#spotted thistles au

[burning-thistles-bt]

y'know Copperpaw killing Spottedleaf and then naming himself Copperleaf is a really cool concept and im sad it doesnt really fit into the btr timeline correctly

[nightly-ruse]

Snow Snow Snow

she is my little baby my favorite my sweetie pie my feisty whirlwind of a cat<33333 I adore her so much I can’t even. She is not Snowfur she is Snowstorm my kitty cat. I drew her and Rose cuddling I’m posting that after this

(ID- Snow is midair with her front paw curled, her back front paw upwards, her back leg curled under her leg, and her back back leg back, her tail is over her and she is winning at the camera. She is mostly white with pale gray on her legs and her face with spots on her nose, ears, under her eyes and freckles. Black markings are on all of her paws with dots on the front leg, ear tips, tail tip, and over her nose. She has blue eyes and has her mouth open, two fangs poking out and a happy but proud expression on her face. End ID)

[chuckeroo777]

Laios got Eaten AU Chapters 53-85

Chapters 1-52 <- Be sure to read part 1. Falin being alive does cause some ripple effects which will continue in this part.

Welcome back! Today we continue where the anime cut off. We'll be going all the way to right before the final confrontation. (Mainly because I haven't figured out how to resolve that yet. I might do two versions, a good end, and a bad end.)

Let's get going! Massive spoiler warning for canon, if it wasn't obvious.

Chapter 53-54:

Same as canon.

Chapter 55:

Everything is mostly the same except Laios shows up instead of Falin. When escaping, Laios is much less gentle with Thistle.

Falin gets turned into a gnome by the giant changling. She is quite smitten by ogre Marcille, though she tries to hide it.

While Seshi and Chilchuck prepare the burgers, Falin assists with the ointment. With her healing expertise, it turns out even better, and she prevents Senshi from using it to cook.

Chapter 56:

Chilchuck has been noticeably grumpier than usual. Not only has Marcille been bugging him about his wife, but the tension between Marcille and Falin is really getting on his nerves. As before, he claims to have cheated to shut her up.

They spot the bicorn and Falin looks it up in the guide. They come up with the plan to be sinful.

When doing envy, Marcille can't help but be annoyed how Chilchuck has been giving her and Falin such judgemental looks, but then he goes and flirts with Senshi.

Without Laios, greed is a little tricky. Falin yoinks Ambrosia, and plays keep-away for a bit. She's giggling so much, she nearly forgets about the bicorn.

Then Lust gets brought up. Chilchuck and Izutsumi stare at Falin and Marcille, but before they can defend themselves, Senshi points out that it isn't lust when it's between two people who respect each other. Marcille then tentatively suggests that maybe Chilchuck's infidelity counts.

After Chilchuck gets attacked, Falin and Senshi rush into action. Falin can't body check it, but a mace to the face has the same effect. They manage to restrain it, then Senshi beheads it.

Falin is very impressed by Marcille's romantic acumen. Chilchuck is mostly left wondering why the romance expert is having such trouble admitting her feelings.

Chapter 57:

The dullahan is a type of ghost, so Falin has no trouble warding it off.

Much to Marcille's chagrin, Senshi decides to start with the head, since those parts don't preserve as well as the muscle.

Chapter 58-59:

When Senshi is discovered, it's Chilchuck who fills the party in about succubi. Unlike Laios, Falin doesn't rush off to grab milk, but she does start sweating profusely.

Thanks to there being three of them conscious in the room, they last a bit longer against the succubi, but when a succubus appears targeting Falin, things quickly break down.

Falin's succubus... is Marcille. But not merely Marcille. Due to a rather lonely childhood, Falin has a few fetishes she had been repressing. The succubus reflecting them for all to see. If she hadn't had her life force drained, she would probably have fainted from the shame and embarrassment.

Izutsumi saves the day, and everyone slowly recovers.

Marcille and Falin are mortified, and can barely even look at each other. Chilchuck finally reaches his breaking point and demands that the two of them talk about their feelings instead of continuing to bottle them up.

They end up having a heartwarming conversation where they confess their feelings. Marcille confesses that she always felt caring and protective of Falin, but the strangely fluctuating age gap made her way too uncomfortable to admit she was developing romantic feelings. But now that they are both adults, she wants to give this a try. Falin confesses that she always admired Marcille and wanted to get closer, but Marcille kept (unintentionally) rejecting her advances, so she just assumed she wasn't into her, which is why she stopped trying. Falin is so glad she was wrong. The two share a loving hug.

Chilchuck is happy for them to finally have these feelings out in the open, and they don't seem to be the sort that used to cause issues in his old groups. However, as the resident dad, he puts his foot down and insists that until this adventure is over, no sleeping together.

Speaking of sleeping together, that reminds Marcille of the dream she had while unconscious.

Chapter 60:

Marcille's dream with the Lion is similar to Laios', but with a few key differences.

Instead of appealing to Laios' care for the monsters and environment, the lion talks about how it IS the power of the dungeon. The power that the ancients discovered and misused. The very power that Marcille has desperately been looking for.

This is all very tempting for her, but she's still uncertain about becoming queen of the golden country, so the lion creates the hypothetical dream.

Marcille 'wakes' to find herself in bed with Falin. After changing out of their pajamas, they explore with the lion. Marcille's kingdom is a place where all the races are treated equally, with magic prolonging their lives to match hers.

She has also incorporated her ideas about a 'safe dungeon', expanding on the golden country's monster domestication to allow the harvesting of all sorts of useful things. Laios is in charge of this program.

Overall, it's all very nice and reasonable. As the audience, we know the lion will actually convince her to try and envelop the world, but for now the scope is realistic.

Marcille doesn't remember most of the dream, but relates that the lion is watching them through Falin's pearlipede. She talks a little about the 'safe dungeon' stuff, but keeps the whole age equalization thing close to her chest. And of course, beware the canaries.

Chapter 61:

Mostly the same, though Kabru's reaction to having to eat monsters is a little less severe. He hates it, but Falin and her group seemed sane enough. He isn't worried about going insane like Laios, he's just severely repulsed by it.

Kabru's nightmare is about the Laigon, stalking and hunting him down before eating him whole. Somehow, despite the massive changes, Kabru still manages to be disgusted yet intrigued about Laios.

Chapter 62:

The first half is identical, with Mithrun's story.

But when they start talking about Falin, that's when they get a bit confused. Despite Kabu's skill, he couldn't get a good read on Falin's desires. She is friendly and kind and thinks monsters are neat, but he's really unsure what would happen if she became lord of the dungeon. The only strong desire Kabru could identify was her unyielding determination to save her brother.

Mithrun begins to suspect that Falin isn't the one the demon is targeting, but unfortunately, Kabru doesn't know enough about the rest of the party to deduce who it could be.

Once the bell goes off, Kabru isn't worried about Falin, but with the demon involved, and so many unknown variables, he decides to go after them.

Chapter 63:

Falin's pearlipede leads them to Thistle's house, and they cautiously make their way in after shooting the bird.

The phoenix proves difficult, but Falin's flame wards buy them enough time to realize it's keeping its distance from the table with the bodies. They manage to weaponize Yaad and defeat and eat the bird.

Chapter 64-65:

Marcille wrenches open the book and they meet the lion. They begin thinking of a way to take down the Laigon.

Falin points out that if the Laigon is hanging out with Thistle, then it hasn't been sleeping or hunting, so her brother is probably really hungry. Senshi points out that flight is very energetically demanding too, and his mouth is real small.

They quickly get to work. The rest of this chapter and chapter 65 are skipped, since they still have plenty of bicorn meat. Notably, due to the Laigon being able to fly, they will arrive quicker, but the gang doesn't need to hunt, so it works out.

Chapter 66:

Between his panicking and self-harm, Thistle takes a bit longer to figure out what to do, since the Laigon doesn't comfort him like the Faligon did.

Chapter 67:

As they watch Thistle and the Laigon arrive, Falin is having second thoughts. Seeing him again is making her think about the plan to eat the dragon parts later. After all, isn't this exactly what Laios always wanted? But can he even survive on the surface like that? What if they save and restore him... and he's furious with her for ruining his dream.

The Laigon takes the bait and excitedly (and messily) devours the bicorn curry and rice. He then curls up and goes to sleep.

Unlike Laios, Falin doesn't consider that the chimera might have more than one brain. Tears in her eyes, she carefully approaches, and swings her mace-staff with all her might.

Falin breaks down crying. Marcille sees the results, and heals Laios' fractured head without reviving him. Now he's just sleeping. After a group hug to comfort her, Falin redoubles her determination, and they go to confront Thistle.

Chapter 68:

Identical, other than some slight name-drop changes.

Chapter 69:

Marcille has long term plans for being dungeon lord, but for now they plan to just use it to help Laios.

Falin isn't surprised to hear that Marcille is a half-elf. She suspected for a while. However, Thistle's callous taunting quickly pisses her off, and when he mentions the sterility, he nearly falls over as a stone spike erupts through the table and nearly impales him.

Infuriated, Thistle warps the room and unleashes the dragons.

The rest of the chapter plays out the same, with everyone getting separated. Falin escapes to the shelf, but everyone else gets got.

Chapter 70:

As the dragons begin fighting each other, Falin hides behind some bowls and starts chanting something while keeping an eye on Thistle.

Once he is distracted shouting orders at the dragons, she takes careful aim with her staff, and unleashes her spell, teleporting right behind Thistle, and disarming him. She may not be as burly as Laios, but Falin is a tough girl, and is easily able to overpower the elf twink.

Chapter 71:

She ties him up to her back and starts retrieving everyone's bodies.

Thistle cries fraud, and Falin explains that teleportation is actually a fairly recent invention. No wonder Thistle was terrified of Mithrun. This is the sort of magic not even the ancients were aware of.

Falin is still furious at Thistle, but decides to make a deal with him. He may choose. Either she kills him, and the party does as they please, or he may dispel the dragons and restore the room, and remain as their prisoner. If he does this, he has her word that they will do nothing to harm the people of the golden country.

Chapter 72:

Thistle, terrified what they may do to his people (An empty implied threat, but Thistle doesn't know that), reluctantly agrees. She lets him have his book just long enough to dispel his magic (Under threat that she'll teleport a rock into his head if he doesn't return it right away. Another empty threat), then she ties him up again, using proper rope, so he can't even move.

Falin revives the rest of the party. Marcille is very distraught that she died, and hugs Falin tightly. They are all very impressed that Falin managed to pull it off.

The lion is miffed that it can't feed on Thistle's desires while its current marks are watching. To make matters worse, Marcille is in no hurry to unseal the book, slamming it shut so she can rest after being revived.

Marcille and Falin talk about half-elves while Isutsumi and Chilchuck go grab drinks. Thistle continues to seethe.

Senshi prepares the tiny green dragon. He doesn't have the plant nectar, but it still turns out great. They feed some to the tied up Thistle. He reluctantly admits it's pretty good.

The gang take shifts over the night to watch the prisoner. As a curse of immortality person, Thistle doesn't need to sleep.

Chapter 73-74:

Marcille wakes up with a massive hangover. For a moment, she conflates a dream she had with last night, and panics that her first 'time' with Falin wasn't in her right mind.

Kabru arrives with the canaries. No one knows about Marcille's black magic, and Falin is pretty reasonable, so Kabru is optimistic about this meeting between them and the canaries.

Izutsumi and Marcille hide upstairs, Senshi prepares tea stuff, and Thistle sits in the corner, still seething.

Negotiations... go shockingly well! The canaries are impressed they were able to capture Thistle alive, and after a little questioning, it's clear Falin hasn't fallen under the dungeon's spell. They are a little grossed out by the bavarois, but most adventurers are a little weird.

When Falin mentions the lion, Kabru asks for permission to explain the danger. After all, the reason demon discussion is banned is to hide the existence of wish granting, and they already know about that part.

With Chilchuck and Kabru's help, Falin ends up coming to a very satisfactory deal with the elves. They will hand over Thistle and the books, on the condition that the canaries' forces provide all the assistance they can in preserving, transporting, and eating Laios. Falin is even able to cite the phoenix as evidence that this plan is viable.

Falin and Pattadol shake on it, and everyone is excited that the danger has passed.

Unfortunately, this premature happy ending is disrupted by something everyone forgot about.

Falin's pearlipede is privy to this entire conversation. And so is the lion. It manages to pop out of the unsealed half, and warns Marcille about the canaries, fueling her fear, and when Mithrun breaks into her room as the negotiations are being finalized, Marcille panics and unseals the lion.

Chapter 75:

Chaos erupts in the house as no one is quite sure what is going on. The canaries rush upstairs to help Mithrun, but they fail to stop Marcille before she declares her lordship.

The canaries are attacked by giant spiders while Marcille absconds. She vanishes before Falin or the others can see her. Falin's party heads upstairs to find Marcille, but only find dead spiders and wrapped up elves.

Chapter 76:

They help Lycion and Kabru carry everyone outside, including Thistle. Lycion fills Falin in on what happened upstairs and she is mortified. They leave Thistle with them, and head out into the remixed dungeon to try and find Marcille and talk her down.

Chapter 77-78:

Everyone receives word that Falin has taken down the lord of the dungeon.

When the chaos starts to unfold, Flamela receives an update from Lycion. Negotiations had been going well with Falin, but a member of her party went rogue, and is now the lord.

With Falin's party confirmed to be working to stop Marcille, the canaries do not attack them, instead focusing on finding Marcille.

Worried that the elves will kill Marcille, Namari, Toshiro, and the Orcs head out to try and find Marcille or Falin first.

Chapter 79-80:

Marcille has approximately 25% less longing in her eyes as she stares at Laios frozen in ice.

Not being in quite the same rush as canon, they don't accidentally fall in the water, instead running down the stairs.

