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radioisntdead · 12 days

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BOOM 💥 💥 💥

2 REQUESTS IN A ROW

this is kinda angsty, but I live some teenage angst!

Could we have an idol!reader, who is asked to do a performance to gain more attention for the hotel, and when she starts singing, she breaks down? ( to the song the disaperance of hatsune Miku, rachies English version or the Japanese version is okay :D)

And when she finishes her performance, she starts to go to Heaven, but rejects them to stay with her found family at the hotel?

I'd say this happens a little after sir pentious, so it would be quite shocking to hell and Heaven.

[I think I requested something like this before, idk if you got it tho]

Only do this if you feel comfortable doing it hun,

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEAS

Sincere apologies for my delsiondd rambles,

- XIN 💫

GOOD EVENING XIN! as per usual you give amazing requests, You did request it before it just for some reason didn't show up on my phone but it did on my laptop [SHAME ON TUMBLR FOR TRYING TO HIDE YOUR WONDERFUL REQUESTS]

I hope you enjoy!

Showtime

Hazbin hotel x Idol reader!

Warnings: industry exploitation, child abuse, Implied suicide [not of reader], Implied bullying, betrayal and sabotage [by reader] some lyrics were tweaked to fit reader.

Song

You died at the height of your career, you trained tirelessly from childhood until your death, fought tooth and nail to climb up the ladder of fame, lost friends and gained rivals, did whatever you could to keep the spotlight.

In the end when you were attacked on stage by a crazed fan who had developed a parasocial relationship with you, convinced that you were theirs and felt betrayed that you were hanging out with others.

They had rammed a knife into your chest and fled the scene being chased by security, leaving you to bled out on stage with the stage lights shining down on you

Your last thoughts were wondering if you had squandered your life, was the spotlight worth all this pain and suffering? Would you even be remembered?

You had found the hazbin hotel soon after your death, it was a nice break from all the chaos in hell, you had grown close with the residents there, you had fought beside them during extermination day, you had grieved for Sir Pentious and you had been there to rebuild the hotel.

You were particularly close with Charlie, seeing her as a older sister figure, after being forced up against the other women in your life it was refreshing, relieving, to have someone like her as your friend.

She reminded you of someone you knew when you were alive, someone you wished you had kept in your life until the end.

So when she asked you to put on a little performance to convince people to join the hotel, you said yes without hesitation, she didn't know that you died on stage during a performance, only about you being an idol in life.

And now you were here, standing in attire that was fitting for an music idol like you, trying to steady your breathing as Vaggie was talking to you through an ear piece telling you that the curtains were about to open and to get ready.

It was time to give Eminem or whoever can say words fast a run for their money.

"Ever since I was born, from that day I had known, That I am nothing more than a source of entertainment,"

You kept your eyes closed shut as the curtains opened up.

"Even so, I'll keep singing until destroyed, living forever, yes I am a star, If for example the thing singing was just a toy that would sing back the tunes that you gave to them,"

Were you breathing?

"I'd think that was alright, while I look at the sky, bite this leek, see the soup pouring from my eyes, but even so, it'll disappear, that I know, a personality changing with every song, everything I was built on wasn't strong,"

Oh, you definitely weren't breathing!

"All of the places I knew they're already gone, everyone that I know, they don't remember me, Heart or a soul I have nothing left inside me, I can see the center of the void,"

You opened your eyes and stared out onto the crowd of sinners that Charlie had managed to convince to show up at the hotel for this.

"The world is ending for me, I'm a star."

You took in a breath, as music played behind you, clutching the microphone in your hand until your hand turned a different color.

"Even when my voice wouldn't sing properly… you were always there for me,"

Your first performance on a stage since your traumatic death,

"You kept me by your side… you always encouraged me,"

You couldn't help but look around, Frank, the remaining one of Sir Pentious's eggs was managing the stage lights.

"Please let me see you smile again… please,"

Husker was at the bar serving drinks to hyped up sinners, Alastor was watching from somewhere, Angel dust, Charlie and Vaggie were behind the stage, Charlie gave you a encouraging thumbs up when she noticed you looking over.

"Because… I promised you… a song"

You couldn't afford to be nervous, anxious or worry about someone recreating your death, you had people around you that would protect you.

"Long ago, I had loved to sing,"

You remember singing in your childhood bedroom, dancing to some celebrity's music video, you remember telling your mother that you wanted to be a singer when you grew up.

You were a kid you didn't know you what you were getting into when she threw you into idol training at the young age of six or seven!

"But now, when I do, I don't feel a thing,"

The amount of exploitation and abuse you went through.

"Where, oh where, did my happiness go?"

You were too young for it, why didn't your mother protect you? Why didn't ANYONE protect you?

"I don't know—I don't know, don't know anymore,"

Your grip around the microphone loosened.

"I'm sorry,"

You weren't the only one.

"That face I still remember, smiling through any weather,"

You had a friend, back in the early days, you couldn't remember her name but you remember how she looked, from how her lovely eyes lit up when you entered the room, from her curled hair, from her joyous laughter.

"Just thinking of it makes me feel much better,"

You truly didn't deserve her, she, much like you was thrown into this life by a mother wanting to live through her.

"All my sounds are fading out, and I can see,"

You were forced to sabotage her in order to continue on in that heartless industry.

"The end is getting closer now…"

You were told that it was going to be worth it in the end, that all the pain and suffering, all the heartache, all the betraying would be worth it when people would scream your name at sold out shows.

"Everything that I believed in turned out to be such a stupid fantasy,"

What a load of bullshit that was, all it did was make you friendless and alone.

"A reflection of how I wanted things to be,"

You decided you didn't want to be a singer anymore when you were around twelve, and you told your mom that you didn't want to do it anymore.

"I'm ending everything I know,"

You remember that conversation like it was yesterday, so clear in your mind.

"What do you mean you don't want to do this anymore?!"

"I don't wanna sing anymore Mommy, I wanna be something else,"

"Like what?"

"An architect! They-"

You didn't get to finished your sentence as her hand flew across your face leaving a red mark behind.

"Screaming out in pain, might as well rip out my throat,"

You kept your mouth shut from then on.

"Much too fast, I will sing and cry, this is my goodbye,"

The fact that woman wasn't down here with you yet was proof that she was probably still alive profiting off your death.

Even in death you couldn't be freed from her using you as a cash cow.

"I can't abandon the fantasy that I know, Everything you see about me is only show,"

It was ironic, you preferred being hell over being alive with that woman.

"Heart is exhausted and weak but I'm not afraid, All I can do now is watch as I fade away, as for the strength and the will left inside of me, I'm just a kid, I don't know what you want from me,"

You weren't breathing again.

"What can I do now as I look on at your face?, So full of happiness and yet so full of pain, slowly but surely I feel my world caving in, guess this is what they call the recycling bin, one by one after another my memories start to delete, I'll never retrieve them but, They'll never take away my memories of you,"

you really should breathe now.

"Times that we laughed and the fun things we used to do, all I can hope is that you won't forget them too, I can still taste the leeks as if they're good as new,"

To the public you were known as a sweet angel that could do no wrong, in the industry you were a foe not to be messed with, known to tear down any competition no matter the consequences, the barred off rooftop was proof of that, and behind closed doors you were a shell used by your mother, a victim that became the perpetuator, someone who instead of ending the circle of abuse just passed it on.

“I still wanna sing… I, I still... I still wanna sing!”

You tightened your hand around the microphone, memories flashing through your mind, from your past, those girls that you had treated horrifically.

“It… looks like… I haven't been… a good girl…''

Where did they end up? Heaven or hell? What was the result of their fall?

"Mother… please… just end it all… end my suffering,"

You've done things that were unforgivable, and yet.

"I don't want to see you sad… because of me anymore,”

The people in this hotel didn't judge you, okay a couple of them did but for the most part they didn't, everyone had fucked up one way or another.

"Nowadays, when I try to sing,"

You didn't think you were worthy of getting redeemed, after what you did.

"I can feel my body rip at the seams,"

But Charlie did, she thought you were worthy enough.

"Desperately, praying for some kind of miracle,"

You got to rest the idol persona, you no longer had to hurt others, you could just rest and find out who you were truly away from the limelight, away from that woman, safe in the hotel.

"No one listens, I'm all alone,"

From the two-faced big shot shining idol under a alternative name, to just [Name], it was just you.

"I'm sorry,''

You, who helped out in the hotel, who was friendly with practically anyone, who occasionally played an instrument or two in the lobby.

"That face I still remember, smiling through any weather,"

A beloved hotel resident.

No one cared about who you were before.

"When I think of it, something's lost forever,"

You were so grateful that you had met everyone in the hotel, that they had given you a second chance.

"All this noise I make grates on my heart somehow,"

They were your family, not the one you left behind when you died, the people in this hotel was your family.

"The end is getting closer now…"

The crowds eyes were on you.

"Everything that I protected turned out to be a delusion in the end,''

A golden shining light shun down around you, it wasn't a stage light,

You took a glance at Charlie, a giant smile was prevalent on her face as realization hit.

Redemption worked.

"Stabbing me with the love I'll never have again,''

You could feel yourself getting lighter,

"If I tried saying how I feel,"

You didn't want to go! Not yet, isn't it too cruel to take you away from here?

Or was it merciful because this was hell after all, you should be glad, so why weren't you?

"Would even reach you before I disappeared?"

Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, hell even Alastor!

Would you ever see them again if you go up?

"Not enough time to sing or cry, this is my goodbye,"

You wiped a glimmering tear from your face as you began to float, what had you done to trigger this?!

"Ever since I was born, from that day I had known, that I am nothing more than a source of entertainment, even so, I'll keep singing until destroyed,"

Would you have enough time to finish the song?

"Living forever, yes I am a star, if for example the thing singing was just a toy that would sing back the tunes that you gave to them, I'd think that was alright,''

Sinner's looked at you with confusion, awe, realization, hope, and other things you couldn't put a finger on.

"While I look at the sky, bite this leek, see the soup pouring from my eyes, slowly but surely I feel my world caving in guess this is what they call the recycling bin,"

You were fading away into dust, 'I don't feel so good Mr. Stark' style, maybe you weren't getting redeemed and this was just a random attack.

No, no that was silly.

"One by one after another my memories start to delete, I'll never retrieve them but they'll never take away my memories of you, times that we laughed and the fun things we used to do,''

No matter what became of you above, you would never forget those in this hotel.

"All I can hope is that you won't forget them too, I can still taste the leeks as if they're good as new, finally it’s the finale, my final song, just what will happen to you when I'm redeemed and gone?"

You wondered if you'd get to see her again, could you apologize for what you did back then?

"I only wanted to sing for you once again, but I guess it was too big a wish in the end, this is where I say goodbye but I'm not afraid, All of my feelings have finally faded away,"

You didn't have much time left did you, they should've at least given you a chance to say goodbye! Or at least waited.

"Being reduced to a string of zeroes and ones, this is the end of me, soon I won't know I'm gone, fading away from here until there’s nothing left, it's so pathetic right? Now that I think of it,"

You wanted to hang out with Angel dust one more time, you wanted Husk to show you magic tricks again, you wanted to listen into Alastor's broadcast, you wanted to help Niffty hunt down roaches, you wanted Vaggie to teach you how to defend yourself again, You wanted to continue helping Charlie!

"Only the memories of my voice will remain, You might forget me but please don't forget my name,''

You prayed that they would remember you if you couldn't see them again.

"If that alone could come true I can rest in peace, lasting forever like how I was supposed to be,"

You were almost fully faded, you looked around at your family, they were emotional although most tried to hide it.

Charlie's eyes were filled with tears, you did it, you were getting redeemed like she thought you would.

"This is the end now but I like to think someday, that even if I die, this song will still remain,"

What a fitting end for you.

"Thank you so much… and finally… goodbye for good."

The last person you saw was Charlie.

