flint, whytewing leathers, tarp, rations, climbing axes…” she muttered to herself as she rifled through it — taking stock to make sure she had everything she needed — then picked up a fiddle and bow leaning against a hard wooden chair. She loosened up the strings a bit and unstrung the bow to keep the horse hairs from snapping, then shoved it in with the rest of her gear.

“Where are the other three?” she asked as she stepped back outside and locked the door.

“Back on the road, waiting with the wagon,” Wera replied.

“You can’t take a wagon up a mountain.”

“We don’t plan to.” She was, frustratingly, smiling at Mina when she turned around. “Ready to go?”

“Lead the way.”

Sir Gargic headed off, impatience and frustration bringing out the ill-manner child in him. With such thin skin, it wouldn’t be long before he broke their contract, or he died. Rabbet’s Pass most likely, which would be convenient. She could leave his corpse in the caves there, and they wouldn’t have too far of a walk back to Sandere afterwards.

After only a few wrong turns through the thick wood, the seldom-used road emerged. A simple covered wagon pulled off to the side let the four horses that drove it graze lazily, while two more members of their party hung around it: an old woman with her hair up in a tight bun, sitting on the ground making daisy chains out of dandelions, and a young man with a sharp haircut and a well-coiffed mustache scrawling in a notebook as he sat in the driver’s seat.

Sir Gargic’s spine straightened and chest puffed out as he put on a bit of bravado. “We’ve returned!” he cried, waving grandly.

The old woman and mustached man looked up from their work. The woman abandoned her dandelions and stood to meet them, while the young man looked them over and flipped to another page in his book; quill taking off in a fury.

“Ah! Are you the young lady who will be guiding us?” The old woman smiled sweetly. “My name’s Tanir and the boy on the cart is Enoch.” She turned over her shoulder and hollered, “Wave hello, Enoch!”

Enoch raised his hand partially, too engrossed in whatever he was writing to look away.

“Mina.” Mina met Tanir’s gaze, and the old woman’s brow furrowed. She was looking for the appropriate response, a sign of expression to source Mina’s first impression of her. Mina watched her bottom lip shift subtly, a minuscule pucker as her teeth bit behind it uneased to find nothing.  

Annoy the knight. Unnerve the old woman. Now she just had to find the others’ weaknesses.

“You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road. They’ll slow us down and will be hunted by the beasts of the Harrow.”

“Oh, uh—” Tanir swallowed. “That sounds like something you should discuss with Master Windenhofer. I’ll go get him for you.” She flashed another smile, this one fueled by nerves, and hurried off into the back of the wagon.

Enoch snapped his notebook shut and leaned over the side of the driver’s seat. He rested his chin on his hand dramatically, abandoning the fierce focus he held when writing to gaze at Mina with puppy dog eyes. “Did you know you are extremely beautiful for an alpinist?”

Sir Gargic sputtered with embarrassment. Wera shot Enoch a disgusted look.

Mina stared at him blankly.

“I know,” she said after a moment.

Enoch choked on his spit at her response. Wera burst out into a fit of laughter, drawing Mina’s attention.

Laughter wasn’t a response she was used to receiving.

“Don’t forget to write that one down,” Wera wheezed through her giggles. “‘My attempts at flirtation failed tremendously as usual.’ A good archivist doesn’t leave out any details!”

“Enough of that, Enoch!” Sir Gargic snipped, hitting him on the arm. “She comes highly recommended by The Crown of Lanholde, and you will address her with the respect that such a recommendation warrants!”

“S-sorry, M-mina,” Enoch stammered, still caught off guard by her curtness as he leaned back away from her, rubbing his injured arm.

“I hear we have a new face joining our motley crew!” a warm, deep voice cheered from inside the wagon. The cart bounced as a tall, lean man, with a wide smile and a thick shag haircut, stepped out of it, Tanir following behind.

“Hello, I am Sebastian Windenhofer. It is wonderful to meet you!” the man extended his hand out in greeting.

A soft breeze blew between them as Mina considered his outstretched hand. His fingers were long, as to be expected of someone of his height, and his palms were oddly covered with an even layer of callous.

She did not shake it.

“Mina,” she said to the hand, in the same bland manner that she had introduced herself to everyone else.

Sebastian seemed unbothered by his spurned handshake, and instead clasped his hands together and nodded his head softly, “Mina.” There was a slight hum to the ‘M’ as he said it. “Tanir mentioned that you wished to speak to me about something regarding the horses?”