They find the mushrooms and retrieve their stuff. The familiars are disconcerting, but at least they are ostensibly on their side.

They attempt to head in the direction the mushrooms were heading, but don't get far before hitting a dead end. As they try to figure out what to do, a massive flying snake pounces and gobbles them up.

The party panics as the long thin chamber begins to slowly fill with fluid. With the mouth clamped shut, they decide to run as far back as they can. Falin is pretty sure intestines don't have acid, right?

After a harrowing few minutes, they are pooped out in Marcille's front yard.

After reuniting and bathing, Falin tells Marcille about their deal with the canaries, and implores Marcille to reconsider.

Marcille refuses and reveals her dream. Falin doesn't laugh at her, but is concerned. She remembers how miserable the people of the golden country were. Surely the dungeon's power can only extend lives through that same curse.

Notably, due to not eating Thistle, the lion is still in its quadrupedal form. The lion does its best to convince Falin and the others, but after what Kabru told them about the demon, it rings pretty hollow.

Falin refuses to help the demon, not wanting Marcille to become another Thistle.

Marcille is upset, and decides she can make her dream come true by herself. She has the gang confined to the kitchen. She'll do it herself, and they'll see how lovely her dream is later.

Chapter 81:

Falin has no idea what kind of monster Donato is.

Operation Hometown Cuisine proceeds as normal, though Falin doesn't have the realization about Marcille's fears, since she didn't pry into her nightmare.

After failing her persuasion roll on Marcille, Falin gets fed up and grabs Donato's hand, then teleports the doppelganger out of the tree.

Chapter 82:

Identical.

Chapter 83:

Mostly the same. Kabru isn't a prisoner. While the canaries prepare to fight the monster army, they have Kabru escort Thistle to the entrance. Thistle is mostly just resigned at this point. He spots the golden country as part of the new patchwork dungeon, and notices it is off in the corner away from the action. At least Marcille isn't putting them in danger.

Kabru meets up with Toshiro, Namari, and the orcs.

Chapter 84:

Ofc Falin also comes up with the mushroom disguises. Toshiro isn't sure how to feel seeing Falin dressed as a big dumb shroom.

Falin frantically explains how she's pretty sure the lion had been grooming Marcille to be the lord the whole time. That's why she's so out of control.

Lycion explains that when things get this bad, the only solution is to kill the dungeon lord. Thistle calls bullshit. He lost the position without being killed. Lycion clarifies that as long as the demon supports them, there is no other solution.

So Falin proposes they deal with the demon itself.

Lycion shoots that down too. As everyone heads out to fight the monsters, Falin is left despondent.

At Marcille's behest, the lion possesses the pearlipede, engulfing her arm, and speaks to Falin. It tries to convince her to join Marcille. After all, don't they love each other? Chilchuck retorts that if you really love someone, both sides have to be willing to compromise.

The lion tries another tactic. It asks about their favorite foods. Falin's favorite food is ice cream, particularly a swirl of orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream. (If she had been given the chance, she would have discovered exorcism sorbet to be her favorite.)

Unlike Laios, who realizes the lion's weakness in this fight, Falin is just left feeling even more hopeless. But ultimately, she decides to head for Marcille, not knowing what else to do.

Chapter 85:

Falin is quite delighted to see Laios, and is sure it means Marcille isn't too far gone.

Things proceed mostly the same, except Falin again poofs the doppelgangers away. As the party keeps climbing towards Marcille, Falin throws out the armor piercing questions. If Marcille is so callous to create fake versions of her parents, why not just create fake versions of her friends that agree with her dream.

Because a fake isn't the real thing. And what Falin wants is Marcille. The real Marcille.

Marcille starts to break down, admitting that the whole reason she's doing this is because she can't stand the thought of losing Falin and the rest of her friends.

Falin gently embraces Marcille, and explains. If Marcille spends all her time worrying about when their time together will end, then they won't get to enjoy the time they do have together. As they look deep into each other's eyes, Marcille's eyes swimming with tears, she leans forward and-

Senshi ruins the moment by explaining that they already know how to live longer healthier lives. A BALANCED DIET! A HEALTHY CIRCADIAN RHYTHM! AND MODERATE EXERCISE.

The moment is ruined, but it's okay. Marcille clings to Falin as she can't help but laugh as she sobs. Falin smiles and gently rubs Marcille's back. Everything finally feels like it's going to be okay.

Right?

Chapter 86-Finale

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

thistle, part one

a/n: I'm posting the next part in a few days, so you won't have to wait too long to find out what happens next ♡

summary: “A title that’s been true since the moment I was born, but there are also a few others that are just as real. I am a son, I am a brother, I am a soldier. I am still the exact same person you spoke to only yesterday. I haven’t changed one bit, so please don’t act like I have. Please, at least call me James.”

warnings: James Potter x reader, royal au, prince!James, servant!reader (lady's maid), forbidden romance, secret relationship, historical au (beginning of the 1920s), references to WW1, surely extremely historically inaccurate but this is just for fun, lovesick!James, weapons, grief, death, smut, kissing, attending a ball, dancing, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, cockwarming, oral

word count: 6148

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

series masterlist - next part

Marching up to the bespectacled man exiting the stables, his clothes all ruffled and dirtied from the ride he’d presumably just taken on this drizzly day, “excuse me, sir?” he slowed his trek at the sound of your soft voice, turning his head to look at you in surprise, “do you know the way to the servant's entrance? I seem to be a bit lost.”

“Um, yeah,” he blinked a second, taken aback by your question as he gave you a quick once over, “it’s just down that path,” he pointed towards the east side of the castle, “green door, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, tightening your grip on your suitcase and began to move in that direction. 

“Are you new here?” he asked swiftly, halting your movements. 

“Kinda,” you said, “I’m the queen mother’s new lady’s maid.”

“Oh,” a genuine smile bloomed on his face, “I didn’t know grand-, I mean, her majesty Delilah was coming for a visit.” 

“Well, I’d imagine you as, I presume, a groundskeeper,” you guessed, squinting your eyes at the helpful stranger in front of you, “isn’t exactly first on the list of people who need to be notified of such things.” 

Choking out a small chuckle, neither confirming nor denying your guess, he simply glanced down at his muddy boots, “yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Looking back over your shoulder at the large castle looming over you, “I’m sorry, but I should really get going. Her majesty likes to freshen up quite a bit after a long trip such as this.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he exhaled, clearly not ready to part ways yet, “you go take care of that, I’ll see you around.”

“See you!” you shouted over your shoulder as you made your way towards the discreet green door. 

“That’s pretty,” a smoky voice from out of nowhere made you jump and promptly stop your soft humming, dropping the small bouquet of wildflowers you had picked but a moment ago. Turning to see who else could be out here in the forest, you spotted the helpful figure from the day before, leaning against a tree.

“Jesus! You gave me a fright!” a hand came up to clutch your chest. 

“Sorry,” he smiled, shifting the bent hunting rifle that rested over his burly forearm. 

“It’s fine, no harm done,” you exhaled slowly, “just need to make my heartbeat understand that as well…”

Watching as you momentarily bent down to pick the dropped flowers off the forest floor, “you out on a walk I presume?” he pushed off the tree and stepped closer.

“Yeah, well,” you rose back up, “the weather finally cleared up, so I thought a bit of fresh air might do me well,” you said, gliding one of your cold hands down into your coat pockets, “plus I’ve heard so much about the grounds here, I wanted to see them for myself.” 

“They are quite something, aren’t they?” he smiled warmly down at you. 

Feeling heat begin to rise in your cheeks from his unwavering glare, you coughed lightly and glanced down at the humble bouquet clutched in your grasp, “and, um, you’re-”

“Hunting,” he filled in before you could manage to finish your guess.

“Oh, am I getting in your way?” worry filled your voice, imagining that bullets could start flying over your head as soon as a bird flew by, “is it safe for me to be out here? I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware-”

“Nah, you’re good,” he waved a reassuring hand, “I split up from the others a while ago and then when I heard you, I wandered even further away from the rest.”

“You followed me?” he noticed your eyes flicker down towards the weapon he was carrying. 

“I-, oh god,” he winced, scrunching his expression up in regret and bowing his head, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I am a stranger to you with a deadly firearm, not a harmless bunny rabbit,” you could literally see the imaginary whip he was punishing himself with, “I’m sorry I scared you, I’ll just go-”

“No!” flew out your lips before you had a chance to think, “It’s fine, you can stay if you want.” 

Gazing into your eyes a moment, he then exhaled, “thank you, miss.” 

“Y/l/n,” you told him, “my name is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Y/n,” the corners of his lips curled up as he tasted your name on his tongue. 

“And your name?”

“James,” he said, then stressed, “just James.”

James… like the youngest of the two princes? You shouldn’t act too surprised; it was a common enough name after all. 

“Can I ask you something?” he spoke as you wordlessly agreed to go for a stroll together among the birch trees.  

“Sure.”

“How long have you been the queen mother’s lady’s maid? It’s just, I remember her previous one, the one she had before the war, and I feel like I would have noticed when you came along.”

“It’s been about 6 months now…” you answered rather sombrely. 

“You don’t sound pleased about that.”

“No,” you glanced in his direction to underline your statement, “I love the job, don’t get me wrong, it’s just-,” you choked on the bitter fact and opted to say, “it’s complicated.”

“Is it too complicated for a man like me to comprehend?” he offered with a gentle smile. 

Letting a low sigh flow out, you spoke, “that previous one you remember?” he nodded in confirmation, “that was my mom.” You tried to ignore how your bottom lip began to quiver, “she had me out of wedlock and later in her life, so not many people knew about me. But her majesty Delilah did. She’d always been very fond of my mother, so she let me grow up there at Cudworth palace. She-,” you let out a shaky breath, still finding it difficult to vocalize, “she became ill a few years back, so her majesty made the decision to let me inherit the position. Made sure I was set up for a good life, I guess… My mother trained me for as long as she could till I was nothing short of flawless. It’s been 6 months… 6 months with the job and 6 months without her…”

“Yes, I think the sapphires will do quite nicely for tonight,” Delilah purred as her weathered fingers brushed over the jewellery spread out in a presentational fashion on the vanity she sat at. 

Wrapping a silver lock around your finger, you carefully pinned the last piece in place, securing her intricate updo. Glancing at the finished product in the reflection, you then agreed, “sapphire it is,” plucking the precious stones off the doily-clad table and gently adorning her earlobes with them. 

“Beautiful work, dear,” Delilah gave your hand a small pat as you secured the last earring, momentarily catching your eye in the mirror. 

The dragon lady. That’s what people called her. Though, through all of your life, the intimidating queen mother had been nothing but kind to you. It was clear that she had a soft spot for you, though you’d never dare to confirm that suspicion.

“Thank you, madam,” a soft smile quickly warmed up your features as you checked her hair one last time, “I hear the prime minister will be attending dinner tonight.”

“Oh, well, I guess I couldn’t avoid him forever. Hopefully, they won’t seat him beside me this time, it was so awfully boring last time, kept on talking about cricket.” 

“Could always be sneaky and pretend that you can’t hear him,” you suggested with a sly grin. 

“Wouldn’t that be something,” her crow's feet framed eyes glinted with a youthful mischievous glow. 

Your shared giggle was interrupted as the door to her champers creaked open. Turning to look, you saw none than your helpful stranger.

“Grandma,” James simply sauntered in as if he owned the place, “I was wondering if you could-,” both his words and his brisk pace fell short as he spotted you, “oh, hi,” your presents promptly brought a fluttering smile to his lips. 

Just as you were about to speak up, your eyes wide enough to burst at his audacity, Delilah bellowed, “good lord, James, it’s been enough time, you really must shred that army brashness and start entering a room the way you were raised to. This is not a war room, it’s the castle’s peacock suite!”

“Right,” he chuckled lightly, his eyes never staying on his grandmother for long before flickering back to you, “sorry granny.”

Why was the groundskeeper referring to the queen mother his grandmother? It couldn’t be because-

“Y/n,” Delilah turned in her comfortable chair, “I don’t think you’ve been acquainted. This is my dear James,” she presented with an outstretched arm, “the youngest of my two grandsons.”

Swiftly averting your flabbergasted gaze, you curtsied timidly and gasped, “your highness,” your terrified eyes darting across the Persian rug. 

You’d only gotten to know the prince’s likeness through old paintings of him as a child. The battle-scared man standing before you now looked nothing like the bespeckled young royal captured in the portrait you’d passed countless times before. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you miss,” he smiled warmly, bowing his head slightly at you in return. 

“Now,” Delilah reached for her cane and slowly pushed herself up to her feet, “what was it you needed?” 

“Yeah, um,” he thought for a second, seeming awfully distracted, “it was-… I’m sorry, I completely forgot what it was.”

“Well, maybe you’ll recall during dinner, my boy,” she slowly moved towards the door, “shall we go down?”

“You go ahead,” James gesticulated, “I just need Y/n to send a message down to the kitchen for me. We wouldn’t want them to hold back on the wine now that prime minister Ferrell is joining us.”

“Oh, bless you,” Delilah grinned before disappearing out of the room, “that’s why you’re my favourite.” 

Closing the heavy door behind the former monarch, James gently grabbed you by the elbow and guided you further into the room. Preparing yourself for the worst, you immediately promised, “I’ll go relay the message at once,” your head still bowed, not daring to look him in the eye. 

“You don’t really have to, I already sent word down an hour ago. I simply said that to get a moment alone with you,” he lowered himself in an effort to catch your cautious gaze, “Y/n,” breathing out your name as if it weighed a ton, “would you please look at me?”

Only momentarily flickering your eyes up to meet his, you blurted out, “forgive me, your majesty, I swear I didn’t know,” your heartbeat was so strong you could hear it pounding in your ears, “I would have never spoken to you in that manner if I knew who you were!”

