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#it’s not that i envy her lmao when she talks about it she’s clearly just so passionate and her work sounds so gratifying and interesting

lillysilvermoon · 1 year

Text

Which Feminine Energy do you have?

Pile 1

You are in the light feminine spectrum, you have a very gentile, loving and nurturing energy, but it's actually well balanced!! You see, we have both feminine and masculine energy, and both of yours are in the light feminine. This means even when you have to be more rational or do some job or be put in a situation where you need to be in you Yang side, your femininity still shines. You are very connected with your emotions, intuition and spiritual side. You can be someone very sensitive depending what happens maybe you can have the need to walk away and never comeback mood, when you are putted in a place with too much hostility you probably have a hard time standing up for your self, since you are well balanced you would try to find a common ground to get through the work without engaging in any kind of competition. In the other hand, when you get attached or harassed by others you can - and will - indeed defend your beliefs, because your feminine and masculine are balanced you would be defensive, assertive and determined not to just defend what you believe and care for but to pursue your dreams and goals. I just heard "fiercely kind". You have this ability, some can even envy it, to defend what you believe with a lot of classy and calmness. Some of you probably like arts, like painting, drawing, playing instruments (and you don't have to be perfect or super good, you just enjoy it, like some hobby of y'all). You have a innocent look and charming vibes, and a very diplomatic personality. Most of you probably are The Mediator of the group and have a very child like personality

Y'all also attract a lot of sexual attention especially from men but most of you are shy and need someone who makes you feel safe to let your spontaneous side appear.

Since you are well balanced you probably have a dreamy looks - and can be a day dreamer sometimes - you are very warm and grounding, you are not afraid of be vulnerable and this authenticity together with your vulnerability makes other lower their guards. You do no game, you a very emotional available person.

Signs: full moon, water signs (scorpio, pisces and cancer), virgo, air and fire placements are important, 5, 555, 222, 5555

Pile 2

It's 222 right now lmao maybe it's a important angel number for someone here BUT let's get into your reading, shall we?

Well, your feminine energy is very free, one of your cards was 2 of Wands and the world, definitely a free spirit. You like to travel over the sea, see new places and meet new people, very extroverted energy. You know I just thought about the Gamine archetype, and there is this phrase of Princess Diana "I don't go by the rule book... I leas from the heart not head", isn't that you don't respect legal rules or anything, but you have a certainly disregard for protocol and social rules or what people call "socially acceptable", you do what you want just following your heart, just heard the phrase from Pocahontas "she goes wherever the wind takes her". Your feminine energy is very free, you do what you think is correctly regards if others approve or not. You probably will manage to have some youthful charm even with adulthood. You captivate others by your sense of humor. You have an unselfconscious sensual side and lightness that enthralls. You are receptive, compassionate and simply free.

Signs: fire signs (Leo, aries and sagittarius), cancer, financial problems, travel, 2222, 333, 444, 222, travels, ocean.

Pile 3

I don't even finished shuffling the cards and just heard "boss b*itch" and "don't take sh*it from anyone" guess we have our boss girl pile🤣. Okay I finished shuffling the cards and also heard "charming personality" and "luxurious" soooooo let's get started I'm excited. First you clearly have very strong personality, you stand up for yourself and speak your truth, you definitely don't like injustice and you fight for what's right, you definitely are in the Boss archetype (but I will talk about this later). You like to experience life, trade over seas, and probably would get involved in long distance relationships or holidays romances. Mix of beauty and brains, but with a touch of hearts, because you have a very emotional and romantic side, but is not everyone here ( actually for this Pile I think it's a VERY small group). You have a very confident aura, you like to move and planning forward to see your hard work paying off.

When a successful man meets you is like perfect match. Y'all are SO GIRL BOSS I CAN'T- really, most of you strive for success and power, your work and knowledge are very important to you, very goal oriented and honestly? You don't really need anyone, very independent, so when a man senses this, that you don't fundamentally needs him, you will ignite his instincts to chase and conquer (I'm SMILING here y'all are so damn good at this, please share your tips with us 🤣🤣). But you know what is funny? You probably thrive well in Male environments, most likely enjoy conversations about business or political stuff, but you have a very emotional side, you deal with your emotions in a very private away and don't like to share with others. But with the people you trust, you can be very sweet and sensitive. Besides, you a very romantic side. I just saw a imagine in my minds eye of a woman laying on her (very fancy) sofa in a living room (y'all know this kind of minimalist rich decoration? It's like this) reading a romance.

You also have a very luxurious personality, you like fancy stuff and care a lot about your appearance.

Signs: libra, Taurus, 1, pearl necklace, tiffany's, 1111, 66, 33, 5.

Pile 4

Like pile 1 you a very light feminine side, but while pile 1 is well balanced you let your heart rule over your heart (this means you have very feminine energy but are imbalanced) but let's see. You probably have been given too much without receive nothing in return. Maybe you feel overly sensitive, needy and emotionally exhausted. BUT, you are more than capable of overcome this, you see, since you are very connected with your heart and have a very kind, compassionate nature, it's easier for you to fall of track, but you have a courageous heart, you are not afraid of moving on of people or situations and do the work to progress, you also may like to travel and have a tendency to holiday romance like our friend 3. You have a tendency to go inwards and do self reflection (which helps you back to balance with your femininity). You have a very nurturing, maternal and kind nature, some kind of unaffected charm you know? It's the simple things, the sparkle in your eyes, the away you move your hands or your voice that makes others fall for you.

Signs: new moon, Taurus and libra placements are important, 555, 33333, 444.

Here it is♡ I hope y'all liked, I had SO MUCH fun doing this reading and hope you enjoy it. See you soon, lots of love.

- Lia

#pac tarot #tarotreader #tarot readers of tumblr #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarottribe #free tarot #free readings #pick a pile #pick a card #feminine energy #archetypes

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sapphire-weapon · 8 months

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Ok after I played SW, seeing EagleOne from Ada's pov makes it even more obvious fr, clearly she recognizes the bond they formed unlike many of people in the fandom

And the way she encountered Ashley at the end is so interesting, this scene wasn't in the OG and it's there for a reason in this remake timeline. The framing, like you said, is very romantic like something out of an old fairytale. Ada seems to accept their relationship, even if she might not like it.

Do you think she compared her relationship with Wesker and their mutual distrust to Ashley and Leon's which is the exact opposite?Maybe she reflected on that when she saw them on the jetski?

Do you think she will get a redemption arc?

Ada doesn't need a redemption arc because she's not evil. the only reason why we used to talk about a possible Ada redemption arc on here is because we were thinking about her in the context of OG, where her motivations are unclear and it seems like she defaults to working with the shittiest, scummiest, most comically evil men in the series.

but Remake Ada is Chaotic Neutral. there's nothing to redeem there. TV Tropes probably has the best description:

I would say that that is Remake Ada.

and no, I don't think that her reaction to Ashley had anything to do with her own relationship with Wesker. there was probably a lot going through her head at that moment, but I feel like both Leon and Ada project onto Ashley somewhat at different points of RE4make; they both look at her as what they could have been/become if things had been different.

Ashley has the positive change arc that was denied to Leon in RE2make, and he looks at her positive change and the strength and courage that she's found as what he could've been if only things had gone differently for him in/after Raccoon City.

and when Ada encounters her during the Saddler fight, the romantic imagery and Ashley's foremost thought being Leon's safety, I think, causes Ada to reflect on how much this was not how she, herself, was back in RE2make, and how much different her life could've turned out if it had been. if only Ada had loved and trusted Leon in RE2make the way that Ashley does in RE4make, none of this would be happening -- and, together, they probably would've had Wesker on the back foot, and his complete. global. saturation. would've been nothing more than a fever dream.

but Ada prioritized herself and her own interests and her own needs because Wesker's dick was just too bomb, apparently, and now look at what a fucking mess it's caused.

but Ada also knows that thinking that way isn't realistic. things didn't turn out the way they did for no reason. she's never been the type of person to have prioritized Leon over her own self-interest, and she never will be. at most, she would've concocted a way to let Leon escape the city with the G-sample, but there was never any version of reality in which they'd escape together -- and she certainly wasn't going to let him arrest/apprehend her like he said he was going to, either.

so instead of dwelling on that and feeling bad about it, Ada just says "On it." as a response to Ashley's order plea to help Leon, because this time around, she can have her cake and eat it, too. she can help support Leon while also looking out for herself.

I do think there's a slight element of envy/jealousy that she has towards Ashley, which is where the invitation to Leon at the end comes from. Ada doesn't have any personal resentment towards her, but at the same time, she's envious that Ashley gets to hold onto this fairytale and watch the bad guys get defeated and run off into the sunrise with her Prince Charming. Ada knows better; she knows the world doesn't really work that way, so inviting Leon to come with her at the end is her own petty way of trying to take that from Ashley/teach her that lesson, while also getting the benefit of riding Leon's dick for a night LMAO

but like. again. she's realistic. she knew she was going to get turned down.

#resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #ashley graham #ada wong #meta analysis

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katzkinder · 2 years

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was talking with friends about what's necessary for an Eve to be successful at their position and what an individual Servamp might need from their particular Eve, and of course this came back to talking about Wrath arc since that's the most polarizing for some reason when it comes to who should have been Freya's Eve, but also Tetsu and Mikuni got involved, which is... Gonna be fun to ramble about LOL

Alright so ripping the bandaid off real fast, Tsurugi... Would make a bad Eve. I love him but it is so so true, he would be a TERRIBLE Eve, because until Mahiru entered his soul and helped him confront his loneliness, he lacked the most important thing for being an Eve: the ability to make his own decisions.

If an Eve is a Servamp's reason, the one who pulls them back from the brink, what do you think will happen if someone becomes an Eve who can't do that task? Someone like Tsurugi, who has only ever blindly obeyed the orders given to him without question? What do you think would happen if he made a Contract with the Servamp of Wrath, who is shown having Eves in positions of power before, who dislikes senseless death and murder, if she were tied to a man who only knows how to look to his superiors for who he's supposed to kill next?

If he had become her Eve, he never would have been able to grow beyond the him who looked at Mahiru and blithely talked about the reality that the outcome of the war would decide whether he was a hero or a mass murderer. He literally could not even think for himself enough to question whether he was right or not.

That is. Really fucking bad lmao.

Especially since even if Tsurugi survived the trial of wrath (he wouldn't, because he's a footsoldier who only knows how to do as told and Freya needs someone who can equal her, not be consumed by her), when it came to rescuing Shuuhei from Shamrock? He would not have pulled his blade like Iduna made Freya do (and even Freya herself is shocked by the decision Iduna made. She's clearly not used to having her Eves, while in battle, show mercy or make decisions that don't end in bloodshed). He would have killed Shamrock, saved Shuuhei, and doomed everyone because he just offed one of Tsubaki's inner circle and sent him on a made quest for revenge, AGAIN, thoroughly ruining both the plot and Servamp's narrative cohesion.

Anyway all of that *gestures above* is also why I think Tetsu ended up NOT being an Eve this whole time. He, like Tsurugi was, is completely dependent on others to tell him what to do. He doesn't think when things don't add up, he simply accepts whatever he's told at face value, and that... It ended badly for him, suffice to say. He was used by Hugh and, like a dog that's been kicked, had no idea what to do when hurt by his master via betrayal.

Which brings me to Mikuni. He is the OPPOSITE of Tetsu. He is someone who commands his Servamp without ever taking Jeje's thoughts into account. And while he's a decent Eve of Envy, WHOO MAMA Y'ALL he would be so so bad as the Eve of Lust.

He and Lily are just too similar and if they didn't live together since Mikuni was a fetus, they would not get along at all lololol. Even now, because they're so similar, there's no like... cross talk? Between them?? There's no one who steps back and says "hey what the hell that's fucked up" when one or the other wants to do something Stupid.

And basically what I'm getting at here is that being an Eve for one Servamp is not necessarily a qualification where you are just Super Suited For Being An Eve.

Because the Servamps and Eves are individuals, so their own differences lead to combinations which are either lightning in a bottle (Kuro and Mahiru) or destined for tragedy (Mikuni and Lily)

We should all be very grateful that Mikuni never inherited Lily like he was supposed to :) Those mean bitches would have caused so much chaos together and I love that for them, but I don't want the world to end ya feel

#servamp #kat's katerwauling #tsurugi kamiya #tetsu sendagaya #mikuni alicein #this got really long i apologize im writing this in a fugue state

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vigilskeep · 1 year

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now youve gotten to skyhold, what do you and helena think of the companions?

sticking more to helena’s opinions bc i typically do not have strong opinions either way on characters just like a level of interest

cassandra: initially intimidated, since templars generally fear the seekers. even now when they know each other better and she’s also technically cassandra’s superior, hel still leans a little more respectful and complimentary than normal in dialogue. brings her along specifically for important/dangerous stuff and never just like errands

solas: complicated one! a little tense; solas is an apostate clearly not saying everything, and they’ve disagreed on matters such as spirits before. but solas also seems to largely think well of helena’s decisions, and helena respects experience and knowledge. she wants to know his opinion whether or not she agrees

varric: does not trust as far as she can throw him lmao

blackwall: hasn’t thought much about him to be honest, but his first conversation at skyhold was interesting: his dedication to their cause impressed her, and his suggestion that she should act as andraste’s herald bc people needed it unsettled her

sera: the most overwhelming feeling sera inspires in helena is curiosity. she doesn’t always get what sera is talking about—partly because they have very different styles of speech, partly because they come from very different worlds—but she wants to. she finds sera’s straightforward perspective on everything grounding, and comforting in its way when she is questioning so much

vivienne: highly respects her and values her judgement. hel’s noble past may not have given her much patience for the likes of the orlesian game but it taught her respect for anyone who can play it well, and on top of that have the will required to be a mage of vivienne’s calibre and self-control

iron bull: wary, not sure what to make of him. she has a typically andrastian perspective on the qunari and a free marcher’s long history of conflict with them in her mind. nevertheless his skills as a warrior are something she understands and his mercenary company does him great credit

cole: ordinarily helena would be slow to trust a spirit but the envy demon’s fade trap really shook her and he was help she sorely needed. she owes him her life and honour, and she takes that seriously

dorian: newcomer. tevinter mage newcomer, to be precise. she’s cautious but won’t turn him away after what he did coming to haven. very much on probation though

#helena trevelyan

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noa-nightingale · 2 years

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Thirsty Baddie Ranks Top 5 Sexiest Disney Characters

I am having one of the worst weeks of my life right now and this whole post is me trying to distract myself by rewatching this glorious glorious episode of Top 5 Beatdown. It’s an absolute delight of an episode and it made me feel better for the time I rewatched it.

So, naturally, I want to write about it.

I like that the episode starts like this...

... because wasn’t he the one who suggested the topic?

Anyway, we are off to a fantastic start. And Joyce is back! Always love to see her, her energy, her sense of humor and her stunning outfit. Made me feel better immediately.

I still don’t know how I feel about Shane purring because it is equally cute, funny and disturbing - which probably means that he should do it more often. (Also because it is extremely entertaining to see Ryan’s reaction lol.)

“This is Top 5 Beatdown! I respect you when the cameras are off.” I love her.

It’s still hilarious that Ryan said he watched A Goofy Movie on “performance enhancers” (weed) and Shane’s first thought was cocaine while Joyce’s first thought was viagra lmao.

Ryan’s number 5 (Powerline) is extremely valid btw (even though I would not put him on my own list). When I first watched the episode, I listened to Eye to Eye on repeat for several days afterwards.

🎶 If we listen to each other’s hearts we’ll find we’re never to far apart And mayyybe love is the reason why for the first time ever we’re seeing it eye to eye 🎶

And Mouse Madej returns! I am just going to use this opportunity to share my Miss Bianca/Mouse Madej art here again. ^-^ (Steven banned fanart for this episode which naturally led to people drawing more fanart for this one than for any other T5B episode. I kept it wholesome though.)

The innuendos in this episode lol

Ryan: “And she (Nani) loves her sister’s little blue guy.”

Shane: “Oh, we had a blue guy. Had.”

*a transparent Professor undulates across the screen*

This made me realize once again how much they bring up the nasty little blue guy in shows that are not Puppet History. Months later and they are still rubbing it in. (R.I.P to a real one.)

BUT ALSO

RYAN

HOW can you mention Vixey but not Maid Marian! If we are talking about sexy vixens, she is CLEARLY superior!

And while I am calling out people here - I agree that Ursula should be at least on one list but no one mentioned that she is inspired by Divine who was a drag queen. I just think Ursula should have gotten bonus points for that (and maybe be moved a little higher on the list SHANE).

That being said, it’s one of the most valid picks in this entire episode. ^-^

I have never watched Big Hero 6 and had to look up what the aunt looks like, and I loved Ryan’s reaction. “Oh I see. ... Oh I see. 👀“

Aaand here we have Mr Bergara’s first mention of lovely green eyes. I agree that green eyes are lovely but personally, I think that dark brown is clearly the best eye color, not that I am biased. Also, I would not call Nala’s eyes green, they look more blue-ish to me. :p

Ryan: “(...) a littel topsy-turvy.”

Shane: “Or bottomsy-turvy.”

I wonder how many people thought this too and then rejoiced when he said it, because I certainly did. :D

The whole part with Queenie the Cow is a mess lmao. I sometimes wonder what went on in Shane’s brain when he added (oedipal). Like, what was the thought process here.

“I don’t have mommy issues. I love that she gives milk.”

This is such a golden quote. And I love that Ryan immediately calls him out for it.

Not gonna lie though, all the things Shane said about Queenie’s kindness and sweetness are very endearing, almost too endearing for a video like this. ^-^

And Mouse Madej strikes again. I know what Shane means with “aspirational hot” though (and a top hat and cape sounds dope) although for me it would be more in the realm of gender envy. (Btw I think that Shane’s list is very interesting in general.)

Mulan is a great choice too (although she is not on my list either). Joyce: “It’s a little bit androgynous.” I agree that it makes a character so much more appealing. ^-^ Like, things that play with gender like that? Hell yeah.

