#there is so much more I could say about everything that has left me weary about the internet but I don't know the time or place | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonderlandrry · 26 days

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hi, this is my first ever attempt at writing on tumblr!! the story could be more than one part if you like it (maybe three or four parts). this is also my first time not writing in first person pov so hopefully it doesn’t suck complete ass. (not really edited and idk how to format either so GREAT first impression, friends.)

pov: best friend! harry x you (aka i tried my best lmao)

blurb: you and harry have been best friends your whole life and one night changes everything.

contains: friends to lovers, bad girl x good boy if you squint, smoking green 🍃, smut, cussing, oral (giving and receiving for both characters), praise kink, and size kink if you squint really hard again and read between the lines lmao.

word count: 5k

• NOT RAMADAN FRIENDLY •

just friends

“You sure you don’t want me to come up?” Rylan’s honey eyes flick from your dorm bulging back to yours. The tension from tonight’s argument is fresh in those crinkles next to his eyes that you used to love. Fucking adore.

Parting your lips, you sigh, “See you around.”

“Don’t be like that,” A ringless hand runs through his dark hair. You’re not exactly sure why you’re focusing on that but here we are. “It was a joke, come on.”

Your hand rests on the door handle, silently contemplating on freaking the fuck out again. This isn’t the first time he’s made jokes, very public jokes about your best friend. The very first time you let it slide with a warning because some people don’t understand that you can be just friends with the opposite gender. They can’t wrap their heads around that not every relationship revolves around sex. You understood but tonight? He went too far.

“Saying Harry follows me like a stray dog,” You have to take a deep breath because Rylan doesn’t know what Harry’s been through. That only pisses you off more. “Was too far.”

“He doesn’t have any friends, Lil, just you.”

“Because he’s smart, he doesn’t have friends because he’s fucking brilliant.” It was true, Harry focused more on school and baseball than friendships. He got a full ride to Calloway University reliant on grades and his pure, raw talent. Some would stop there but he took it a step further by studying physics. Now it’s your turn to run a hand through your hair because this is the fourth fight over your best friend. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Do you not see how fucked that is?” He hisses, making your head snap in his direction. “You’re supposed to be dating me, not him.”

You scoff, “So that’s what this is?”

Rylan’s hold tightened on the steering wheel, so tight that his knuckles were almost white. “Look, I don’t care that you’re friends with him but you spend too much time-”

That confirmed everything for you. Your long friendship with Harry wasn’t the problem. Rylan knew how much Harry meant to you and how your friendship was all you had sometimes. He knew yet the fact that he didn’t have your full attention every waking moment of the day was the source of cruel jokes.

“You’re threatened, huh?” His knuckles blanched even more as the words left your mouth. “Listen to the words coming out of my mouth, Ry. Harry’s been my best friend since I was seven. Nothing has and will never happen between us. I would never sleep with him and ruin our friendship.”

“I see how you guys look at each other.”

Your whole face heats, it’s literally on fire. “You’re seeing things because we’re just friends.”

“You’re in denial.” Fuck. This.

Those three words were enough to push you. Push you to fling open the car door and launch yourself onto the pavement. They were enough to heat your whole body to the point that chilly winter air wasn’t enough to simmer down your anger. You don’t even bother slamming the door shut because that asshole can get out and shut it himself. That’s what he gets for constantly trying to pry a confession out of you. A confession that doesn’t exist but he still won’t accept it. The security guard gives a weary smile as you pass him, an obvious witness of the whole shit show. You look over your shoulder just in time to watch Rylan peel out.

He doesn’t follow you, shocker. Not that you wanted him to but you also didn’t expect him to. He acts like he cares but when push comes to shove, actions don’t match the words constantly flying out of that stupid mouth.

Unlocking and relocking the door with a soft click, your dorm is oddly dark and quiet. It looks like no one has been here all day. This is a possibility since Ellie spends most nights with her boyfriend. You slide off your black vans and place your bag on the hooks by the door. Seniors get a common room and separate bedrooms in student housing and you love the privacy. Honestly? It’s hard as fuck to hook up sharing a room with someone. El never cared who you brought home but felt weird as hell, yano?

From: ball boy (11:35 pm)

you home?

To: ball boy (11:36 pm)

yeah

You loosen your claw clip and honey-blond waves tumble. Walking into your room, you slip out of the cute-ass outfit you spent an hour perfecting and into some random band shirt with no bra and spandex shorts. Such a shame because you looked hot, too bad the night didn’t end with Ry ripping this lacy, black corset off you. Sucks for him.

From: ball boy (11:42 pm)

open the window before Mack catches my ass.

Your eyes snap toward the only windows in your room. The sheer, black curtains were closed but they did a shit job keeping the sunlight out so, honestly, how good were they for privacy? Your heart hammers thinking about Harry seeing you. How he could’ve seen all of you, not just what you choose to show off. The thought made your heart hammer.

From: ball boy (12:46 am)

don’t tell me you’re fucking someone right now

From: ball boy (12:47 am)

fuckin’ sick, lil

Annoyed, you rip open the curtains to find Harry’s cocky expression staring straight at you. It’s too dark to make out his full face but you can tell by the smirk tipping the left side that he’s amused. Making your favorite dimple dent even deeper. In one swift motion, the latch unlocks letting him in. He’s done this a million times, yano? Sneaking in your room for late-night study sessions, movie nights, or sleepovers. You’ve shared a bed countless times but never crossed that line, he’s your best friend. There are rules in place to save your friendship. He means more to you than one night of pleasure. Always has.

“Nice shirt, been looking for that everywhere.” Evergreen eyes bounce across your face, “Thought you had a date.”

You blow out a breath, “Not anymore.”

He smirks, dimple popping, “Obviously.”

“Thought you had plans.” You counter because Harry may not have many friends but that didn’t mean anything when it came to his sex life. He had trouble talking to girls but that didn’t seem to matter because they flocked to him. There was just something about him that drew people in, you included especially you. Maybe it was his ability to make anyone in the room feel special; wanted by having his undivided attention.

His lips purse, “Nah, not tonight.”

“Why?”

He gives you a pointed look giving away that he knows, “You know why.”

Guilt settles into your stomach, that stupid sinking feeling of being caught hit full force. He had the same argument with Grace that you did with Rylan tonight. They seem to argue more though and it kills you seeing him upset. You know he cares about her but he loves you. Maybe not romantically but definitely platonically and that means something to him. Every time they have this conversation, you know you should walk away. It's always your first instinct to protect people you love and you love your best friend. But, you’d rather die than let him go and that’s selfish as fuck but true. You sigh, “Harry-”

“I’m good,” He closes the distance and wraps you into a hug and it feels like home. Your favorite type of hug. “Worried about you.”

You smile against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart hitting your cheek, “Nothing a Star Wars marathon won’t cure, Stud.”

His face lights up, “God, I could kiss you, Lil.”