“Please do not apologise,” goosebumps bloomed on your skin as you felt his fingers briefly caress your arm, “I was so grateful that you didn’t just stiffen up like everyone else, you talked to me like any other man. So, for that, I thank you and beg you to please not change it now that you know.”

“What? I-I couldn’t do that! It isn’t proper, it isn’t right!”

“Why not? You did it before.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were a prince before.”

“A title that’s been true since the moment I was born, but there are also a few others that are just as real. I am a son, I am a brother, I am a soldier. I am still the exact same person you spoke to only yesterday. I haven’t changed one bit, so please don’t act like I have. Please, at least call me James.”

“Your majesty, I couldn’t.”

“Why not, Y/n? It’s just my name, it’s not gonna bite you, didn’t before and I promise it won’t start doing it now.”

“Thomas,” king Fleamont glanced up from his papers to address his eldest son, “we’ve invited a few eligible ladies for tonight. Please actually talk to them this time, don’t just sulk in the corner with your brother.”

“Christ,” James' brother groaned, “papa, I thought this ball was just a little get-together now that granny is in town. Must I truly have to be paraded around every chance there is?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to find a wife, yes,” his father said sternly, then returned his attention to the crisp newspaper.

Grumbling, Thomas slumped back, huffing beside his brother on the tufted couch, “let’s hope they at least push their tits up to the heavens above,” he muttered under his breath for only James’ ears to receive, “that might make it tolerable.”

Chuckling at his sibling’s pout, James then suggested, “since this is for grandmama, why don’t we extend the invitation to Y/n?”

Furrowing her brow over the small fluffy dog in her lap, Euphemia questioned her son’s bold idea, “who’s that?”

“Granny’s lady’s maid,” his words awoke a severe expression to all but one of his family member’s faces. 

“Why that’s a wonderful idea, James!” Delilah cheered, “she does indeed deserve a bit of fun.”

Leaning in closer, Thomas hissed in his brother’s ear, “have you gone quite mad? A servant at a ball? Look at a calendar, brother, it isn’t December yet.”

“She isn’t that bad,” James defended, a storm quickly brewing in his chest, “plus, you know, granny’s not that young anymore, it might be a great help for her to be there as support. Just as a precaution.” 

“But I have nothing to wear!” you protested, “I didn’t bring a gown, let alone own one.”

“I know you don’t,” Delilah said calmly, not taking any of your blubbering to heart, “that’s why I had a few maids go through an old trunk of mine that I never brought with me to Cudworth,” she snapped her finger at the butler in the corner as he swiftly presented the dusty box he was balancing, “you are gonna wear this,” the top slipped off and you caught sight of the most stunning lavender beaded gown you’d ever beheld in your entire life. 

“Your Highness,” you marvelled at the way it sparkled in the low light, “I can’t wear that.”

“I know it’s not the latest fashion, but it’ll do a lot better than that frock you’ve got on now. I only remember wearing it once at a ball back in 1861.”

“I-…” you tried to protest, though nothing came out. 

“Y/n, this is not a proposition, you are gonna wear that gown and that is final.”

“God, this soiree is even more ghastly than the last one,” Thomas glanced back over at the cluster of young women fanning themselves and batting their luscious eyelashes at the eligible heir, “you think people would notice if we sneaked off?”

Ever thankful that he didn’t receive the same level of unyielding attention, James cocked his brow at the man half-heartedly attempting to hide behind him, “I don’t think that’s an option, brother,” then snatched up two tall flutes of stary bubbles and handed one off, “here, have another glass of champagne.”

“Thanks, but I’m gonna need a lot more in order to survive the 12 dances I've been swindled into later tonight,” he pouted and took a large gulp. Just then, as the crown prince swallowed down the stinging carbonated beverage, he caught sight of the figure that appeared at the top of the wide staircase. “Wait,” he elbowed his brother, ushering him to glance in that direction, “who’s that?”

Recognising you immediately as you timidly ascended the grand steps, clutching onto the side of your lilac dress, lifting it off the tile so as to not have to trip over it, James uttered through his growing smile, “that’s Y/n,” and nothing whatsoever could stop his unwavering gaze.  

“Really?” he scoffed, “that’s the scullery maid?”

“That’s her…” James replied dreamily. 

“I gotta admit, in that dress, you could almost mistake her for a real princess.”

“Yeah…” James uttered softly, not hearing a word of what he had just agreed with. “Hold this, will you?” without looking, he handed his glass off to his brother and left his post as the crown prince's unofficial shield. 

“James!” Thomas hissed, standing there in alarm, one glass in each hand, not sure if he should follow or not, “where are you going? Don’t leave me alone! I’ll be swallowed whole!”

Catching sight of James’ determined approach, you let out a deep and shaky exhale. 

“Y/n!” he smiled, coming to a jovial stop right in front of you, ignoring every merry man trying to catch his high-regarded attention. 

“Your highness-” you started, but his voice cut in, breaking your greeting in half. 

“James,” he corrected you, the glint in his eye promptly sending a shiver down your corseted spine.

“Good evening.”

“I hope it’s not too forward of me for saying this, but you look absolutely beautiful tonight.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as you blushed over his honeyed words, “thank you, your highness. Though I wouldn’t dare take any of the credit, this was all your grandmother’s doing. This is actually one of her old dresses,” you glanced down at the elegant gown, carefully playing with the skirt and presenting it. 

Looking over the fabric just as you did, his earnest words nearly didn’t catch your ears, “I wasn’t complimenting your dress…”

Blinking up into his warm eyes, you found yourself speechless, clueless of how to respond to such flattery by someone of his stature. 

“Would you care for a dance?” he asked unexpectedly, evidently not caring about the improper nature of the request, and looking at you as if you were the only person in the entire ballroom. 

“That’s very kind of you, your majesty, but I’m afraid I would just embarrass you,” you averted your gaze, “you see, I don’t know how.”

Briefly glancing back at his parents, checking to see if they were watching, James then grabbed your hand, it seeming so small and dainty in his, and uttered, “come with me,” discreetly guiding you out into one of the vacant side chambers. 

Following his lead, looking back over your shoulder in fear that someone might notice, it calmed you ever so slightly to see that everyone else was entirely enraptured by the dazzling event. 

Shutting the door behind you, his hand still holding yours, he gently turned you around to face him once more. Hearing the string quartet still loud and clear through the walls, the prince smiled, “so, miss Y/l/n,” asking you once more, now in a more private setting, “may I have the honour of this dance?”

Lifting the back of your hand up to give it a small peck, eye contact never wavering, you answered, “the honour would be mine,” blinking up at him through your lashes, “yes, yes you may.”

“Okay, so you just put your left hand right here,” he grabbed it and slid it up, past the many shiny medals adorning his chest, to rest upon his broad shoulder, “and keep the right one where it is,” you inhaled sharply as you felt his free palm slide into place on your waist.

“A-alright,” all the hairs on your body stood up at the intimate proximity, “and now?”

Your right hand entirely engulfed in his, he glided his thumb over it, delicately swiping over a few of your fingers, “now you just let me lead,” noticing how your jaw clenched, he reassured you, “don’t worry, love, it’s easy,” you felt your tense muscles begin to relax a bit at his deep soothing tone, “I’ll do all the hard work, you just trust me, yeah?”

���Yeah,” you offered him a small nod as he gently began to move, taking you with him as he fell into the song’s rhythm as if it was second nature to him. 

Simply swaying softly at first, it didn’t take long before he had you flowing to the music, slowly making your way deeper into the room, dancing further away from the lines of light the closed door cast. 

When you eventually felt him gain more confidence and move your body around freely, you followed the instinctual reflex to briefly glance down at your shoes. Feeling his hand let go of your waist momentarily, he whispered, “don't look at your feet,” and lifted your chin up so you could meet his gaze, “look right here.” 

Letting his finger drop back down into place, you felt his palm move and slide around to your lower back, drawing you in just a little bit closer. Feeling yourself disappear into the warm eyes veiled behind his spectacles, completely enraptured by his being and entranced by the way he moved you, you felt his hitched breath hit your skin as he leaned in close enough for your lips to graze against each other. 

But just as your eyelids fluttered close in anticipation of his eventual touch, the sound of the door, now a good ways away, creaking open halted your dance at once. 

“James?” you heard the crown prince call out, music now more vibrant as it didn’t have to travel through walls anymore to reach your ears, “you in here?”

Acting quickly, James pulled you around the corner and settled you into the little alcove there, pushing you up against the plate mail stature decorating the small corner and cloaking your figure with his own. His bulky frame swallowed nearly all of the starry light streaming in from the tall windows scattered around the chamber, causing you to be able to see him and only him. 

“Seriously brother, you have to get out here before pa realises that you’re gone!”

Disregarding his sibling’s warning, James stood his ground, completely enraptured and sharing your breath as he pressed himself up against your voluminous gown. You weren’t sure if it was because of the proximity or if your fingers simply followed the magnet calling them, but you found yourself pressing your palms against the silky fabric of his detailed jacket, feeling his taught abdomen expand with every shaky breath. 

Dilated pupils flickering down towards your lips, you found your own mirroring his, fearing that you might faint in the intensity of it all. 

His lips pressed against yours before you even had the chance to fathom that it was actually happening. The prince was kissing you. His lips were brushing against yours not in curiosity, but in genuine yearning.  

“Come on James, stop messing around, I know you’re in here!”

A small string of saliva followed as James reluctantly pulled back, thumbs brushing over each one of your cheeks as he stared deeply down into your hazy eyes. 

“Come to my room at midnight,” he whispered breathlessly, restraining himself to dive back in. 

“Your highness, I-”

“Please,” he interrupted desperately. 

You didn’t give yourself another moment to think before giving him an answer, being completely spellbound, you uttered, “yes.”

And with a bright smile, he let go of you and backed away, still staring as you had to reach out for support against the wall in order to not tumble back against the ornamental armor. 

“Just hold your horses, Thomas,” he called out to his frantic brother, eyes still locked with yours, “I’m coming!”

Hearing the rapid beating of your heart thumping in your ears, you let out a shaky breath. It took you a long moment to finally mustered up the courage and let your fist come into contact with the prince’s door. 

Almost instantaneously was it ripped open as if James’ fingers themselves had already been mere inches from the silver knob, impatiently lying in wait like a lion on the hunt, the action was so swift that it startled you. 

Face lighting up as he saw you, nervously standing outside his chambers, he promptly grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you inside. 

As the door shut behind you, “h-hi,” you offered him a meek smile and stood in the dim room as if it was a china shop. 

Elatedly biting down on his plump bottom lip, he echoed, “hi,” sliding his fingers down to weave through your own. Using the hold as leverage, he gently pulled you in closer, his other palm ready to catch your cheek before confidently pressing his lips against yours. 

When he momentarily pulled away, you squeaked, “your majesty-,” hindering him from taking your lips once more.

“James,” he corrected you breathily, keeping his eyes shut and nuzzling his nose lightly against yours. 

“James…” you tried to keep your head levelled, “what am I doing here?”

“What do you mean? Do you not want to be here?” he took the hand still enveloped in his and pressed it against his chest, “here, with me?”

“I…” this was wrong. The list of punishable things to stray away from in your line of work was extensive, but this one was certainly at the top, “James…”

“Christ, that sounds good coming from your lips,” he groaned, seizing your lips again and flexing his fingers on the side of your head, lightly messing up your primly pinned hair. 

Feeling yourself melt under his touch, the kisses began to wander, scattering down your goosebump-ridden neck. 

“We…” your breathing was heavy and ragged, “we can’t… What if someone finds out?”

Pulling back, he gently shook his head, “they won’t,” dark eyes boring into your very soul. 

“But I can’t-… Y-you’re-…”

“I?”

“You are-…”

“I am just me… Just James,” he stared down at you, begging you to stay. 

“But-”

“I am yours,” he promised you earnestly, a hint of fear glinting in his golden eyes, “I am all yours.”

Choking down a sob, you then found yourself pulling him down for another kiss, letting his overwhelming vow sink in and dim that warning light pleading you not to venture any further. 

Soon clawing at the silky fabric of his jacket, your fingers caught in the two rows of shiny buttons, restraining yourself from just ripping them clean off. Letting out a quiet whimper as James suddenly detached from you, taking a step back, gazing down at your heaving form, not giving in as you reached out for him to return. 

Eyes fixed, his own fingers slowly found the buttons along his torso and began to undo them. Tilting his chin up, he watched you closely as he carefully unveiled every inch of himself to you. Moving your fingers up to mirror his actions, he swiftly spoke up, “wait, let me do it,” stopping you before you’d truly begun, “please.”

The wish made you suck in a breath in anticipation, slowly lowering your hands back down to either side of your skirt, clutching onto the heavy lavender fabric for support as you gave him a small nod. 

For a moment, you thought he was gonna bear it all to you right then and there, perhaps he did as well, but his fingers stilled right at the waistband of his underwear when only they remained. Blinking sluggishly as you tried to take in his breathtaking visage, in what felt like a millisecond, James had moved to be back into your proximity. Walking around to stand behind you, his fingers then began to work at the numerous buttons and laces, freeing you of the unusually extravagant ensemble. 

You hadn’t even noticed how you’d stopped breathing till his lips pressed against your exposed shoulder and let the first layer fall. 

Little by little, the weight you carried was lightened as he tossed more and more fabric to the cold floor, creating quite the poofy puddle. When the corset fell off, James quickly replaced the stiff restraining item with his large warm palms, feeling your waist through the last thin layer remaining, inhaling deeply against the back of your neck. 

Gently turning you around, he slid his hands up your sides, promptly lifting your arms to stay above your head. Not dropping his eyes from yours, he glided fingers down to gather up the material of your delicate chemise, only lifting it over your head when the whole length of it was bunched up in his fists. 