Mina’s distant stare met his attentive gaze. Sebastian didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“The woods are too thick for a wagon to fit through, and the mountains are too steep,” she answered. “The Harrowed Woods that border Sandere and the Peaks are filled with hungry monsters who will be lured by the thought of a four-course horse meal, too.”

“I see.” Sebastian brought his hand up and tapped his fingertips lightly against his lips as he thought. “Would it be better for the horses if we left the wagon and let them loose now as opposed to when we get closer?”

Mina paused, and tilted her head to the side, caught off guard by his question.

“Have I spoken out of turn?” his voice wavered.

“No, it’s just that I’ve never had someone ask to let the horses out early,” she replied, much more candidly than she intended. She straightened her head, collecting herself. “There’d be less chance of them being attacked. Not many monsters here in these woods.”

“That settles it, then.” Sebastian addressed his crew, “Gather your belongings, we will be continuing on foot from here. Wera and Sir Gargic, unhitch the horses and send them back down the road, please.”

“Ugh, my penmanship gets so poor when we’re walking,” Enoch groaned as he slid down from the driver’s seat.

“Guess you’ll have to save your sonnets for when we’re in Lanholde,” Wera remarked as she started unbuckling one of the horse’s bridles. “We’ve got nothing but walking ahead of us now.”

Sebastian returned his attention to Mina. “It should only take us a few minutes to get packed up. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?” He reached inside his overcoat and pulled out a tea kettle and mug. Twirling the mug around his finger by its handle, he juggled the kettle with one hand and caught it by its base. Steam rose from its spout.

Not just a magic user. He was a wizard, capable enough to demonstrate his talents so casually.

Or cocky enough to make a big show over the few skills he did have.

“No,” Mina replied, tapping the canteen attached to her belt. “I have a canteen.”

She could have just left it at ‘no’.

“Of course.” He threw the tea set into the air as if he were throwing away a piece of paper over his shoulder and with a snap of his fingers they vanished.

Definitely a show-off.

“I have a few things to pack myself if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, smiling again, still wide as it shifted to a slightly different shape, then headed back into the covered wagon.

Mina watched him walk away.

If he wasn’t just a show-off, then maybe they’d make it a mile past Rabbet’s Pass.

🜁

“So, Mina, would you care to tell us a little about yourself?” Sebastian asked as they walked up the rest of the road. Considering how chatty they were while getting their shit together, Mina didn’t have any hope of a quiet walk to the Harrow’s beginning. “I’m sure there’s much more to you than living in these woods and leading expeditions through the Fallow Peaks.”

“That’s all there is to know,” she replied.

Sebastian chuckled, a rumble out from his chest that buzzed in Mina’s ears. “I’m sure that’s not true. What about ‘how you got started leading expeditions’? Doesn’t seem like a job someone just falls into.”

“It’s not.”

“Then how’d it happen for you?”

“Someone had to do it. So I did it.”

“And what did that entail?”

“Doing it.”

“Sebastian,” Tanir interjected, “perhaps it’d be best if we shared a little bit about ourselves first.” She smiled at Mina. Mina kept her gaze forward, praying that the treeline would take mercy on her and move closer on its own. “I’m the company medic, been working with Sebastian since he had a particularly rough encounter collecting basilisk venom a few summers back. Poor thing hobbled to my home half turned to stone, and insisted I travel with him on his adventures ever since.”

“You faced off against a basilisk?” Enoch piped up from the back of the pack. “When we rest for the evening, you’ll have to sit down with me and give me the full story. You too, Tanir. It should definitely be added to my records.”

“Are you volunteering to go next then, Enoch?” Sebastian asked.

“I— uh—” Enoch jogged up in front of them and turned to walk backwards as he spoke, “Well I met—”

“Don’t walk like that,” Mina interrupted. “If you fall and break something, we’ll have to leave you behind, or I’ll have to kill you.”

His steps slowed as his eyes widened. “Wh-what?”

“It’s quicker than the duskwolves tearing into your flesh and snapping your neck.” It was brutal imagery, but not entirely false.

“She’s kidding, Enoch,” Sebastian said.

Enoch’s voice hollowed. “H-how can you tell?”

“Because if you did break something, Tanir would gladly patch you up,” he reasoned.

“Though I’d give you a scolding while I did it for not listening to the expert,” Tanir added, drawing out the title expert to appease Mina’s non-existent good side. “So turn around and continue your story.”