“Whatever you say, ball boy.” Your heart flutters violently but you ignore the feeling. He always jokes like this in secret and maybe that’s the reason no one believes you’re just friends. But, they’re just jokes, yano.

“Ball boy?” He scoffs, making you tilt your chin to meet his gaze. When your eyes finally focus, Harry’s staring at you with his stupid, dimpled smile. Just because he’s your best friend doesn’t mean you’re completely immune. He’s handsome and you’d be dumb to deny that because, well, you have eyes. Currently, he looks even better from this angle. His hair’s tousled as neat as those chestnut curls will allow and dimples seem more prominent. Deep, inviting indents. The black, backwards hat only adds to the contrast of those evergreen eyes. Your favorite shade of green. A sliver of metal trapped between perfect teeth as he cocks his head. He chuckles, squeezing you tighter, “That’s fucked up.”

Pulling back, you shrug, “You’re the one who plays with them all day.”

His tongue clicks, cheeks hollowing, “Baseball, I play baseball.”

You dismiss him with a wave, walking into the common room. “Whatever helps you hit balls with your bat, Ball boy.”

“Better watch that pretty mouth of yours,” He warns in a low tone, so low that everything tingles. Reaching into his hoodie, he pulls out a bag of weed before plopping on the couch, “because I don’t share with bad girls.”

“Watching Star Wars high?” You grin as he nods. “Man of my dreams.”

Harry smirks, all boyish and full dimples, “Don’t tease.”

After pressing play and settling into the couch, you glance over at him just as the credits begin to roll. He’s lighting a joint, brows set in concentration, pink lips puckered around the paper inhaling slowly before passing it to you.

The next forty minutes fly by in the best, blissfully buzzed way. Time doesn’t have an exact science. We’re happy and having a good time. All the anger from earlier dissipated from you and Harry just being together. His nose found its way under your jaw, right next to your pulse point, some time after fifteen or so minutes. He’s always been affectionate when buzzed but holy fuck, was he toning it down before. You don’t know what changed but his hands haven’t left your waist and he keeps hugging closer to your chest with little sighs and hums of contentment. He smells so fucking good like peppermint, fresh laundry, and smoke.

Your breathing is slow and steady. Completely wrapped in him. Fingers twisting the curls at the nape of his neck until your fingertips tingle to touch him elsewhere. You don’t allow them to go lower than his throat, feeling how harsh each swallow was each time you’d get below the hinge of his jaw. He hums against your neck, nuzzling deeper into the column dangerously like he can’t get enough, “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” You breathe as he hugs tighter, not stopping your feather-like movement through his soft curls. “You?”

“Yeah, that feels good.” His words come out sleepy and deep and gravelly. “Your t-touch always feels good.” Warm evergreen holds all your attention as he kisses your cheek, “Thank you for being here with me. You make everything better, always have.”

Your face tilts, noses inches apart, and whisper. “You make everything better for me too.”

Harry’s the type of man that goes from beautiful to devastating with a change of facial expression. Your hazy brain can’t stop taking him in for some reason. It’s involuntary. That beautiful, sculpted face is hidden at nightfall but you allow yourself to appreciate how much time someone put into crafting him. It’s like you spent the last fifteen years with blinders on and can finally see.

Sage burns into evergreen as his lips roll a few times like he’s trying to come up with a safe response. The irrational part of my brain wants to feel his mouth on you again so bad that you almost crave him. Your lips part at the same time waiting for the other to make a move or do something drastic. Three heartbeats of your mouths seconds apart. Three heartbeats in your own hazy, happy world. His nose nudges yours once before dropping back to your throat. His arms wrapped around you tighter and your breathing synced again. Instead of calm and steady, now it’s erratic and fast.

Fuck, you have to be high, right? Best friends don’t look at each other like this. Especially you guys.

He leans closer, left hand planted on your thigh as we just stare at each other. Almost like he feels it too. Your fingertips ache to touch the stubble dusting his jawline so bad they tingle but you can’t seem to move. Completely lost in the hypnotic desire clouding the calm green of his irises.

Not wanting to put pressure on Harry to make the first move, you close the distance. Not sure why you did that but your mouths part at the same time. His in surprise and yours in want, yet in perfect sync. Pressing your lips to his, he immediately kisses back, cupping your jaw. One second everything’s moving slowly and the next, he’s lifting his shirt over your head. Touching every inch of exposed skin like he can’t get enough. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts as yours find his jeans. The kiss breaks as he leans back just enough to look at you. You’re looking at each other in silence but it’s so fucking loud.

“We should-” He swallows harshly, columns of his throat tense, “Don’t wanna finally have you if you’ll regret-”

“Won’t ever regret you, H,” Your voice is hushed yet full of so much want and sincerity. “Don’t stop, we’re okay.”

“Yeah?” He breathes out in relief pressing another kiss to your lips that sends trace currents through your body full force. Finally giving into the sweetest temptation you’ve ever tasted. Forbidden and delicious. This was like an avalanche of feelings and lust in motion, couldn’t stop the cascade if you tried. The aftermath would eventually come but everything would be okay. It had to be.

“Yeah, just friends,” Your lips move with his again but lazier, a slow pace that makes everything come to life. “This doesn’t change anything.”

You lied because this meant everything but you can’t stop.

He blinks like he can see right through your bullshit.

You blink back hoping he doesn’t.

“Just friends.” He repeats only the first half of your lie between kisses, pressing your body further into the couch with his hips.

The words come out breathless.

The words come out easily.

The words come out in cool peppermint.

He starts to drag your shorts off at the same pace the kiss and you lift a little to help. Being this vulnerable, letting the other fully see the other is something you can’t put into words. Your eyes rake his body as his lustful, dark gaze mirrors yours. There aren’t enough fucking words to describe how beautiful he is. Taking in every single detail from his tattoos to his cock pressed between your open thighs. The desperation; everything fucking aches for him. He leans forward, lips parting, eyes darkening by the minute, leaving open-mouth kisses along your jaw until they meet your mouth. The warm metal of his tongue ring claiming every inch of your mouth. He tasted like charged temptation in the best way, like something you didn’t know you craved until now.

Harry whimpers as your legs wrap around his waist. His cock throbs between your thighs and he groans against your lips. The sound vibrating with need; so fucking desperate. Strong hands grip your ass as the kiss deepens. He’s kissing you like you’re oxygen and he’s hungry for air. Almost like he can’t breathe without tasting you. Without having you like this. Staggered, harsh breaths hit the left side of your as his lips descended. Sucking and biting gently at your throat until they reach your chest and wrap around your nipple piercings. Metal clanking salaciously as his tongue swirls, toying with each little bar. His cock throbs again and your head falls back into the throw pillows with a loud moan. The arrogant smirk against your already heated skin only sends fire dancing.