Not being able to wait any longer, you let your arms fall, draping them around his broad shoulders and pressing your bare body up against his, the palpable tent in his briefs twitching against your stomach at the contact. 

Kissing him deeply, you nearly didn’t register when he scooped you up into his arms, the action seeming so effortless for the prince. Thighs enveloping his hips, it was first your heel that attempted to rid him of his last remaining clothes, though when it only worked to push them an inch off his hips, you impatiently dropped a hand down to yank them down the rest of the way, letting him step out of them as his slow stride closed in on the plush bed on the opposite side of the chamber. 

Feeling the bedframe soon halt his footsteps, your lips didn’t fall from his as he leisurely turned and planted himself on the mattress, taking you with him still securely wedged against his body. 

With his hands already rooted on your rear end, now that he no longer needed to carry you, they started to explore your body, palming at every pillowy curve within his reach. It only took one measly little rock of your hips against his thighs for him to needily yank you forward, landing your sobbing centre directly on top of his hard length.

“Your highne-, James,” you whimpered, the intoxicating contact making you detach from his lips and hide your blushing cheeks in his sturdy shoulder, still reciprocating his forward actions and sliding your dripping heat all along his throbbing length. 

“Please, let me have you,” he groaned into your hair, his hot breath blowing back some of the unravelled hair framing your face, “let me feel your warmth,” he pressed a palm on the small of your back, making you arch it and causing all of the delicious pressure to always be directly on your buzzing little pearl, “just let me in, love,” his fingers caressed your spine as you moaned against his neck, bucking desperately against his hardness, “let me have you, let me have all of you just like you have me.”

Reaching down between your bodies, you grasped onto James’ cock and lifted up your trembling thighs, though his large palms swiftly scooped under you, granting you some more security as you swept the bulbous tip through your folds, parting the wet petals over and over again till your quivering hole was screaming for attention. And then, still with your face buried in the crook of his neck, you sank down, eyes rolling back in your skull as your creamy pussy slowly swallowed all of his length. 

“Fuck,” James cursed, his chest rapidly rising and falling underneath you. 

Clinging onto him for dear life, you slowly began to ride him, shakily bouncing in his lap. Lewd squelching noises reverberated off the palace walls as he let you find your rhythm, eventually finding a slow but intense pace, first raising yourself nearly completely off, till just the memory of his girth remained, and then slamming your hips down against his own so hard that it actually made you see stars with how deep he got. 

“Let me see that beautiful face of yours,” you felt his fingers come to rest on each side, in no way attempting to force your head back, simply pleading with you sweetly with every gentle sweep of his thumbs against your cheeks. Your hips faltered as you timidly crawled out of your hiding spot and blinked your heavy lids at him. 

The shyness eventually melted away as you registered the adoring look in his eye. Gradually resuming your hips moments, you watched as his head tilted back ever so slightly in pleasure and gaze down at you through his lashes, “there you go, darling,” you let out a loud moan as you felt his palm accompany his praise, swiftly landing it upon your bottom, encouraging your bouncing and causing you to get back on track that much faster. 

Rapidly nearing the end now that his soulful eyes were locked with yours, you found yourself completely lost in the euphoric feeling, eventually welcoming James’ desperate aid as he dug his fingers into your hips and rocked you in his lap, essentially just using your body as he would with his own fist at night, lifting you off with such ease and fucking into you till you were both absolutely wrecked by the perfectly synched orgasms that rocked your realities. Though still, even as the pace slowed, he still kept on bouncing you in his lap, pushing his load deeper within you with every needy thrust. 

Breathlessly, both of you still completely enveloped in each other, your arms sluggishly draped around his neck and his wrapped around your sweaty body, keeping you pressed up against him. 

Slowly blinking his eyes open and staring back at you through his glasses, which had long ago glided so far down his long nose that they were now on the verge of falling off, he sighed contently and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Promise that you’ll write to me,” he whispered, his deep rumble making your sensitive body tingle and your walls clamper down on his softening girth. 

First giving his nose a light nudge with yours, you then brushed your lips against his, rapidly developing the innocent peck into a kiss so passionate that the time might as well have stopped. 

“I will,” you breathed, feeling the most blissful of tears roll down your cheek, “I promise.” 

“Y-your majesty!” you gasped, throwing your head back in ecstasy, nearly bumping your head against the doorframe you were balancing against. 

Detaching his lips from your swollen clit with a pop, he glanced up at you from his kneeling position and corrected, “James…” chuckling lightly as his fingers still clutched onto your dark skirt, bunching it up at your waist, “love, it’s been a whole year, thought you’d shake that habit by now.”

“Has it truly been a year already?” a shaky breath escaped your throat as he planted a kiss on your gleaming petals that was way too soft for how close he had you to the edge. 

“Happiest year of my life…” he beamed, right before diving back in, eating you out so as if someone could walk in and interrupt your fun at any moment, which was completely probable seeing as he hadn't waited for you to be behind closed doors for him to have a taste, simply whirled you around a corner and told you to be on lookout while he had his fun. 

“Fuck!” you weaved your fingers through his hair in an effort to keep him steady as the fireworks set off inside your belly, “James, I’m gonna-, don’t stop!” 

Bucking against his tongue as he stared up at your pleasure-filled face in awe, his mouth eventually eased into light pecks, loving the way your sensitive form jumped against his lips. Eventually rising back up to his feet, he pressed his slick-covered lips against yours and let your dress fall back down, covering the mess he had made. 

“Thank you,” he smiled brightly, lifting his thumb up to clean the glistening lower half of his face, swiping the finger over his chin only to bring it back up to his pillowy lips, licking the rest of your essence off and enjoying every last drop you’d given him.

“…It was an automobile accident…”

“W-what?” James uttered breathlessly, haven not heard a word of what his father had said after the bomb had been dropped. 

Tightening his jaw in an effort to control his own unbearable emotions, the severe king repeated, keeping his voice clear and stern, “your brother, crown prince Thomas, died last night. The authorities found him this morning a few hours away from here, in his car, which had crashed, tumbled over completely. I don’t know how long he was out there, trapped beneath an entire ton of metal, waiting it out, all alone… I-…” he let out a shaky breath, momentarily closing his eyes in order to centre himself, “the funeral will be held on Monday. That should give people a chance to get here in time.”

“Monday…” James’ unfocused eyes flicked around the room as he tried and failed to breathe in a world without his big brother, “granny will be able to get here in that time… that’s-…” he noticed how his glasses were now completely fogged up by his agonising tears, “she-, she should be here…” 

“My dear boy, you know what this means, right?” he exhaled, trying to catch his son’s glistening eyes, “as of last night your life will never be the same. It’s time for you to step up as the next rightful heir to the crown.”

next part

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[wordsbymae]

A Gift From the Sea Pt.1 - Fisherman/Selkie AU

AHHHH I am so excited for this one, like I am obsessed. Anyway, reader is female and there isn't really any triggers. Except fisherman is obsessive and hides the readers seal coat from them. The first part of this is pretty much a love letter to women and female friendships, until I drag a stupid man into it. I hope you guys like!

He hears them again. Singing, laughing, whispering. Huddled amongst the rocks and gentle waves like flowers in a field. He watches with bated breath as one by one they shed their seal coats, emerging from the flesh of an animal to that of beautiful women. They call each other sisters and yet they all look perfectly unique from one another. There's one with soft golden locks, cut short along her ears, with freckles dotting along her shoulders . Another with dark coils that frame her round face, cheeks dimpling as she laughs. Despite the differences in features, all of the women, twenty at least, interact with love to one another.

One of them is braiding an older ones long hair. The older ones hands too brittle and frail to weave the intricate knots that the younger one does. He listens as they sing songs of the deep sea. The songs of their foremothers, lullabies of the ocean. A few others play a game of hide and seek amongst the rocks, the seeker beginning to crack one eye open in desperation to find her sisters. The women giggle as she calls 'Seal outta water!' catching a tanned skinned woman in the act of hiding upon one of the rocks. He catches a glimpse of where most have hidden their seal coats, gently folded amongst the brush. Each coat was completely unique to the others, often mimicking the owners. The coat of the woman with the golden locks, had specks of light gold amongst dotted pigments of brown. The woman with the round cheeks, had a coat of dark, supple brown, merged with black and grey.

He had yet to spot you or your coat.

One he first spotted the selkies he thought he was going mad. They were nothing more than folk tales, stories of beautiful women in the coats of animals. But he saw them, and he saw you, emerging from the sea one deary winter morning, a family of seals changing before his eyes. You were the first one he saw. You in all your naked beauty.

Supple flesh and rounded curves, hips perfect for bearing children. Eyes sparkling with mirth. A wife in the making.

But you were not here today. He scanned through the seal folk, yet he still couldn't see you. He bit his lip, today was meant to be the time he struck stealing your coat and making you his wife.

A subtle ripple in the calm waters, away from the large gathering of selkies, announced your arrival. You emerged from the water, coat folded in hand, with a bright smile on your face.

"Sisters!" You grinned, beginning to prance through the water to them.

"Sister!" they cried back. Waving and laughing with glee at your arrival. You hugged and kissed others on the cheek, before looking towards where the coats were hidden.

The fisherman held his breath and hid deeper under the brush, thistles pricked at the skin of his cheek, but he stayed silent and still.

You placed your coat amongst the others. Like those of your sisters, it perfectly resembled your features. He could tell which of the coats was yours in a heart beat.

As you began to re-join your folk, he made his move. Once your soft coat was in his hands, he nearly cried with joy. It had been months now since he first saw you, since he promised himself to make you his wife. And all his dreams were soon to come true. He quickly moved back to his hiding place, now only having to wait till the right time to make his presence known.

Hours passed, the sun slowly beginning to set, the time spent by the fisherman dreaming of the life that you will live together, caressing your coat as if it was you. He listened and watched and the seal folk began grabbing their coats and returning to the sea. As the last to arrive you were also one of the last to leave. You waved to your last sister as she drove amongst the waves, giving her a promise to follow soon behind. Making your way towards where you left your coat, you breathed in the coastal air, feeling the dying sunlight on your skin. The world above was filled with such delights, but nothing compared to your ocean home. You bent down to grab your coat, only to find it missing.

The fisherman, only metres away listened as you began to panic, ripping apart the brush to find even a glimpse of your coat.

Tears filled your eyes, pouring over onto your cheeks. Without your coat you were nothing, without your coat you could never return home. You gave a shriek of pain. It was gone, truly gone. You began screaming for your sisters to return, to help you find it, but they too were gone.

He watched as the hour slowly passed, the denial, anger and misery of it all racing across your face. A part of him was pained by his actions, he caused the very agony that wracked your body. But he steeled himself. He would not let go of his promised wife so quickly.

He waited until exhausted plagued you, until you fell to your knees. Sobs passed by your lips pathetically, tears almost a constant on your face.

He packs your coat into his inner jacket, his large fishing jacket covering both it and him in warmth, and makes his way towards you.

"Are you alright lass?" he asks, feigning ignorance at the fate that has befallen you.

You look up in fright. A tall, lanky man stood in front of you. He had a head of messy curls and a sullen, shrunken face. The face of a man with worries aplenty.

You took a moment to process his ask, you were definitely not alright. You had been stripped away from your home and family. And what have become of your coat? Did it fly away, caught up in a wicked wind. Or had one of your sisters stolen it, in jest or as revenge for a petty action of yours long passed. Or, maybe, if the tales of your sisters and mother were true, had a man taken it? You believed the stories of men stealing away coats to have selkie wives as nothing more than an old seal's tale. Just a cautionary tale to young seals to keep good care of their coats when they shifted. There hadn't been a confirmed captive selkie in hundreds of years, the practice of taking a selkie wife long out of fashion due to humans disbelief selkies even existed at all.

You gazed at him with soft teary eyes. He seemed kind enough, gentle too. There was no use crying amongst the sand. Night would come soon, and you were not made to survive as a human.

You slowly nodded, too shy to speak to a male human.

His hand, worn with work, came before you and you slowly placed one of yours in it.

Wordlessly he helped you from your knees, just as the last light of the sun began to wave its goodbye beyond the horizon.

"Here take this" he mutters, you don't have a chance to ask him what it is your taking, as a large, warm fishing coat is laid on your shoulders. It smells and salt and fish. You close your eyes in bittersweet delight, it smells like your own coat.

The fisherman shoves a hand into his remaining jacket pocket, toying with the soft fur of your coat. The old selkie wife tales ended in despair for the human husband because the wife knew he had her coat. What if he didn't tell you, what if you never found out. There would be no reason to search anywhere for anything, if you were unaware how close it was. His attention was turned to you as you let our a meek thank you, borrowing into the large coat. He gave a hum of welcome and a slight nod, before leading you up the path to his lonely house.

But, it wouldn't be so lonely for so long, not with his soon to be selkie wife in tow.

[rorywritesjunk]

(Day 19. "Is this for me?" SunnyxBuggy with some ThistlexMarco. This AU I gave Sunny an injury to her hand which ended her apprenticeship early and had her joining Buggy sooner.)

"So, what are you getting him for his birthday?" Thistle asked as she and Sunny watched Buggy carry around little Rayleigh. The little girl decided Uncle Buggy was the absolute greatest person and refused to be held by anyone else currently. The little visit the four of them arranged was nice: head to an island that would be neutral territory for both crews. Buggy still took some issue with his sister being part of and married to a member of Whitebeard's crew but he stopped complaining about it when he was given the baby to hold.

"I ask and he either says he just wants all the treasure..." Sunny began to say before glancing over at Thistle. "Or... He gets very lovey and says that I'm his greatest treasure so... I don't know yet."