“Right.” Enoch turned around quickly at her instruction, gathered his composure with a shudder of his shoulders, and turned his head slightly to the side to speak, “I met Sebastian on a truly fate-defining day. Wandering the Coast of Carvons, I was lost, looking for inspiration to strike.”

Wera groaned.

“And it did! As I sat on the beach, begging the great and powerful ocean to lend me some of its majesty, a geyser of sand erupted from underneath of me, sending me skyrocketing through the air. Whilst I fell from the heavens, I looked down at the ground below me. What once was a beach was now a golden temple! And upon the roof of this temple stood the great Sebastian Windenhofer, my new muse! Since that day, I have traveled alongside him, cataloging his adventures to tell the world of his greatness.”

“You know that the rest of us were on top of that temple too, right?” Wera chided before addressing Mina. “Please take his tales with a grain of salt. For an archivist, he seems to have a selective memory. I’m the cartographer. Sebastian was the first person to hire me out of school, and I’ve been traveling with him ever since.”

She looked back at Enoch and snickered, “See? Short, sweet, and to the point. Your turn, Sir Gargic.”

“Indeed.” Somehow, the knight puffed his swollen chest even bigger. “Unlike the rest of my compatriots, I am not under the employ of Master Windenhofer, but rather a liaison of The Crown of Lanholde. They’ve tasked the two of us with uncovering and collecting a few precious artifacts that The Crown has a vested interest in. We are on the last leg of this journey now.”

Everyone’s attention landed on Mina, heavy with expectation, a burdensome weight. They had offered their stories without her agreement. There was no need for her to respond. Responding would only embolden them to keep prying.

Sebastian broke the thick silence and turned to Tanir, “Did you really have to tell the basilisk story, Tani?”

“It’s one of my first and favorite memories of you,” she replied.

“You should’ve waited for winter,” Mina commented, against her better judgment. “Basilisks get sluggish and less alert in the cold. You can sneak up behind them and slice off their heads in one strike if your blade is sharp enough. Just make sure to cut about a foot below their jaw so that you don’t pierce the venom gland.”

Her unexpected advice, matter-of-fact and brutal, garnered shocked and confused expressions from everyone but the wizard. Maybe it was the right call, then. The more alien she seemed, the better off they all would be.

“Aha! You’re a hunter too!” Sebastian — frustratingly — cheered. “I knew there was more to you!”

 If Mina could meaningfully scowl, she would have. The sight of his smile stabbed at the corner of her eye as she kept her gaze forward. Wizards were known to be fascinated by curiously temperamental creatures, of course it would be harder to break him.

“Now, do you have any other comments, questions, concerns for our happy little troop? Perhaps some tips on how to deal with those duskwolves you—”

“You’re all loud,” she stated. “It’ll draw things to us, and cause trouble on the Peaks.”

“Why’s that?” Tanir asked.

“Avalanches.”

“Wait,” Enoch said. “There’s going to be snow on these mountains?”

“What did you think we bought all those cold weather clothes for?” Wera scoffed.

“Lanholde has a cooler climate. I just thought winter wear was the fashion there.”

Wera sent a pleading look Sebastian’s way. “Did you really have to hire him, ‘Bastian? We could have just left him stranded on that beach.”

“True,” Sebastian shrugged, “but we need entertainment on this journey, and watching the two of you bicker could rival some of the best traveling shows.”

As those around Mina talked, and laughed, and teased each other, the surrounding trees grew in number. Their trunks twisted, more gnarled and oddly shaped, their canopy so thick it shifted the shade of the lower leaves lighter from the lack of sunlight. The group came to a halt as the road ended at a wall of forest: the start of the Harrowed Wood.

“Right. Which of you can fight?” Mina asked as she headed to the front of the pack.

All of them raised their hands.

Wera and Sir Gargic she understood but the others… “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“We wouldn’t have gotten this far if we couldn’t hold our own, lass,” Sir Gargic said. “Trust me, I was wary myself when I first met them, but even Enoch is worthwhile in a scrap.”

“Hey!” Enoch whined.

“Cartographer, you’re with me at the front,” she instructed before they wasted more time chatting. “Medic and Archivist in the center. Wizard and Knight in the back. Listen more than you talk. Keep an eye out for anything moving that shouldn’t be. If you see something, say something. And if something does attack us, no matter what happens, stay behind me.”