Crackling and humming with each touch. They say fire needs oxygen to grow and Harry was yours. Always has been, he ignites all your fires.

Pulling back slightly, salacious evergreen meets thunderous oceans as he speaks, “So fucking pretty.” His words come out as a rasp, full of raw desperation. “Wanna taste you so fucking bad.” Kisses pepper your face, “Wanna make you feel so good, please? ”

“Y-yes,” You breathe, unable to finish the sentence as his kiss-bruised lips meet yours again and again, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin of your already open thighs, while yours run through his soft curls. Tangling and twisting as your lips move hungrily, desperately. Your teeth trap his tongue ring gently tasting and the sound that escapes his throat is feral. His body pushes against yours as you devour each other. Urgent, hungry, and like you might run out of time or change your mind. Hot, open-mouth kisses descend from your lips to your jaw then stop at the base of your throat.

“Fuck,” The word’s rushed, nearly a pant, as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. The view of his gorgeous, toned body sends a shiver down your spine. The butterfly on his chest fluttered with each rapid breath. His abs jutting and rippling like it took everything in him not to lose it right then and there. Rough yet gentle hands feather your ribs, gliding effortlessly until they pause at your hips, leaving trace currents branding me with each tortuous touch. The rings on his fingers dig into the sensitive flesh of your hips despite how gentle he’s being. A surprised gasp leaves my lips in a whimper as his grip tightens holding you into place. Your hips tilt, wanting to feel him and he groans, nostrils flaring like he’s in pain, “Want you so bad,” His nose runs against your jaw, “Not gonna last if you keep moving, Lil.”

“Sorry,” You breathe letting your head fall back as it swims with every effortless emotion you feel for him.

“Shh, you’re perfect, so fucking perfect, look at you.” He whispers, the gravelly tone of his voice sending vibrations between your thighs making you ache. A completely desperate ache for him that would be embarrassing if it was anyone but your Harry. Suddenly, he’s kissing you but lazily this time. His lips moved so painfully slow and tender against yours. Kissing like you have all the time in the world. As soon as you match his pace, he breaks the kiss sighing deeply against your parted lips. He studies your face, evergreen locked on blue, as he slowly drifts between your thighs. His hands follow him, traveling down your inked body with ease, until they lock around your upper legs.

“What’re you doing?” You ask breathlessly, trying to keep up with his pace. He ignores you, placing drawn-out kisses trailing from your left hip to inner thigh. Soft moans leave your parted lips each and every time his mouth touches your skin. His kisses are getting closer and closer, nipping and sucking, teasing and torturing. It’s too fucking much. “Harry-”

“Need something, Lil?” He sucks harder on your hip, leaving a purplish bruise on porcelain skin, tilting his head up to meet your gaze with a lazy smirk. So effortlessly sexy.

“Please-” Desperateness clings to the word as your head falls back, unable to handle seeing him between your legs.

“Please what?” Harry smirks against heated skin as your hips move forward, “Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want-” The sentence pauses at the tip of your tongue. No one’s ever asked what you wanted before. “I’ve never-” Your brows push together trying to find the right word but he reaches up, fingers smoothing the line between them like he understands.

“It’s okay,” He runs the flat of his tongue against your clit and your knees almost push together from pleasure, the round of his tongue ring hitting perfectly. Like he knows exactly what you need. Burning evergreen disappears into the back of his head as he moans against you, fingernails digging into your skin. “Taste so fucking good, Lil. Knew you would, so fucking sweet.”

“Fuck,” The whimper that comes out of you is pathetic as he lifts your leg, draping your right knee over his shoulder, tongue circling with no mercy. Flicking and sucking and teasing as he changes pace. Your head falls back feeling his piercing tease your entrance with each flick of his perfect tongue. Your fingers laced into his wet curls, tugging as he pulled back, eyes meeting yours. Bringing his left middle and ring fingers to your lips, manually parts them until his fingers push past your bottom teeth. The cold metal of his rings hits your warm mouth. Evergreen dances darkly as they glide across your tongue until you gag around them. He exhales roughly, head cocking, “Mmm, suck. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

Your lips wrap around his fingers as your eyes lock. He moves them in and out a few times before withdrawing. Never breaking eye contact, pink lips puckering around my clit as his fingers tease your entrance. He watches you intensely, so fucking intensely as his fingers match the pace of his tongue. Your eyes flutter in pure fucking bliss as your grip on his hair returns. Pulling and tugging, making him groan so deeply, “Lil.”

Your name came out of his mouth with the same electricity that courses through your veins whenever he’s around. Hot, entrancing, unfuckingdeniable, and your undoing. White, hot pleasure hits so hard that you try to close your legs but his hands wrap around your thighs, keeping them open, easing you through it. Your breathing evens out as Harry watches you between your open thighs. His head tilted upward, lips parted in amazement, evergreen bouncing around your face like he’s committing every muscle movement to memory.

“For fucks sake.” He exhales, blinking in complete astonishment.

“Hmm?” The word comes out lazily, so fucking easy like your smile.

He hovers, face inches from yours, hazy eyes blazing with lust. The end of his cross necklace bounces off your bottom lip a few times. “So pretty when you cum, Angel.”

Fuck, in one swift movement, you push his chest backward completely straddling him as his back hits the couch. Long, ring-clad fingers grip your jaw as he presses his lips to yours, kissing slowly, tongues tangling lazily. He tastes like you and it makes your head spin. His fingers tangle into your hair, blond waves fall, as he collects them wrapping the strands around his wrist. Breaking the kiss, your hands glide across his skin, feeling every harsh breath and ridge before settling between his legs. Every flutter of his butterfly as he breathes, how his abs constrict with each breath like he wants you so badly that it’s painful, and the vein resting next to the perfect v-line of his left hip. Taking a deep breath, your head tilts, meeting his hungry, beautiful gaze as your lips wrap around his head.

He lets out a loud moan, abs jutting, as your tongue twirls and teases. His head lolls back, lips parting while the moans come out so fucking feral; desperate. The grip on your hair loosens as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks with each suck. Honey curls fall you around like a curtain as he cups the back of your head, pushing you to take him deeper, never breaking eye contact. You almost wanna shut yours seeing how much adoration and attention and lust swims in his pretty irises. He starts moving his hips slowly, testing, and relaxing your jaw. His jaw tightens with each thrust, moaning so fucking loud, lips puckering around a needy exhale, “I-fuck-I’m not gonna last.”

Flattening your tongue, a hum in appreciation and that makes him break. The soft green of his eyes darkened as control slips with each thrust. “God, look at how pretty you look wrapped around my cock.” He groans even louder and you gag around him. His hips slow, “You can take it, just like that, so fucking good.”