"He's such a romantic nowadays, isn't he?" Thistle hummed as she watched her brother with her daughter, how he kept lifting her up to show her some trees, point out birds, little things like that. All Rayleigh wanted to do was grab his nose. "He's grown up so much."

"I really want to get him something special." Sunny sighed as Buggy tried to keep his head away from his niece. She kept reaching for his face. "I just don't know what."

"The only thing I remember him loving more than treasure was some pancake whale stuffy I stole for him when we were first taken in by Roger and Rayleigh." Thistle told her as Buggy finally caved and let the baby grab him. "He chucked it over the side of the ship when he turned 10 after some asshole said he was too old for that sorta thing."

"What?! That's so mean!"

"Eh, not everyone was always nice." Thistle shrugged. "I stole all of that guy's shoelaces after that, however. I didn't like what he said to Buggy."

"Why shoelaces?" Sunny asked.

"So he had to walk everywhere barefoot." Thistle told her. "And sometimes there were sharp rocks and broken glass."

"... Huh, okay."

"Anyway, you'll think of something. I wouldn't worry too much."

Sunny nodded, a look of concentration on her face as she watched her husband. How could someone say that to a child? She looked back at Thistle.

"Could you draw it for me?"

~

Sunny's birthday came first. Buggy gifted her with pretty fabrics his crew looted from a merchant ship, along with some nice kitchenware. He offered to give her the jewels he found, but it wasn't necessarily her idea of treasure so she let him keep it. He made her dinner, got drunk, told her all night how much he loved her, then crashed on the bed at midnight.

She made sure he was comfortable before she went to clean the kitchen as she thought about what to do for his birthday. She had a small idea but wasn't sure how she'd accomplish it.

~

Buggy's birthday came faster than she expected but she was ready. She cooked him a tasty dinner and gave him his gifts. Three new cravats she found at a shop, two new bandanas (one cut from the same fabric of a dress she managed to make from his gift to her, the stitching was a little rough in places but Buggy said nothing as he tied it around his hair), and the final gift she almost hesitated to give him. What if he thought it was weird? Would he get mad at Thistle for telling Sunny about it? She didn't want the siblings upset with each other, they only just reconnected after all those years apart.

She hesitated on the last gift, keeping it behind her back while Buggy finished fixing his hair under his new bandana. He spotted the polka dotted wrapping paper and looked up at his wife.

"Is this for me?" He asked, pointing with one hand while the other snuck around to grab it. Sunny tried to take it back from him but he kept it out of her reach. "Ohhh, what didja get me, babe? Hm? What's got you so shy?"

"It's-"

"Oh, maybe sexy lingerie you wanna wear for me?" He grinned at her as he brought the gift back to himself. "Feels... A bit bulkier."

"It's not lingerie, honey." She told him. "But... I don't want you to get upset."

Buggy frowned at his wife before looking back at the parcel in his hands. Glancing back at her, he carefully unwrapped it, wondering what she was going to give him. Divorce papers, maybe? No, she loved him. She told him this morning in bed when she was in his lap, her hands touching him as he held her close, grateful for her to be in his life.

The paper fell to the ground and he held up a mishaped flat whale. The fabric was a dark blue with light blue polka dots. The stuffing was uneven in places and the eyes were stitched on lopsided. Buggy swallowed heavily and looked up at her.

"Thistle told me about this. I... I thought maybe you'd like it." She laughed nervously as she reached for it. He hated it, didn't he? Not only did she likely stir up sad memories from his childhood, the thing looked ridiculous. She struggled to do some of the most simple tasks now that nothing came out right. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

He set it down before standing up. Sunny stood her ground, wondering how he would react, but he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close as he let his cheek rest against the top of her head.

"Buggy?" She wrapped her arms around him and looked up at him. "Honey? Are you okay?"

He pulled back and cleared his throat, wiping at his eyes. "It's perfect, babe. Don't stress, okay? It's-uh, it's a one of a kind thing, y'know? And *I* have the only one!"

"You like it then?" She asked. "I-I went off a drawing your sister did for me. She told me what happened and I felt so bad for you and-and I wanted you to have a good birthday since this is the first one since we got married and-"

Buggy silenced her with a kiss. He didn't want her to doubt the appreciation he had for the gift. He knew she worked hard on it, knew it would have been difficult for her to cut out the pattern, sew everything together, and wrap it. Her hand injury made things difficult for her and the fact she took the time to make it for him told him how much she really loved him.

When he pulled back from the kiss, her eyes were wide and shiny with tears but she was smiling at him.

"I'm glad you like it, Buggy."

"Yea, well, I'll like anything you give me, babe." He grinned as he leaned down to cover her face with kisses. She let out a surprise yelp, trying to wriggle away from him but not making much of an effort. He let one hand venture over to the table, wanting to touch the gift once more.

He couldn't believe she made that just for him.

[ratsoh-writes]

Some more towns in ebott cause why not?

Newtsmead: located in waterfall underground, it’s a small town housing five Grimm covens and a few various individual residents. It’s surrounded mostly by farmland and doesn’t see much tourism. It is only a 10 minute train ride to vanity falls, the main city in waterfall! It is also the hometown of thistle and yarrow.

Vanity falls: a bustling underground city located in waterfall! While not as big of a tourist trap as hotland, it’s still quite popular as part of the underground tours that most humans go to ebott for when visiting the country for the first time. Vanity falls plays a lot into the history of the AUs and is littered with museums and shows.

Coral coast: a small village to the west of seashore. Coral coast is too little for big docks and boat trade, but it’s beautiful and a great residential area. It’s rumored that the royal king owns his residential house there

Wheatilly: located in Goldenvalley, wheatilly, named for the vast wheat fields of several farmers is a small village made mainly of tiny cabins and trailer homes. Many farmhands live here. It’s not a place known for having anyone well off

West rails: a town between Portland and rails way, it’s another train stop with many monsters and humans working there. A factory making train parts was recently built there and it’s a hot spot for many younger families to move as jobs are readily available

[ramblingsofamadblob]

Multiverse AU Woolfbloods:

Species summary: a race of people with wolf blood in their veins that allows them to do things like transform into wolves. They are split into two main groups. One group chooses to live in the wild, while the other group chooses to live amongst humans. They are often mistaken for werewolves.

Population: scarce

bloodline: mixed

Universe: Wolfblood

Power description:

Shapeshifting: they have the ability to turn into wolves at will, but they can wolf out accidentally when they get too emotional, especially if they are angry. They are forced to become a wolf on full moons. When they wolf out their eyes turn yellow first, and then their veins become visible specifically around their face and arms. Then it will progress from there, growing fangs and claws before they turn completely into a wolf which just looks like a normal Wolf. Their fur color is either gray or matches their hair.

New moons: they feel sick and tired on new moons AkA dark moons, also most of their powers do not work, and there is no trace of wolf blood in their blood if it’s tested.

Enhanced healing

Wolf like senses and physical enhancements

Eolas: when close to nature, Woolfbloods have the ability to connect to said nature and see whatever they want no matter where the thing or person is. It acts as a form of natural tracker. However, if not careful, this power can drive them crazy and getting close to technology while using it gives them very painful migraines.

Ansin: some wild Woolfbloods have the capability to see the past of the object or person they are touching. It can happen involuntarily, if they are in a place with strong emotions, tied to its history. This power can make Wolfbloods emotionally distressed or depressed, depending on what they see as they often feel the emotions they are experiencing. Their eyes turn to wolf eyes when they do this.

Lunar Eclipses: lunar eclipses make them act drunk, and they are in a weird half human half wolf state until the eclipse passes.

Dark of the Rune: a commet that passes during a new moon causes them to go into a coma and possibly die if not awoken by a specific frequency that only they can hear.

Firewalker: most Woolfbloods are afraid of fire, so surviving a fire is a great honor. Wolves who that do are called fire walkers or a’cerddwyr tan’ in the ancient Wolfblood language and are held in high regard

Wolfsbane: Woolfbloods hate the smell and taste of wolfsbane. If consumed it makes their wolf go crazy and their eyes remain stuck as Wolf eyes. It can be cured by consuming thistle root.

Molted poppy: there is a species of white poppy that’s pedals get covered in red spots when a wolfblood is near. Werewolf hunters sometimes use this to help them find wolves.

Morwal: If a Wolf has experienced a traumatic event, they may become possessed by the morwal as an involuntary trauma response. This is basically an evil wolf spirit that takes possession of their wolf and causes them to act uncharacteristically on full moons, as well as make their wolf form on full moons, aggressive and violent, possibly even prone to killing humans.

Wolfing Out:

Wolf Form:

[animalechochamber]

Did another wc design challenge! This time the white cats with blue eyes except I swapped out two cats and added Whitetail bc I love her <3

I feel like rambling on the cats so that’s under the cut for those who want to read my little design ideas and au lol (warning very long esp on mobile. My bad)

For the easier one at the top right is Icewing, current cat in ASC and also a former dark forest trainee who watched her son Beetlewhisker be killed by Brokenstar. Her design is one I’ve had in my brain for awhile and it is based off Swan Lake, with the idea of a white and black swan. Her fluffy belly is meant to sorta read as a tutu and her patches as feathers. I gave her purple eyes too bc it’s a mix of red and blue, which often are the colors for evil vs good. I have so many thoughts on her. Where’s my Icewing novella. Plz authors give us a Icewing’s Nest book (Nest bc her motherhood and in the idea of how swans get over their chicks, only for her own to die in a place she encouraged him to go. It’s also a unique name for a novella)

Now onto the bottom left. With my beloved Snowstorm (Snowfur) and her daughter, Froststorm (Whitestorm/Frostfur). Yes I know Snow didn’t live to see her kit this big but also canon Frosty isn’t transfem so just let it be alright? Transfem Whitestorm is something I thought of in a now scrapped rewrite that I cannot unravel from my brain. And I wanted to draw her momma bc she’s been a favorite of mine forever. Snowstorm has a few blue spots bc I wanted to blue from her father to show in atleast one of the sisters (since I made Blue albino) and I can imagine how she feels about her name. It fits. It’s suiting for her personality and ambitious nature. But it’s her father’s prefix, the one who never even visited them as kits, neglected her momma, left them for a cat just barely older then her- yet in her own self conscious way she can’t help but see himself in her, that same ugly storm of anger brewing in her belly that lead him to his death. In my warrior cats universe Snowstorm doesn’t die and is a spicy elder in TPB who, after his daughter talks to her, becomes a advisor to the young Fireheart. She would be pretty snippy and very much xenophobic to him at the start and probably until Tigerclaw is exiled before she starts realizing how his heart is in the clan, where he came from doesn’t matter, and what he brings to the clans culture. She was the mate of Thistleclaw for the stars sake! And despite how they’re relationship was passionate and aggressive and doomed from the start, the cat he created in that bloodthirsty monster is clear. His ways of thinking were tangled in Tigerclaw’s mind like they were in hers. How had she let him do so much damage? So she turns around. Starts growing. Tears the thorns from her pelt at last.

(Tw for a few transphobic ideas that Froststorm had placed in her by Thistleclaw)

And Froststorm- she was originally Milkkit (after the milk thistle, her dad insisted on her having a name that related to him) but after her mom is out in a coma for her first 9 moons of life she is almost entirely groomed to be her father’s son. But it didn’t feel right. She felt wrong every time he told her what to be. Not only because she had no say at all against her father but because being that warrior meant being… a tom. She wouldn’t come out till after her father died, around half a year after her being named. After her mom finally woke up by some Starclan miracle. She was weak but the cat his father had told her she was wasn’t who woke up. She was a blizzard in a cats body- powerful, swift, covering, but cool and once calmed down soft as a fresh layer of snow. The moment she opened her eyes and saw her how much her small kitten had grown she wouldn’t let go. Thistleclaw was oddly angry when she awoke. He felt the control he and over his kit slip away as she came in a plucked what he’d placed in her pelt. The two would fight. And they could never agree. It was upsetting, especially when Thistle would come to her and tell her how her mother was a stupid, selfish molly who couldn’t hold her tongue. Things he once loved about her were now faults all because they didn’t align with his view. But it also showed her that she could stand up against him. She finally went outside her direct circle and talked to a cat her dad fell out with, her aunt Rosetail. She wasn’t ever allowed to speak to her when her dad was around. He told her she was a confused tom, that she went around with soft bellies, and that she spit on starclan’s place for her. But she was nice, and kind, and so sweet it made her stomach twist. Milkpaw asked her what her father had meant by her being a “molly minded tom”- and she learned something that would change her life forever. Rosetail was originally a tom but found she was a molly at heart. Through herbs and training she was able to change what she was, transitioning. That word made her heart twist so suddenly it made her vision swim, like the stars themselves told her this was it. Her aunt wasn’t going against them, she was just righting what she was meant to be. To her aunt who she had only now gotten to talk to, she came out, and crying there wrapped in Rosetail’s hug felt like the best she had ever felt.

The day of her ceremony to be made a warrior she asked her other aunt Bluestar if maybe she could be renamed… not coming out officially to the whole clan but starting the steps to eventually. Then there at the event she was named Froststorm. Bluestar told everyone it was Starclan’s decree for her to be Frost instead and then added -storm after both her sister, being Frost’s mom, but also for the force she and become. She wasn’t a destructive one but one that would bring great rain, wash away the sick and bring in the spring, and fuel the future. Her father though would blow up, partly publicly and then far worse in private. His sudden loss of control would end with him attacking a peaceful Riverclan patrol that was just coming to discuss an agreement between the warring clans, leading in him being drowned by the enemy warrior. At last with him gone Froststorm comes out as trans. Some are happy for her, others less supportive, some a little hostile. But that didn’t matter at all to her because her family loved her as her.