You were gone, the shining light faded away from the stage leaving a bittersweet feeling and stunned sinners.

You had done your goal considering many sinners that were there that night checked into the hazbin hotel.

"Charlie, We're back for the week!" You shouted as you hopped out of the swirling portal thing, a shining halo on your head, lovely fluffy white wings on your back, and a softer color palette,

You had convinced heaven to let you come back bi-weekly along with Sir Pentious who surprise surprise was redeemed! it felt like custody visits, which it essentially was.

You got to see your family and you got to reside in heaven.

Like Hannah Montana says, best of both worlds.

"[Name], Pentious! Just in time we're about to do a trust exercise!" she said gesturing to a group of sinners, some of them giving you a little wave or a nod of acknowledgment,

"Sweet! I'll help out or participate depending on what we're doing." You said skipping over to her.

It was good to be home.

Tune in Friday for the other request our beloved Xin sent in, it's fluffy!

Good evening folks! I hope you enjoyed! The disappearance of Hatsune Miku is imbedded in my brain now I love it, The sped up parts did give me a little trouble with pacing but I'm never good with pacing these, also for those who caught it, yes that was a Sarah-lynn reference!

We also have a discord server now if you lovely folks would like to join!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you

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pandxrastars · 1 year

Text

love conquers all

chapter 1

Summary: Neteyam is an up and coming warrior who would do anything for his people. With you at his side, as his mate, you find yourself troubled with his ways, no matter how much he reassures you. But in the end love conquers all

setting: Metkayina islands

Characters: aged up to 18!, Neteyam x Metkayina reader!

A/N: This is my first time ever writing and posting something on here LOL. i have no idea how to use tumblr very well so if anyone could message me some tips on maybe how to freshen up my page more that’d be nice! looking forward to writing on here sm more! i kind of wanted to start writing more to expand my vocabulary too since my english isnt the best. Also this will be an ongoing series and i do accept request wether it’s nsfw or sfw ! :)

warnings: nothing really just fluff

it was early in the morning, the sun rose, gently peeking through the seagrass woven curtains, kissing your blue skin. Beside you lay a very dozed off Neteyam, arm slung around your stomach, and his slow breath kissing the back of your neck. You slowly rose, careful not to wake your somnolent mate. he quietly groaned, turning the other way quickly falling unconscious again. you walked over to the corner of the marui where you eat. You began to fix the fire to heat up the fish for you and Neteyam’s breakfast when you suddenly felt two large hands from above on your shoulders. You snapped your head and gasped but quickly relaxed your body when your realized it was only him.

“Good morning my love”

you dropped the wood and rose from the ground to stand face to face with him (not really considering the slight height difference)

“good morning Neteyam”

he laughed but you could tell he was in pain.

The night prior, Neteyam had just come back from a big raid with the Metkayina’s and the sully family. Thankfully nobody had died this time, but many were injured, including him. Bruises kissed his face and down his chest, he had large cuts on his sides that you had patched up last night, and he was awfully exhausted.

seeing he could almost barely walk himself, you offered support by slinging his arm over your neck and leading him back to the bed

“No y/n i am okay. i must go see how the other villagers are doing”

he said gently removing your arm

“’teyam.”

you said sternly, but gently while placing a hand on his cheek. he leaned into your touch and smiled, he always liked when you got worried about him. And you were ALWAYS worried about him.

“i am okay my love.”

he said inching towards you more. He put both of his bruised hands on your hips and put his forehead to yours

“i will be okay y/n. i promise”

he said and gently kissed you. you both broke the kiss and you sighed. you wish he would put himself first sometimes, he never takes care of himself. he is always worried about the others. Which is what a warrior is supposed to do and theres nothing wrong with that, but you were getting worried at how little he does for himself.

[forward two weeks]

You stepped out of your marui pod to get some fresh air. You looked around at the beautiful watery scenery around you and took deep breaths of the fresh air. You felt refreshed today. In the corner of your eye you saw splashing, and when you turned your head Neteyam came into sight ahead. He was playing with some of the Metkayina kids, splashing them and chasing them around making monster noises and grabbing them playfully. The kids were clearly having the time of their life, screaming and laughing and running around. The sight made your heart flutter.

Neteyam had fully healed, and thankfully there hasnt been any raids recently, which helped him to fully heal and rest his body as well. You watched as the kids attacked Neteyam, crawling all over him until he fell into the water and surrendered while the kids continued grabbing at his braids and laughing. You let out a little giggle which caused Neteyam to look up and notice you standing there finally.

“ouch! hey!”

he said laughing and wincing in pain from all the kids pulling his hair

you giggled again, putting your hand over your mouth out of shyness. He smiled, trying to stand up and shake off all the kids crawling on his body. you let out a tribe call to get their attention

“OA-AYA, children! it is meal time go back to the village and clean up!”

you yelled to them from the shore

the children quickly released neteyam and scattered back to the village, shaking the water from their bodies as they walked. You walked over to Neteyam and reached an arm out to help him up, as he was on his hands in knees in the water, he grabbed your arm and pulled you down into the water with him, laughing.

“Neteyam!”

you yelled trying to catch your breath

“And that is for not saving me from those kids sooner”

he said with a big smile on his face. you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, turning your back to him with a grin on your face.

Behind you, you heard the water move and then two arms wrapping around your waist, and his head resting on your shoulder

“what are you thinking about love”

he said burying his face into your neck, inhaling the sweet and salty scent of your braids

“i enjoy seeing you like this ‘teyam. happy. ever since the raids stopped you have been very happy. And i know that soon you will have to go back to doing them again.”

His fingers dug slightly harder into your stomach

“y/n, i have to. If i do not, who will protect the people? It is what warriors have to do. I have to not only protect the people, but i have to protect you. If i fail to protect you i would never ever forgive forgive myself”

he gently kissed your neck again, earning a sigh from you.

(to be continued lol)

i definitely want this to be a series so i hope this doesn’t flop tbh

#avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #fanfic #avatar imagine #avatar the way of water #avatar x you

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cursedhaglette · 1 month

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Ooooh fun!!

Hm, #7 Raphael X Mix (he/him ranger elf, can read more on my Tumblr or just improvise) 🤭 or reader! If you wanna do some Raphael of course 🤭

i'm gonna do raphael x reader just so it's a little more approachable, hope that's okay! writing for raphael was actually so refreshing, i'm actually so curious about writing for other characters after this exercise. thank you for requesting him!!

raphael x g/n reader; 1100 words content: blowjob (lol)

You don’t know how long you’ve been on your knees, but an ache has set in before you see him again. The devil, dressed in finery and backlit by the glowing sunset of Avernus like he’d been wrapped in a cape of red and orange light.

He warned you, the last time he caught you snooping through his personal effects, that if he caught you again, there’d be hell to pay. You’d snorted a laugh at the flimsy joke and ran for the portal, magic you’ve grown proficient with since saving the world. What else did you have to do, between rebuilding a city and accepting praises for heroics you had no choice but to partake in?

And the hells offered something the mortal plane didn’t - Raphael.

Raphael in all his glory, horns and wings and talons. Red skinned, enormous, and perpetually smirking. Theatrical and wrathful.

You were desperate for him now, so much so that you let yourself get caught this time, just to see how this might play out. What his punishments might include, how long he might hold you captive in this house of debauchery and pain and pleasure.

The devil doesn’t speak as he approaches you, stopping a breath away and dragging one clawed finger under your chin, tilting your face until your eyes meet his. The smirk on his face is different, but still exquisite, and your breath catches in your throat as you await his punishment.

Arousal builds in your core as you wait in silence, his expression unmoving. The wait is tantalizing, the kind of drama you know Raphael delights in and has subsequently left you aching for more. You want to see his wicked grins and hear the purr of his voice as he scolds you.

“How, little mouse, should I punish you this time? It seems you haven’t yet learned the valuable lesson of leaving me alone,” he tuts once, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, before continuing, “so I can only assume you’ve become rather fond of our games.”

You swallow but stay quiet, aware he can sense the beat of your heart racing with anticipation, and don’t look away.

“I can smell the arousal in your blood, the need coursing through your veins each time you set foot in my house,” the devil continues, “and I have to admit, I am quite curious to see if you can live up to the might expectations that come with being the Hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

He says “hero” with a scoff, though you know he respects your victory more than he’d ever let on. Hells, without it, he wouldn’t have been crowned King of the Hells. He aided you along your journey, watching every step you made with your companions. How deep does his curiosity actually go?

“Please,” you whisper, the scrape of the talon still holding your chin sending a jolt of delicious pain straight to your core. You don’t say anything else, frankly you’re a bit unsure what else to say without begging him to rake those talons down your spine as he takes you from behind, thrust after punishing thrust.

“You forget, hero, that should I allow you that which you desire, I very well may decide to bind you as mine,” Raphael finally smiles, but it’s the kind of grin you’ve seen too many times to count - one that spells trouble and ought to evoke a feeling of mistrust. Instead, it stokes the fires in you, and you can’t help but squirm at the sight, desperate for some relief of the aching need you’re quickly losing control of. “I am not fond of letting go of those I enjoy.”

“Why else do you think I’ve been coming here?” You ask. “You know what I want, devil, so let me have it or let me go.”

“Let you have it,” he repeats, musing at the demand you dared utter in his home. But his hand falls from you, reaching to the button of his trousers. You finally look away from his face and notice a hardness there, caged behind the finest fabric in all the realms, that he releases with a single, deft hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight, the red, ridged length and the beautiful head that already has a bead of wetness, gathering at the tip. Absentmindedly, you run your hands up the length of his thighs, and bite your lip as you look up.

“Go on then, let’s see how well you do and perhaps that will earn you a less devastating punishment, hmm?”

He slaps his cock against your cheek before you take it between your lips, licking at the bead of the devil’s arousal and moaning at the taste. You’ve longed for this moment, waited for months, and you intend to take your time now. You intend to impress.

Your head bobs along his length, and you run your tongue along the infernal ridges, desperate to know how it might feel inside you. How each might feel as he pummels into you, and you moan at the image your conjure, the sound muffled by your desperate licking and sucking.

“I must admit, my dear hero,” Raphael grunts from above you, one hand moving to tangle in your hair, "You are so pretty with my cock in your mouth."

His talons dig into your scalp, just enough to send a jolt of pain through you, mixing with the pleasure building within you. You ignore the tears that spring at the corners of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat - it’s worth it for the sound of his moan.

You can’t help reaching between your legs now, your body begging to be touched by him but you know for now, your own hand will do the trick. He grinds into your mouth with increasing speed and the taste of him, the sound, floods your senses. You moan again, bucking your hips into your hand in tandem with Raphael’s, and you feel him tense briefly before a deep, drawn out moan escapes him.

He floods your mouth, salty-sweet cum hitting the back of your eager throat in thick spurts, and he continues to buck his hips as he rides out his orgasm. You swallow once, then again, as he finishes, and then bob your head up and down his length one last time before moving to lick him clean.

“Well, little mouse, it seems you have a talented mouth in more ways than I realized,” Raphael pants softly, the hand at the top of your head moving to caress your cheek for a brief moment. “Now, go to the bed and undress. The real punishments begin in the bedroom.”

#raphael x reader #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael x gn reader #hagfics #smut ask game

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onlymingyus · 2 years

Text

not going anywhere

pairing; choi seungcheol (s.coups) x not stated reader but reader does have menstration cycle read as you would like

genre; fluff

warnings; mentions food, medicine, reader on period

request; no

a/n; just a bit of fluff for my own self indulgence from my comfort man cheol because i myself am having a really hard day and needed him

imagine being curled up in a ball in the middle of your bed. seungcheol finding you and moving in behind you to be the big spoon only to hear your soft whimpers. his heart clenching as he moves your hair from your face and leans to kiss your cheek. his brows furrowed as he feels the damp skin where your tears as been trailing.