Your cheeks hollow as his movements grow more frantic. More fucking desperate. Twirling your tongue, he pulls out, cupping your jaw again as he cums. Painting your chest in the most filthy way. Head tilted back, eyes shut, pumping his cock as he whimpers. Blush spreads up his throat, neck vein popping in the sexiest way, and perfect lips parted in pure ecstasy; pure bliss. He’s the most devastating man you’ve ever seen. The minute your gazes meet, your breathing halts. So many emotions battle to come to the surface as lush forests meet raging oceans. The push and pull that is us. This is a moment where you just stare at each other in understanding. Letting your eyes say what you’re afraid to admit out loud.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Harry’s voice is gentle and soothing while his fingers trace your jaw before disappearing. You count his footsteps but don’t respond. The weight of what happened crashed into you like a freight train. Your breathing accelerates instead of steading as everything plays out. You don’t want to lose him when this doesn’t work out. The thought comes quickly and like a bucket of ice water. Panic setting in because you can’t lose him. You can’t lose him over one night of weakness. Shit, the uncertainty feels heavy on your chest, heavier than it should because there’s no one you trust more. He’s your best friend.

“Lil?” Hesitantly, your eyes snap to your favorite shade of green. Allowing them to travel his peaceful features, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Everything about him is relaxed and unguarded as he starts cleaning you up with a warm washcloth. The light stubble on his sharp jaw to pink parted lips to the freckles on the bridge of his nose that you wouldn’t see unless you were close enough. Your fingertips ache to trace the path, feel each little freckle and plane of his face, until they’re touching his pink lips. Sometimes, you wish memories worked like photographs or something so you could accurately remember how being in his arms feels. How finally being his feels until unrelenting reality hits. You’re not his, Grace is, and that hurts worse than you thought. His lips tip into a left-sided smile, “There she is.”

“Here I am,” You smile back, cheekbone gently compressed by his long fingers.

Dark curls sticking up in different directions, evergreen eyes following every detail of your face, a red hue dusting across his cheeks, and his once parted lips tugging into a sleepy smirk, “You still with me, Lil?”

“Always.” The word came out fast because you were with him. Maybe too with him. “Gonna get dressed real quick.” A giggle escapes your lips, “Don’t have the money for Ellie’s therapy bill if she walks in.”

“Fuck,” He chuckles, running a hand through long curls, “She’d probably ask to join.”

Your phone buzzes two times and something inside you freezes. You know it’s Rylan, no one else but him and Harry text you this late. The playful expression on Harry’s face slowly drains into something that resembles pain as he hands it to me. The sudden change makes your stomach turn in the worst way.

From: Ry (2:30 am)

Sorry about tonight.

From: Ry (2:31 am)

Can’t lose you over a stupid argument, Lil. I know you and Styles are just friends and you wouldn’t touch him. Sorry for being a jealous prick.

That stomach-sinking guilt comes back full force and causes your mouth to flood with saliva. You pull the Nirvana shirt over your head and turn to explain but he’s already looking at the wall. His jaw tense, so tense that the hinges are bulging, but expression is stoic. He swallows, the columns in his throat tense then relax showing just how hard the salvia was to get down. You linger on his side profile for a second, appreciating the beautiful yet masculine planes of his face, before clearing your throat. He blinks a few times before turning slowly to meet your eyes. The words rush out of your mouth, “Harry-”

Playful evergreen darkened to forest green, “I better go.”

You jump to your feet, following behind him quickly, desperate to explain. His back to you, broad shoulders sagging, as he works to unlatch your window. The glass opens with a thud and you expect him to leave but he doesn’t. Ring-clad fingers grasp the ledge, knuckles blanch, as he just breathes. You count to fifteen waiting for him to look at you but he doesn’t. 240 long, excruciating seconds pass. Exhaling harshly, his voice is hoarse, “We need to tal-“

“Friends?” You blurt, not letting him finish. Needing to know you’re okay, eyes volleying between him and the notification on your phone.

He pauses, hand resting on the windowsill, so much pain in those evergreen eyes you love so much. There he was, always taking care of you. Even if it means hurting him.

“Yeah, Lil.”

Your attention stays on the window as he slips out without giving you a chance to respond. Everything smells like him, a mouthwatering mixture of fresh laundry, peppermint, and something earthy like the wind. Even your skin has traces of him that you don’t think you’d be able to wash off. The memory of tonight permanently embedded into you and there is no denying it. How his mouth felt, his hands on you, the sound of his raspy voice slowly ruining you for anyone else.

What the fuck did you just do?

613 notes · View notes

cumikering · 4 months

Text

Ex bf John Price x reader 2

2.6k | soft smut, angst, comfort Your closure (part 1)

You fiddled with the simple gold band. You hadn’t expected to see John, especially not there of all places. You didn’t know why you even said anything. You should have walked past.

But you remembered how you shook that afternoon in Hereford, gripping the edge of your seat and how you broke down as the train departed. You didn’t care what you looked like. How could you when you’d just ripped your heart out.

For days you holed up in your childhood bedroom, where you’d taken him into countless times. Your bed didn’t dip the same way without his weight. When you unwittingly pulled out one of his shirts from your wardrobe, you sobbed into it. You lived out of your luggage until you got your own place.

Perhaps you were desperate, or just silly, that you wore his gift as a wedding ring. That way maybe you could rationalise the hole in your life was from losing your husband, not just a boyfriend because dear God, he was so much more than that. As a sick vow that you’d never want to lose him to war, so you’d never crawl back. You had wanted to so many times.

You wrote John letters the nights you couldn’t sleep. Some mornings in the haze of slumber, you’d wake up to your empty bed thinking he’d left for the day. It took another second for it to dawn on you that he was never there. You took 10 more minutes to get up.

Sometimes you grabbed plates, one too many, and cooked four eggs instead of two. At the supermarket you’d reach for his favourite crisps before realising you didn’t have to anymore. Some nights you left the door unlocked out of habit.

The sun promised yet another day. The tears grew fewer and further between. Spring came and you found the box of letters you wrote. You counted - there were 56.

You’d never forgotten about him, even that the memory had loosened its claws on you. Despite the gnarly scar, the wound had dried.

But that day, after not speaking to each other for years, something crumbled in you. Was it his tired eyes? The way he stood, his weary smile? His beanie?

John Mother Fucking Price.

Did he hold onto the memories like you did too after all?

That evening, you laughed at yourself as you drove to his parents’. Knuckles white over the steering wheel, you stared at the front door as your heart raced. You rested your forehead against the wheel with a heavy sigh.

Why did you even come? What were you going to say? Did he even want to hear whatever it was you had to say?

You heart almost stopped when there was a tap on the passenger’s window.

It was John. Of course it was.

You unlocked the car with a shaky breath. He slipped right in and shut the door, rubbing his hands together and blew into them. The distant streetlight casted a soft glow on his face as he held your gaze.

“You alright?” he rasped, breaking the long silence.

You gave him a crooked smile, shaking your head. “I don’t even know why I’m here,” you muttered, more to yourself.