Anyways transfem Whitestorm is my favorite thing ever I love her so so much <3 she would be partners with Lionheart, and with a dame, they have Cinder, Bracken, Bright, and Thorn. Though I think in this au they’d be Cinder, Bracken, Bright, and Dandelion (cuz no way in the dark forest would she name one of her kits anything CLOSE to Thistle. Nope. Also Dandelionclaw is so long it’s funny I think it’s cute). The Sorrel, Soot, Silt (Rain) litter would instead be kits of Speckletail and some sire (she wouldn’t go outside the clans. Just can’t decided and they wouldn’t be a part of the kits lives).

[snootlestheangel]

☠️

Death Doesn't Want Me Snippet

*Ghoap zombie apocalypse au ft. Soap's family*

The fic will be mostly the generic descriptions of action and scenery of an apocalypse story, but there will also be "reflection" sections where it focuses on a specific character (mostly Ghost) and their inner thoughts and feelings with the whole situation they're in. This is an example of what that'll look like.

Haunted.

It's how Sarah describes the feeling she gets from their group's newest edition. She feels haunted.

The man in question has yet to say a word to any of them, even despite the fact he broke up an argument waiting to turn into a fight. His mere presence was intimidating enough to Trent and his friends, as they had quickly quieted and allowed Sarah to speak her mind. She's still not sure if the skull mask was the reason the mystery man was able to silence those idiots, but it's what they are claiming. Personally, she thinks they were all a bit intimidated by the massive sniper rifle resting comfortably across the man's back. She believes the weapon indicated he had more hidden elsewhere on his person, and that it would be safest if he were left alone.

In all honesty, Sarah isn't scared of their new shadow. Sure, he's rather large in stature, and the full skull face accented by a dark hood is intimidating, but she just doesn't have any fear of this man. It could be that he had stepped in to allow Sarah to tell those daft bastards the right plan, or maybe that the others had finally stopped belittling her and her family all for being Scottish.

Or maybe it's because she watched her youngest daughter hand him a thistle she had picked, and the fact he took it gently and stowed it in the open pocket of his duffel.

Either way, Sarah MacTavish can say with complete confidence that this phantom is not a threat to her and her family.

In fact, she feels comforted at the same time as feeling haunted. Haunted because this enigmatic figure tends to stay several meters behind the main group. Haunted because he's often spotted just out of the corner of her eye, giving her a start until she remembers the unspoken peace treaty they have with this physical manifestation of Death itself.

But comforted because at least one person here has a weapon and seems competent. Comforted because he very easily could have killed anyone he wanted and taken advantage of the others. But he hadn't. In fact, he expressed a gentleness that Sarah knew to be a quickly dying trait in this world of ruin. She has started to take for granted their unconventional guardian, and has grown rather fond of his presence. She almost wonders if the man has found himself in a situation he didn't expect to be in, almost like he's in too deep. She wonders if he's committed to playing a role as a guardian all because of that first interaction, where he came to Sarah's defense and supported her plan to head north towards a potential safe place.

She finds herself making jokes with her husband Daniel about how their girls are probably driving him insane with all the little gifts, but he's too chivalrous to act anything other than grateful each time. She makes jokes with her sister-in-law Eleanor about the man's almost supernatural existence. She jokes with her older brother Oliver about how their group is so unlucky they're being haunted during an apocalypse.

Sarah becomes so comfortable with being haunted that she's rather humbled one night. Humbled when she realizes they aren't the ones that are haunted.

It's a rather disturbing feeling Sarah gets as she watches the phantom one night. He's staring into the fire, brown eyes dancing with the flames, yet they were empty, devoid of emotion.

Haunted.

What's most disturbing about that look is how familiar it feels. How close it is to the same look her youngest brother gets from time to time. The same look everyone would ignore until John became himself again.

The empty stare of a soldier.

Sarah knew from the moment they met this man that he had a career similar to that of her brother John, but she had never quite faced that reality until now. She decides to do something about it.

And maybe it's because that look reminds her so much of her baby brother. And maybe it's because her motherly instincts start taking over. Either way, she decides she's going to make their spectral companion take a nap.

"Why don't yeh get some rest? We'll be fine till morning." Sarah whispers after quietly making her way over to the fire. He blinks slowly before looking up at her, the blank aspect of his expression not disappearing but the stare no longer holding a distance to it. He's grounded now, that she can tell, but what is visible of his face gives no indication to what he might be thinking. Or feeling. If he does such a thing, Sarah finds herself thinking. The man's eyes dart around their makeshift camp as he thinks, and Sarah feels a bit frustrated by his lack of a response.

"We'll be fine, I promise. A wee rest isnae gonna hurt anythin'." This makes him look at her again, and this time she can gather a bit of emotion coming from those amber eyes. He nods in agreement before quietly getting up and moving towards the edge of the group, just in the darkest part and nearly disappearing into the shadows.

But Sarah is left confused. He had looked back to her with an almost mournful look, like he knew something she didn't.

She didn't dwell on it. She couldn't afford to.

Instead, she trusted him. Trusted that haunted feeling as she put out the fire, and bathed them all in darkness.

[petitprincess1]

Can you tell me more about your kitty pet tigerclaw?

If ppl are curious, this is what this person is talking about: Click here

We have a pretty rough outline. There are some things we have planned and other things are still kinda in the works. A lot of things are somewhat the same

Tigger and Rusty would eventually go to the Clans. I imagine Bluestar would be open to Tiger rejoining, due to the crap that Thistle put him through. Ofc, he would be under Tigerpaw and he'd somewhat be presiding over Fire, since he doesn't really need a mentor.

This means Redtail is alive. IIRC, I don't think it was Tiger who killed Oakheart. So, I think the battle would've still ended with his death. Also, since Redtail is alive, Spottedleaf and him can be all cutesy with each other. That way she isn't crushing on a fucking child x3

Also, Tiny gets accepted into the clans because Blue felt bad about his interactions with them. Although, Tiny is acting as the "replacement" for Tiger as the antagonist. He and Bloodclan are basically slowly assimilating into the clans to make them crumble from the inside. Bc they're petty like that. Also, Raven is his apprentice. He isn't abusive like Tiger and actually compliments him greatly, most likely bc he sees himself in Raven.

And Raven becomes a warrior in the AU. He even tags along when they're on a mission to rescue WindClan. Unfortunately, since Barley knows Scourge, and would have no issue ratting him out, he ends up getting killed. Tinyclaw (clan name) ends up manipulating Raven into helping him kill Barley, stating that they will be separated. Raven ends up becoming Tiny's second Bone, if that makes sense.

Also, Goldenflower and Tigerheart would have a truer relationship with each other. So, Bramble and Tawny would still be born. Fire though would see them as his brother and sister, rather than Tiger's spawns lol

One more thing, the whole thing with Brokenstar would work the same way, including Yellowfang becoming ThunderClan's medicine cat. This means that Spotted ends up dying, unfortunately. Redtail would become distraught over it, causing him to end up distracted in his duties. So, he retires and allows Fireheart to be the new deputy.

Also, we figured that, even though the whole Thunderpath incident didn't happen, Cinder would still train to be a medicine cat. We wouldn't dare separate Yellow and Cinder 😤

[burning-thistles-bt]

Cat Ages Based on Human Milestones

Warrior cats age equivalents has always been a very sketchy and confusing thing. Many people often just do a linear cat to human age, ex.: 1 month = 1 year, but I've always believed it isn't so straight forward and that warrior cats' age physically and mentally different.

I think the best way to determine a cat's age in relation to a human's age is based on milestones, such as when a toddler takes their first steps, or a kitten first starts eating wet food.

But, as you'll see, there are discrepancies in doing this. For example, humans are often walking better before they're weaned off milk/baby food, while kittens can often be weaned off milk before they're walking without wobbling. Additionally, cats can become sexually mature very young (child age), while that is more rare in humans (though not impossible).

Cat maturity has a different "system" than human maturity, so this is just a close equivalent to help some people visual the ages better.

Cat age = Human age

3 weeks = 2 years - 3 weeks is when weaning off of milk and onto wet food often begins. Similarly, 2 years is considered the "cut-off" for babies breastfeeding. Capable of talking at this point, though communitive abilities differentiate

4 moons = 10* years - cats can become sexually mature at 4 months of age. Generally, afab persons can start puberty at 10 years and technically be "sexually mature"

6 moons = 6* years - when apprenticeship starts is akin to when first grade starts, but I'd personally say 6 moons old feels more akin to a 9-10 year old (4th grader) to me and 4 moons old are the 1st graders, especially considering the next age and context of "sexual maturity"

7 moons = 12 years - most places consider cats "adults" when they are seven months old, as they are mostly done growing. 12 years is generally when puberty begins, so it's technically the opposite (start growing)... but in ye olden days, you could be considered an adult at 12 so. It's the closest equivalent if we are keeping 12 moons = 18 years.

12 moons (1 year) = 18 years - both are when they are considered independent "adults" in their societies

84 moons (7 years) = 40-50 years - 7 years is the "senior" status for cats, when they're "old" adults. Most people call 40 year old's old

120 moons (10 years) = 60-70 years - the "retirement" ages

216 moons (18 years) = 100-110 years - 18 years for a cat is like living past 100 years for a human. Though it should be noted wild/stray cats do not tend to live as long as indoor cats, so this is especially a "rare" age for warrior cats

Based on these milestones, I would put the warrior cats aging as....

Orange, aging rapidly, at a 1 month = 1.5 year rate

0-1 moon = 0-2 years (newborn-toddler)

2 moons = 3 years (toddler)

3 moons = 4-5 years (child)

4 moons = 6 years (child)

5 moons = 7-8 years (child)

6 moons (.5 year) = 9-10 years (pre-teen)

7 moons = 11-12 years (pre-teen)

8 moons = 13-14 years (teen)

Green, aging cools down to 1 month = +1 year equivalent

9 moons = 15 years (teen)

10 moons = 16 years (teen)

11 moons = 17 years (senior teen)

12 moons (1 year) = 18 years (senior teen)

13-16 moons = 19-22 years (young adult)

17-24 moons (2 years) = 23-30 years (young adult)

25-30 moons= 31-36 years (adult)

Red, aging slows down

31-40 moons = 37-38 years (adult)

41-50 moons = 39-40 years (adult)

51-60 moons = 41-43 years (adult)

61-70 moons = 44-46 years (adult)

71-80 moons = 47-49 years (senior adult)

81-90 moons = 50-52 years (senior adult)

91-100 moons = 52-59 years (senior adult)

101-110 moons = 60-64 years (young senior)

111-120 moons = 65-74 years (young senior)

Blue, elder age is hit, aging is still slow, depends on health of cat

121-130 moons (10 years) = 75-81 years (senior)

131-140 moons = 82-88 years (senior)

141-150 moons = 90-94 years (senior)

151-160 moons (12 years) = 95-99 years (senior)

161-215 moons = 100-109 years (centurion)

216+ moons (18 years) = 110+ years (centurion)

Please note that this is just a best guess estimate. Cats age physically and mentally different than humans, which makes it hard to "exact" their ages.

In general, it is accepted that 0-6 moons is a child, 7-12 is a teen, and 13+ is an adult, with some age around 90-100 moons being the elder age.

Thistlestar was around 29-30 moons when Spottedleaf at 12 moons gave birth to Firestar+. Thistlestar would be a 35-36 old adult and Spottedleaf an 18 year old who was impregnated at 17 years. Thistlestar first began grooming/showing interest in her when she was 2-3 years old, and they entered a relationship when she was around 10 human years old and he 23-25 years old.

(This is assuming my cat age for Thistlestar is correct - I'm currently reworking all cats' ages.)

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 3

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: some mentions of blood and injuries

Chapter word count: 4.1k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Wraith and Rumor

Paul was woken by the gnawing and the rumbling of his stomach. He sat up, stretching out his limbs, stiff from sleeping on the cold, hard ground, and readjusted the wig that had fallen off in the night. In the morning, the world looked more familiar—not familiar in the sense that he knew where he was and where he needed to go, but familiar in the sense that the trees were now trees instead of guardian spirits and toadstools were toadstools instead of teasing imps. Paul wondered if they only came alive at night, in a reverse of the curse that plagued Zhara. When he woke up, the girl had transformed back into the bird and was perching on top of his cloak, watching him with inquisitive eyes. It was strange, but when she was a girl, Paul had thought her manner birdlike, and now, when she was a bird, he couldn't help but notice how disconcertingly human her gaze was.

"Can you understand me?" he asked, feeling rather foolish.

She tilted her head. He took that as a "yes".

"So how far is it to this fortress? I'm absolutely starving and could do with some breakfast."

She hopped away. Paul rushed to pick up the cloak and his blood-stained cravat and follow her. His hope for breakfast was soon dashed when she only led him to a bush. It was true that the bush was full of ripe berries, gleaming black like jet beads amongst the leaves, but after having nothing to eat since the previous evening except for a gulp of birch sap, he was not exactly looking forward to berries for breakfast. Still, there was nothing else to eat, so as Zhara started pecking enthusiastically at a berry, Paul shrugged and popped one in his mouth as well. The berry exploded between his teeth, so much sweeter and juicier than the strawberries and cherries from the gardens of Tsarskoye Selo. He picked another, and another, and another, until his hands were stained purple and only the unripe berries were left. He looked up at Zhara, shame-faced. She rolled her eyes at him, but her chirps sounded more amused than irritated.

Paul was still licking the berry juice from his fingers when Zhara led the way out of the grove and into the meadow. She flew a little down the stream that murmured along the forest, then stopped and tilted her head at Paul, clearly waiting for him to catch up. Paul hurried to follow her, but his steps slowed in astonishment as he took in the landscape around him. The meadow spread out under the endless summer sky like a green velvet blanket, with a coverlet of wildflowers that nodded and swayed in the breeze. Most of these Paul recognized—cornflowers as blue as the sky above, ox-eye daisies with their friendly yellow centers and milk-white petals, delicate crimson poppies, lacy wild carrots, proud, spiky thistles—though like the berries, they looked bigger, their colors brighter, their scent more fragrant than the flowers of the world he'd left behind. Even the bees and butterflies that buzzed between these seemed more alive, and when he looked more closely, Paul could have sworn he saw tiny faces peeking out from between their wings.