"baby? what's wrong?" his voice is soft and warm but your shoulders shake as you cry a bit harder shaking your head. you just don't feel well and the day hasn't been going well. it started poorly from the moment you woke up and seemed to spiral with each tick of the clock. you knew it sounded dramatic but most things did during this time of the month.

"it's that time of the month and i don't feel good. my head hurts, my body hurts, nothing is going how it is supposed to today." your words are slightly broken between your tears making seungcheol frown as he uses his thumb to glide under your eyes as he turns you slightly towards him. his eyes searching your face before he leans to kiss you softly just once.

"i'm so sorry. let me help, okay?" you shrug at his words not sure how he can help but you watch as he slides off the bed and you pull your legs back up to your stomach turning towards the door. a few moments later he comes back with supplies. a piece of chocolate, a large glass of water, pain medicine, a wet wash cloth.

"here let me sit back down." you nod and let seungcheol move back beside of you as he starts to hand you things helping you take the headache medicine before he urges you to drink as much of the water as you can. he uses the wet wash cloth to wipe the tears from your face, you eyes closing at the the refreshing feel as you slowly eat the chocolate as he hums softly under his breath.

when he is finally done he folds the wash cloth and puts it on your head before pulling you to him and putting his hand over your lower abdomen. the warmth of his larger hand radiating as he pulls you into his both. his lips brushing your neck as you close your eyes and sniff back more tears before he calms you with his words. "shh...i'm not going anywhere. i've got you now."

——————————————————

tag list;@bangchanbabygirlx @just-here-to-read-01 @hoshistar96 @niktwazny303 @strawberri-uyu @yeritheloml @tis-niki @noraehey @hoohoohope @otterpopchan @xuxibelle @foxdaisy @smileysuh @vern0nsworld @synthetickitsune @enhacolor @pandorashbox @yeosayang @gyuhanniescarat @yoonguurt @jwnghyuns @xoxodino @sakurasangcl @woniewhite @fantasy2wonderland @httpswonwoosglasses @rubyscoups @junhui-recs @onlywonus

please note that I am doing my best to tag all of you who have filled out the tag list form but tumblr won’t let me tag some of you. I think that is because either you have tags turned off or possibly a blank tumblr page. consider reblogging some of the fics you like from me or other writers. ♥

#seungcheol fluff #seventeen fluff #scoups fluff #svt fluff #caratwritersclub #seungcheol imagines #seventeen imagines #scoups imagines #svt imagines #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #scoups x reader #svt x reader

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angstsfordays · 2 years

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Save me, Save you Prologue

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Enhanced! Avenger Reader

Summary: Your fights mostly belonged on the grounds while he worked mostly in the mystic and cosmic realms. Even though you both fought together in the infinity war to stop Thanos, you and Stephen Strange hardly ever interacted with one another. It only took one incidental misunderstanding between the two of you to bring both of you closer than ever. For two people who do not believe that they could find love, all we can say is that love finds you unexpectedly.

Chapter synopsis: A little prologue before the main story. Y/N L/N thought her first meeting with Stephen Strange- Master of the Mystic Arts was on during the battle with Thanos to save Earth. However, their chance encounter took place years before that at Metro-General Hospital.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.3k

Notes: Hi! It has been a while, I finally returned to the land of writing after sorting out my life outside of Tumblr! My recent Marvel obsession has switched to Stephen Strange after watching Dr Strange 2. I’m like….ok…Stephen…I never knew you were so fineeee. So here I am, back with a fic that has been in my head for awhile and I am now putting it into words! Hope y’all like it! 😊

Chapters: One| Two | Three |

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Stephen Strange finally had a breather after 8-hour neurosurgery for a patient. Running his hands through the options in the pantry’s refrigerator, Stephen could not decide between a bottle of water or a can of soda.

Just as his fingers opened the tab and a popping sound went off, the door to the pantry opened with such a force, a gust of air brushed past his cheeks. Stephen’s sharp blue eyes despite the tiring surgery prior went to the frantic junior doctor from A&E that was panting yet looked frightened at the sight of him.

Stephen did not speak yet, opting to raise his brow and lifted the can of soda to his lips as the refreshing liquid went down his throat.

“Dr Strange, I don’t mean to disturb you. I-I know you just finished a surgery b-b-but there’s an emerg-” Stephen tried his hardest to hold back the eye roll that he was about to give. Give me a break, he thought….

“Speak properly.” His curt words were enough to silence the junior doctor and gave him moments to recollect himself.

“Dr Palmer asked for your help. She said that you are her best hope.” Hearing Christine’s name shifted his initial attitude and he was willing to push aside the fact that he has not slept in 48 hours to help his ex, albeit now good (and only) friend out.

“Alright.” Stephen downed the rest of his drink before chugging it into the bin and followed the junior doctor’s lead.

The A&E was filled with many patients as usual. The junior doctor opened up the curtain to one of the beds and Stephen was met with the sight of Christine evaluating the patient. In a quick glance, Stephen saw dried blood on the woman’s head which stained the pillow beneath her.

Alerted of his presence, Christine heaved a sigh of relief when she saw him arrived.

“What’s going on?”

“She was hit on the head by falling debris. It’s a miracle that she’s even alive. Her head was concussed and concluded to be the most affected after our check. Aside from some trauma to the torso, she appears to be well everywhere else.”

Christine gave a brief rundown of the patient and stepped aside as Stephen moved forward to have a better look. You looked familiar, Stephen thought for a moment as he saw that though your eyes were closed, you were conscious and whimpering in pain.

He could hear you saying something and leaned forward to listen more clearly.

“Help please.”

“She’s an Avenger.” A new voice popped up from the other side of the bed.

“What?” Stephen asked with a puzzled expression.

“She’s one of the Avengers. A fire broke out in one of the labs of a science facility and she happened to be visiting. She was helping to evacuate everyone with the fire department. She went back to save someone who was still trapped. She got out with the civilian but there was a sudden explosion. She used her body as shield but apparently the debris hit her before her powers came up as a protective barrier.”

One of the A&E nurses who heard from the onsite paramedics recounted.

“Please save me.” Stephen could hear your breathy pleas. Your hand raised slightly and what took everyone aback was the sudden surge of energy radiating from your palms.

Everyone at your bedside took a step back at your sudden display of powers. Stephen was not usually fazed, he was known to be one of the most confident individual to most people and he always seemed liked he was never nervous. But this time, Stephen was momentarily dazed as he witnessed the flickering of the energy sparks coming from you.

“How do we exactly help a super-powered person?” The A&E junior doctor spoke up. Just as Stephen was about to reply, a surge of energy blasted from your hands and caused damage to the ceiling above.

Everyone was shocked and panicked on how to deal with you. They never exactly had a enhanced individual come through to their ward before.

Stephen’s attention went back to your increased frantic movements and he put two and two together that since you were in pain, your powers likely are acting up out of a defense mechanism.

Christine proposed the idea of a sedative so that they were able to properly treat you and ensure that your powers could be under control while you were getting the help you needed.

The nurse was already on her heels to get a sedative when you started to call out in a strained voice. Tears were already falling from your tightly shut lids and anyone would feel an ache seeing how much pain you were in.

He did not know what compelled him to do it but Stephen reached forward to hold your hand which had returned to normal. He then started to try getting to you to calm down by reassuring that you were fine, that you were at the hospital and you were going to get help.

For a moment, all was calm as your writhing ceased. Everyone looked between each other to assume that the worst was over. As the nurse arrived with the sedative, Christine was prepared to administer it when a glow of your powers formed.

Everyone gasped as they saw that Stephen was still holding onto your hands and thought that he might have gotten hurt from the contact.

However, that was not the case as he appeared fine. Your powers were not hurting him at all. In fact, Stephen was pleasantly surprised by the soothing warmth oozing from your palms to his. He never felt such soft and comfort.

Stephen felt a small squeeze from your hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered before dropping your hand and his down to the bed. It was only a short moment before Stephen snapped back to reality and stood up. He gently let go of your hands before turning to the junior doctor.

“Get a room ready.” Stephen ordered before the junior doctor nodded fervently and rushed to make the call.

Stephen looked to you again before to Christine. No words were exchanged as the two tried to process what just happened. Stephen looked to you before to his hand. In his many years of his career, this would stay as one of the most memorable moments.

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Stephen ensured a successful surgery for you, unlikely that you would suffer from any effects post-surgery. He had gone home after your surgery concluded and was prepared to see you again in your ward the next day.

He was unsure why he looked forward to seeing how you were, a small smile unknowingly formed on his face as he made his way to work.

But alas to his disappointment, he was informed that Tony Stark had personally came to pick you up and transfer you back to a private ward in the Avengers upstate compound.

Stephen doubted that he would ever see you again.

Meanwhile after you woke up from your surgery and took time to take a break from the field, it only dawned upon you that you have yet to thank the doctor that saved you. From what you heard, if it were not for him, you could have suffered a worser fate.

With a bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers, you were nervous yet excited as you stepped into Metro-General Hospital. To your disappointment, the nurse from the neurosurgery department informed you that Dr Stephen Strange had resigned. The nurse relayed to you that Dr Strange had gotten into a car accident which crippled his hands and ended his surgical career.

Tears were welling up in your eyes as you processed this news. When you asked if there was a way to reach to him, the nurse directed you to Christine Palmer. Your heart sank when she told you that she was no longer in contact with Dr Strange who decided to cut everyone from his life.

She advised you to not reach out to him as he was still processing grief and loss. He was also not in New York anymore from what she last known. Taking her advice knowing that she was or is a good friend of his, you decided to stop your pursuit of him.

You wondered if there would ever be a day that you could meet Stephen Strange and thank him properly for saving you.

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Alright! So that’s the prologue to the fic, Save me, Save you. I hope you would be interested to give it a read and let me know what you think! I would aim to have the first chapter up soon!

This story is going to be fluffy, romantic and angsty and a slice of life all wrapped into one. ♥️

Till then,

Angstfordays 💛

#stephen strange x you #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #angstsfordays #save me save you #marvel fanfiction #Stephen strange fanfiction #doctor strange fanfiction

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bookinit02 · 5 months

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HI HELLO GOOD EVENING

I'm dead tired bc I got barely any sleep last night + braindead because I've spent the past several hours binging through your Stranger Things Byler retelling and I'm a bit out of words, HOWEVER. It finally clicked in my head that you have a tumblr and I, also having a tumblr, can use said tumblr to throw my appreciation upon you in a more direct manner.

On that note... the retelling is AMAZING and I love it so very very much!!! (I've also been leaving a whole stream of comments on the fic itself, so a lot of my feelings have already been described in detail there XD). It makes me feel so very many emotions, both good AND bad, and for a fic to trigger THAT MUCH of an emotional reaction in me is really an achievement. It's so beautifully sad and tender and joyous and realistic, and all the more painful for it—and all the more beautiful IN that pain. I haven't actually been a big active part of the Stranger Things Fandom (TM) for several years, but I still often return to Byler fics, sort of like a comfort blanket in story form—and yours are some of the BEST (I think it was also you that wrote one of my favorite ever painting scene fix-its; I'll have to go back and re-read that as well!!)

I started reading season 4 last night (which is in part to blame for my lack of sleep) and finished up the rest of it today. I'm so extremely excited for season 5 and to see what you've done with it—I already started reading the script for episode one and it looks amazing (god, I bet that Mike having a panic attack/Vecna episode hurts WAY more in prose)!!! I can't decide between reading all the script first, then reading the fic; or reading the script episodes and then reading the according fic chapters; or just barreling on ahead in the fic and coming back to the script if it strikes my fancy later (which is, if I'm being honest, the most likely outcome). All will have to wait til tomorrow, however, as I have dinner and a warm bed to get to. All the love to you and your fic!!