His eyes flicked to your hand. “I think you do.”

“It’s from you, John.” You held it up to him. “The last one.”

His breath caught, blue eyes searching yours. “Tell me you hate me before I do something stupid.”

You wrapped your arms around him over the console. He took a frantic breath of your hair, and you almost whimpered at the way your face still fitted so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He smelt the exact same.

“I can’t hate you,” you sighed. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

You told yourself if you shut your eyes tight enough, the tears wouldn’t spill. They did anyway when you heard the choked sob from him. His beard tickled and it didn’t take long for his tears to dampen your neck.

“Love, I’ve- Fuck. Nothing has ever hurt this much.”

Your fingers ran through his soft hair, right above the nape of his neck the way he liked it.

“If call it quits… If I give up everything, would you have me back?”

“You wouldn’t,” you whispered. The truth still tasted bitter despite the years.

He gripped your shoulders. “Each time I come knocking with someone’s tags, a part of me dies too. I never want it to be you. I’ll never let it be you breaking down at our door.”

“Don’t do this to me, John.” Your face twisted. “Don’t… Don’t say all these things when-“

“You gave up your life for me. It’s my turn to do the same.” His thumb caressed your cheek. “I’d follow you anywhere. You just have to ask.”

You sobbed. He stroked your hair, your face pressed onto his shoulder, leaving dark patches on his sweater. His cheeks were still wet when you cradled his face.

In his steady arms, you could never be safer. As the windows fogged up, you wished the night was as endless as your kisses.

The streets of Liverpool had settled when John closed the door to your apartment. His eyes remained a little puffy, but his smile was brighter than when they were dry.

You’d missed that. The way his warm eyes crinkled, how his lips curved.

He tentatively pulled you by the waist, pressing your body against his. You never thought you’d feel those sturdy hands on you again.

You led him to your bed and flicked the bedside lamp on before pulling him on top of you. He stilled over you, the warm light illuminated the lines of his face. You traced the shape of him, his lower lip, his faint freckles, his tired eyes. He shut them with a shaky sigh. He was perfect.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how much I miss you,” he rasped, grasping your waist as his lips closed over yours.

He licked along your lower lip, nipping on it. The small gasp you let out allowed his tongue to slip past your lips, brushing against your own. When you arched your back, his hand slid under your top, kneading your hip.

“John,” you breathed against his lips, tugging on his shirt.

With you between his hard thighs, you watched with lidded eyes as he pulled his shirt off. His muscles weren’t as defined as they once were, but the same strength under was evident in the way his chest and arms flexed. You wasted no time running your hands over him, from his happy trail, partly hidden under the low hanging waistband, up to the darker fuzz of his chest. His abdomen rippled under your touch, bulge forming in his sweats.

He leaned back down and you palmed over the stretch of his back. There were raises you swore weren’t there last time. As you ran your fingertips over the scars, his lips didn’t relent against yours. Your tongues swirled between the nibbling and sucking. It surprised you how you were still in sync, not missing a beat despite the years.

He was still yours.

“Want you, John.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He helped you out of your clothes before himself. Kneeling before you, he parted your thighs and settled between them.

He exhaled, a rough hand trailed from your knee along your inner thigh. Your skin pulled as he squeezed the flesh at the thickest part, giving him a peek of your slick. He licked his lip.

His eyes flicked up to you, watching as you bit your lip, chest rising and falling, your nipples at attention. He climbed over you, licking a stripe up your breast before his hot tongue flicked over your nipple, rolling the other between his fingers.

Your fingers ran through his hair, clutching his roots. You hummed in pleasure when his mouth switched with his hand, teeth playfully grazing against your hardened nipple. Your back arched, yearning for more and more of him.

He sat back on his haunches, wet lips parted. Your hips bucked when his thumb swiped over your needy clit. The motion continued as his fingertips trailed from your waist down to your knee. His eyes transfixed on you as you shut your eyes, your breath shallow.

You gave a small nod when his finger circled over your opening. He barely had to push before slipping right in. He curled his finger, building his pace as he leaned over, planting kisses across your chest up your neck and jaw before meeting your lips again. The noises filled the dim room.

Your hand ran down his side, to his fuzzy pelvis and heavy balls. Your fingertips traced along his length and he twitched when you got to his leaking tip. You stroked his desperate cock, spreading the wetness it over him. You moaned into his mouth when he added another finger.

His pumped faster as he licked along your neck, his tongue grazing the cuff of your ear. Your arm slung over his neck, your nails digging into his flexed bicep as he held his weight up, clinging onto him.

“Always so good for me, love,” he breathed, his warm breath making you shiver.

Your back arched to meet him, hips rolling. His long, thick fingers grew urgent, thumb rubbing your swollen clit. The squelching merged with the sounds of the wet kisses your neck.

The familiar pressure settled in your core. Your breathing quickened, your moans shallow as he relentlessly hit the right spot.

“John- ah- Don’t stop, John,” you whined.

“Wanna make you feel good.” He nipped at your lobe. “Let me hear you.”

You unravelled with a moan, your head thrown back. Your trembling thighs closed around him.

“That’s it. Such a good girl for me.” He sucked on your exposed throat as his pumping slowed down to deep, long strokes, stretching the rest of your high.

He lied on his side facing you, rubbing your thigh as you caught your breath. He sucked his fingers clean with a deep sigh, eyes closed.

“John,” you began when you realised. “I don’t have any condoms.”

You tasted yourself on him as he leaned over to kiss you, his cock still hard and wet against your thigh. “We don’t have to. It’s all you tonight.”

“Has there…” It was irrational but jealousy crept up. “Have you been w-“

“Never.” He shook his head. “No one else since you.”

You felt like crying. “Please,” you whispered against his lips, cupping his face. “Need you.”

He kissed you once more, kneading your hip up to your breast before crawling between your legs. His eyes lidded, breathing shallow like he was delirious. He stroked himself a few times, as if his aching cock wasn’t ready enough.

A hand on your waist, he rubbed himself along your glistening slit, biting his lip as he watched. His tip circled around your opening. “Ready, love?” His eyes met yours.

When you nodded, he eased the first inch in with a groan, making you moan with the delicious stretch. He held your gaze, taking his time pushing further and further before he stopped with a teasing smile.

“John,” you whined, legs hooking around him.

He lifted your hips off the mattress and slid his last inches into your sopping pussy. The sensation of him bottoming out in you always intoxicated you. Your breath hitched as he grinded deep against you. Nothing ever felt a good as him.

His grip tightened before his hips moved. He reached to rub your clit with the pad of his thumb, making you whimper. He always knew how tilt his hips the right way, to reach that deep and undo you. The way he fucked you, sometimes you thought he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You fisted the pillow under your head, jaw slack. His eyes flicked to your tits as they bounced with each thrust.

“Fuck, it’s been forever,” he grunted.