Never thought I would hear the words “post-nut clarity” while someone was talking about The Lion King. I will think about this on my deathbed, thank you Ryan.

Loved Joyce’s wholesome ending to a non-wholesome video.

“To be a ho, you gotta be wholesome.” Embroider that one on a pillow lmao.

And here is my list:

1) Long John Silver (Treasure Planet) 2) Merlin (The Sword in the Stone) 3) Ursula (The Little Mermaid) 4) Maid Marian (Robin Hood) 5) Nala/Sarabi (The Lion King)

I am appalled that nobody even considered this guy.

(And honestly, I both think he is sexy AND I get gender envy from him. Absolute dreamboat.)

Well, that’s it! I loved rewatching the episode, it made things a little better and I could forget the other stuff in my life for a while. Thanks, Watcher and Joyce! 💜

(I also feel the need to mention at this point that I am asexual as hell lol. Just as a way to finish this text. ^-^)

Thanks for reading!

#watcher #top 5 beatdown #ryan bergara #shane madej #joyce luis-jean #many people said kind things to me btw #i appreciate the hell out of that #and i promise you that i will answer #i just don't know when i'll be able to do that #thank you so much <333

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biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

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Heyy!!

I dont think there's such think as semen donors in aot cannon?

BUT WHAT IF Captain Levi agrees to be the donor to squad leader (or just cadet) reader in a platonic relationship/eventual romance?

Just cute ackerbabies!

Lmao you’re probably right, no semen donors in canonverse. But I honestly love this idea so much, I feel like it would be hard for Levi to make that romantic connection so I could see him making that choice, and maybe it developing into something more!

Summary: Levi can’t wait any longer to start a family, and you are willing to take that step with him.

Word Count: 1.7K

You choked on the small sip of tea that you had taken. Catching the small drops of liquid that had escaped your lips.

“Come again now?” You managed to form words after a moment, Levi seemed uninterested as always, those charcoal grey eyes dull and apathetic.

“You heard me just fine, you know that I hate repeating myself.” He scoffed as he shifted so that his leg was crossed over his opposite knee,

“Yes I heard you but....marriage?” You were shocked to say the least. Levi had never shown any prior interest in any long term relationship with anyone, although the two of you had hooked up a handful of times.

“I don’t see why not. We already share a room, not to mention that we-”

“Okay I get it, just...it’s a big commitment and I’m not sure that I’m-”

“Oh please, what else do we have to look forward to anymore? No more fighting, no more political issues to deal with might as well settle down and...” He trailed off, his gaze cast downwards into his cup of tea, which was probably cold by now. You sighed deeply, placing your cup down gently and leaning back into the sofa that the two of you were seated on. His arm was slung casually across the back of the sofa, his finger tips ghosting over your shoulder.

“I know but Levi...marriage?” you were a bit disappointed. He had said it so casually, as if he was asking you if you wanted to run to the market to grab apples.

“If you don’t want to then just say no.” He snapped, clearly getting frustrated, he rose to his feet and began to march towards his desk. You chased after him, catching his wrist. You knew it was difficult for him to express himself, to put things lightly or being considerate to your feelings.

“It’s not that...I’m just a little caught off guard.” You admitted as you held his wrist gently. He let out a breath that he had seemed to have been holding in, he turned and laced his fingers through yours, his other hand diving into his pant pocket. You waited patiently for him to say something, but he only pulled out a small black box. Your heart skipped a beat, this was more how you had pictured being proposed to. He fell onto his knee and opened the box slowly, revealing a modest silver ring with a small diamond embedded in the ring.

“Oh Levi...” Your fingers were still laced with his as he knelt down, you squeezed his hand affectionately.

“I already bought the damn ring, just say yes.” He grunted, averting his gaze as his thumb glided over your knuckle.

“You have a point there.” You chuckled as you gave him a small nod, which was enough of a yes for him.

You were married by the end of the month, a simple court house wedding with Armin and Mikasa as your witnesses. Afterwards you had gone home and eaten dinner as usual. Just another week, except now the sex that you and Levi occasionally had, became a hell of a lot more regular. You had no complaints, or at least that was until you were hunched over the kitchen sink puking your guts out. You had missed your period as well, and it didn’t take a genius to know what that meant. You decided to wait until you were certain to tell anyone this however, seeing how difficult pregnancy could be, and the unlikeliness of carrying to full term seemed high.

So you made sure to go to the doctor twice before telling Levi that you were pregnant. He’d had a very similar reaction that you’d had when he had asked to marry you.

He choked on his tea, his hand flying to his chin to catch the liquid.

“Pregnant?” He repeated, and you nodded, leaning against the table where he was sitting.

“H-How long until...”

“Give or take seven months.” You shrugged, trying to put on a brave face, after seeing how frazzled he was you wanted to make this as casual as the rest of your relationship.

“So...we should probably start cleaning out that spare room and-” You cut him off by kneeling down and placing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“We’ve got plenty of time for that, for now let’s just...enjoy not being responsible for a helpless shitty baby.” You said softly as you slowly sank onto his lap. He hummed his approval, but still seemed rightfully on edge.

“We can start cleaning the room in few weeks, there’s no rush.” You assured him as you scattered kisses across his sour face.

“I’ll start tomorrow.” Levi hummed as he tilted his head to the side.

Turned out that you were both in way over your head. Around 12 weeks into your pregnancy Hange was pressing her stethoscope to your rapidly swelling belly when she froze. Levi tensed when he noticed this, and you frowned.

“What is it?” Levi asked as he gripped the back of the exam table.

“Nothing’s wrong...just-”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Levi scowled as he watched Hange continue to feel around your stomach.

“That’s cause it isn’t nothing, I’m hearing two heart beats.” Hange told you as she stood to her full height.

“Two heart beats?” You felt feint at the news, you had known that twins ran in your family but you had never expected to have them yourself.

“Yes, it appears that you are having twins” Hange said with a wide smile as she folded up the stethoscope. Your vision blurred, the worry that you had been experiencing prior to the appointment had doubled along with the number of children you were having.

“No shit.” Levi replied breathily as he held your shoulder firmly.

“If I were you guys I’d go clean out that room now.” Hange advised as she cleaned up the space that you had been using as a makeshift exam room in her office.

“I’ll get right on that.” Levi said, shooting you a concerned look as he helped you up onto your feet.

The twins were born premature, the labor itself wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. But you realized that it wasn’t that bad because of how small they were. The only reason that they both survived was thanks to the Marleyan medical equipment that had been shipped over courtesy of Zeke and Yelena. You and Levi spent countless hours in the hospital as you awaited for the twins to be discharged. In that window of time you decided on names, it was difficult but you decided on Harrison and Harper. You weren’t surprised to find that they both took after their father, dark bluish grey eyes with a full head of black hair. The one thing they seemed to have gotten from you was your facial structure and your complexion.

It was a massive relief to bring them home, now instead of staying up until the wee hours in the hospital you could do it in the comfort of your own home.

One particular evening you were walking laps with Harrison, gently patting his back as you bounced off of your heels as he cried. On your third lap around the entire cottage, you peeked into the nursery to see Levi reclined on the rocker with Harper fast asleep. His eyes were closed, his naked chest rising and falling evenly as he slept. You envied him as you rubbed circles on Harrison’s back once more. His cries slowly died out and you managed to drag yourself to your bed and place Harrison down gently. Using the extra pillows, you managed to make a small barrier between him and yourself as well as the edge of the bed. It wasn’t often that you got to do this, seeing as you usually slept with Levi. But Harrison seemed content with laying in his dad’s spot for the night. His big blue eyes were watching your hair sway over his face as you adjusted the pillows. He cooed and babbled for a few minutes before falling silent, his tiny breaths putting you at ease.

It couldn’t have been but an hour later when the sound of Harper crying woke you once more. Levi was pacing around the same way that you had been earlier before he finally managed to put her at ease. He returned to your room to see you sitting up, Harrison fast asleep at your side.

“Care to join us?” You asked, voice gruff with sleep, or rather the lack there of.

“Would I ever.” Levi groaned as he placed Harper in the pillow barrier with Harrison who was still fast asleep. He managed to squeeze onto the bed, laying on his side like you were as the two of you watched Harper sooth herself into sleep. His gaze left the small baby in favor of studying your features.

“What would you have done if I had never asked you to marry me?” The question caught you off guard, your fingers were tracing the soft features of your babies. You hummed in thought but the answer was already on the tip of your tongue.

“I’d have asked you to marry me.” You said with a wry smile and Levi rolled his eyes at your cheesy reply.

“That’s not what I meant...well not really.” Levi grumbled, you paused again in thought. What would you have done? Certainly no more military work, that chapter was over for you.

“Maybe I’d open a bakery. My grandmother left me all of her recipes. What would you do?” You asked, finger running along the soft dark locks of hair that were growing from Harrison’s head.

“I’d open a tea shop.” Levi answered quickly, his own gaze back on the babies, his hand resting on Harper’s stomach, rising and falling with her breathing.