Mina didn’t wait for them to finish pairing off before weaving her way through the trees. She didn’t even acknowledge Wera as she hustled to fall in place beside her.

“So,” Wera drawled after a few minutes of silence between them, “why’d you pick me for the front?”

“You’re a mapmaker,” Mina replied. She didn’t look at Wera as she spoke, her stare focused on surveying the forest in front of them. “If you make a map of the Harrow and the Peaks and take down the trail I use, I may never have to lead people through here again.”

If she had to suffer through another expedition, at least she could make this one of use.

“You seem a little young to retire,” Wera remarked. “And you need income to upkeep that cabin of yours, right? Though with seven thousand gilt an expedition, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself something a little sturdier to live in.”

She could feel the pressure of Wera studying her face, looking for something she’d never find.

“There are other ways to make money that don’t involve being bothered.” She changed the subject, “People think that there are just wolves, bears, various small-time magical beasts here. The Harrow is untouched. Nature and magic are uncontrolled and unforgiving.”

“Probably because of the runoff from the Peaks or some past geological event. I’ll make a note to have Enoch look into it.” Wera took out a small notepad and jotted something down. “If that’s the case then I’d bet there are many ways to cross over into parts of Elphyne here too, probably a bunch of fae circles, areas where the veil is thin. Would you be able to point them out when we pass them?”

“Just write down the trail taken and there’s no need to worry about any of that.”

She heard Wera’s pen skip on the page and a heavy exhale out of her nose.

There it was. She hated being talked down to.

Wera abandoned the topic and turned to basic questions about the flora and landmarks, easy enough that Mina could answer with little thought as she tuned one ear to the forest as best she could through the whispers of those walking a little too far behind her.

“Would you look at that,” Sir Gargic remarked, voice slightly muffled and strained. He talked out of the corner of his mouth in a bad attempt to be quiet. “She’s actually talking to Wera.”

“People do often talk to each other,” Sebastian said coolly, not feeding the knight’s judgment.

“Yes, but she’s so—”

“Are we talking about the Brambled Beauty?” Enoch whispered.

“The what?” Sebastian deadpanned.

“You don’t like it, sir? I’m trying to figure out the perfect way to describe such a terrifying and alluring creature.”

“Alluring?” Sir Gargic guffawed, “She’s so cold!”

“Yes! She’s cold!” Tanir added, voice peaking with a burst of realization.

Mina ground her teeth to keep from chewing them out. It was better that they didn’t know how well she could hear, and she had bore much harsher digs than their rude observations anyways.

“Just because she’s different than us doesn’t make her less of a person,” Sebastian chided. “And Tanir it’s unlike you to make assumptions about someone you’ve just met.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was just—”

A low gurgle deep within the ground, quiet and out of place in the harmony of forest sounds, environmental interrogation, and gossiping whispers, stilled Mina’s stride. She barred her arm across Wera’s chest, stopping the preoccupied cartographer, and held her other hand up to halt those behind them.

Their footfalls and chitchat ceased abruptly. Mina turned her head to the side, putting a finger to her lips to signal them to stay silent and wait.

She drew forth the sword that rested on her hip and crept forward, listening, eyes fixated on the forest floor. The gurgle reached her ears once more, louder and more guttural; hungry. Mina stopped, bladed her feet, and whistled a line of bird song.

“A meadowlark?” Sebastian whispered.

For a fleeting moment, she noted how keen his ear was, then a massive maw erupted out of the earth, lunging at her. Wind at her heels, Mina leaped at it, rocketing towards the toothy mouth at incredible speed, and drove her blade down through its top lip. The beast let out a terrible, gargling roar, shaking off the actual dirt and plants from its mimicking hide to reveal an ornery terramawg.

With the momentum of her jump and the leverage of her impaled sword, Mina vaulted over the bulbous amphibian’s earthen hide. She snapped her hips around, pivoting midair to face the beast’s back, and drew forth her bow in the same fluid motion.

The air stilled as Mina ran her fingers from the grip of her bow to its string. The water in the air collected, crystallized under the brush of her fingertips, forming an arrow of pure ice. She aimed for the creature’s third, slitted eye, a weak point that rested on the nape of its neck, and fired. A roaring gust of wind shook the trees, following in her arrow’s wake as it soared through the air, embedding itself deep into the terramawg’s brain.