(Love how I said "I'm so braindead I've run out of words" and then proceeded to give evidence to the EXACT OPPOSITE claim. I'm really a bit like Mike lmao, even if I'm struggling to actually describe my specific emotions or feelings about something, I can run my mouth about any old thing for ages XD)

hi hello good morning!!! i have been watching ur comments come in with so much joy and happiness—hopefully i get time to respond to all of them within the next few days! i hope that you have gotten so much rest and that you are all refreshed for the next day🫂💗

thank you so much for all your kind words, in this ask and otherwise! the rewrite is really a labor of love that has been sustaining me for over a year now, and it is always so impressive and awe-worthy to me when new people discover it and start from the very beginning. that is SO much to read!! several novels worth!

as for the script, read it in whatever order you would like! my recommended order was originally to read the script first, then the fic chapters—but i know that some people want to experience the plot twists and developments as they happen, so really any way you decide to read it is completely fine! the byler scenes are all the same (with a bit extra in the fic), it’s really just the other characters and plot lines that are expanded.

thank you for “running your mouth,” as you’ve called it—but i prefer to think that we’re just chatting🥳 i really love interacting with people through both comments and asks, so feel free to do both (and to talk as long as you’d like)! i am super grateful and honored that you’ve chosen to read my story, and i hope that you enjoy what i have so far of season 5!!💗🫂

#asks #this is so nice🥹#thank youuuuuuuuu #rewrite

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kalamity-jayne · 1 year

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uh uhm.. is it okay if i ask for some validation on me transitioning later in life,,

I'm gonna be real with you my friend, I was hesitant to say yes to this today because my dysphoria flared up on me today, and it is very much wrapped in this subject. But, I can tell I'm starting to feel better having talked about it with my wife and friends. Among the fresh insights, my wife reminded to take my own damn medicine. So I want to begin by thanking you, for providing an opportunity to refresh my memory on the medicine. Anyways, lets get into it.

If I understand you're tumblr header correctly, you're 16? If that's the case then I wonder what obstacles are in your way now that are making you have to wait later in life because surely you know that starting around 17ish is pretty dang on schedule. So, is it your parents? The state? In short, if you're a minor and you really do have to wait to adulthood there is additional advice I may be able to provide to you.

Now, let's swallow the bitter pill first. One of the hard, painful things about transitioning is that the longer you wait to start the more time you will have to grieve and mourn. I have very few regrets in my life, but top of the list is wishing I transitioned sooner. BUT it's never too late to start and no matter how old you are, you will be so fucking happy you did it.

I never thought I could have the life I currently do. One of the things that made it hard for me to say yes to transitioning was I thought I had to make a binary choice; I could either transition and finally answer all the questions I'd been asking myself my whole life and achieve some semblance of internal peace or I could have a family, a career, a good life, but I could not have both.

But here I am, living proof that it's not our transness hindering us from living our dreams, it's cis gender people constantly trying to rain on our parade. If the cis got out of our way, and gave supports to those who need it, the world would be our oyster. I regret and still feel sad about all the time I spent in the egg, but I'm also unspeakably happy and grateful for the life I have now. Even if you can't transition today doesn't mean you don't have a tomorrow to look forward to and hon, you've got so much beautiful life ahead of you.

#ask #asnwered #Mother Calamity!

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fallen-in-dreams · 8 months

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CHAPTER THREE on AO3.

Chapters on Tumblr: One. Two.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 4,812.

Status: Ongoing.

Reminder: the tags/warnings are important.

Enjoy. :)

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

For reference: Menbā: a derogatory term for someone who is considered a criminal. Uragirimono: traitor, turncoat, etc.:

Tumblr version:

Oh God, I'm thrown. I am only happy on my own. My heart grows harder, it wants to perform. And I only ever feel it when I wanted to be torn. To be torn.

-- To Be Torn, by Kyla La Grange

.:.

I can’t do this.

This thought was immediate and harsh in her mind. But after a long shower in which she’d taken full advantage of the supplied body cleaning products as well as an experimental bout of relief from the removable shower head, Sakura was feeling a little better about her situation. A bit of touching here and a lot of extra water pressure there, and she was refreshed, tingly, relaxed, and something akin to happy. Her sensitive nerves drawn out and heightened, even if for a short while. Her building headache had simmered down, and she had a plan of sorts in mind. Well, more like mental images and a bullet-point list of things to do.

Acting like a normal human being had not been on that itinerary, but it should have been expected. She didn’t want any more suspicion to be cast on her. She scoffed at herself for her stupidity. Sakura needed a clean escape for when the time came.

If it comes at all.

She scoffed again. Her new housemates were clearly expecting her to be normal.

“Clean up,” Kankuro had told her (while she was panicking and ignoring him). “Join us for dinner later.”

Might as well get ready for that.

Standing in her room, holding a towel to her damp body, and rifling carelessly through the boring choices in the almost bare closet, Sakura sighed and grunted at each and every lame item of clothing inside. She didn’t have this in her. Not anymore. The old Sakura would’ve just politely followed direction and smiled in all the right places while she secretly basked in the selection of free clothes at her disposal. That Sakura would be tossing out all the simple items and scrounging around for the prettiest and most lavish looking clothes. Because she always had someone to impress, even after she stopped acting like a cliché fangirl and finally grew up. It used to be Sasuke then close friends…

Ugh.

Sakura shuddered, angry at her regressive thoughts.

No Sasuke. No friends. Not anymore.

She hadn’t had down time for twelve months and it was messing with her head. Now that she had time to dwell on everything and everyone that had happened and disappeared from her life, her intrusive thoughts didn’t know when to stop. In that moment, she missed the cold comfort of working too much. It had kept her alive, warm, and hot and cold all over. But now? Now, she couldn’t distract herself from the pain that came with having nothing else to do.

She shook slightly and pushed her emotions down as much as she could, her fist clenching a particularly top that reminded her of a bland looking version of her old qipao dress, just in shirt form. Just remembering the ghastly outfits that she used to wear made the clanging in her head echo louder. Sakura closed her eyes desperately.

Not out of the woods yet.

She was still in that tree stump, bleeding, broken, and surrounded by foreign ninja. Blood did not dry quickly in the warm, forest climates, so she was still sticky and wet. Her body shuddered with the phantom sensations. But she couldn’t let her guard down now. Not even here.

I can do this.

She had to. Sakura had no idea what was waiting her during this dinner with Gaara and Kankuro, but if she couldn’t do this one simple thing, then what hope did she have for the rest of her stay here? She nodded to herself as her body trembled; pins and needles preceding a rush of exhaustion.

But it was with renewed determination that Sakura sorted through the closet, putting aside anything that reminded her of the old days. There were no knickers or bras (she wasn’t well-built, so to speak, anyway), but she found a formal-looking top and a pair of trousers that matched. The pockets made her think they were men’s trousers, but she didn’t care. Black sandals at the bottom of the closet were an easy choice to go with the grey, black, and red colour palette of the clothes and she slipped into them, running a distracted hand over herself, like she was trying to smooth down wrinkles. She found a brush and quickly ran it through her hair, wincing at the slightly painful tugs. It had been too long since she’d taken care of herself.

Sakura surveyed the stranger in the full-length mirror behind the large closet door and sighed. It would have to do. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants but that hardly mattered anyway. She checked the time. Kankuro said that dinner would be served at six. She sat on the edge of the bed and twiddled her thumbs, trying not to think of anything in particular and just keeping her eye on the slow-moving hand of the clock on her wall. Idleness was going to be the death of her.

When it was time, she narrowed her eyes at it for a moment before reluctantly standing.

Here goes.

Before leaving the room, Sakura took out the stick of charcoal she kept in her travel bag. She didn’t have the right type of sharp implements for this job, funnily enough, so this would have to do for now.

I’ll cut it open when I find one.

Taking a deep breath, she used the charcoal to draw the kanji for “one” on the back of her bedroom door, nice and clear and in the upper corner, so she’d have plenty of space to write more. She wasn’t going to be here long enough to cover the entire door, but the anal part of her wanted it to look neat and tidy anyway. Satisfied with her handiwork, Sakura tossed the charcoal back in her bag. Dark, obsidian eyes flashed in her mind, and she hesitated, staring at the compressed carbon residue masquerading as a drawing implement. She swallowed heavily. Memories pushed at the edge of her mind of the artist this had belonged to. Her friend.

Sakura closed the bag to shut out those thoughts and took another deep breath to steel herself.

Happy place. Happy place. Happy place. Happy place. Happy place. Happy place.

“No such place.”

Sakura swivelled at the sound of the voice but saw nothing.

I’m talking to myself again.

She hadn’t forgotten that mirage with her face. And it hadn’t forgotten her either, it seemed.

Sakura opened the door and quietly closed it behind herself. The smell of food hit her, making her stomach rumble painfully, and she could hear voices in the dining room downstairs. She froze up, hand against the wall to steady herself.

Not now, she told her anxiety. What the fuck? Calm down.

After a moment she was able to plaster something that looked like a smile to her face and make her way down the internal staircase. Her palms sweating, she stepped into the light of the dining room. Kankuro and Gaara ceased their conversation and Sakura swallowed her smile. Her face slackened as Kankuro pulled out a chair for her and the heavy eyes of the Kazekage watched her closely as she settled herself into it.

The smell of the food hit her nostrils once more, like a physical force and (once again) her stomach growled. Though far less painfully this time. She waited for the pleasantries to pass and gave the brothers a nod before digging into her rice and vegetables. She felt almost human. The food was so good that Sakura wondered who had cooked it. Neither of them struck her as the chef type. But then, appearances were often deceiving.

Kankuro explained that Temari was on a mission and Sakura nodded again. Gaara said a few things about some kind of renovations and his brother engaged him in conversation over idle topics. It was a casual setting, and nobody seemed interested in any of the heavier issues they were all thinking about. The elephant in the room, as it were. Well, maybe they were, but Sakura didn’t care one bit. If they wanted to take this engagement thing seriously, that was their problem.

But she did find herself curious how opinions in Suna had formed on the current ninja climate. What those in this room thought about everything. If they even knew the extent of Danzo’s reach. Or if they just saw him, and the rest of the ninja, as simply another leader and their hidden village.

Not that she had the courage to ask.

This engagement is mindboggling enough.

She wasn’t going to go along with it. She had a plan. It was simple, really: pretend to be normal, play at being the demure bride-to-be, scope out her options, and then think of how to evade her Root shadow long enough to get the fuck out of the village. They were very good points to consider, in her opinion. She’d done so much more crazy things on assassination missions. Of course, those were months ago, and she’d been running from one fight to the next ever since then.

All that blood does a good job of distracting me. Sticky, thick, ugly substance that is surprisingly easy to wash out.

From her clothes, at least.

Still, she was getting out of here, regardless of the methodology. And the idea that she might have to kill that shadowed, masked freak on her way out brought a small smirk to the corner of her mouth.

“Dessert?” Kankuro asked when they were all finished.

Sakura nodded and he left the room for a minute. A minute of Gaara’s curious, silent stares. Then she was feeding the hungry animal inside of her again. The one without the ability to snap back at her. She had no idea what this confectionary was called, but it tasted like a mix between ice-cream and salted caramel. She remembered suddenly that the Kazekage wasn’t a fan of sweets.

Where did I learn that from?

She wasn’t sure, but the redhead was eating his dessert, so it was clearly sugar-free. Sakura smiled slightly at that. Some things never changed. She swallowed the last mouthful and placed her spoon down, licking her lips greedily. Sakura hadn’t tasted anything this good in a long time. In between mission locations her food was either standard, dry ninja rations or involved caught meat that she either did or did not have time to cook first as well as whatever fruits and nuts she could scavenge. Sometimes she could steal food off her targets or sneak something out of a vendor, the ninja way, on her way wherever she was going. She always ate and ran.

A home cooked meal had been off the menu for almost two years.

Since Danzo took office.

She scowled lightly.

Stop fucking regressing.

She fiddled with the cutlery for a few moments before remembering she wasn’t alone in the room.