“Why don’t we just say fuck it and do it?” You asked, not sure if you were serious or if it was the lack of sleep talking.

“There was that space for lease last time we went into town...” Levi offered thoughtfully.

“Yeah, we could fix it up and open a cafe.” You said excitedly as you leaned over the sleeping babies in hopes of coaxing a kiss from Levi. He nodded in agreement before leaning over and planting a kiss to your lips.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning. Go to sleep.” Levi sighed as he stretched out on his side, and closing his eyes. You smiled and mirrored him, your hand resting on Harrison’s stomach now as well, your fingertips brushing his.

You knew that you’d made the right choice. Marrying Levi was the best decision that you’d made in a long time. It may not look like the typical love story, but you knew that it was real, realer than most relationships. And you wouldn’t want to have it with anyone else.

#hange zoe #levi ackerman #levi aot #aot fanfiction #levi x reader #armin arlert #eren jeager #eren mikasa armin #erwin smith #mikasa ackerman #levi fanfiction #levi is a dad #levi x y/n #levi x pregnant reader #levi x reader insert #levi/reader #levi x fem!reader

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neapolinyan · 2 years

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About the ask thing, you know i gotta go with someone from PLA lmao

If nobody's asked yet, Volo. If he has been already asked, then how about Irida? ^^

YOURE FINE nobodys snagged the volo ask yet! time to talk about my favourite spoingly little meow meow. cracks knuckles. prepare for some LONG rambles here folks

favorite thing about them:

this is very small but i love his hair with the cap on. i can wear my hair like that (and have done so in the past, low messy buns are VERY nice) and its just cool to see a character with it. plus his hair is also just a nice touch to make him resemble cynthia without being a carbon copy like a lot of the other ancestors. really throws into question who's the real ancestor of cynthia, him or cogita - the physical similarities are obvious, but the game never suggests they're related so it's fun to consider the idea that volo's a sham in every sense of the word, even down to his presumed ancestry.

least favorite thing about them:

i like rambling about his motivations but religion toes a VERY fine line with me so i am forced to keep it brief. i am so mad /j

favorite line:

"You outsider! It's almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!"

not sure WHY it's my favourite, but i guess it really just hammers home the protagonist's impact on him. i've said time and time again in my own silly little ramble spaces that volo wouldn't have gotten this far without the protagonist's interference - he grew frantic after learning both the fact they were gathering plates and, eventually, their connection to arceus, and i refuse to believe he's always been this deranged. the protag's presence in his life tipped him off the edge, and if not for them i can confidently say he would have grown old with still no answers from arceus. maybe he'd still be finding some way to live for hundreds and hundreds of years to find his answers, but the protag's being there sped things up dramatically and this line REALLY shows it. they got him closer to his goal than he could've ever dreamed of, but their experience being from the future and understanding pokemon better than HE does (and he's very advanced, mind you) means that they were always going to get in his way.

brOTP:

HIM AND AREZU. pla server people you know where i'm going with this, but they're besties. volo lets her mess with his hair (as long as she doesn't cut it too short and nothing's terribly permanent, he likes it the way it is) and he takes the opportunity to nap while she's working.

additionally, i love the idea of volo and irida having a sibling-like relationship. they battle a lot <3333 he helps her train so that the next time she battles adaman, boy does he have a surprise coming his way

(volo watches them battle from the sidelines and his sides hurt from laughing too much when irida absolutely pummels his pokemon into the dirt and nearly nicks adaman while they're at it)

OTP:

appraisalshipping and poisonhealshipping. did you really expect anything else <3

nOTP:

HAAAAATE hate hate volo/protagonist. ignoring the obvious main first reason that the protagonist is canonically FIFTEEN while volo is absolutely an adult, it's toxic as hell no matter which way you look at it. volo clearly hates, envies and wants to get rid of the protagonist and isn't afraid to use force to get his way. even after he loses, there's about five seconds of "he's given up" catharsis before you get the means to visit arceus and he blows up again. you cannot fix him, please stop trying

(self inserts are kind of a half-n-half situation. i love oc/canon, go off guys i love you, but people who change nothing except age up the main character still lean into that toxic category of a relationship)

random headcanon:

not only does he shirk his merchant duties, but he has a habit of giving discounts (or just free stuff) to people he likes, or people he thinks need the materials and it's just not worth making them fork out the big stacks for. he empathises with young kids just starting out with battered pokemon and zero healing items from being in the wilds too long.

ginter doesn't like it, but volo just doesn't think it's right to refuse aid to a kid just because they're a few hundred short.

unpopular opinion:

i've seen so many people talk about his little face he makes when you beat him in his first two battles like "he is two seconds from ripping you apart, this is his customer service smile"

but tbh! i think it gives him more character than 'two-faced asshole who lied about his entire identity upbringing and favourite hobbies' if you separate it from his whole betrayal, he's-been-using-you-for-a-good-while postgame moment. he's one of the first pokemon trainers! he likes battling. he had to level his pokemon that high somehow, on wild pokemon or whatever, and he eagerly challenges you when you don't have a ton of work on your plate. you can say he battles you to scope out your potential, but the first time he battles you you're not even an official survey corps member.

i just think he likes battling, and his little smile after being defeated is genuine. maybe he's a bit of a sore loser if you want to push it, but i don't think he's about to maul some kid he just met.

song i associate with them:

CRACKS OUT THE VOLO PLAYLIST /J

okay but. rabbit heart (raise it up) by florence and the machine, mad iqs by idkhow and ancient dreams in a modern land by marina are like a top three.

favorite picture of them:

aforementioned silly little losing smile :)

#ananinidraws #pokemon legends arceus #pla #pla spoilers #pokemon legends arceus spoilers #WOO this is so long. im so sorry i just needed to slam ALL my thoughts out there right now /J

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the-insomniac-emporium · 2 years

Text

J Watches Arcane: Ep. 4a, Random Thoughts/Play-By-Play

Oi, only took me fucking months to finally get off my arse and watch the next episode, oops. What can I say, I'm allergic (and yet addicted) to sadness? Anyway, these are just thoughts that I have as I watch, with timestamps. Nothing super in depth, but I just enjoy keeping track of what I notice (might forget otherwise), and it helps with forming bigger pictures with the scraps later on.

Under read-more for length and spoilers (obvs). Seriously, tho, I had a lot of thoughts on this one, even if you ignore the parts that can be summed up with "J, your gay is showing" or "J, your gender envy is showing". I mean, seriously. I mean, like, I had to break this into two parts for formatting reasons. It's kind of absurd. Ends at roughly 22 minutes into episode 4

(1:53) WHAT IS THAT. I WANT TWENTY. FLUFFBALL. Why have I not heard of this fella before?

(4:29) Right up until this shot, everything post-intro/opening gave me low-key Bioshock Infinite vibes. I really should finish that game...

(4:42) Well, first of all, let me just say that I'm glad Caitlyn's mom is still a milf, I guess. Second of all... I know that there's a timeskip between episodes 3 and 4, and I think I read it's somewhere around 7 years, but the contrast between hearing Cassandra talk about Jayce now compared to the last time they interacted is just. It's there. I'm thinking about it. She's a politician, tho, yeah? Feels like she's got experience with putting reputation/public image first. Guess I'm just noting that here in case it pops up again- good source for conflict, yeah?

(4:52) MY WIFE! My wife has a dumb hat!!! I love her dumb hat!!!

(5:29, "we really have descended to anarchy") I am going to melt over her smile oh my god. Also, I appreciate her and Jayce's friendship/basically being siblings (which I have heard a bit about). The way that Cait is so clearly miffed about her post/things with her mother, but still softens up to joke around with Jayce- and the fact that Jayce took the time to come over in the first place :D

(5:55) OH IS IT MY BOY? IS THIS THE FIRST GLIMPSE OF MY GROWN UP BOY? I legit don't know if Ekko's role in the firelights (is that the right name? I have been trying to avoid spoilers) is, like, a huge thing/big reveal, so I don't know if I'll be upset that I got spoiled on it ages ago

(6:22) MY OTHER WIFE. Not to, like, make 50% of this post about how gay I am but-

(6:40) oh hey cool, I got the name right. also just want to say I fucking LOVE the firelights' designs, everything from their outfits to their tools to their sick ass hoverboards

(6:58) that was the smoothest fucking thing I have ever seen oh my god. if I was there to witness that, I would be proposing on the spot. marry me, cool mask man

(7:42, "oh no, she's here") is it my other other wife? is it time for me to start crying, from here until the end, as the chances of recovery slip further and further out of her fingers? will I weep neon pink tears of grape soda gamer fuel glimmer, as the echoes in her skull overwhelm? oh, to be so small, in a world so big and so loud, to feel like one must scream onto the void until their lungs give out, if only to be seen at all- if only to prove that you exist-

(8:52, "... hi")... I mean, like I said, it's a build up, ya know? the end of the rope doesn't feel as bad if you never saw how long it was to begin with, after all

(8:53, *click*) lmao never mind, love my poor, poor feral lass

(9:24) and so it begins. Or, well, it doesn't so much begin as it starts to rear it's ugly head. One thing that I've noticed, and will probably make a separate post for at some point (so the thought doesn't get lost in this jumbled mess), is that the little flashes we see of Jinx's hallucinations here aren't new, per se. Literally in the very first scene of the whole ass show, when the enforcers are walking through the smog, their masks glinting in the firelight, we see those flashes of comic-esque facial expressions, the sort of "signature Jinx graphic". From a design standpoint it's neat, but more importantly, recalling that from the first episode is a great way of showing two things.