Mina kept her focus on the beast as she descended, landing on a nearby tree bough without a glance back. The terramawg seized, the frost from her arrow glaciating its mind, and collapsed into a blubbery heap, returning to the mass of earth and withering foliage it disguised itself as.

Mina secured her bow on her back and slid down the tree’s trunk.

“Keep moving,” she said to the group as she retrieved her sword from the terramawg’s corpse.

It was as if they too had been immobilized by her ice. Sir Gargic’s hand rested on the hilt of his broadsword. Tanir had pulled out a handaxe from somewhere. Three thin daggers were laced between Enoch’s fingers like claws. A swirl of inky liquid hovered over Wera’s palm, while her other hand rested on her chest. Sebastian’s hands were coated in flame.

All of their mouths hung agape.

A dull pang pushed against Mina’s chest at the sight.

“Great Gods. Save some for the rest of us next time, will ya?” Sir Gargic shuddered.

“It was quicker if I handled it,” she stated. “Now come on. There’s more ground to cover before nightfall.” Mina turned on her heels and walked away, stepping across the terramawg’s body and taking care to drive her heels in a little harder as she did so.

“Hey, wait up!” Wera ran after her, manipulating the ink back in its vial and pulling out her notebook once again.“How were you able to tell where it was?”

Tanir pulled a stupefied Enoch along, “Come on. You should be jumping with joy. Action like that is sure to make your book even more exciting.”

“Well,” Sir Gargic remarked to Sebastian with a heavy exhale, “I guess we know why she’s so cold now.”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgment, nothing more. Nothing until moments later, when under his breath a murmured thought slipped out.

“The wind even changed direction.”

The reverence in his tone, unheard by everyone else, bristled against the back of Mina’s neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Maiden of the Barren Rime! Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read it.

If you're interested in reading more, MBR releases on May 1st and is available for pre-order now! You can order it from Barnes and Noble, Books-a-Million, Amazon, and most independent bookstores!

[mykneeshurt]

Hi! I love your writing sm omg <3 was wondering if I could request Ghost x reader - where the reader is a rookie and very eager to please him constantly, which potentially then leads to a bit of smut? Like some degrading and praise hehe - and I am 18 <3 Thank You!!

Thank you so much ❤️ female reader ahead. I too love praise and degradation lmfao so I enjoyed this haha why can’t this be me? It’s not proof read as I’m sick at the moment and nursing a rather large headache. Enjoy!

Your alarm sounded, making you jump, rolling over the dull green light read 05:00. Sitting up you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and swung your legs out of bed. You were not a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination. After a quick wash you slicked your hair back and pulled on your hoodie.

Making your way to the mess hall the clinical white lights of the hallway burnt your eyes. On entering there were small groups of recruits already having breakfast. You grabbed two teas and granola bars, perching on the bench you kept your eyes peeled.

Ah! There he was! ‘Lieutenant!’ Your eyes lit up as the 6’2 hulking stature of a man walked in. You waved him over signalling you’d got him a tea. He made his way over, begrudgingly he sat opposite you. ‘Thanks Mouse.’ Mouse being your call sign as you had excellent stealth skills. He lifted his mask taking a sip of the golden liquid. ‘How is it? Made it now you like’ you beamed.

Catching a glimpse of his jaw and lips was a prize within itself, but you needed to know you’d done well. ‘Yeah, it’s good.’ It went silent after that, he was intimidating and you were slightly awkward. He finished his tea, thanking you once more before he left.

This went on for weeks, doing little things here and there to show him how eager you were. How excited you were to be working with him, to learn from him. Cups of tea here. Cleanings his knives there. A sprinkle of compliments to stroke his ego amongst other things. None of this went unnoticed by the team. ‘Fuckin eager beaver ain she’ Soap commented one day. Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose ‘you’re fuckin tellin me. She’s everywhere. Like a bad smell.’

Soap chuckled and patted him on the back ‘don’t be so harsh on her. Me thinks she might have a wee crush on her Lieutenant.’

If Soap could see his face he’d see it twisted in disbelief. ‘Fuck off Johnny. No she does not. A keen rookie is all.’ Soap raised his eyebrow ‘fine. A wager then. If she fucks you, you do my laundry. If she doesn’t I’ll do yours.’ Now Ghost wouldn’t normally take up such a gross offer, however it would make sense as to why you followed him round like a puppy. Worst you’d do is say no and he’d be stuck cleaning Soaps awful smelling socks. Best case, he gets laid.