“I realise this is unorthodox and I apologise.” Gaara’s deep voice interrupted her errant thoughts.

Sakura blinked heavily and stared owlishly at him, her skin warming with the shame of embarrassment. What had he been talking about? He continued talking as though she had heard every word.

“Relations between our villages has been strained.”

No shit.

“But maybe this new agreement can help.”

Not likely.

Either Gaara was incredibly naïve, or he was just placating her. She didn’t know which was worse. She knew Danzo. This arrangement was nothing more than a distraction. That Root shadow was the one he should be more concerned with. The dark, ugly man whose only purpose here was likely to look for a way past the seals of the Kazekage mansion for no reason other than to fuck with everyone inside of it.

He can fuck himself for all I care.

Sakura leant back in her chair, returning Gaara’s intense stare. A bubble of confidence suddenly welled up inside her and she managed to keep her face straight as they held each other’s gaze. The pale green of his irises danced in the light of the candelabra in the middle of the table, and she was reminded of a green sapphire her mother had gifted her when she became chunin; a pale hue that she liked despite being lacklustre in any form of bright or ostentatious colours. It burned in her heart as a distant, longing memory. Gaara’s eyes suddenly reminded her of home.

And I kind of find it hot. Wacko.

Sakura swallowed heavily and splayed her hands over the tabletop, shifting her eyes away from Gaara.

You win that round.

“Please feel free to ask for anything you may want or need,” he continued, as though they hadn’t just been staring avidly into each other’s eyes.

Like star-crossed lovers too stupid to realise it.

She nodded her head, not sure her voice would come out as strong as she’d want it to. Gaara didn’t seem to mind but Kankuro was clearly becoming at least mildly curious regarding her silence. He cleared his throat, but she ignored him. She had no idea what to say to Gaara’s idea of hospitality, anyway.

Gaara cocked his head to the side in much the way that Sakura had seen former Hokage when they sensed nearby Anbu. She forced herself not to mirror his movement as she tried to detect the subtle chakra they would be giving off and sighed when she ultimately failed.

Suna Anbu must use a different subtle method to gain their Kage’s attention.

“Temari might not get back for a while,” Kankuro said to his brother.

Had Gaara said something? No. There seemed to be some kind of intensity in the way he was looking at his older brother. Sakura had heard that sometimes siblings were close enough to simply understand each other that well. Much like two people who’d spent way too much time together. And it could have something to do with the Anbu that Sakura just knew was there.

She clenched her fists to hide the trembling.

“Temari is not the only kunoichi absent from the village.”

“True.” Kankuro sat back in his chair and smiled genially at Gaara before turning to Sakura. “Gaara and I might be stuffy and useless–” Gaara huffed slightly. “–but we know when we’re out of our depth with women.” He chuckled.

“Speak for yourself.”

“I am,” Kankuro said. “And for you too.”

“Hm.”

“You should be glad I’m including you. Wouldn’t want to feel left out, right?” The older brother laughed as Gaara sighed and leant back in his chair.

Sakura relaxed her hands and splayed them over the table, staring down at her empty plate.

The brothers exchanged a few more words before Gaara cocked his head to the side again.

Anbu getting busy tonight.

At least someone was, she supposed.

“You’re not better with women than I am,” Kankuro said, almost as though he’d forgotten there was an actual woman in the room with them. He puffed out his chest. “They’re lining up to date me.”

Gaara scoffed softly, eliciting a soliloquy about the perks of being the Kazekage’s brother from Kankuro.

A heavy weight settled on Sakura’s chest, and she felt a slight sting, biting her lip to swallow a light gasp. She shifted in her chair.

“Well, I guess you don’t have to be good with women,” Kankuro mumbled once he cottoned onto the fact that no-one in the room was impressed.

They both glanced at Sakura as she fiddled with her thumbs, crossing, and uncrossing her feet self-consciously. She had nothing to add to their weird, sibling dynamic. She’d never had any brothers and sisters and these two were acting very strange. Sakura tuned them out as her vision blurred slightly and she closed her eyes. She was feeling light-headed and just wanted to head back to her room. When she opened her eyes again, the brothers were back to exchanging barbs with each other.

Do they always talk this long after dinner?

She had to leave the room. Sakura tried to think of an excuse to get away. In the meantime, she just needed to act normal.

“You’re not normal.”

Her head snapped up and she glared at the fourth person in the room, even as her heart raced, ignoring that conversation around her had suddenly gone quiet.

Not even a person.

It hit her with startling clarity, and she almost let out a rasp of laughter.

I can’t pretend to be normal.

.:.

Pity.

That was the dull light in their eyes. Even in Gaara’s.

She didn’t want it.

Sakura excused herself with a quick, mumbled apology and no explanation, but remembered to bow in respect at the last second before fleeing the room and half-running up the staircase. Silence followed her until she slammed the door behind herself, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Sakura gasped and stretched her fingers outward as she trembled. What Gaara and Kankuro must’ve thought meant very little to her other than the inevitable embarrassment for their next encounter. At least, that was what she told herself. It seemed that even after two years of thinking she’d grown numb to it, the old Sakura who was easily embarrassed and cared what other people thought of her wasn’t long dead after all. But she wanted it to be. She wanted to take a kunai to the throat of her old self and be done with it.

She was an idiot.

And a loser. And weak. And pathetic. And all the other things Danzo told her she was now. He was an arsehole but very right about her. Why else was she still here and not half-way to the North Sea? She could be almost anywhere right now.

I am an idiot.

But she was better off now. In many ways. Who she’d been before, that silly girl hadn’t been able to save Lady Tsunade from the coup. From Danzo’s kunai. She hadn’t been able to follow Shizune out of the village. She’d been less than useless as fires and smoke and the cries of battle raged around her. She hadn’t been able to find any of her friends before it was finally over. Not even in the ashes. She’d been too weak to kill the Root following her as she tried. Broken earth and broken ribs; she fallen so hard.

Sakura let out another gasp that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

And now she couldn’t even pretend to be normal for a few hours to keep anyone from asking questions she didn’t want to answer. Maybe she was still that idiotic, weak child after all. Gaara and Kankuro probably thought so too. Were they laughing at her? Or only sighing in disappointment? She was a major disappointment.

“They think we’re insane.”

We?

Sakura chose to ignore that train of thought. She had made a fool of herself enough for one night. Her first night in Suna and she was barely holding it together. Gaara and Kankuro didn’t know her well enough to realise just how far off the rails she was, which was a point in her favour. But that wasn’t going to last forever. She needed to get a grip. She really didn’t want to hear their questions if they thought to ask them.

Sakura settled her nerves as she moved toward the bed, only now realising there was something on her dresser. A package. She stopped suddenly, narrowing her eyes at it from the middle of the room.

How did that get there?

Her brain flitted back and forth between weird genjutsu ideas and those times Gaara sensed Anbu nearby. Hm. She wondered if there were any animal summons in the village that were difficult to detect. The package looked like a normal one, with her name written across the small card on top. There was even a bow knot on it, like one would tie to a present.

Weird.

Sakura walked slowly over to it and performed the few detection jutsu she knew from her Root commander’s training. A series of quick, simple hand signs later and there was no chakra reaction from the wrapped package. Not a chakra bomb, or anything of the sort, at least. She wished she had an actual kunai as she tentatively tapped the parcel with her forefinger. She hadn’t sensed any chakra signatures in the mansion during the dinner, so she decided those Anbu had to have delivered it. Or someone else who deliberately suppressed their chakra inside their own, friendly village.

Even weirder.

She fingered the card gently, reading the short message silently. It was from two people called Matsuri & Yukata. Sakura vaguely remembered the names like a distant memory from a past life come back to haunt her. She had a visual a few minutes later as she rolled their names over her tongue. Right. Gaara’s very emphatic fangirls. She smiled at that.

What do they want?

Throwing caution to the wind, Sakura roughly undid the bow and opened the package, tossing the ribbon and now broken box aside carelessly. She held her gift up to the lightbulb on the ceiling. It was a cactus. She frowned, then reread the card. They didn’t mention what kind of cactus it was, and she’d never seen it’s like before.

“No doubt Lord Kazekage didn’t have much prepared for your arrival. We’ll fix that, don’t worry. We decided to get you a ‘Welcome to Suna, Lady Sakura!’ present, so WELCOME!”

The note ended in several smiley faces after their names, clearly added for dramatic effect. Emphatic seemed to be their default setting. This didn’t bode well. And what did they mean by fixing that? Were they going to buy her better clothes? Some feminine products? Or maybe some entertainment, like reading material. She smiled lightly at that. As long as they didn’t expect her to go to the store with them.

Nobody is ready to see my anxiety react to that.

Sakura put the cactus on her bedside table, pushing it to the edge furthest from her, then sat on the bed and sighed. She looked around the room. Really looked. Aside from the barest of furniture and no personal touches, which was to be expected, it did well as a temporary guest room. Nothing glamorous, just functional.

Almost like she was in a low-budget hotel.

She glanced at the cactus before turning away, kicking off her shoes and climbing under the bed covers, fully dressed. Sakura stared up at the ceiling.

Okay, I’m fine.

There was no threat here. She rolled over on her side, facing away from the bedside table, and closed her eyes. But the night was a cruel bitch and as she drifted off to sleep, that familiar pull into the dark, broken recesses of her mind was her only warning before everything went black.

.:.

She was back in the forest, stumbling as she tried to find a hiding spot to avoid her pursuers. The mission had gone wrong, on an epic scale, and now she was the only one still standing. The captain had died first, the other Anbu shortly after. Their screams followed her as Sakura moved between the trees, blundering along as she tried to rush her tired legs. She kept falling against the wide oaks and tripping over exposed roots. The cries in the distance were no longer her Anbu escorts. They were her hunters.

Sakura pushed herself off a thick tree trunk but instead of barrelling her way through the brush, she toppled forward, and face planted. She wasn’t cognizant enough to feel embarrassed, merely laying there, breathing in the musk of forest floor, then gasping when something started crawling over back and an insect decided to go for her mouth. With effort, she pushed herself onto her knees, spat the bug out, and then looked around anxiously.

What to do, where to go… she did her best to hide her tracks as she stood shakily, then gasped at the renewed pain in her side. She had no idea where to go and any minute now, they were going to zero in on her position.

“Where are you, little menbā? My little uragirimono”

No time to debate it. The hollowed-out tree trunk she’d fallen next to was large enough, she supposed. Dragging her pitiful arse along and gripping her travel bag like it was a lifeline, Sakura hauled herself into the relative safety of the trunk; the overgrown shrubbery hiding her from sight. Her vision blurred. Her feet were suddenly numb. Darkness crept in around her. And she was gone.

A dull thud. Her eyes snapped open. A distant soft light illuminated the ceiling above her as it blinked into existence. Her conscious mind was fuzzy as she blinked heavily, registering that she’d just been asleep. But something felt… wrong. Her body tingled as heavy breathing caught her attention and she stiffened. She turned her head to the side. Sakura let out an ear-piercing scream. Two beady eyes stared back at her as she tensed. When the breath from her short-lived scream finally left her, she gasped and then pushed away from the mirage. A maniacal grin on its face, it stood as she managed to back into the middle of the bed, just watching her. Nothing about it had changed: the same wounds that made no sense, the same torn and bloodied clothes.

My dream… no, my nightmare.

She was fully awake now.

Sakura grasped her chest, unable to break eye contact with it and unable to calm herself down.

“You’re going to die here,” it said, its mouth moving out of synch with the words. “And nobody will care.”

Sakura scrambled further away, gasping, and toppling over the edge of the bed. She stayed on the floor for a few minutes, shaking and trying to remember the breathing exercises she’d learned during her work at the Konoha hospital.

Breath in. Breathe out. In. Deeply. Out. Deeply. Rinse and repeat.