He leaned onto his forearms to kiss you as his fingers laced with yours above your head. His body flush against yours, his breath warm. His scent carried a touch of smoke as always.

His thrusts were deep and languid, pulling out all the way until only the head of his thick cock remained before burying himself to the hilt again in smooth strokes. He fucked you into the mattress like he wanted you to remember every drag, ever curve of him. Only he could make you feel this way – nothing ever came close. It was your sentence for stealing his soul.

“Want to make you come again, love.”

You weren’t sure it was muscle memory or what, but the intensity of his gaze, the way he rocked against you and the way he surrounded you made the heat pool deep in your belly again.

He tilted your face away with his nose, allowing him access to suck on the base of your neck. The way you tightened around him was his que to pick up his pace. He pounded into you, his balls smacking against your ass. He groaned, his breath searing against your skin. Each thrust pushed a huff of breath out of you.

Your fingers squeezed his. He knew what it meant.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he panted against your ear. “Oh God, never leave me again, sweetheart.” His voice cracked.

His wet eyes bored onto yours. You couldn’t help the tear that slipped.

“I promise, John. I promise I won’t.”

He lifted your waist, angling himself to reach even deeper. Your moans grew louder, your fingers pulling on his hair.

“Come for me,” he said with urgency. “Let me make you feel good, love.”

You moaned, legs tightening around his waist as your second orgasm washed over you. He thrusted faster into your fluttering pussy, his breath heavy against your ear. He kissed you again, tongue dragging against yours.

In a swift motion, he pulled out and came on your stomach, moaning into your mouth. You reached down, milking the rest of him, his hot come ran between your fingers.

He peppered kisses all along your jaw as his breath evened out before cleaning you up. You wiped away his tears with your thumb, giving him a peck on the lips. With a grunt, he lied on his back as he pulled you against him. He clasped his hand over yours, resting it in the middle of his chest, pressing kisses on your forehead.

“Love, can we have a bath?” There was a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. “My joints hurt when it gets too cold sometimes.”

Your heart wrenched. He’d made you feel so good despite the pain. When he followed you off the bed, you shook your head.

Moments later, you led him to the hot bath you’d prepared. You knelt by the tub and as he hunched over his bent knees, you helped him wash his hair and body. In the light, the scars he’d acquired since were clear, but it wasn’t what caught your attention.

For your last anniversary, he got a tattoo of your favourite flower on his back. After an array of art, it was easy for one to be just another piece, but this... He never covered it up.

Your finger traced over it. “You’re beautiful, John.”

He let out a deep sigh.

His head tipped back against the tiles as he soaked. Your arms folded over the edge of the tub, your head resting on your forearm. With a soft smile and lidded eyes, he gave your hand a squeeze.

The dark didn’t have to be endless tonight. Because there was going to be a tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.

You believed him this time.

@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @shadofireshinobi @tiredmetalenthusiast @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @rainybubbles @erinfern0 @devcica @sacr3dm1lk @esthervalea @katz-chow @captainjamster @aethelwyneleigh27 @thatgoblin @rennroo

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canisalbus · 4 months

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Just wanted to tell you that your recent art of Machete looking after Vasco while he's sick reminded me of Nights at the Villa by Gogol. Only a small fragment of it survived, probably because it's straight up author's diary about falling in love for the first time with a man who is already dying. It's such a beautiful little piece and your art really reminded me of it's vibes. Anyway, I'm mentally ill about russian literature and I love your dogs <3

The longing and lamenting quite something, poor guy.

It's not very long so I'm just going to put the whole thing under the cut ->

They were sweet and tormenting, those sleepless nights. He sat, ill, in the armchair. I was with him. Sleep dared not touch my eyes. Silently and involuntarily, it seems, it respected the sanctity of my vigil. Its was so sweet to sit near him, to look at him. For two nights already we have been saying "thou" to each other. How much closer he has become to me since then! He sat there just as before, meek, quiet, and resigned. Good God! With what joy, with what happiness I would have taken his illness upon myself! And if my death could restore him to health, with what readiness I would have rushed toward it!

I did not stay with him last night. I had finally decided to stay home and sleep. Oh, how base, how vile that night and my despicable sleep were! I slept poorly, even though I had been without sleep for almost a week. I was tormented by the thought of him. I kept imagining him, imploring and reproachful. I saw him with the eyes of my soul. I hastened to come early to him and felt like a criminal as I went. From his bed he saw me. He smiled with his usual angel's smile. He offered his hand. He pressed mine lovingly.

"Traitor." he said, "You betrayed me." "My angel," I said, "Forgive me. I myself suffered with your suffering. I was in torment all night. My rest brought me no repose. Forgive me!" My meek one! He pressed my hand. How fully rewarded I was for the suffering that the stupidly spent night had brought me!

"My head is weary," he said. I began to fan him with a laurel branch. "Ah, how fresh and good," he said. His words were then… what were they? What would I have not given, what earthly goods, those despicable, those vile, those disgusting goods… no, they are not worth mentioning. You into whose hands will fall -if they will fall- those incoherent, fleebe lines, pallid expressions of my emotions, you will understand me. Otherwise they will not fall into your hands. You will understand how repulsive the entire heap of treasures and honors is that attracts those wooden dolls which are called people. Oh, with what joy, with what anger I could have trampled underfoot and squashed everything that is bestowed by the mighty scepter of the Tsar of the North, if I only knew that this would buy a smile that indicated the slightest relief in his face.

"Why did you prepare such a bad month of May for me?" He said to me, awakening in his armchair and hearing the wind beyond the window-panes that wafted the aroma of the blossoming wild jasmine and white acacia, which mingled with the whirling rose petals.

At ten o'clock I went down to see him. I had left him there hours before to get some rest, to prepare [something] to him, to afford him some variety, so my arrival would give him more pleasure. I went down to him at ten o'clock. He had been alone for more than one hour. His visitors had long since left. The dejection of boredom showed on his face. He saw me. Waved his hand slightly.

"My savior." He said to me. They still sound in my ears, those words. "My angel! Did you miss me?" "Oh, how I missed you." He replied. I kissed him on the shoulder. He offered his cheek. We kissed; he was still pressing my hand.

He did not like going to bed and hardly ever did. He preferred his armchair and the sitting position. That night the doctor ordered him to rest. He stood up reluctantly and, leaning on my shoulder, moved to his bed. My darling! He weary glance, his brightly colored jacket, his slow steps- I can see it all, it is all before my eyes. He whispered in my ear, leaning on my shoulder and glancing at the bed: "Now I'm a ruined man."

"We will remain in bed for only half an hour," I said to him, "and then we'll go back to your armchair".

I watched you, my precious, tender flower! All the time when you were sleeping or merely dozing in you bed or armchair, I followed your movements and your moments, bound to you by some incomprehensible force.