‘Fine Johnny you’re on.’

—

That evening Ghost went to the gym as per his routine. He noticed you on the treadmill, sweat dripping down your back, your thighs rippling as your feet hit the hard ground. He suddenly began to see you in a new light. Walking past he gave you a nod of acknowledgement, earning a toothy smile from you.

He sets up on the smith machine and began his bench presses. You tried so hard to concentrate, but you were distracted by his bulging biceps and pants as he lifted the weights. Nearly tripping over yourself you decided that you best get off the treadmill before you went head over tit.

You couldn’t help but watch him in the corner of your eye. Jesus Christ he looked good. Skin tight long sleeved gym top, thing grey joggers and his black mask. He was an Adonis. Walking past him you offered to get him some water from the vending machine, as you noticed he didn’t have any.

He returned the bar to its original position and sat upright on the bench. Sighing he stood, now dwarfing you with the height difference. He looked menacing. ‘Come with me’ he commended grabbing your wrist. Confused but intrigued you followed him blindly. You’d follow your Lieutenant anywhere.

Rounding the corner you approached the changing rooms of the gym, little lockable stalls. Pulling you into one he slammed your back against the door. As he reached to lock the door he whispered in your ear ‘god you’re so fuckin needy. It’s pathetic.’ His low raspy voice ricocheted through you at high speed. Why the did this turn you on? ‘I’m … I’m sorry’ you stuttered, still unsure of what was going on.

‘Show me. Get on your fuckin knees, and show me.’ Was this really happening? You felt yourself clench as his demand. Slowly kneeling your kept your gaze on him, your heartbeat thudding in your ear. You looked perfect beneath him. Your eyes still full of eagerness and desperation. He guided your hand to his erect cock, ‘see what you did? Now be a good little girl and choke on my cock.’

Fuck. It was happening.

He pulled his joggers down just enough to free his cock before he tapped your lips with the engorged head. ‘Open your fuckin mouth.’ Doing as you were told you opened your mouth, all too ready to take him. He slid his cock along your tongue, length wise he was perfect. Girth however was a different story. You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself as he began to thrust. Gripping your hair to keep you in place he pushed further in. ‘Fuck. Such a good little whore. So Fuckin good for me.’ The praise was driving you wild. You hummed against him. The vibrations shooting through him.

Saliva drooled from the corners of your mouth as he assaulted your throat. ‘So. Perfect’ he drawled as he gripped the root of your hair. The salty taste of pre cum lined your tongue as he continued to thrust. Feeling himself edge closer to his orgasm he pulled out leaving you gasping for breath. He sat down on the bench in the stall. Spreading his legs he gestured for you to stand in between them. Doing as you were told you manoeuvred in the little space you had.

‘Take em off’ he ordered looking at your shorts. Wiggling out of them he quickly pulled you onto his lap, your own legs now spread wide. Running a finger along your slit he chuckled ‘so wet already? You really are a filthy little bitch ain you?’ He placed his finger in his mouth as he sucked your arousal off his skin. Grabbing your chin he pulled you close, ‘you’re gonna take my cock and you’re not gonna make a fuckin sound.’

Nodding eagerly you lined him up against your cunt and sank down, oh so slowly. His pupils bloomed until there was only a black void staring back at you. Your mouth fell open, whisper-less screams choked from your throat. The stretch burnt, you tip toed the line between pain and pleasure so thinly. He filled you, completely. He gripped the back of your neck and tugged you close to him. ‘Fuckin ride me.’

You started rolling your hips, back and forth, grinding onto him. Feeling his girth spread you further. You scraped your nails along his chest, his neck, his mask. Anything. ‘So fukin good for me.’ He mumbled into your neck, keeping it grasped in his death like grip. Your movement became desperate as you chased your high. ‘Look at you, needy and desperate. Knew you were pathetic the moment I saw you.’

The mixture of praise and degradation sent your mind into a spiral. You began to raise yourself up before falling on his cock. The change in speed and rhythm sent his eyes rolling back. ‘Yes, fuck, just like that. Such a good little bitch.’ Gripping at your face you bit your lip, stifling a moan. Hearing a squeak of a moan fall from your lips he slammed his hand over your mouth. ‘Shhhh little one. Can’t have the other hear you being a whore for your Lieutenant. Can we?’