When it finally started to work, she turned around and continued the mantra in her head as she peered over the bed. The mirage was still there. Her race started racing but it didn’t give her time to resuscitate her courage. The mirage cocked its head then flickered and disappeared.

“Fuck.”

Sakura let out a loud groan. She slammed her hand down on the mattress, screaming silently at herself for letting this get her so worked up. She hated this moment of peace. She hated being idle and weak and forced to remember. Tears burned her skin and she sobbed. She wished she was back in the forest. Everything in there made sense. She was running for her life but at least she didn’t have the time to dwell on it. It was better. It was pure.

Sakura groaned again. She was self-aware enough to know how fucked up that thought was. She pulled herself up onto the bed and returned to her breathing exercises.

Breath in. Breathe out. In. Deeply. Out. Deeply. Rinse and repeat.

Her skin was moist as she hugged herself tightly. She’d gone to bed in the outfit she’d worn to dinner, and they were currently sticking to her like the sticky, sweaty sparring clothes did after a heavy workout. She laughed softly. Of all the things. But hopefully this incident was just the exhaust pipe of her emotions, and it wouldn’t be like this every night. She’d gone without sleep for large periods before, so if this happened again, she knew what to do.

Sakura pulled her legs up to her chin. Her first night in the Kazekage mansion and she was out of control. She listened for sounds of her housemates. If they weren’t heavy sleepers, they could’ve heard her initial scream. Her own eardrums hadn’t managed to absorb the sound, due to her distress, but she was pretty sure it had been loud.

Her heart hammered in her chest as the minutes ticked by, but nobody came. Relief flooded through her. Nobody was coming to check on her. That was both insulting and soothing. The last thing she needed was more pitying looks as she tried to explain away her scream.

Her body shuddered as she curled into a foetal position, on top of the bed covers and closed her eyes, hoping for a swift end to it all.

Please let the darkness take me.

She didn’t notice the eye made of sand watching her in the corner of the room as exhaustion finally took her. Nor the concerned frown from its owner.

.:.

#GaaSaku #my fanfiction #fanfiction #A Beautiful Lie

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autumn-grace · 1 year

Text

The Lingering Pain of Empty Hands

Summery: In 1793 Benedict goes missing at a fair. Twenty years later Eloise keeps running into the same man while investigating the case of one famous Lady Whistledown.

A story exploring the complexities of loss.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author Note: This is the first time I post a story on Tumblr. I have a very small idea of what I am doing.

Chapter One: A dead child’s shoes

Rating: M Length: 5.2k

1/10

“I miss you more than I remember you.” - Ocean Vuong

Aubrey Hall, 1799

Violet knew something was different the very moment she stepped into the front hall. She stopped abruptly. Eloise, who was holding onto her hand skidded over the polished floor to a halt a foot in front of her. Sara behind them, with Francesca on her hip and Daphne by the hand almost walked into her.

Looking around, nothing seemed entirely out of the ordinary. A footman had quickened his step into an uncommon speed to disappear through the serving room. It made her notice the slight frown on Ranson's face which was otherwise perfectly under control.

“Ranson, where is the Viscount?”

“Upstairs, my Lady.”

She looked up as if she could see him through the ceiling. “Do we have visitors?”

“Let go of my hand, mama!” Eloise complained and began to tug at her hand.

“No, my Lady.” Ranson answered while she admonished Eloise with a raised brow. It did little, she just continued practising her will. Daphne shushed her in a perfect expression of their nurse, trying to grab her arm. Said nurse was somewhat distracted by the youngest girl, trying herself to escape.

Violet knew not how to put that nagging feeling in her stomach into words. But it made her let go of Eloise's hand and it made her pace to the staircase. Eloise was at her heels, emitting excitement with the sudden action.

“You stay with Sara!”

“But where are you going?” She continued her venture alongside her mother.

“Eloise!”

“Papa!” She quickened her step further, overtook her mother and climbed the stairs to where her father now stood, a few steps down from the landing.

“You are back early.” He addressed Violet, his tone flat. Eloise reached him and jumped towards him. Distracted by watching his wife, he pulled Eloise up to his arm, not listening to her as she began telling him of a herd of sheep. (The one which blocked their carriage for almost two hours on their way here).

“We are. Mother fell ill with a nasty cold. I did not want the children to catch it.” She explained, her voice stiff.

“I am sorry to hear she is not well.”

Violet walked towards him. Going left in order to pass him by, he drew a bit to the side, effectively blocking her.

“Where is Colin?” Edmund looked over her shoulder down to the foot of the stairs where Sara now followed them with Daphne and Francesca. He smiled at them and waved.

“Where do you think he is? Will you let me through?”

“How about we have some tea and refreshments? I was just on my way downstairs.”

She forced him to make eye-contact with her by fixing her gaze upon him. And she knew the moment he faltered and met her eyes. Knew he had done what she asked him not to do.

“What have you done?” She whispered, asking the question anyway.

“Nothing. Violet, I just... I...”

“What!” She enunciated, “Have you done?” She brushed past him. Started to run towards the north corridor. He was at her heels. Eloise screamed behind them, running, too. Sara, in turn, called after her.

It was chaos. First around her and then in the very centre of her heart the moment she fell through the door to Benedict's room.

His bed was gone, his dresser, his shelves empty, the carpet rolled up and pushed to the side, the walls painted in a dull, greyish white. The sunny yellow gone.

“No...” she breathed. Stepping inside, frantically looking around. She turned again to run to the door. She needed to find all his things. She needed to. Energy buzzing through her, providing her with enough strength to bring this room back to its former state.

But then there was Edmund blocking her way.

“Violet, I am sorry...”

“Where is everything? Tell me now. Tell me!” She pushed against his chest so he would step out of the doorway. He caught her hands instead.

“It's all packed away. Nothing is gone.”

“His clothes?” She demanded. “His animals?”

“Violet, I swear...” he started.

“I have never asked for anything much, have I? Have I ever been a difficult woman? Have I? Edmund?” It was desperation forcing her words.

“It was nothing but a museum of despair, my love.”

“You lost our son. You lost him and I not once blamed you for it. The least you could have done is leave me my despair!” She shouted now, certain her voice would break into sobs any second. Eloise, who had first pressed herself through the gap between her father's legs and the door frame, now retreated into the opposite direction, scared by her mother's rage.

“It's all I have left of him, my memory, my pain is the only thing that reminds me that he was real. And you take this from me, too. LET GO OF ME.”

She pulled away from him, from the hands on her arms, from the shocked expression on his face.

“What have I done to you that you punish me so? I asked you to leave me this room. I asked you only of that one thing...”

Now, she crumbled. A sob dragged through her chest and up her throat.

“How could you? That's all that I had left of him.” She cried. “Have you forgotten him? Do you no longer care?” She weeped and when he only looked at the floor, she turned around herself, once, twice.

She suddenly felt as if she stood in her little boy's tomb.

Bloomsbury, May 1814

Ben arrived at work a little earlier than he usually would.

His night had ended at five. Charles woke at least once every hour. Sophie was in and out of bed as many times. He had pulled Alex over to his side of the bed in order to act as a barrier between the commotion and him, but it made the little one restless, clearly feeling he was no longer beside his mama. As a consequence Ben spent all night awake behind closed eyes.

In short, the night was ruff and hoping he could leave earlier made him decide to leave half an hour earlier than usual.

He made it almost to the office building when a carriage came through the gates onto the courtyard, cutting off his path. At first he gave it little notice but then it stopped right by the door he had to enter. And it was when he planned to walk around it that something about the vehicle demanded his attention.

“Have I something in my face?” The young woman who had stepped out of the carriage barked into his direction. With a raised brow she waited for an answer.

“No, Miss,” tumbled from his lips eventually and she made a step closer, folding her arms in front of her body, tapping her index-finger against her arm.

“Then consider not staring. It's rude.” She leaned back into the carriage and pulled out a stack of books, turned and rushed away, her servant at her heels.

Ben had not stared at her so much as at the carriage she had arrived in and the crest drawn onto the dark, polished wood. It could not be. He must simply be wrong. He took a small step towards the vehicle. The coachman nodded at him, suspicion in his eyes.

But he was not wrong, was he? This had burned itself into his memory. It was the crest on the carriage which had driven away from him, had left him behind. After which he ran until his young legs had given out under him and his lungs protested strongly by constricting into desperate gulps for air.

He shook himself out of the memory. Took several steps backwards.

If it was the carriage he believed it to be, it did not matter.

And still, Ben found it impossible to form a clear thought as he made his way upstairs and to his desk. He was so early that he was the first one in.

Not being able to gather his senses proved his work rather difficult. And strangely enough, also a little dangerous as he soon learned, especially considering he was an illustrator. He tried to prepare his workload, gathering his materials and sharpening his pencils. He noticed not how his heart thumped all the way in his throat until the sharpening-knife logged itself against the side of his finger, leaving him bleeding.

Frustrated, with blood spreading over his tongue as he sucked on the wound, he shoved his chair back, creating an irritating sound as the wood carved into the floorboards.

“Are you alright, Mr. Atwood?”

He had not noticed Edgar entering the room. The young apprentice, barely sixteen, looked at him, part worried and part confused. Ben nodded, put the knife on his desk.

“I cut myself. No worries.” He explained a moment later. Edgar had found his desk since, put his bag on the floor to its side. He sat down on his chair and began to search through his things.

Ben in the meanwhile had stood up and made his way to the window from where he had a view over the courtyard and found the carriage still there. It was early morning, not many had started their workday yet. He wondered what that girl wanted here? Surely, she did not have an appointment. Public business started at eight. That was another hour and a half away.

“Mr. Atwood? My mother gave me this to give to you. It is for you and Mrs. Atwood.” Once again Ben tried to pull himself to attention, he turned his head and the boy stood only a few feet away from him. Had he paws for feet?

He held his hand out, a package in it. The brown paper was held together by a single string, Benedict smiled and shook his head as he took it. The thumbing in his throat lessened considerably. “Your mother is truly a kind woman, Edgar.” Making sure Edgar looked at him, he nodded in thanks.

Unwrapping it, his first assumption was proven true, this was for the boys, a cardigan, looking just about Alexander's size, with some room to grow into. It was held in a soft beige colour with a small rabbit stitched down to the front. He would love it.

“Mother says it's a light wool and will be perfect for summer.”

His shoulder softened and his nervous heart eased. The kind gesture warmed his insides and made it possible to get his thoughts in a line. “Tell Mrs. York how very grateful we are.”

“Gladly,” Edgar nodded and smiled before taking a seat on his desk. Ben tied the cardigan into the paper again and as he looked out of the window before returning to his desk as well, he found the carriage gone.

That night he dreamed of nothing but running after the carriage. His eyes snapped open every time that he fell to the ground in his dream, unable to contain the speed needed for it to stay just barely out of his reach. Forcing himself to inhale and exhale and with the sensation of his son's hand firmly logged into the material of his nightshirt, he drifted off to sleep after. Over and over and over.

It was the forth or fifth time that night, when opening his eyes the room was brightened by a little bit of light. He was unable yet to contain and deal with the terror running through his veins before he looked to the side and met directly with Sophie's worried gaze. She was feeding Alexander, who was still half asleep. Charles on the other side of her, not yet awake.

“It's not real,” she whispered and he swallowed, lifting his hands to his face to rub it, rub some sense into him. Seeing little stars dance in front of his eyes made him stop, his hand then reached out until he found Sophie's.

He rolled to his side and into her, his hand slid under her nightdress, up the top of her leg and then to her swollen belly.

“You tease.” She breathed and clicked her tongue softly. He grinned as he buried his face into Alex's back, searching her skin for any traces of movement underneath.

Thinking only one thing: but what if it was true?

And then he forgot about the carriage. He forgot about the dreams. As he always did.

It was only weeks later that it was coaxed to the surface again.