Firstly, Jinx has been going downhill for a long ass time. It's not that what happened at the end of 3 completely broke her, it's that life stuck its fingers in the cracks of her mental state, and starting tugging until everything split apart. Also want to say that the fight scene between Deckard + crew and Vi + crew in ep1 also highlights this, specifically with the way everything goes into slow motion, and we Powder at the center of it all, back against the wall, eyes wide and panicked, unable to do anything- because poor girl is probably remembering that shit on the bridge

Okay, tumblr is making me break this up a little, please ignore this random thing, something about a characters-per-block limit?

Secondly, that whole opening sequence sets up the entirety of Powder/Jinx's trauma. Violence, flashes of light, clutching desperately to those who offer her comfort, culminating in the first major loss: Her parents.

Point is, this shit hurts my emotions. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, and please remember that I am not a psychologist/therapist, just a writing nerd with a skeleton full of closets :) yes I know that I fucked that one up, but honestly I think it's funny enough to keep

(11:13) oh. oh, Viktor, time will never be your friend, will it? Deep breaths, love, what you do with what you have will be more than enough. Also look at the little fluffball, back again. Look at them, Viktor, they will give you serotonin

(12:00) these are forbidden candy. I will fucking eat them. Jinx would take one look at these and cronch on one too

(12:35, "the next chapter of Hextech") oh, so you make it stable and the first fucking thing you build is a weapon? please tell me I'm looking at this incorrectly, but that looks like Vi's punchy gauntlet. *three seconds later* okay cool, it has other applications. had me worried there. I mean, I know it will be used as a weapon tho, so... it's a mixed bag :)

(14:00, "a decade?" "it zips past you in the blink of an eye") Heimerdinger, my dude. I know you're small and maybe can't see Viktor's face as well, because you as so close to the ground and so far away, but look at him. Are you really telling me that Heimerdinger is not at all aware that Viktor's health is declining? Has he grown so accustomed to the endlessness of his own life, that he has no concept of the fragility of humanity? just feels a bit insensitive, don't it?

(15:13) why hello, Ms. Bond okay, glad cameras are a thing, even if they're kinda basic at this point. wanted to make sure that my eventual dumb fics can include cute couple photos

(15:44) Cait. Cait. my god. Was that really the best landing you could do? What the fuck. Do they not make sure enforcers know how to get around a little? God, that landing was so loud. Loud landings = hard landings, hard landings = painful landings. You want soft, quiet ones, and not even just for stealth. The process just makes it a hell of a lot easier on your joints!

(17:16) um. okay. sorry, did... did Silco turn The Last Drop... into a night club?... no no no, it's okay, that's fine, no worries. I am just... surprised, is all.

(17:22) is this that one very minor side character that some folks on tumblr are really gay for, but not everyone I've seen can agree on their gender? and also they don't even have a page on the Arcane wiki? and I did definitely check because I saw a picture and suddenly understood tumble's interest?

(18:19, "the world's growing smaller every day") did Silco read that one post I made the other day, when I was having a breakdown at five in the morning?... is he disagreeing with me because I disagreed with him about how it feels to drown, or is he replying to the ending of my post, saying that "hey, no worries, the world does eventually get smaller?". anyway this has been a stupid joke

(18:27) Hawkeye?... oh, nope, just my gf again. sitting in the rafters (very gay of her, if I do say so myself). also, I love that Silco does not react at all to her dropping down directly onto his desk. How many fucking times has she done this? How often did she scare him before he got used to it?

(19:30) this part here is specifically aimed at me. because the creators know I hate eye stuff. I am taking this personally, and not just because it gives me an excuse to pause the show and not look at what I assume is about to be eye needle time. *half a second later* I hated that. Why didn't I just hit play while not looking at the screen? Oh, right, so I could see if I was right and then post about it, duh

(20:28) if anyone is still reading at this point, they're probably tired of me pointing out the fact that I have a crush on essentially every female character. So. Hey look, it's Mel, I can't wait to see what she's been up to :D

Okay, yeah, breaking this into two parts because I've now hit the whatever limit twice, and I have literally never done that before today, so...

#j watches tv #j watches arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane netflix #arcane meta #not super meta but there are parts where I go into it

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Text

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“—tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know—with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

“Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

Part 23 of Jimercury Kid series

‘Freddie?’ Phoebe quietly called out as he poked a cautious head around the singer’s bedroom door. ‘Mary’s here to see you.’

There was no response from the frontman. His face remained buried in his pillow, his weeping silent but obvious by the gentle trembling of his shoulders. Jim was by his side, one hand gently rubbing up and down the Persian’s bare back as he silently comforted him.

‘My baby…’ Freddie whispered, the only words he had been able to say since Khaleel was literally ripped from his arms.

‘Shh, love.’ Jim murmured, stroking his husband’s hair, and shooting Phoebe a hopeless look. ‘I think she should come back later.’

‘That’s what I said.’ Replied Phoebe, shoulders sagging in defeat. ‘But she’s unusually insistent today.’

Another sob from Freddie. The hand that was desperately clutching Khaleel’s old, battered triceratops toy tightened severely.

‘I’ll go.’ Jim said finally, leaning down and gently kissing the back of Freddie’s neck. Before he could rise from the mattress, he felt Freddie grab his hand and turned to see two dark eyes staring at him fearfully, still red-rimmed from all his crying. Losing Khaleel served only to intensify Freddie’s already severe abandonment issues; Jim couldn’t so much as use the toilet without the singer panicking, convinced he’d never see him again.

‘I’m coming back, sweetheart.’ Jim leaned down, brushing a kiss against Freddie’s lips. ‘I promise. I’m not leaving you, not ever. Phoebe will stay here with you until I get back, okay?’

Freddie didn’t look like he believed him, but he released his hand regardless and threw his head back onto the pillow to continue mourning his child. Fighting back his own tears, Jim sent a thankful nod to Phoebe before leaving the bedroom and descending the staircase.

He found Mary in the lounge, sitting anxiously in one of the armchairs with her coat still on and her purse clasped in her hands. When Jim walked into the room, the disappointment on her face was evident; she had clearly been seeking to speak with Freddie and Freddie alone.

‘He’s in no state to talk.’ Jim said gently but firmly, before the woman could say anything. ‘I’m sorry, but you should really come back some other time.’

He expected her to argue with him – Mary wasn’t one for being confrontational but when it came to Freddie she made an exception – but she remained calm, her mouth pressed in a thin line as she fiddled with the purse on her lap.

‘If I can’t speak to Freddie, can I please speak to you? I just need to speak to someone.’

Jim knew he should have rebuffed her, told her to leave immediately so he could get back to consoling his distraught husband. But the expression on her face was so downcast, he didn’t have the heart to turn her away. He nodded tiredly, last night’s lack of sleep finally catching up with him as he mumbled something about putting the kettle on and shuffled towards the kitchen to start preparing them both tea.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, he took a moment to lean against the counter, staring determinedly up at the ceiling, blinking away tears of grief and exhaustion. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could cope with all of this. Khaleel’s absence had left a massive hole in the lives of everyone at Garden Lodge and the aftereffects were damning. He barely recognised Freddie anymore. For seven days, his husband had barely said a word to him, barely eaten or left his bedroom. For seven days, their lives had been a living hell.

The woman from social services hadn’t beaten around the bush. She made it clear that there was no guarantee that Khaleel would be returned to them. The worst part was the satisfied glint in her eye as she said it.

‘Everyone thinks I did it.’ A soft voice said from behind him, and Jim turned to see Mary standing in the doorway, her purse still clutched in her hands. Her face was pale, completely devoid of any colour and her entire body was shaking as she attempted to compose herself.

‘What do you mean?’ Jim asked, though he already knew.

‘They all think I called them.’ Mary’s voice wavered, her eyes looking everywhere but Jim’s own. For one horrible moment, the Irishman thought she might actually be sick. ‘I didn’t, Jim, I swear on my life. You have to believe me, I didn’t call-’

‘Mary, sit down.’ Jim took her hand and guided her over to the kitchen table, drawing out a chair and taking her purse from her hands. Once he was certain that she wasn’t going to collapse, he returned to the counter to finish making the tea and placed a steaming mug in front of the woman’s quivering form. ‘Just take it easy. No one’s accusing you of anything.’

Mary’s twitching hands curled around the hot cup, and she took a deep breath, a pink flush crossing her cheeks from the heat, making her look a bit less ghostly. Once she had appeared to calm down, she carefully took a sip of her drink.

‘I know you all think it was me.’ She finally met Jim’s gaze, silently begging for reassurance. ‘I can see it in your eyes, even Freddie’s. Surely he knows I’d never do that to him?’ She reached over and clasped Jim’s hand in her own, her grip almost painful. ‘I’d never do that to you. Please tell me you believe me.’