‘No, sir. No, fuck … ahhh’ you breathed into his ear. ‘Show me how you make yourself cum’ he demanded. You trailed your hand down to your aching clit, applying pressure felt like nothing else. Your movements became sloppy as you muffled your moans into his chest. ‘Look at me when you cum, I wanna see your needy little face.’ Pulling your head back you locked eyes with him.

You tightened around him, your cunt pulsating over his girth. You dug your nails into his shoulders ‘fuck, good girl. Just like that.’ Desperate breaths escaped you, whimpering, panting on top of him. ‘Get on your knees.’

Sliding off him you knelt before him, doe like eyes staring up at him. ‘Open that dirty mouth of yours.’ Doing as you you told you opened it slowly, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He pumped his cock, slamming a hand on the stall wall to steady himself. He gritted his teeth as he chased his release. You slowly stuck your tongue out, eager to taste him. ‘God, you are a whore aren’t you.’ Your eyes glinted at the statement.

He choked on his own sob of pleasure as he released his cum onto your tongue. Panting he watched you swallow, never straying your eyes away from his. Tucking himself back in he helped you to your feet, ‘you’re fuckin naughty’ he whimpered.

‘Mmm only for you sir.’

[stoned-eren]

a/n: drunk eren confesses his love for you on a rainy day ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ☂ i didn’t know how to end it so apologies it ends abruptly ehehe ;;;

t/w: mentions of alcohol

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

small droplets of water formed on the windowsill of your bedroom. they glistened with a multitude of colors, taking your attention away as you heard the soft pitter-patter of the rain outside.

bottles of apple cider were littered on your table, scattered in an unorganized mess. one was tipped over, dripping onto the carpet. you made a mental note to clean it once you had the chance.

your breath was flushed with alcohol, a mixture of fermented apples and spiced cinnamon. you had one too many ciders; your senses intertwined with the room around you. dizzy and dazed, you slumped deeper into the bed, head propped against the wall.

“hey,” breathed a low, deep voice. “hey, were you even listening?”

you glanced up from your drunk stupor to look at the figure across the room. oh right, you almost forgot that eren was here with you.

“yeah… what were you saying again?” you managed to slur out, head tilting in the boy’s direction.

he let out a small huff. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and drunk.” you retorted.

you could see a small smile fall on his face. he was holding a bottle of cider, periodically swigging it. there was a tint of red on his cheeks, it was evident he was drunk himself.

he ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair. “well, just forget about it. it’s nothing important.”

“oh no, no i’m listening now, tell me.” you adjusted yourself from your comfy spot and leaned in closer, hoping it would show eren that you were interested in what he had to say.

“mmh. no, i changed my mind.” eren glanced away from you. it was odd. usually eren was a loudmouth, willing to speak his mind about any subject you two brought up. the fact that he was clamming up, and the fact that you were plastered, made you curious on what he said before you spaced out.

“awh, cmon. you know you can tell me anything ‘ren.” you scooted yourself from your spot, hanging your legs off the edge of the bed. you tapped the bed, beckoning eren to sit with you. “come sit.”

eren clambered out of the chair he was in. he almost lost his footing, stumbling his way to you. he plopped himself down on the bed beside you, bottle still in his hand. he had a somber look written on his face as he turned to look at you.

“it’s just… do you really want to be going out with someone who has a face like a beaver?” eren said lowly. there was a hint of annoyance in his voice as he took another swig from his bottle.

you sighed loudly. how many times has eren said this? “i told you, we’re not dating. stephen and i are just friends.”

eren let out a grunt in response. it was clear that your answer wasn’t satisfactory to him.

“i promise ‘ren. you’re my best friend, i’d tell you if i was dating anybody.”

eren sat there, silent. he took another swig of the bottle, seemingly finishing it. he set the bottle down, and stared off through the window. you sat there, looking at him, waiting for a response. even though he was your best friend, it was incredibly hard to read him. you couldn’t tell if he was upset, angry, or just drunk.

“besides… why does it even matter?” you added.

eren looked at you. his face was completely red, cheeks flushed with alcohol, while his emerald eyes were staring into yours. you could feel yourself growing hot with each second he spent staring at you. it felt like an eternity, just staring into each other’s eyes while the soft sounds of the rain hit the windowsill.

“i’m… just your friend?” he finally said. his voice was soft, much softer than usual.

you took a second to process what he just said. when the realization hit you, you stared at eren, unsure of what to say. he sat there, unmoving.

“well… what do you mean?” was all you could muster. maybe you were misinterpreting things.