Usually it was months and years between those instances. And usually it brought about only a fleeting emotion, an understanding, a few nights of nightmares. Ben could file it away under confusing childhood memories and recognise that it no longer held any power over him, and then go on about his life.

After all, it was twenty years ago. He had been a boy then.

At this point, he had a life, it had become his own. That thing that was his childhood nothing more than a distant memory, one that sometimes, rarely these days, clenched at his heart.

He might never forget the sheer panic of watching the carriage with his father in it drive off without him, but he remembered it today as through thick, coloured glass. That and mostly everything else from before as well. He had a brother, Anthony, that had always been true, he was always sure of that and how he had been his best friend. He remembered an enormous garden and a large forest and sometimes it all was so clear he could wander through it in his imagination. He remembered always holding onto his mother's hand.

But how it came to it, his father leaving him behind, pushing him to the ground and going home without him, the years had washed that away, corroded his memory into something fragile, something unreliable. Trying to reconstruct what happened nowadays led him to a different conclusion every time. So he tried to let it rest, let the joy of the presence direct his course. His father might not have wanted him then, but the same was not true for his wife or his sons now. Nothing else mattered.

Still, he found it a sheer impossibility, that thought. Sometimes, when he indulged in it. How could someone not want their child? Every time the memory fought its way to the forefront of his mind he could not fathom it. They would have to go over his cold dead body in order to get to his sons, and then there was still Sophie to fend them off. No question asked. He would protect them, would never let any harm come their way, he had sworn that.

Naturally, he was not a naïve man, had seen children suffer alongside himself. Had shared the last bit of his dry bread with a little girl that showed him a warm place to sleep. Two days later he watched a man throw her body on the bed of the carriage which picked up the dead every morning. Throwing her shoes into the alleyway for the next poor thing. (It was how he had gotten his own pair of shoes only mere weeks before that. They had belonged to a boy named Peter, who was very good at stealing apples.)

He had seen a woman sell her son. He had witnessed a father beat his daughter until her skull creaked. He had seen it all and more. He was not naïve, but it still rendered him incapable of understanding the how. Not when he loved his own so much it made his chest hurt.

It all boiled to the surface again when he needed to return to work late on a Friday night to bring in a revision to go into print early on Saturday. He went past Mr. Atkin's house to gather his final approval which cost him an extra twenty five minutes of polite conversation with the man's daughter in law, he would much rather have spent with Sophie. Ultimately he would have stayed an hour or two if it meant a raise.

It was then almost half ten when he excited the master lithographer's office.

He took on a quick step through the cold spring air. With his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, he watched the cobblestone under his feet. His bag dangled in his back and as he did so often these days, he used the way to calculate their current expenses and how the new baby would influence them. They could not wait for their new little one, it was a firm and undeniable truth. But it would mean that a new suit had to wait for at least another eight months to a year and Sophie needed new shoes, it was a priority.

Being distracted by numbers, he nodded to the night-guard and crossed the street with a quick glance in every direction. He considered taking a shortcut when it happened, he crossed a puddle in a confident jump and ended up swinging backwards as he almost but not quite ran into a woman standing in the shadows of a house.

She raised her hands and shrieked as he tried to regain his balance and not tumble to the pavement. It was in vain, he landed on his behind.

The woman exhaled in a huff. “You again!” She stepped out of the shadow and looked down at him and he looked up at her, raising a brow as he too recognised her. “What are you doing here?”

“I shall rather ask you that question, Miss.” He drew his knee in and climbed back onto his feet, rubbing his hands together and looking at his shoes hoping not to have scratched the leather... or, and he tried to look around himself to see, destroyed his trousers.

“I am an independent woman, my reasons are my own.”

“I see...” he bit the insides of his cheeks so as not to grin, these words could come right from Sophie's mouth.

She raised her chin, responding to the humorous challenge in his words. Their eyes meet and had it not been for the moonlight casting down on them, it would have been impossible to tell, but her eyes were red and swollen and there was still some wetness to her cheeks.

The sadness in her eyes jolted through him because he felt as if he recognized it.

“Who are you, anyway? So I know which name to give to my best friend in case you plan an abduction!”

Something rattled in his soul. “I, Miss. I do not plan an abduction. In fact I am very much interested in you finding your way home safely.”

“Your name!” She repeated and rubbed her thumb under her eye.

“Atwood. My name is Ben Atwood. I am an illustrator for Atkin's Press”

“Ben Atwood. Well then, nice to make your acquaintance. I must be on my way.”

She took a hold of her frog and took off. “Stop. Miss. Tell me your name!” She made a full spin, danced around another puddle. “Bridgerton is my name, Eloise Bridgerton. Remember it well!”

It was Sunday afternoon when Ben sat on the floor of their small flat in order to think hard and clear about everything he knew about his childhood. Despite the sun flooding the room, most of the occupants napped. On the sofa their two boys slept soundly. On his thigh rested Sophie's head winding herself halfway around him, making sure every part of her body was warmed by the sun.

His hand rested absent-mindedly on her belly and her fingers were folded around his wrist from the last time she had moved his hand to where she felt the baby move. On his other knee lay a notebook and in his hand he held a pencil.

He was almost sure to have been born in the winter of 1786. He assumed that his family lived in London, or at least most of the time. He was firmly sure that he had two brothers, one older and one younger. He was seven when it happened. He could not with certainty say what exactly happened.

On the open page stood the name Bridgerton. Nothing more.

Bridgerton.

Admitting that it sounded familiar frightened him and so instead of exploring that familiarity not only around the name but also within the face of Eloise Bridgerton, he tried to come up with a reason for why all of it was but a coincidence.

His eyes wandered through the room and he inhaled sharply when his sight rested on his youngest with that same nose and those distinctive brows and oh, if his eyes were to open, he would look right into the very same orbs he had identified in that girl on Friday night.

Sophie's palm stroked up the length of his arm, pressed her thumb into the muscle of his shoulder and went all soft as it ran up his neck and landed just at his jaw. He followed her hand and he took her wrist in his and kissed her palm, only to place it where it had been on his jaw in order to lean into the touch.

“Tell me where your mind is at,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. “I cannot for the life of me remember how it came that I ran after that carriage.” Her fingertips caressed over his forehead and then into his hair, combing through them. “I don't think my father left me there on purpose. And I know not why. I try so hard but I cannot reconstruct the course of events.”

His dream went like this without a fail: His father shook him, his angry face right in his, screaming at him, he saw it happening but there were never any actual words, and then he pushed him, kicked him when he was already on the ground. Ben then scrambled to his feet and ran for all he was worth, he ran and ran and ran until he woke up the moment he collapsed and understood there was no catching up with it.

His understanding of what actually happened, any possible memory had since suffered drastically. Once, when he was younger, he had understood that this dream had not been the reality, but the reality had been what slipped from his mind. It was the weaker opponent. And not only that. If he thought about it today, a father himself, he doubted the reality was any better than his dream, that it had occurred under less brutal circumstances, that his father had treated him less poorly. For if he cared, would he not have felt his son’s heart and soul shaking so feverishly through his whole body, emitting from him in waves? Should not a father have felt that and be driven to act with love and kindness?

While Ben contemplated his past with gritted teeth, Sophie picked up the notebook on his knee.

“Bridgerton,” she read in a soft voice and his attention turned to her so easily. “Ben Bridgerton.”

“Benedict,” The name fell from his lips in nothing but an accidental sigh.

“Benedict!” Sophie repeated and set up as fast as her pregnant body allowed. Their eyes met. His breath quickened. His heartbeat, too. And while emotions rushed through him he found impossible to name, she smiled at him. Her other hand landed on his chest.

“It's alright,” she tried to sooth him as he knew not where to with his hands. He found the notebook that had fallen down between their bodies and he wrote it down as if he was afraid to forget it again. He put down Benedict right over the Bridgerton and his heart thumbed audibly far up in chest. He almost felt sick with the sensation.

“I don't understand why I cannot remember it,” he whispered as her arms wound around him. His chin rested against the side of her head. “I was there. I did not fall on my head.”

“I know. It must be frustrating. It will come back. But you cannot force it.”

But he wanted to. With irredeemable impatience.

He wanted to will it into existence, needed it.

Then Sophie's lips found his jaw and she pressed an open, wet kiss against it and he succumbed to her love. Some of the winding frustration eased from him.

“It's alright. We will figure it out,” she whispered. “Just not now. It needs to come to you, not the other way around.” She was right. She was. It did not change that inkling deep in his bones that it never would.

Her hand drove along the inside of his thigh. “Sophie,” he breathed and lowered his head to catch her lips with his. His eyes closed. Her lips against his the most familiar feeling, her love, her calm, her presence, all at his fingertips.

She was able to distract him in a matter of seconds. He was easy in that way.

There was nothing calming about the storm that followed. He crawled to his knees and he drew her up to her feet and they fell into the bedroom and against the door within two heartbeats. He let her open her church-dress fearing he might rip it, but it did not stop him from falling to his knees in front of her, lifting her leg up over his shoulder while holding her strongly with his hands against her hips.

“Sophie,” he mouthed against the inside of her thigh and she panted in something he would describe as helplessness. But she was not helpless. She was his wife, the strongest woman he knew, the cleverest, too and the most loving. “Soph,” he breathed, air gulping through her lungs.

“Shhh,” she begged, shakingly. The dress fell away over her shoulders but she was so unsteady despite his strong hold that her hands fell on top of his head. The heavy smell of her arousal filled his nostrils and she gasped just as loudly as he had called her name a moment ago when his lips closed around her pearl.

“Ben! Oh.” He took two fingers to her middle, gave her warm, swollen lips a caress, gave her no warning before driving them up into her. And her accompanying scream was just barely contained by her hand falling against her mouth. Her hips began to chaise his movements. Within a mere minute she came apart above him.

He put her foot back on the ground and he stood up and her hand was still over her mouth, but it was shaking and tears short from overflowing. As he pulled her hand away, words overflowed her lips. “I need you. I am all empty.”

He needed to close his eyes and steady himself against the door so weak did her utterance make him. Deep in his stomach the already tight knot of arousal twisted into something primal and his hips twitched in answer. He kissed her hard.

“How I need you, too,” he growled, his voice deep, almost guttural. As he already turned to their bed and drew her with him, she had the sense to lodge a chair under the doorknob while simultaneously trying to draw her dress away over her head.

Ben let go of her hand, snapped his braces free and let his trousers fall to the floor before he fell backwards onto the mattress, the wood giving off a highly offended creak and Ben raised a brow. Come August this bed had to hold another little body. Then she stood before him, freeing herself of the half corset which bound her soft breasts into a firm hold.

The afternoon sun hugged her body as she regarded him, a smile graced her lips and joy sparkled in her eyes. She looked like a true goddess as she opened the braid her hair was confined in. It fell over her shoulders in cascading golden silk and touched down to her protruding belly. The wetness between her legs glistered and he arched his shoulders into the bed as lust shook his whole body and made him infinitely harder, impossibly even. He needed to take himself into hand and give himself a stroke to calm the peaking of deep and utter arousal burning in his thighs and his stomach and over his whole skin. It did not calm his panting breath.

Only Sophie was able to do that after she crawled over his body and rubbed her wet middle right over his hard, pulsing length and he forgot how to breathe. Their hands found each other holding onto the other, a single lifeline, making them one being.

She rubbed her pearl against the weeping crown of his cock and she sighed so visceral he almost thought it had made her climax again. Their intimate locks tangled and rubbed together and he felt how her wetness seeped onto him, he rutted upwards, once, twice, his head beginning to spin.

She handled it, managed his lust driven clumsiness and took him into her hand, guiding him into her. Her hand was back over her mouth but it did not prevent her throat from whining or her chest from vibrating with the moan that followed as she took him into her.

He swallowed and grunted his teeth together, finding footing against the mattress simultaneously and he moved up into her as she moved up as well and fell down in answer. Their rhythm was confused and chaotic until it was not and he sat himself up supported by one hand to meet her kiss which became frantic before it became urgent. It swallowed some of the noises, but not all.