How strangely new my life was then and, at the same time, I discerned in it a repetition of something distant, something that once actually was. But it seems hard to give an idea of it: there returned to me a fresh, fleeting fragment of my youth, that time when a youthful soul seeks fraternal friendship with those of one's age, a decidedly juvenile friendship, full of sweet, almost infantile trifles and mutual show of tokens of tender attachment; the time when it is sweet to gaze into each other's eyes, when your entire being is ready to offer sacrifices, which are usually not even necessary. And all those feelings, sweet, youthful, fresh - alas! Inhabitants of a vanishing world - all these feelings returned to me. Good Lord! What for? I watched you, my precious, tender flower. Did this fresh breath of youth waft upon me only so that I might suddenly and irrevocably sink into even greater and more deadening coldness of feelings, so that I might become all at once older by a decade, so that I might see my vanishing life with even greater despair and hopelessness? Thus does a dying fire send its flames up into the air, so that it might illuminate with its flickering the somber walls and then disappear forever.

#its was so sweet to sit near him #to look at him #for two nights already we have been saying “thou” to each other #answered #alphaori #the pet name game is strong #my angel #my meek one #my savior #my darling #my precious tender flower

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queerstudiesnatural · 1 year

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i find it so interesting to look at sam and dean's respective views of society and people vs monsters, especially in early seasons, and then how that shifts and evolves throughout the show. like when we first meet them dean is very anti establishment whereas sam is literally studying law at an ivy league college. dean is very vocally anti police, and you're like wow for someone who was raised by an authoritarian father and is trying his hardest to please him this guy sure hates authority. he is aware of and cares about issues like racism and classism. but then when it comes to anyone non human he pretty much has no grey area, he sees them all as monsters to be put down. they are Things and they all killed his mum. whereas sam is pretty neutral about people, he doesn't even seem to be aware of systemic inequalities, he has a more individualistic approach to society. but this means he also sees monsters as individuals, just as capable of being good or redeemed.

This has everything to do with the way they grew up and the challenges they faced that affected them the most. dean's biggest challenge was putting food on the table. dean grew up poor and hungry. he was arrested for stealing, he had to use his body to get by, and he had to starve to try and feed sammy. and sam also grew up poor, but he was somewhat shielded from the reality of it. he wasn't the one who had to get food and pay for the extra week in a motel john left them in. his issues were much more personal. because sam knew he was a freak by all standards, he felt impure, and he knew in his heart that the monsters they hunted weren't too different from him. so his hope was in believing that anyone could be saved. anyone could choose to be good. where dean saw a system, with people in power and people who suffered because of them, sam saw grey individuals, and he was drawn in particular to the ones that had something "wrong" with them (max, madison, the kid from bugs, etc)

dean grew up so isolated that he couldn't be individualistic. he could only look at people from afar and that's why he sees the systems. and the violence he faced wasn't targeted at him personally, it was targeted at people like him. poor people, drifters, queer (or queer-looking) people. sam grew up trying to make connections. he made friends, he wanted an education. he tried so hard to belong.

and it's interesting to me that dean ended up being the one who formed the most personal bonds with people who were different, or ostracised, or monsters. see crowley, benny, charlie, claire.

sam tried to build communities (see his s14 arc) but every time he tried to get close to someone it ended in disaster so he ended up keeping his distance. and building a system. throughout the show he takes on leadership roles, and as time progresses he keeps his relationships more and more goal-oriented. whereas dean ends up forming personal bonds with a lot of people, and focusing less on helping oppressed people in general, and more on saving the individuals he cares about. i'm not saying they switched roles, they both kept their original views of the world, but they shifted towards a more confused and confusing moral compass that pointed somewhere in the middle and made it harder for them to understand each other. and ain't that just what growing up is like. dean cared about the whole world as a teen and young adult, but then that became too much to bear, and he had to focus his energy on his circle of loved ones. still caring about the world, but he had individual connections now and had to prioritise them. and sam still saw the potential for redemption and goodness in everyone, but he grew weary of people too, afraid of them or afraid of losing them, and he built walls. tried to help by giving himself missions rather than getting personally and emotionally involved.

psychologically speaking this show is so rich, the characters don't feel one dimensional (despite some of the writers' best efforts), and following their journey for 15 years means we saw them change and evolve, they don't remain the same people they were in season 1, but they keep some of that, and they just grow organically. sometimes i just love spn

#rain posts #dean and sam

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itsabouttimex2 · 6 months

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Hello! I read your Lmk fics and they're awesome! 💗💗💗 If the request are open can I ask one of Yan Macaque wanting Reader as is apprentice or be their mentor but Reader doesn't want to and every time they deny his offer so he tries to convince them? (being the manipulator he is can offer them more power or strength) Thank you so much! 💖

Tough Love

Yandere Mentor Macaque

You know he’s outside. If it isn’t him, it’s one of his shadow clones. Either way, he’s keeping you up again, scratching at the walls and windows of your house. Today is the fourteenth day of this hell, desperately trying to sleep while Macaque tries to force you to come outside and confront him.

There’s a brief lull in the scratching, and right when you think he’s given up, he begins to pound on your window, rattling the frame as he does. You roll over and stuff your face into your pillow, hoping to block out the thunderous noise. In response, it only grows louder and louder. You bear with it for a few minutes, and eventually… it stops entirely.

Then your bed begins to shake.

You jump to your feet as fast as possible, reaching for something to defend yourself with. Instead, you find Macaque’s shadow clones snatching up everything in reach and pulling them away from you, leaving you completely unarmed and off-guard.

Something taps your shoulder, but you don’t turn around. You already know who it is, after all.

“Hey kiddo,” he starts, his voice surprisingly soft and calm. It doesn’t stay that way for long. “Here I was, starting to think you might be ignoring me, or something.” There’s a definite edge to his voice as he finishes, like he’s daring you to confirm his words. Instead, you just stay quiet. It feels like there’s no right words for this situation, nothing you can say to improve your lot.

“Remember when you said you’d think on my offer, bud? I’m still waiting for an answer. Kinda starting to lose my patience, here.”

He taps your shoulder again. An unspoken command is conveyed through that simple motion. Turn around.

You slowly turn on your heel, revealing your weary eyes and tired face to the demon. He clicks his tongue and huffs. “You really don’t know when to give up, huh? I could make you stronger than you ever imagined. I could teach you to protect yourself.”

You take a step forward, ready to protest and argue, to drive in for the final time that you don’t want or need his help.

But he beats you to the punch.

“Can I ask you something, kid? Why do you even bother to say no? Are you scared? Of what? You’ve got no one left, kiddo. I mean, if you did… they’d be here helping you, right? But no. You’re dealing with the big bad demon all alone. And you still won’t give in. So stubborn! You kinda remind me of an old friend of mine, actually. Difference is…”

“He has people who care about him.”

Everything freezes in place, all the color draining from your face as the world goes quiet. You have no retort, no reply, no defense. His expression grows smug, knowing he’s hit a weak spot. He takes a step forward, looming over you to really drive in how powerless you are right now.