“i mean that…” eren trailed off, suddenly scooting up to you. he placed his hand on yours, staring deeply into your eyes. you felt like he could consume you with just his gaze. he leaned in closer, lips brushing against your ear. “…we could be so much more.”

you let out a small squeak. "eren..."

he nuzzled himself against the crook of your neck. "just tell me you want it too."

eren leaned into you more, laying you down on the bed. he was half on top of you at this point, leaving light pecks on your neck while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. “you’re so beautiful… gonna make you mine…” eren was slurring his words, completely wasted at this point.

the two of you laid there for a while, eren giving you light kisses on your ear and neck while you whimpered, running your hands through his hair. you could smell the alcohol that emanated off of his body, the spices hitting your nose. the rain was soothing, ever so slightly tapping against the glass.

you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in closer. he positioned his head to look at you, a drunken smile plastered on his face.

your lips were brushing against each other's, eyes fixated on one another. you inched forward, just enough to press your lips against eren's. eren's kiss was gentle, his lips were soft and warm. you melted into each kiss. he pulled away, your lips still touching.

“you’re everything to me.” eren confessed. "i love you."

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Curtis and Honey Autumn This or That 🍂

Week Six: Misty Mornings or Golden Afternoons

Summary- Short Drabble. Curtis Everett x Plus!sized Reader. Curtis is an early riser and admires the scenery.

A/N- Thank you everyone for sticking with me for this series. This is a nice simple one, but I love these kinds of moments for Curtis and Honey. Thank you again! Happy Reading.

Curtis and Honey This or That Masterlist

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Masterlist

He was always an early riser. Curtis just wasn’t one to sleep in when too much had to be done. But that was then, now with you in his bed with your tendencies to bury under the blankets and curl up against him, he was more inclined to stay in bed. 

But at camp though, it was always out the tent and starting a fire right away before the sun had even had a chance to crest the horizon+. After all, it was the only way to brew coffee or tea and that was your first desire of the day. He was happy to do it. Standing on Lake Supeiours edge, the crisp coolness made him zip his hoodie up just a bit more, readjust his beanie to cover the tip of his ears and tuck his hands into his pockets while waiting for the water behind him on the fire to start bubbling. 

The mist wisped over the water, hiding the surface except for the occasional break, where everything rippled with the constant flow of life moving beneath the surface. There was an occasional slap, the beaver dam they were camping near was taking advantage of the sunrise too, dragging branches and debris from one side of the little island they were staying on and ignoring Curtis standing on the stony beach watching them work. 

It was still too early to see the mainland shoreline, although Curtis knew it was nearby just beyond the curling of the mist still hovering. Soon the sun would dissipate it but would show off the multitude of leaves in its rays, and that's what he really wanted to show you, cause it would make you happy, leave you gasping in wonderment at how Minnesota could be as beautiful as your New York life. 

In his opinion, Minnesota was actually nicer than New York, but that was his opinion. Right now he was feeling just as at home as if he was in his own backyard and that was a sense of security he had always hung onto in his life.

The bubble of water sounded from behind him, the wood-burning scent drifted along with a loud pop of one of the logs snapping in the pit he dug out earlier. With a last admiring glance at the mist dancing in swirls that were now starting to drift up in the slowly warming sunshine, he went back to his original task. 

It wasn’t long till you popped your head out of the tent with a sleepy yawn, hair disheveled wildly while you were wrapped into his black trench jacket, using it like a blanket around your shoulders. You waddled to the fire, blinking at it while on one of the warm stones lining the firepit, Curtis started making two tin cups of coffee. Without a word, he handed one off to you which you tucked into the folds of the jacket, taking a tiny little sip after blowing on it. 

“Curtis this is better than the coffee pot at home.” You said wistfully as you tucked your face closer to the mug, letting the steam warm you up more. 

He laughed, moving to a stand and sipping from his own mug. “It’s cause it’s made over the woodfire. What woke you up Honey, it’s still pretty early.” His arm was raised, inviting you to cuddle into his side which you did. Allowing him to wander you away from the cackling flames and glowing coals near the cold water's edge. 

Now the mist was well above the lake, still hanging on, but it couldn’t hide the rising sun's burst of color making the lake a mirror mirage of autumn colors from the trees lining the edge. “This, right here.” You leaned into him, the two of you taking in the view. “I might not be an early riser, but I don’t want to miss these moments with you.”