They walked across that vast meadow, keeping the dark forest on their right and the stream on their left. It was slow going. The bird-girl flew as long as she could—her wound had stopped bleeding, but her wing was still weak—then resorted to hopping on the ground for a while, before trying to fly again. Eventually, Paul couldn't take it anymore and offered her his arm. She looked at him with those human, haughty eyes but refused to move.

"Come on," he said. "At this rate, I'll have a beard down to my belly before we can find Baba Yaga." She relented and hopped onto his arm, though she held herself rather stiffly as she made her way to perch on his shoulder.

Paul didn't know how long they walked. His wonder at the landscape soon waned. As the sun rose, even the bees and the butterflies—or the creatures that looked like bees and butterflies—fell into a kind of stupor, so it wasn't difficult to imagine he and the bird-girl were the only living things in the vast, empty meadow. It put him in mind of the Great Steppe of Kazakh—not that he knew what it was like. With a jolt, Paul realized that he knew so little about his empire, the empire he hoped to rule one day. All he only ever knew was Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the surrounding countryside.

Questions crowded into Paul's mind, and, because he had no one else to talk to, he started voicing them out loud, despite knowing that the girl could not answer him. How far away the fortress was, what sort of creatures they might meet, could she understand other birds and animals, how much she knew about his empire, how many Russians had ended up in this land and how many inhabitants of this land had ended up over there, and whether they ever found their way back. To all this chattering, the bird-girl only tossed her plumed head and moved a little further away, to the very tip of his shoulder, without making a sound.

His legs, not used to such prolonged exercise, started to tire, but when he tried to sit down for longer than a few minutes, the bird-girl would chirp crossly by his ears and peck at his arms, so he would reluctantly stand and walk again. However, by midday—judging by the sun and by the twisting of his stomach—he was too exhausted to go on. The berries seemed a long, long time ago. His scalp itched and sweated under the wig, his feet were blistering, his hip felt bruised where his sword had been tapping against it, and his legs were like two logs ill-fitted to his hips.

"This is unbearable," he groaned and slumped down on the grass bank of the stream, causing the bird-girl to tumble off his shoulder. She struggled to her feet and shot him a look of pure loathing. "You can bring Baba Yaga to me once you find her, but I'm not taking another step."

Ignoring her furious twittering and jabbing, he lay down, burying his face in a clump of clover. He was letting its sweet smell cool him down when suddenly Zhara gave a screech of warning and poked at his head through the wig. Paul yelped but was too tired to push her away. He only raised a hand and gave her a feeble swipe, as one would a fly. She pecked him again, at the back of his hand, her beak surprisingly sharp.

"That hurt," he protested, raising his head to glare at her. She was frantically gesticulating with her beak, and following her movement, he saw what she was trying to gesture at.

A figure was coming toward them across the field, an unmistakably female figure. She was dressed in a flowing white dress, and there was a wreath of cornflowers in her hair, which was the color of ripe wheat.

"Oh, blessed be the Saints," Paul breathed out. "I was beginning to think this entire place was devoid of people. You there! Can you help us?"

The figure turned slightly, but she was too far away and her hair was in her face, so Paul couldn't see it very clearly. As he started toward the figure, Zhara flew into his face, hitting him with her wings, squawking angrily, trying to drive him toward the forest. Paul stepped back in confusion, and then alarm, not just because of Zhara's fury, but also because he'd noticed something odd about the way the figure on the meadow was moving. She wasn't walking. She was gliding. And there was a scythe in her hand.

The figure drew near, and Paul saw she was no girl at all. But he couldn't tell how young or old she was, for her skin had rotted away like that of a corpse left under the sun. Her nose was gone. Her eyes were two shriveled, empty sockets. She opened her ruined mouth in a silent scream, and a blast of scorching hot wind came out of that gaping hole, hitting Paul in the face, dizzying him and sending a sharp pain across his skull. He fell on his back as the wraith bore down on him, her scythe raised high like Death.

Zhara flapped her wings at the wraith. Sparks flew, but the wraith's hot breath immediately blew them out. Zhara turned and pecked at her injured wing, drawing blood. She then flung the drops of blood at the grass at the wraith's feet. Fire erupted from the blood, and the dry roots from last year's growth caught at once, spreading quickly to the ragged hem of the wraith's dress. With a furious scream, the wraith swung her scythe, hitting Zhara with the handle, hurling her across the meadow. Paul lunged after the bird-girl. He landed painfully on his belly but managed to stretch out his arms and catch Zhara in his palms, just before she fell into the stream.

Turning her back on them, the wraith busied herself with moving the scythe across the burning grass, putting out the fire. While the wraith was distracted, Paul scooped Zhara's limp body into his arms and stumbled across the meadow, across the stream, and into the cover of the trees. The wraith rushed after them, only to lurch back as though slammed into an invisible wall. Still running, Paul risked a look behind him. The wraith swirled and shook her scythe, but it was in vain—she couldn't cross the stream. With a final shriek of impotent rage, she dissolved into a dust devil, leaving the meadow just as peaceful and pretty as it had been.

In the safety of the forest, Paul tried to catch his breath. He looked down at the red-and-gold shape in his hands and sighed in relief to see her getting to her feet, her feathers a little ruffled but otherwise looking none the worse for wear. "You couldn't have warned me that there were demons in the field attacking people in broad daylight?!" he said hoarsely, afraid that if he raised his voice, it may bring the wraith back.

Zhara wriggled her neck and shoulders apologetically. Before Paul could ask what they were going to do next, her eyes widened in fear as footsteps founded in the distance. Paul jumped up. But no, the wraith had no footsteps. It was only a muzhik, a peasant, sauntering through the trees with a fishing rod on his shoulder and swinging a string of fish in one hand, seemingly without a care in the world. The man hadn't seen Paul or the bird-girl yet, hidden as they were behind a big oak tree.

"That's not a monster in disguise, is it?" Paul asked. She shook her beak. "All right, then there must be a village nearby. They will have food there, maybe even a horse—" Before he could finish, she had hopped out of his hands and slipped into a bush at the base of the oak. "Fine!" he grunted. "Stay here if you want, but I won't starve for you!" He would show her that he could survive in this world without her help.

He came out from behind the tree and hallooed to the muzhik. The man came toward him at once, smiling amicably, and Paul felt a little easier to see that he looked no different than the peasants of his empire, in a coarse linen shirt, woolen breeches, and bast shoes. "Good day to you," the muzhik said. "Where did you come from and where are you going?"

Paul hesitated, wondering how much of the truth he could tell without sounding like a madman. But then again, perhaps the people of this land were used to strangers turning up out of nowhere. "I'm searching for Tsar Afron's fortress," he said, ignoring the man's first question. "But when I was walking across the field, we—I was attacked by—by—a—" He wasn't sure what to call the wraith.

The man understood at once. "Ah, I see, you've had a run-in with our Lady Midday!" he said, clapping Paul on the back. "You were lucky to escape with your life then. A fair few of my fellow villagers had lost their heads to her, before we knew to avoid the meadow at noon." Paul whitened, but the man only laughed. "Best stick to the forest, lad, at least until the sun is past its hottest."

"Do you know how far it is to Tsar Afron's fortress?"

The man scratched his beard. "A couple of days' walk from here, I reckon."

Two more days! Paul didn't know if he could bear walking for two more days with nothing but tree sap and berries to eat. "Is your village nearby?" he asked. "Does anyone have a horse or a carriage for hire?"

"Horses!" The muzhik laughed. "What would we be doing with horses? But you're welcome to stay with us for the night. The village is just yon that rank of oaks there. Come, come! We're but a small village, but you'll find us friendly enough. Anyone who's survived Lady Midday deserves some hospitality."     

With one last look at the bush where Zhara was hiding, Paul followed the man through the forest.

Though the man said the village was "just yon", it took them until mid-afternoon to reach it. It was indeed a small one, only a handful of wooden huts scattered around what looked like a chapel that stood in the middle of a clearing. There was no cross on the onion-shaped dome of the chapel, and Paul wondered what sort of God, or gods, these people worshipped.

His arrival seemed to be a great source of interest to the villagers. In such a small place, words soon got around that Timofey Arkadyevich had brought home a stranger, someone who had survived Lady Midday, and they came out in droves to stare and point at him and laugh openly, just as the toadstools had the night before. Paul kept his chin up and squared his shoulders, but he couldn't stop the heat from rising to his cheeks and prickling his insides. When some little imp, no doubt egged on by his friends, ran up and tried to snatch his sword from his belt, he snapped, "Keep your hands off me, you brat!"

The boy shrank back with quivering lips, and the villagers' faces turned stony as they called their children to them and took them home. The muzhik—Timofey—cleared his throat, embarrassed, and Paul's face burned again with a different kind of shame.

Timofey led Paul into his izba, a small, one-room hut. Paul hesitated to enter the dark interior. He had been taught that the peasants were little more than a faceless mass to be controlled. Those who joined the army were all sullen or desperate, and Paul only selected the ones that had been whipped into shape—quite literally—for his brigade.

But now, his hunger overpowered his hesitation, and the promise of food pushed his feet forward. Most of the hut was taken up by a cook stove. A table and two benches stood by one window, a spindle and loom at another, and a small bed at the corner made up all the furniture. Yet for all its small size and simple furnishing, the place was spotless. The walls, ceiling, and floor were scrubbed to a shine, the curtains were white as snow, and there were pots of cheerful red geranium at the windows.

Timofey handed the fish to his wife, whose cheeks were as red and cheerful as the geranium, and told her to make a fish pie and put the rest in a stew.

"You'll have to forgive the village folk," he said to Paul. "We're simple people and not used to strangers. You must have come from very far away."

"Yes, very far," Paul said cautiously. Timofey eyed his clothes and wig but said nothing more.

The stew, which had leeks and turnips in it, was very good, and the pie, with its buttery, crumbly pastry, was even better, though at this point, Paul was so hungry that it could be sheep brains and rat tails for all he cared. Only when the gnawing in his stomach stopped that he remembered Zhara. He was still angry at her for not warning him about the wraith, but he realized, with a slight prick of conscience, that their encounter with the wraith had probably left her weakened and in pain. Besides, it was getting dark soon, and this close to the village, someone may stumble upon her in the forest. He couldn't leave her to fend for herself. After all, she was his only hope of returning to his world.

During the meal, Timofey and his wife kept asking about his journey and what he hoped to do at the fortress. Paul kept it vague, not knowing how much he could reveal. Baba Yaga may be real in this world, but people may fear her and think it foolhardy to go searching for her.

He reluctantly turned down Timofey's offer to stay the night. While Timofey's wife was wrapping up a rye loaf, some hard cheese, and a string of bread rings in a napkin for him, Paul remembered something else and asked, even more reluctantly, if she had some women's clothes to spare.

"Women's clothes?" she repeated, eyebrows disappearing into her headscarf. "What would you be wanting with them?"

They must be thinking that he was some sort of debauched libertine. "They're for my—companion," he said.

"A lass?" Timofey asked. "Why didn't you bring her here then?"

"And what happened to her clothes?" the wife chimed in.

Their curious looks made Paul's temper flare once more. The audacity of these peasants, to question him so boldly! With difficulty, he reminded himself that they didn't know who he was. But surely, they would know Zhara. Even the leshy knew her...

"If you must know," he said, bristling, "my companion is Tsarevna Zhara Artyomovna of Arthania, and she has suffered a great..."

He trailed off, as an astonishing change had come over his host and hostess. Timofey's sunburned face went white under his beard, his wife's cheeks lost their ruddiness, and both made a warding gesture with their arms.

"It—it can't be!" the muzhik stammered. "They're all dead! The entire kingdom! She killed them! And her brother, the new tsar, has put a price on her head!"

"If you're with her, then please, don't hurt us!" Timofey's wife ran into a corner, took some clothes out of a trunk, and flung them along with the bundle of food at Paul's feet. "Please take these and go away! We never did you no harm! Leave us alone! "

They truly seemed out of their wits with fear. Bewildered, Paul picked up the food and the clothes and left. He could hear every door and shutter throughout the village slamming shut behind him as he went.

Could it be true? Could it be that the bird-girl was not a cursed princess, a damsel in distress in need of rescuing, but an evil sorceress? And if it was true, then what did she want with him?

Paul wavered at the edge of the forest, uncertain of what to do. He could continue alone. He could find the fortress and ask for help. But then he remembered the leshy and the wraith, and how Zhara had saved him from them. Even if it had all been a ploy to gain his trust, he had to admit that the likelihood of his survival rather increased with her around. With a sigh, he plunged on.

It was fully dark by the time he found the oak tree where he'd left Zhara. She was still there, hidden behind the foliage. Her face lit up upon seeing him, and brightened even more when she saw the clothes and food he brought back. When she emerged from behind the bush, dressed in the ill-fitting chemise and sarafan, she looked more human, less ethereal, even with a flame flickering on the tip of her finger like a candle. "How do I look?" she asked, smiling.

"Very well," answered Paul stiffly.

"I'm really sorry about earlier today," she said. "I truly didn't know there was a Noon Wraith on that meadow. I just thought we ought to keep to the stream to avoid getting lost."

Paul shrugged. "It's fine."

She didn't seem to notice anything amiss in his tone, absorbed as she was by the bread and cheese, which she was tearing into with gusto. "This is excellent," she said, between mouthfuls. "You have no idea how tired one gets of berries and seeds."