Jim wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. He would be lying if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind that Mary might have been involved. Out of all their friends, she was the one with the motive. Maybe this was a last-ditch attempt to drive he and Freddie apart, some sort of twisted revenge for Freddie leaving her.

But he quickly dismissed the idea; as far as he was concerned, that was all in the past and they had moved on from it. He and Mary had had their differences, but she’d never do this.

She was his friend now. He trusted her.

‘I believe you, Mary.’ He replied softly, gently squeezing her hand back until she relaxed. ‘I know you wouldn’t do this, and Freddie does too. Everyone’s just so fucking stressed at the moment and they’re looking for someone to blame.’ He used his free hand to lift his own mug and take a long swig. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.’

‘Don’t say that, Jim.’

‘I shouldn’t have let things get out of hand. We were arguing over wine, for fuck’s sake. I should have just walked away.’

‘We’d all had a lot to drink, Jim. It was a stupid mistake made in the heat of the moment. Besides, it wasn’t as if Khaleel was there to see it. He was in bed, asleep.’

Jim shook his head, eyes threatening to spill tears. He felt he was solely to blame. He usually prided himself in his ability to walk away from such quarrels but that night, fuelled by both alcohol and his own stubbornness, he was fed up with being walked all over and fought back.

His refusal to back down could very well have cost them their darling boy.

‘Jim?’

Mary’s voice tore him away from his thoughts. She suddenly took both his hands, her touch feather light as she held onto them, thumbs extending out in a comforting stroke across each of his knuckles. ‘I’ve never seen Freddie as happy as he has been since he met you. He can finally be himself, live his true life. I admit, I was sceptical at the start; I’ve seen him hurt so many times and I was convinced you were no different from the others. But after seeing what you both went through, how you stuck by him through his illness, I realised how wrong I was. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, as well as Khaleel. That little boy is so lucky to have you two as parents, and if social services can’t see that then, as Freddie would say, fuck them.’

Jim snorted, though he looked like he was about to burst into tears. He held onto Mary’s hands as if they were a lifeline.

‘You’ll get him back.’ She said it so tenderly, Jim almost believed her. ‘I know you will. Khaleel will come home.’

Jim envied the faith she had in her own words. He had already resigned himself to the fact that society would never be on their side; that he and Freddie would forever be looked upon as “perverted homosexuals,” incapable of raising a child. Social services would do whatever they could to make sure Khaleel stayed with a “normal” family, regardless of the boy’s own happiness. As much as it killed him to think about it, he knew the reality was that it was more than likely that they would never see their precious bijou again.

‘Thank you, Mary.’ Jim whispered, lifting her hand and softly kissing it.

Yeah okay so Mary is apparently not a *bad* person in this universe, or at least not anymore. Looks like we were wrong, anon. Lol.

Firstly, Freddie and Jim crying in bed for their baby broke my heart😭😭 They deserve to have their baby with them, cuddle with him and raise him together. Fuck the homophobia that's doing this to them.

Secondly, I wasn't expecting Mary here, and certainly not being so open. But I like how you have acknowledged her shitty behaviour in the past, and the fact that whilst things are civil between her and Jim (maybe slightly more than civil), the shadow of past incidences still linger on. I mean, I usually do not read canon-ish fics that completely erase what an arsehole Mary Austin is, especially if she features prominently. But I am loving the almost real approach you're taking to etch your characters, and as I've said before, showing how they may have grown in such a situation. I still have doubts about Ms Austin redeeming herself had Freddie lived, but in the context of this story, I really like the arc you've given her.

Also, I am LOVING the angst lmao. Even though it's breaking my heart, my angst loving self is really enjoying this hahaha.

And now, most importantly, I hope you're doing better, my dear. There were a lot of messages of support for you, and I just hope that you realise how loved and cherished you are in this community💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #freddie and jim and their baby #anon writing

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teratalia · 3 years

Text

mythical fox gf WIP

so I’ve been working on this (vaguely Killing Eve-inspired) Greek myth story for so long that I’ve got a love-hate relationship with it so have a snippet from part 1

(if you’ve seen Killing Eve, this might feel familiar lmao)

As you head home that evening, you feel goosebumps creep up your arms. Looking around, you don't see anything out of the ordinary, just other workers going home like you, so you continue on. Your skin crawls as if someone's watching you from afar, and you turn suddenly, glaring behind you.

There's no one there.

With a frown, you just keep on going back to your apartment. The most you can do right now is slip your keys between your fingers, gripping them in your pocket. Summoning your bow and arrow isn't a good idea around civilians, so you suppress the urge to touch the pendant around your neck.

You get home without incident, securing your apartment with the various locks on the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, you toss your keys and bag down and go make yourself a late dinner. The smell of microwaved leftovers fills your nose as you grab yourself a glass of wine to go with them. For some reason, you made too much, and the portion is so large it could be for two. Shrugging, you separate it into two plates before sitting down in your little living room.

"Ah, how thoughtful. I didn't think you'd serve me, too."

The lighthearted tone does nothing for your sudden anxiety spike. Dropping your fork, you turn in your seat to see Vixen, standing there with the most casual smile. Swallowing a scream, you quickly leap out of your chair and summon a single dagger, pointing it at her.

"H-how do you know where I live? What are you doing here?" And then it clicks. "You're here to kill me, aren't you?"

She crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe, looking for all the world like she's just talking about the weather. "Of course not, my dear Hunter. I -"

"So you're the one who's been stalking me," you interrupt. She merely quirks an eyebrow and says nothing. With a shout, you launch yourself at her, dagger leaving a silvery arc in the air. Clearly taken by surprise, Vixen falls backwards with you on top of her, trying to snatch the dagger away. Before you can stab her, she swiftly rolls the two of you over so that she's on top, straddling your waist and pinning your wrists down by your head. The dagger disappears as you struggle, crying out. With an irritated growl, she takes your wrists in one hand and uses the other to cover your mouth.

"Stop this," she snarls. "I'm not here to hurt you - ow!"

She pulls back the hand that was over your mouth, bitemarks standing out against her tanned skin.

"I don't want to hurt you, but if you give me no choice…"

Your struggles are in vain as she flips you over onto your stomach, painfully twisting your hands behind your back. You try not to yell as your shoulder twists nearly to its limit, threatening to dislocate from the joint if you move any further, and your movements still. Panting hard above you, Vixen glares down at you through her mask.

"Are you done?"

Silently, you nod.

"I don't actually want to fight you, Hunter."

"Holding me down like this isn't the best way to convince me," you reply sarcastically, but you make no move to fight back.

Seemingly satisfied with your compliance, Vixen releases your arms and stands up, stepping back. Breathing a sigh of relief, you get up, massaging your aching wrists and stretching your arms.

"Now that we've calmed down, why don't we eat?"

You envy her ability to sound as if nothing just happened, while you still feel a bit winded.

"Are you serious?"

She gestures towards the set table. "After you."

As you sit together, you watch numbly as she starts to eat your leftovers as if she pays rent too.

"You know, even when you haven't prayed for Artemis's blessing, you're still very strong for a human," she says casually, pouring herself a glass of wine.

"I suppose I'll take that as a compliment, coming from a strong creature such as yourself." Your tone is even, not betraying the turmoil in your mind.

"This is really good, by the way. If I'd known you were a decent cook, I'd have stopped by sooner. Speaking of your food, aren't you going to eat it too?"

Slowly you pick up your fork, forcing yourself to take a bite. She wasn't wrong about it being good, but you couldn't fully focus on the taste.

"Thanks, I think."

Vixen sighs, resting her elbows on the table and leaning towards you, observing your hunched shoulders and blank stare. "Look, I just wanted to spend some time with you. You don't need to be so scared of me."

"Is it so surprising that I'm worried about having an assassin in my home?" you ask stiffly. "Not to mention an assassin that I've fought against before and that I'm trying to catch. One that could easily kill me if she wanted to."

"That's the thing, darling." Behind her mask, her yellow eyes narrow, piercing you with an intense gaze. "I don't want to kill you."

Your skepticism is palpable. "…So you're really not here to kill me?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

Thinking for a moment, you slowly nod. "I guess if you wanted to kill me, you could have done so when you had me helplessly pinned to the floor earlier."

She winces a bit. "Sorry about that. I'd much rather have you pinned under me in a much different context."

It takes you a second to get her meaning, but when you do your face heats up and you nearly spill your wine. "Excuse me?"

Vixen sips her own wine, painted lips curing up in a seductive smile. "You heard me, darling."

"Yeah, and I wish I hadn't."

She laughs aloud, tossing her head back without a care in the world.

The two of you banter like this back and forth, and her teasing makes your face burn more times than you'd care to admit.