And when they both neared their climax, their eyes wide open, their expressions wild, they shushed each other in some strange idea of reason and when it then happened their jaws clenched shut, Ben wound upwards and Sophie cramped down over him. Their bodies possessed a life of their own as they tensed and then spasmed through the aftermath.

At some point Sophie had fallen into his arms and they both breathed heavily, open mouthed, their eyes locked, and they did not blink as in fear something could rip their souls apart if they did.

Ben did not need to be anybody but who he was at that moment. So deeply in love and utterly grateful for his children. He made a living for his family and did not despite the way in which he did it. If he served only that purpose for the rest of his life, he would one day die a very happy man. Would know that the hardships of his early years had brought the greatest gift imaginable to him.

And yet.

Something deep in his heart was in unrest. Something worked along the unconscious lines of his mind. There were hands that held his, once, a long time ago that he longed to take again, if only to shake them in a proper good-bye.

Here is part TWO

#bridgerton #benedict x sophie #benophie #au #benedict briderton #sophie beckett #fanfiction #violet x edmund #not beta read #previously posted on ao3

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ijustkindalikebooks · 2 months

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Review: The Orange And Pink Sunset by Ivy L James.

The Orange and Pink Sunset, Ivy L. James weaves a tapestry of her life as a queer woman, from childhood crushes to the labels she’s tried on to religious discrimination. Her raw words express agony and joy in equal measure. She provides a refreshing perspective with an understandable voice, and her narrative style feels like sharing a pot of tea with a close friend. This impactful poetry chapbook is a vulnerable discussion of what it’s like to find herself as a lesbian, and in the end, James chooses love over hate, even in moments of pain.

I was lucky enough for the author to send me a message on Tumblr about this chapbook, and I am so grateful to them for doing so.

A beautiful collection packed with love, joy and learning to be the person you are, The Orange and Pink Sunset is a fantastic chapbook that delves into how it feels when you lose a family over who you love, but gain one because of whom you love too.

Poems such as 'I'm Not Letting Go' are powerful and filled with love that is zealous and all consuming, which makes for such a powerful read this followed by 'Let Me Be Yours' makes for a poetic pairing that flow and work together that makes for such beautiful reading.

'To Women' speaks to the confusion I myself often felt growing up trying to figure out who I was and though I ended up somewhere else, I still love reflecting on how all the signs were there and this is certainly a poem that is about reflecting, growing and learning who you are that makes for relatable and tender read.

A fantastic collection of beautiful poetry, my favourite is The Word Thief, but a short and sweet collection nonetheless.

#booklr #books #bookblr #book #poetry #lgbt #sapphic #lesbian #pink and orange sunset #ivy l james #chapbook #poems #poetess #reading #non fiction

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snowbellewells · 3 months

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Self Promo Sunday: "Carolina Moon"

First off, let me say that I know it has been ages, and I am really sorry for that. I sort of lost my muse and my energy - as well as my time to write - there for a bit. I am grateful if you have stuck with me and are ready to see where else this story goes. Finally, FINALLY, I have a new chapter almost edited and proofed and ready to go in the next couple of days, so I thought this week's self-promo might serve as a recap for the story so far to refresh everyone's memory (mine included!) The new chapter should be up in just a day or two, and if all goes well, another by Friday, to then return to my weekly (or closer to it) posting schedule.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this little look back, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Can be read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.

Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.

Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.

Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.

What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”

Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.

Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.

Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”

Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’ But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.

“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”

Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact.

“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”

If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”

Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.

Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”

The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.

She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind.

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”

Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.

She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”

As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”

Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”

Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.

“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.

Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”

“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”

Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.

Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.

Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.

If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.

David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.

“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”

The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.

She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”

She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”

Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”

Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.

“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”

David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”

“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.

“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”

She’d placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”

Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door.

Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.

She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.

If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.

Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.

Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.

Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.

Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart.

He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault.

Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.

At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.

She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.

Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.

It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.

Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”

Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.

“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing.

Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.

Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.

“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”

But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road. He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away. I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before. That monster killed her. I saw it.”

The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @bluewildcatfanatic @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @anmylica @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @wefoundloveunderthelight @belovedcreation @scientificapricot @kday426 @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @ineffablecolors @blowmiakisscolin

#self promo sunday #carolina moon #chapters so far recap #cs modern au ff #cssns23 mc ff #new chapters coming soon

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daywalkers-fic · 10 months

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my plans to keep up with this month's prompts in chronological order have gone out the window so here I am once again, I'm torn into pieces. I offer a short story about meeting a “tall, handsome, stranger” that not only smacks you in the head, but might also be trying to rob you too.

Im a fan of interactive fiction - the community on tumblr is amazing!! writing Daywalkers as one did cross my mind early on—a fun thought I might entertain again someday. here’s my shot at writing in the second person. not proofread, pls pardon me.

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yeehawgust day 7: tall, handsome, stranger

The sun beat down mercilessly overhead as your train pulled into town. You had undone your neckerchief and the first top buttons of your shirt, loosening the fabric to better fan yourself with it. Sensibilities be damned—the only thing on your mind was a bath and a good night’s rest.

“Excuse me,” you said, approaching the nearest station attendant, “How might I get to Charlie Quigg's bar from here?”

“Ser,” he greeted you with a polite nod, “You're looking for Sally's Singin' Spittoon Saloon?”

You couldn't recall the exact name of your uncle’s bar, but you remembered that it was something long with an odd rhyme—Sally's Singin' Spittoon Saloon was close enough. “Yes, thank you.”

“It's a short-way’s walk south of here,” he pointed to the road in front of the station, “Head down towards the post office. Make a left, and the saloon’ll be right across from Ferne's Inn.”

Relieved to hear that your destination wasn't too far from where you were, you thanked him and hurried on your way. You should be at your uncle's in no time.

—Or, so you thought.

Thirty minutes later, you were still melting under the summer sun, still with all your luggage, and still, not yet at your uncle's. Ferne's Inn was easy enough find, there was a painted sign that read “FERNE’S INN”. It was your uncle’s bar that was nowhere to be found. Across the inn was a boarded-up barn. Unless Uncle Charlie sold his business without the family knowing, you were in the wrong place. You went back to the station twice and back to retrace your steps—to no avail. There was no sign of Sally or her Singin' Spittoon Saloon anywhere.

Defeated, you headed to the inn in a dizzying trance. The heat fatigue was really getting to you.

“Hi,” the woman at the front desk chirped, “Welcome to Ferne's Inn.”

“One room and bath, please,” you replied hoarsely.

“We have a few vacancies. Do you have any particulars? Size? View? We have a room ready on our first floor, but many of our guests stay and enjoy the cozy—”

Bless this woman. She was doing a very good job to ensure that your room was to your liking, but you were becoming irritably restless. “I’ll take the first floor.”

“Room 1C it is then! You can go on ahead and get settled in. I’ll come fetch you when the bath room is ready.”

You’re not you when you’re overheating—is anyone? You body was built for the cooler seasons back home. Newbarrow summers were more dry than humid, but it was still too hot for you. Could you last the summer here?

After a wash and quick meal, you felt much better. Alert and refreshed, the change of clean clothes was also very comforting. You were on your way out to speak with front desk again when the door to your room opened. Unfortunately, you were too distracted to notice, fiddling with a stubborn button on your sleeve, and walked right into it. There was a concerning smack! as your face hit the wood.

“Shit!” you hissed, cradling your head.

“Christ alive!” a voice yelped.

A hammering pain shot to your forehead, and the hit to your nose made your eyes water terribly. Your fingers immediately brushed over the tender areas, checking for blood. You'll definitely be waking up tomorrow with bruises, but you were at least glad to feel that nothing was broken or bleeding. Through your tearing eyes, you looked up at the stranger in your doorway.

They stood at least a head and a hat taller than you. You blinked to clear your vision and get a better look at them. As their features came into focus, your breath faltered.

This was not good.

Before your trip, you had read about a string of crimes in the area. A gang of “devishly good looking” crooks were wanted for robbery and assault—their victims were often single, lone travelers.

Here you were, an unaccompanied newcomer that should have been more cautious, and they, a handsome stranger, was almost towering over you in your room.

You retreated backwards, head throbbing and heart racing. To your horror, the stranger stepped in further after you.

“Careful, are you alright?” “I don’t have any money!”

They blinked. “You think I’m here to rob you…?”

You looked away, refusing to participate in whatever mind games they were trying to play. There was no need to stare at your attractive assailant for any longer, either—you had seen enough to identify them later on. Never mind their hair, their rolled up sleeves, their deep brown eyes that complimented their skin and framed their face nicely—

No. Should you die today, you will not go down without a fight. You used your body weight to push them out into the hall and lock the door.

Of course their arms would catch your door before it closed. “I’m not here to rob you.”

“That’s exactly what a robber would say!” you grunted, fighting to close the door on them.

“Hey! I—ok, that might be true. But I’m not here to hurt you!”

“Get away from me!”

“Why are you so strong?”

“I'm fast, too. I'll be at the police station faster than you can even follow!”

“If anyone here is a criminal, it's you!”

Fine, you'll bite. “What do you mean?”

“You were behind the door all small and sneaky. You were waiting to ambush me!”

“What is that supposed to—!” “Will you just—!”

In the moment of confusion, your force on the door faltered and it swung open. You stumbled backwards and they fell forward towards you. They were able to catch themselves on the door frame, and managed to also catch you before you could fall, too. Their hands were firm on your arm, enough to steady you, but gentle enough so as not to hurt you. Wide eyes and heavy breaths met yours, the two of you stayed like this for a few still seconds. You could feel warmth bloom from under your skin, spreading up across your entire face—sore forehead and nose, cheeks and all. You were the first to look away, and they were the first so speak again.

“What are you doing in my room?” they asked slowly, releasing your arm.

Now you were feeling doubtful. You looked at the plated letter on the front door. “No, this is my room.”

They opened their mouth to say something, but immediately pressed their lips shut after looking at the the room number.

“…this is not Room 1E.”

You remained where you were, unsure if this was a part of their schtick or if they truly did mistake your room for theirs. You watched their face ease from confusion to worry, and then shock.

“I am so sorry,” they groaned, their face now in their hands. “My friend got me a room here last night. I was so tired, the only thing I could remember was it being down the right hall”—they dropped their hands with another groan—“I should’ve checked when I went out this morning. I apologize for startling you.”

You were inching back further into your room and moving slowly behind the door again, putting some distance between you. You’ll check their alibi with the front desk later. For now, you just wanted this person to leave.

“Exhausted delirium,” you nodded politely, “I get it.”

“Yeah,” they smiled at you sheepishly.

You couldn’t stand them looking at you like that.

“I, uh”— why were you getting flustered? They were the one in the wrong.

“Right. I’ll leave you to your day, then.” They took off their hat to run a nervous hand through their hair before putting it back on to nod at you.

“Take care,” you forced a small smile before quickly closing the door with the lock.

Shaken, you slumped down against the door. It hadn’t even been a full day yet and you managed to lose your family, almost get murdered, and awkwardly meet a tall, handsome, stranger. Was this worth writing to your friends back home about?

From the other side, you heard their voice trail down the hall, muttering. “The last time damn time Nicky takes me to the Spittoon…I swear I’ll…”

You shot up and scrambled for the door, poking your head out to call after them. “Hey! Wait!”

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I had no one particular in mind writing this :) just two random characters. Gender neutral encounter that also harkens to my aroace panik of meeting attractive people.

alternatively, I had a cursed a idea to write something about a group of three cowpoke friends nicknamed “tall”, “handsome”, and “strange”.

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2023 #writing #cowboy #outlaw #western #wild west #reader pov #injury cw #chicken scratch #gn reader #gay reader #tumblr bring back text alignment damnit #western fic #wip #i needed a saloon name it was almost the salty spitoon #weenie hut juniors

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