Paul sat against an elm tree and watched her. She had wrapped his cravat back around her wound, which was bleeding again, and the beginning of a bruise was blooming on her cheek, where the wraith's scythe handle must have hit her. He went over what Timofey and his wife had said, how frightened they had been, but he couldn't quite believe it. This fragile-looking girl, a murderous witch? No, it couldn't be true.

"I hope you found a way to pay the villagers for these," Zhara said. "Or at least thank them sufficiently."

Paul, who had never thanked anyone for anything in his life, realized that the idea hadn't even occurred to him. But he didn't say so. Instead, he said, "I didn't have a chance to do either. They chased me away."

She looked up. "Why?!"

He decided there was nothing to do it but to speak truth. "The villagers said that your entire kingdom was massacred," he said slowly. "By you."

The piece of bread froze halfway to Zhara's mouth. "Did you mention my name to them?" she said in a horrified tone.

"Yes."

She put the bread down on the napkin. "No, no, no..." she groaned, hands reaching up to grip at her braid. "What have you done?"

"What have I done? What have you done?!"

"I didn't do anything."

"Then why does your brother have a bounty for your capture?"

Her hands shook, and a spark flew out of her fingers. She squeezed her palms shut. Paul began to think that perhaps it wasn't wise to confront someone who was wanted for mass murder, especially when that person could shoot fire out of her hands.

"Because he wants me dead." Her amber eyes flashed. "It's all a lie told by my brother to legitimize his claim to the throne. He was the one who killed our father and destroyed any of the boyars that dared to oppose his rule. He was the one that cursed me."

The tale was a familiar one to Paul, and it only increased his suspicion. Could it be that the girl knew of his mother's rise to the throne and was using it to gather his sympathy? "I thought you were cursed by Koschei," he said.

"It's a long story." The girl looked at Paul. "You don't believe me."

"I don't know what to believe."

"Why would I lie to you?"

This was exactly what Paul had been asking himself, and even now, he had no satisfactory answer. "To gain my trust, to get me to help you."

"Help?" The girl let out a derisive laugh. "Why would I need your help? How have you helped me, exactly? You've been nothing but a burden. I could've been halfway to Tsar Afron's fortress by now if it weren't for you!"

Getting berated by two women in the span of two days was more than Paul could bear. He jumped to his feet as though stung by a bee, and stormed off.

"Yes, leave!" the girl said. "Get yourself killed and see if I care!"

He kept walking without a look back. Through the trees, he could see moonlight glimmering silver on the stream, and he remembered to keep it on his right as they had during the day, though he didn't dare leave the forest. The muzhik had said the wraith only appeared at noon, but better be safe than sorry. He would walk all night if he had to. He stumbled over roots and got his feet tangled in the undergrowth, but he righted himself and walked on. He would show her—he would show them all—that he could survive.

Then he heard the girl scream.

Chapter 4

Taglist: @ali-r3n

[blazingstarrewrite]

Sand

Sand! Pretty girl

Name Changes: Sand

Pronouns: she/her/hers

(Former) Mentor(s): White Storm

(Former) Apprentice(s): -

(Ex-) Mate(s): -

Family Members: Rose Petal (Paternal grandmother on Red Tail’s side), Fog Snap (Paternal grandmother on Running Wind’s side), Sparrow Pelt (Paternal grandfather on Running Wind’s side), Spotted Leaf (Paternal aunt on Red Tail’s side), Mouse Fur (Paternal aunt on Running Wind’s side), Willow Branch (Paternal aunt on Red Tail’s side), Running Wind (Father), Red Tail (Father), Gray (Cousin), Dark Stripe (Cousin). Members shown in italics are deceased as of the start of into the wild.

Sand! I altered her characterization in my au quite a bit. I wanted to keep her a bratty teenager, but I wanted to lay the basis for FireSand quite early. One reason for her being so bratty is because she is part of a respected Thunder Colony lineage.

Other relatives: Fallow Song (Paternal great-great-grandmother on great-grandmother’s side on Red Tail’s side), Heron Wing (Paternal great-great-uncle on great-grandmother’s side on Red Tail’s side), Rabbit Leap (Paternal great-great-uncle on great-grandmother’s side on Red Tail’s side), Poppy Dawn (Paternal great-grandmother on Red Tail’s side), Squirrel Whisker (Paternal great-great-grandmother on great-grandfather’s side on Red Tail’s side), Eagle Storm (Paternal great-great-grandfather on great-grandfather’s side on Red Tail’s side), Wind Flight (Paternal great-grandfather on Red Tail’s side), Leaping Stag (Paternal great-grandfather on Running Wind’s side), Hare Pounce (Paternal great-grandmother on Running Wind’s side), Thistle Claw (Paternal great-uncle on Red Tail’s side), Sweet (Paternal great-aunt on Red Tail’s side), Dapple Tail (Paternal great-aunt on Red Tail’s side), Thrush Pelt (Paternal great-uncle on Red Tail’s side), Tawny Spots (Paternal great-uncle on Red Tail’s side), Feather Fall (First cousin once removed on Red Tail’s side), Cricket Song (First cousin once removed on Red Tail’s side), White Storm (First cousin once removed on Red Tail’s side),

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

thistle, part two

a/n: that gif in the moodboard was too perfect for me not to use it. I mean just look at it, holy fuck...

summary:  “what do we do?”

warnings: James Potter x reader, royal au, prince!James, servant!reader (lady's maid), forbidden romance, secret relationship, historical au (beginning of the 1920s), references to WW1, surely extremely historically inaccurate but this is just for fun, lovesick!James, crying, grief, kissing

word count: 1633

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“Son, you need to take your new responsibilities seriously.”

Not even caring if his father saw, James rolled his eyes and sighed, “I don’t wanna go to another fucking ball. All the stupid meetings and new lessons are more than enough for me to have to deal with.”

Lowing his voice, the king leaned in and hissed, “you will go to that ball whether you want to or not. That is not your father asking you to, that is an order from your king. You will find yourself a queen come the end of this year, and that’s final.”

“Pa,” James exhaled and uttered of the utmost truth, “I can go to a thousand balls and still not find my queen. I won’t find her there.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, his father spoke, “please don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself attached to that little maid…” using the same tone he would scolding a child that had disappointed him.

Taken aback by his apparent knowledge, “what?”

“Listen,” he placed a heavy hand on James’ heaving shoulder, “I don’t care. It’s fine, you can have her if you want. Having a bit of fun with the help is nothing new. You will be the king of this country, so you can damn well warm your prick wherever you’d like,” the careless words hit James like a bullet to the heart, “you just can’t marry her.”

The next thing James knew, his tight fist collided with his father’s cheekbone in a deafening blow. His rage-filled body not ready to stop at just one, wishing for nothing less than to pummel his face in, the lurking guards were instantly alarmed and held the prince back, preventing him from striking the monarch any further.

Showing no surprise at all, his father simply raised a hand for the guards to release him and huffed through his clenched jaw, “are you quite finished?” earning nothing but a furious twitch from his son, the king then frustratingly went on, “alright, look, these feelings they will pass, just wait it out, or better yet, how long has it been since you’ve had a taste of a proper lady? That’ll sure help you forget about that little whore of yours.”

With a guard still ready on either side of him, James, utterly stunned, merely spat in his father’s face, and fumed, “fuck you.”

James didn’t just walk when you spotted each other from either side of the hallway, but he actually ran towards you, as fast as his feet would let him. Yourself being too aware of the fact that there were other people present, resisted the overpowering urge to let yourself run into your lover's arms as well. 

“Hi,” you exhaled as he closed in on you, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs as he wrapped his arms around you, capturing you in a long yearned-for hug. 

“You’re here,” his shaky voice tickled your hair, “you’re actually here.”

Catching the odd glances offered by the passing help, you whispered, “James, people can see us.” 

“I don’t fucking care,” he hissed, his arms only tightening further around your form. 

Sliding your hand down to one of his, you suggested softly, “come on, let’s go back to your room,” and with an exhausted expression, James agreed and let you guide him along, though still not yielding his hold completely, his hand completely glued to yours.

Now being both in more private quarters, but also in a room with better light than what the dim palace halls offered, you caught sight of the state James’ knuckles were in. “What happened?” you held his bruised hand up and inspected the cracked skin, “are you alright?”

“It’s nothing, love,” he brushed you off, swiftly lowering his injured fist and pulling you with him as he collapsed on the bed.  

“James,” you sighed, wearily sitting beside him, “that is not nothing.”

Exhaling slowly, James stared up into the canopy and uttered, “they know about us.”

Feeling all of the colour rush out of your cheeks, you breathed, “oh…”

“And they basically told me that if I married a proper lady that I could keep on being with you in secret,” the bridge of his nose twitched at the relaying of those words, “keep fucking whomever I please.”

“Oh…” you echoed, letting your head drop down low. If that was truly what it took for you to be with him, if it was the only possible way for you to have each other, then so be it. You’d rather be with him in secret than not at all. 

Glancing up at you, detecting the acceptance clear in your voice, he sat back up and spoke, “I don’t want you to be a secret,” he held your hand tighter, his tone now revealing just how distressed he truly was, “don’t you get it? I love you. I love you and only you,” he spoke as it was the clearest of facts, “I don’t want you to just be some secret, I want you to be my queen!” a single tear rolled down his cheek, “if I’m forced to do this, then I want you at my side. I don’t want this, I’ve never wanted any of this! I want you! That’s all I’ve ever desired. You. Nothing else, just you.”

A couple of tears escaped as you blinked back at the broken man in front of you, “James…”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shared hazily, “this isn’t how things were supposed to be… I was never meant to be king. Thomas was, and he was good at it too, it’s what he was raised to do. I was raised as a plan b. I liked being a plan b. Everything used to be perfect. No one would have cared whom I loved. I’ve always known that I wasn’t as important, and I liked that. It meant that I actually got to live. He didn’t get to, so I did. They sent me to fucking war without a care in the world, and sure, Thomas was a soldier as well, but only in title. He was too fucking precious and important to actually send into battle. I was dispensable, he wasn’t. He was just trying to live for once in his goddamn life and it killed him.”

As the last word escaped his lips, James melted down into you and there you stayed, a minute, two, who knows how long you just stayed right there, holding him in your arms.

“Tell me what to do…” you whispered against his temple, feeling utterly powerless, “I don’t know what to do…”

“Just hold me,” his exhaustion rang clear in his voice, “make the world disappear just for a little bit…”

“I love you,” you whimpered, planting a few gentle pecks into his hair, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

“Nonsense,” Delilah scoffed, banging her cane lightly against the hardwood floor and stared intensely down at the young couple in front of her, “I will not stand here and have you live your life in secret.”

“But granny,” James sighed beside you, “it’s the only way.”

“No, it isn’t,” she shook her head, her dazzling earrings glistening in the low light. Exhaling slowly, her stern stare locked in on a spot on the rug beneath her feet as she hesitantly shared, “James, your grandfather wasn’t the only man I ever loved. Back when I met him, there was already someone else, someone whom I loved in a way that I never experienced again. He had no title, no money, but I loved him nonetheless. When your grandfather showed his interest in me, the other man got scared, didn’t feel like he was worthy of the love from a great lady. So, because he felt like he couldn’t compete, he made the decision for me and just removed himself from the equation. King Henry was a great man, we made a good team, but he just wasn’t my man. I’ve never stopped regretting that I didn’t fight harder for him,” finally lifting her severe gaze, she pleaded softly, “don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Glancing over at you with glossy eyes, James clutched your hand tightly, a tear rolling down his cheek as you squeezed it in return, “what do we do?”

Having the answer ready on the tip of her tongue, Delilah breathed, “we’ll spread word that you want one last night together alone. Go out into the old barn, leave a few identifiable items, your locket, Y/n, and your watch, darling, and then you are going to burn it down. Make sure to pack as little as you possibly need and go as far away as you can. Hop on a train to France and just keep going after that. Don’t look back. From this day on you will no longer be a prince and a maid, you will be just another newlywed couple moving somewhere else for a fresh start.”

“I don’t think any church in the country would marry us,” you spoke the bitter truth. 

“Darling,” she raised her chin slightly and stated, “I am the former queen of this nation. If I say that you are married, then you are married,” she then promptly took the emerald-encrusted ring off of her slender finger, grabbed your palm and placed it in it, “here,” your wide eyes flickered from the striking band to the glistening eyes of the elderly royal, “your mother would have wanted you to live a bright and vibrant life filled with every colour imaginable,” she spoke as she affectionately wrapped her hand around yours, making your fingers close in around the ring, “don't sulk around in her shadow forever. Go, be happy as far away from here as you can get.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[wr-n]

Here's my second character, Lilac!

Lilac was 16 when LT was implemented, so he never ended up getting it. He's younger than Thistle, his papyrus, and has a dead sister named Helvetica he currently doesn't know about... She's also kinda malicious because Lilac accidentally caused her death- (he has no knowledge of this) he moved away from his au while pregnant to escape his possessed boyfriend and ended up losing his au! :D

Lilac is kind and affectionate, being very physical with those he cares about. Hugs, cuddles, even just little head or shoulder bonks. But he's also very sensitive, about his past especially. He sometimes feels like an outsider to his own variant

Hoo boy, sounds like teenage pregnancy and lots of trauma in this one.

Lilac could possibly have an issue with loneliness like Lavender does, but unlike Lavender, Lilac might be susceptible to having the past repeat again. They're gentle and sensitive and used up a lot of their mental strength on surviving through the day with what they were given.

I wouldn't rule out the possibility of them finding someone that gives them comfort only to use them again, intentionally or not. They're young enough not to know how to properly say no, but old enough to understand when things are starting to fall apart.

Maybe Lilac has issues with attachment that they bury deep inside. Or have a sore spot about children, families, gaslighting, etc.