#exophilia #monster girlfriend #my writing #sfw #fox girlfriend #initially planned three parts but they're getting so long so maybe more??#there be lime and lemon later on as well #hope this gives y'all an idea of what's going on fjgshldkfghj #snippets

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dehydratedpool · 3 years

Text

hello again!! it’s the beginning of a new month, meaning a new fic rec post!! here are some fics that i read this month that are just... exquisite and deserve all the love and attention <3

there aren’t as many as last time unfortunately, since i was quite busy this past month, but i promise next month won’t fall short! ((fics that i’ve reread this month are indicated with a **))

Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table [11k] by runaway_train @runaway-train-works

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or; The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

--> this is a new comfort fic for me tbh. i got rec’d this after louis tweeted about getting his wisdom teeth removed, and i’m so SO glad i decided to give it a read. it’s so precious and lovely and personally, i found it to be a quick read. it’s the kind of fic that makes me both warm and fuzzy inside but also highly upset that i’m single and will surely be alone forever

Just Let Me [14k] by HelloAmHere

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

--> ok LISTEN. as some of you know, i just recently got into reading a/b/o fics and this one is definitely at the top of my fave a/b/o fics out there. it’s an interesting take on the trope, almost a bit more realistic in my opinion, and to quote the author’s note, “’what if a/b/o but less biological determinism?’”. i believe i found this one through a masterpost of “touch-deprivation fics”, so if that’s your thing, give this one a chance!

my ugly mouth kept running [4k] by theankletattoo @hadestyles

Another seed, another try except they know what caused the first wilt. They will be careful, they will be kind and together they will nurture it to life.

sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

--> rori, the author, never fails to disappoint when it comes to all of her works. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, she’s so incredibly fucking talented it’s unreal. her imagery is so vivid and real it leaves simultaneously everything and nothing to the imagination. as usual, h and l’s dynamic in this is an addicting portion to this fic that has you anticipating how their dynamic will shift and grow up until the end. if you’ve yet to read any of rori’s work, i suggest you add that to your to-do list for the month, and get a head start to her collection with this one!

**As Wicked As Anything Could Be [21k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter

It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

--> i discovered this fic a while ago on a whim and i have zero regrets. this is absolutely on my top ten fave fics list (that has yet to exist but perhaps i’ll post it one day). whoknows is a well known author within the fandom, so i’m sure i don’t have to say much about their immense talent, but SERIOUSLY, their plot progression, even their use of dialogue is wonderful in every way. as a writer, i envy them lmao. this fic takes me on a rollercoaster every time i read it, it’s yet another comfort fic of mine and never fails to disappoint every time i pick it up again. please, do yourselves a favor this april and read this.

Keeping The Flame Alive [19k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

--> yes, for the first time in dehydratedpoolfics history of fic recs even tho i’ve only been doing this for a month i am rec’ing the same author twice, but seriously, how could i not??? this fic took me on a literal journey like... wtf. i have no words. seriously, i have none, i’m just that blown away, go read it for yourself .

**a trail of honey through it all [27k] by bruisedhoney @yvesaintlourent

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

--> okay look. i may or may not have a slight obsession with this fic. i reread it constantly, mostly for the iconic line, “are we fuckin’ or fightin’?”, because how can i not scream over that?? ((also patiently waiting for the sequel)) this is a literary masterpiece, one that defines an entire generation of this fandom i stg. but in all seriousness, hayley, the author, does such a wonderful job of giving the reader a vivid look into “nowhere, georgia”, and as a southern gal myself, i absolutely adore the itty bitty pieces of southern culture embedded into this, the tiny quirks that make this fic authentic. i could probably go on forever on why this fic is so iconic, but perhaps you should read it for yourself instead *wink* *wink*

SO. that’s all for this month!! if you read any of these, first of all, be sure to read the tags and author’s note (if any) before starting, AND please don’t forget to leave a quick kudos or comment, it means more than you may ever know <3

#fic recs #fic rec #yourlarrysource #hlcreators #hljournal #harry styles #louis tomlinson #larry stylinson #fanfiction #writing #march 2021 fic recs

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nicknellie · 3 years

Text

300 followers, babyyy! Idk how this even happened lmao but thank you so much. I love this fandom and I love that I get to share it with so many amazing people. Reminder that you can come talk to me whenever - my asks are always open, as are my DMs. Anyway, here’s my 300 celebration! Missing scene, as usual. Seeing as it’s Christmas Eve you can consider this a gift if you want!

I Wish I Could Help Him

Flynn was a genius, Julie would stand by that forever. And her idea to write Luke a song to show him how much she cared was a great one, Julie could admit that was true too. The only issue was that it was a much better plan on paper than in practise.

It wasn’t that Julie didn’t want to write Luke a song - she loved writing songs, and writing one for the boy she was slowly falling for seemed like fun. And it wasn’t that she didn’t know how to write the song - after school had finished she had come straight home and gone down to the studio, sat at the grand piano with a notepad and pen in hand, ready. It was just that the right words wouldn’t come.

Because the question was this: How did one write about Luke Patterson?

And this was the answer: They didn’t, because it was a ridiculously difficult thing to do.

The problem was that there was simply too much of Luke to write about and even when it was narrowed down there weren’t words that could truly do him justice. His love of music couldn’t be crafted into lyrics; the way he loved his friends like they were his family couldn’t be transformed into a melody; his fierce loyalty and bravery and unwavering kindness had no rhythm; his hair, his smile, his whole self had no rhyme scheme to be put to. Luke was too himself to be confined to a three-minute tune.

It was ironic in a way. Luke, for whom music was everything, who poured a piece of his heart and soul into every note he played or sang, couldn’t be defined by the very thing that did in so many ways define him.

Then there was the other part that Julie wanted to write about. Their pain, an experience they shared. The loss of their mothers.

After her mother had passed away, Julie hadn’t given up on music immediately. For about a week afterwards, she had sat alone in her bedroom with blank manuscript paper in front of her, searching for words and a melody to help her say how she felt. The words hadn’t come then and they wouldn’t come now.

Loss was a difficult thing to describe. It was the lurch of the stomach when you thought there was another step on the staircase but there was nothing; it was reaching for something only to clutch air; it was remembering something just to realise you didn’t have a reason to remember it anymore. That feeling of wanting to talk to someone but not being able to was something so raw and untouchable that it hurt to think about, it made Julie’s head spin.

She had made a lot of progress in the past year. It was a slow and gradual process, but it was undoubtedly there. But the thing about grief is that it never truly leaves and it keeps some wounds open for a dreadfully long time. Maybe, Julie thought, despite all her progress she simply wasn’t ready to write about her mother directly just yet.

It was alright. These things take time.

But she didn’t want to give up on the song all together, she still wanted to do something for Luke. Part of her wished he were there with her, helping her write the song, but that would completely defeat the point. Words came to Luke like dogs to a whistle, and Julie had never envied him of that more.

What she needed was inspiration. And luckily, she happened to spot Luke’s songbook lying open on the couch.

She got up and moved over there, picking up the songbook and looking through it. Luke’s handwriting was hard to read at the best of times and he had a tendency to write lyrics quickly so they didn’t escape his mind, so a lot of the songs were barely legible. But there was one song near the middle of the book that he had clearly taken his time over because it was written in handwriting that was neat by Luke’s standards.

Unsaid Emily.

Julie hadn’t had the chance to read it completely before. She did then and broke. Luke had managed to capture that despair and desperation in his lyrics - of course he had, Julie didn’t need to be surprised, that was what he did. Every word dripped agony and regret and longing and Julie’s heart shattered.

It hit her like a bus. Maybe Luke didn’t need a song from her. Maybe he didn’t need a grand gesture or a romantic declaration. Maybe he didn’t need to know his pain was shared - hell, he probably knew that already.

Maybe all he needed was closure.

Julie thought for just a moment more and then tore the page from his book before she could think twice about it. Not looking back or hesitating, she left the studio, racking her brains to remember the way Alex and Reggie had taken her to the Pattersons’ house.

Luke didn’t need a song from her if he’d already written the perfect one himself. All he needed was for the right person to hear it, and Julie would do anything to make sure it happened.

#jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #julie and the phantoms #juke #unsaid emily #missing scene #jatp fic #julie and the himbos #1x08 #julie x luke #luke x julie #alex mercer #reggie peters #flynn jatp #palina #fanfiction

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gohoubi · 3 years

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fic writer review!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

2. What's your grand total ao3 word count?

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

4. What is the first fandom you ever wrote for?

5. Is there a fandom you would like to write for but haven't yet?

6. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

7. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

8. Which of your fics has the angstiest ending?

9. Are any of your fics pure fluff?

10. Have any of your fics ended differently than you originally planned?

11. Do you write AUs?

12. Do you ever write smut?

13. Do you usually try to stick to canon?

14. What are your favorite tropes to utilize in your writing?

15. Have you ever received hateful comments on a fic?

16. What is the nicest comment you've received?

17. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

18. Have you ever co-written a fic?

19. What is your all-time favorite ship to write for?

20. Is there a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

21. What are your writing strengths?

22. What are your writing weaknesses?

23. Are there any of your early fics that you wish you could go back and change?

24. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

25. What is your favorite fic that you've written so far?

**Tag another writer if you want!**

I'm putting the answers under a cut because it is very long. :P

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

143 works, with three drafts O.o

2. What's your grand total ao3 word count?

295,376

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Ten fandoms (Game of Thrones, Deadpool, Jurassic World, Anne with an E, Star Wars, Extraordinary You, The 100, Kakegurui, The Haunting of Bly Manor, and Snowpiercer)

4. What is the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Game of Thrones, in November 2018 :P

5. Is there a fandom you would like to write for but haven't yet?

I toyed with the idea of writing for Shadow and Bone a few months ago but never really went anywhere with it. (As much as I love the Darkling, lmao.)

6. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

when i need someone, it's always you and you are mine, i am yours (Kakegurui) are the top two at 338 and 221. People are still kudosing them for some reason. Then all three of my Daenerys/Sansa fics take the third, fourth and fifth spots :P

7. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

Yes, I respond to every comment I get. If people are gonna make an effort to comment, I want to reciprocate that since they're doing it to be nice :)

8. Which of your fics has the angstiest ending?

What defines angst? I guess it could be yoake OR dassen, because both Melanie and Alex die in those fics.

9. Are any of your fics pure fluff?

I'm not a huge fluff person, but I'd have to say the Melanie/Audrey/Alex christmas fic :P

10. Have any of your fics ended differently than you originally planned?

With ferrous liquid, I originally thought I wanted Zarah to leave Audrey completely as she was too resentful of Audrey's emotional burden. Then I realised that it was just too sad!! So they get back together.

11. Do you write AUs?

Only if it's canon divergence. I don't really enjoy writing college AUs or anything like that.

12. Do you ever write smut?

Yes. All the time. Used to hate writing smut, love it now.

13. Do you usually try to stick to canon?

Yes and no. Depends on the canon events. Most of the ships don't occur in canon anyway so it's difficult to stick to it :P

14. What are your favorite tropes to utilize in your writing?

Angst, hurt/comfort, violence. Anything that makes you feel sad :)

15. Have you ever received hateful comments on a fic?

Yes, very early on. Haven't gotten any in years but when I did, I just deleted them immediately. Who cares :P

16. What is the nicest comment you've received?

This comment from @olivish on humanity:

This is beautiful. I love it. The 'Of Mice and Men' reference is so on-point. I never gave Bob much thought, but you've really made him into a person in this fic, like, even as Bob himself is observing his own lack of humanity, the reader feels exactly the opposite. Like, the fact that he is still motivated by kindness is something of a miracle, isn't it? Also Wilford's MO of keeping his victims isolated from one another shines so clearly here. He's trained Bob not to interact with others. The deformities on his face and the sheer size of him go a long way to accomplishing this goal. Audrey is different, she's a person magnet, so the way to isolate her is to make others loathe her through envy. But that doesn't work on Bob, whose status on the train is assured and what he longs for most in the world is human connection. The more I think about it the more compelling it gets. Just wonderful work with a character I never paid much attention to.

17. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not entirely, but there have been some portions of other peoples' fics that look very similar to what I have written O.O

18. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, but I hope to one day ahahaha

19. What is your all-time favorite ship to write for?

Well Melaudrey is up there because of the Memories™️ but honestly? Audrey/Zarah. There's so many aspects to their relationship in canon that are just so fun to explore :))))

20. Is there a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I'm trying to get through it, but probably mel and allie steal a train. I got some weird comments on it when the first chapter came out and it just tanked my motivation HARD (and they were pretty nitpicky comments, to be honest) Found it extremely difficult to keep going, even with an outline and a solid idea of where I wanted the story to go. Not to be self-pitying, but I was looking forward to writing it too :( I might continue with it, but it'll take months. Maybe during summer when I have more time to think about it?

21. What are your writing strengths?

I guess that I can get into the heads of the characters really well? I love doing this. I love dark and psychological fics where I can pick their brains apart O.o I'm also good at writing emotionally. So there's that.

22. What are your writing weaknesses?

I tend to over-rely on dialogue, and I REALLY struggle with just...not writing dialogue. I can't explain why, but I need the characters to talk so I can move the story forwards. :P I also struggle to end fics well. Suzanne Collins syndrome lmao

23. Are there any of your early fics that you wish you could go back and change?

As silly as this sounds, I wish I could go back and change certain aspects of tsukamu, the pregnant!Melanie crackfic. It's quite rushed in places and some of the timelines don't make sense (if it was Ben's kid, and she was in the research station for a month, there's no way Wilford could have imprisoned Melanie for nine months). Alas, I already published it in a book, so I can't change it now.

24. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Ehhh it seems a bit iffy, have never done it before but like...I assume this means if a character is speaking in another language that the POV character doesn't understand? If so I'd just say '[character] said something in [language]' and leave it at that.

25. What is your favorite fic that you've written so far?

ownership. It's dark, it's angsty, there's medical stuff and also some comfort there as well. Chef's kiss :))

#ask

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hxrryhxlland · 4 years

Text

A Whole Lot of Nothingness - Harry Holland

a/n — hey! surprise lmao. wrote this really quickly and wanted to post it but i feel like it’s really bad??? let me know if it is and i’ll take it down lmao. love you!!

description — ‘she’s scared harry will leave, but harry’s scared of her thinking that.’

Night time, something both of us loved a lot. Something where we felt the heavy whispers, the way the shadows finally let go.

It was a time for us both to calm down, to talk with just the two of us. It was a time where we could say anything and neither of us would judge the words that fell off our lips.

“Harry, can I ask you something?” She says to me, while sat in bed, voice only a little more than a whisper that the silence holds.

“Of course, you know you can.” I say back, shuffling her up using my arm that was around her with her head on my chest.

Even with her voice barely audible like it was now, my heart still raced behind the cage of bones in my chest.

She changed me, she changed the thick clouds that covered my judgment, my happiness. She cleared them up so I could see clearly again, so I could watch the sun rise and realise how alive i really was.

“Are we forever?, like will anything happen to us?” She whispers, as I feel my heart skip a beat at her question.

Why would she think any different?

We had been together for a little over two years now and I couldn’t imagine my life without her, it was almost like the completed the puzzle. She gave me the strength to get out of bed in a morning, to carry on regardless of whatever stress i had going on.

“Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be?” I ask, my eyebrows knitting together in a small sense of confusion.

She was my forever, but I needed her to understand that. i knew it was hard but i hated seeing her plagued by the worry that this was all temporary.

“Because there’s girls that throw themselves at you all the time while you’re away, they’re all beautiful.” She whispers back, a sad undertone to her voice pulling at me.

“Exactly, I have you. I love you, not them. they wouldn’t be able to cope with me being away all the time but you can, because you care. that’s all i need, you. ok?” I say, rubbing her back with my large hand and continuously staring to the ceiling, wondering if there was anything past us that she needed.

Amongst the sky, that’s where I wanted to be with her. No disturbance, no disruption, just peaceful days with someone I loved.

She was someone where I knew it was a once in a lifetime chance to get to know; she was someone that I immediately knew I could never let go of. She meant too much to me to ever let go.

I had fallen for her - it was quickly, but i had.

“I know, but they’re all so amazing.” She says, her insecurities creeping out into her sentences, her voice slowly getting quieter as the night got darker.

What did it take me to say to get her to believe she was my one and only? I only wanted her and her calm words. she’s all i needed.

“Babe, none of them are you. They mean nothing to me.” I say, lifting up my hand to stroke her hair, just before pecking her forehead.

“Thank you. I love you Harry, a lot. I just get worried.” She replies, lifting up her head to kiss me.

Every time she did this, she sent chills down my spine, and gave me butterflies like it was the first day we were together again. It was like every time I looked at her, it was the day we met and I get the nerves all over again. It kept me on my toes, kept things unpredictable. I liked that.

“Just us.” I say, looking her in the eyes.

That’s what it always would end up being. Me and her. No one else, nothing else. Me, her, and the way the sun rose in the morning and set at night.

“Just us.” I reply, placing my hand on the back of her neck and bringing her in for another kiss.

“Imagine that. Just me and you, never having to do anything.” She sighs, almost dreaming of a time when that could be true

With my job being so demanding, only dreams could contain what her head did. That was something I always envied of her: her imagination.

She could always think of places to go and people to see, a new thing for the never ending bucket list. I loved seeing the dreams sit in her eyes.

“Yeah, no worries or anything to care about.” I smile, as I can sense her eyes getting heavy.

“A whole lot of nothing.” She whispers into the silence, her reality now being her dreams.

— tag list —

if you want to be tagged in my fics follow the link in my bio! :)

@theliterarymess @tombob2005 @a-danish-gurl @tommysparker @duskholland @un-limit-edd @lost-aesthetic-of-past @fineline-stateofmind706 @ab1ga1l @the-hollands-own-my-heart @unsaidholland @mapater151 @gayfeministbroadwayyeet @perspectiveparker @im-salt-but-not-salty @greenorangevioletgrass @musicalkeys @writertoo18 @pensivepeter @euphorichxlland

#harry holland #harry holland imagine #harry holland headcanon #harry holland blurb #harry holland x you #harry holland x reader #harry holland fluff #harry holland x y/n #harry holland fic #harry holland hh #hh fluff #hh fic #hh harry holland #hh blurb

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