“That’s what I can give you, kid. A place to belong. Someone to look out for you. Strength to stand on your own two feet. Why not let me help you? It’s not like anyone else is trying.”

Your throat tightens painfully, and tears prick your eyes. You try to take a few deep breaths, but your dry lips are stuck together. Every time he had made this offer previously, you had argued him to a standstill, countering each of his points with ease. Now, you can’t even breathe right. You can’t even speak.

He chuckles, and reaches out to pat your shoulder. “All alone, huh. Pretty rough feeling, isn’t it? But you don’t have to be alone. Neither of us do. Let me make you something better.” While you’re still unable to resist, he loops his fingers around one of your wrists and drags you outside with him. The shadows roil and writhe with each step he takes. You stumble along after him, only stopping to take a look back at your house.

Somehow, you feel like you won’t be seeing it for a while.

#platonic yandere #yandere lmk #yandere lego monkie kid #yandere macaque #Yandere Mentor #tw: manipulation

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ornii · 1 year

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“Bitterly Beautiful”

Wednesday Addams X Blind Male Reader. Part (1)

• This was a Story i posted on my Wattpad and decided to post it here, also thanks for reading it btw. I decided to use tumblr and well here I am.

Nevermore Academy, founded in 1791, to house and Teach the most, unique, individuals. Some were Vampires, Werewolves, and some even the most otherworldly beings, but there even existed monsters from beyond the bounds of reality. That could not be any more true than the boy who awakens in his dormitory room, he keeps his eyes closed but sits up with a weary yawn. He, without much issue gets dressed in the classic Nevermore uniform, the grimly striped blazer with shirt, tie and sweater combination of black sleek pants. After putting a pair of dark oval glasses on, he turns left and grabs a cane, a very antique design with a steel crow embodied design for the handle. He twirls it and walks to the door and leaves for the morning.

The boy enters a large courtyard, where the sounds of students bellowing, talking, howling, fill his ears. He places a tea cup on the stone table as he walks and sits down upon a stone seat and towards the table. He felt dust brush up against his skin, mostly his face. Not being able to use your eyes has its major disadvantages, but it also provides small bonuses. One was the much more heightened senses of Smell, touch, hearing and taste. Since the lack of eyesight was prominent. The other senses had to work harder to compensate for the loss, so even the slightest brush of wind picking up, he could notice. He removes his glasses and begins to wipe them off, but it was interrupted by a pair of oddly soft hands covering his face, which really does little to stop him.

"Guess Who~" The Mysterious and Cheerful voice asked under a muffled giggle. The boy stopped wiping his glasses and just smiled.

"Enid.. you know that doesn't work, right?" He said, and she lets go, and sits next to him.

"I know, but I didn't want to cover your ears, you couldn't hear me then (Y/n)." She says smiling, this was Enid Sinclair, a Werewolf and overall pretty amazing girl. They met during his first tenure at Nevermore and sort of, Clicked, not intentionally of course. She had her bright bubbly attitude which melted down his more cold and indifferent attitude towards everything and everyone, and now (Y/n) "Views" life in a more, honest fashion. He smiles hearing her voice, and tilts his head slightly to her direction.

"Well, what's new? You're pretty exited.." He asks and he notices her heartbeat is faster than average, and he can just hear the gleaming in her voice.

"I should and called you about it but let me give you the deets, I'm getting a roomie!" She says, and he smiles in response.

"That's great, is someone changing dorms?"

"No, she's transferring from another school, Wednesday Addams! I did. my research and she got expelled from her last school." Enid casually explains, and (Y/n) takes a sip of his Assam black tea, before listening to more of Enids explanation

"Yeah she tossed piranhas into the school pool and a boy lost a testicle." She flatly said which causes (Y/n) to cough up his Tea hearing that.

"E-Enid, are you... sure You want someone like that to Room with you? I think Principal Weems would understand you wanting a transfer."

"What? No! We're going to be the best of friends! I can already picture it! Doing each others hair, nails, talking about all the gossip at Nevermore, the Boys~" Enid was too much in a euphoric mood to listen to reason, (Y/n) simply nodded and acted happy for her, subconsciously worried for her health.

"Well, I hope you have fun then." He said, before the Principal Weems spoke up from behind them.

"Miss Sinclair." She said with this gaudy and proper tone, Enid quickly turns around, and smiles.

"Please, allow me to bring you up to your new Roommate, good morning also to you Mister Healy." She said, turning her attention towards (Y/n), who gives a solemn bow to principal Weems.

"Good Morning Principal." He replies, "Could I ask you what time it is?" He said, and she checks her watch.

"Nearing Seven."

"Ah, well I should get to feeding the crows then." He said, Enid and (Y/n) stand up and she waves him goodbye as she walks off with the Principal, he gives her a small wave back before walking away. He, without much issue, walks over to what seems to look like a Bin, he digs into it and takes out a bag, opening it, was full of an assortment of seeds. He tosses the bag as it opens and spills the seeds, he grabs a handful, and with the other arm, he taps his Cane on the ground twice. The Caws echo from the dead trees outside the Academy. They soar like a platoon of airmen. They land and peck, eating the seeds hungrily.

"You all seem eager, good." He says, and one flies up and lands on his arm. He smiles, it's caw echoes like music to his ears. He soon felt the crow fly off his arms desperately, all the crows fly away as if they're trying to avoid something. He feels a pair of footsteps approach. He acts oblivious until Enids voice comes though like music.

"And this, is (Y/n) Hearly. (Y/n), this is Wednesday Addams." Enid said, he turns around to sense a, dark presence, the sound waves echo and it forms a decent image of the woman standing next to Enid, the aura about her was a sense of utter dread. (Y/n) tries to put it behind him and offers a handshake.

"(Y/n), nice to meet you." He says, she takes it, firmly but her skin felt like ice. Sending chills down his spine he shivers slightly from it. He lets go a bit quickly and motions to the front.

"Welcome to Nevermore—" he begins but she cuts him off.

"You can skip the school Introductions your "Bestie" already informed me. I have no intention to stay here." She said, and Enid tries to make the situation better.

"Anyway, I came to ask if you could help move her stuff to the room!" She says and (Y/n) bows.

"I'd love to help." He says, Wednesday just stares morbidly at him, emotionless, cold. Shes analyzing him, she looks at his cane.

"You're Blind." She Said. And he laughed.

"Oh, how very perceptive of you, yes. I am." He Said, sarcastically, but her eyes still focused.

"You seem much more focused on your surroundings than the average blind person, you probably heard us approaching." She continues.

"Huh, can't get anything past you, can I? A question if I may, what happened at your old school?" He asked, and her response was short but terrifying.

"The only person who gets to torture my brother is me." She replies in that deadpan mundane tone, which sends shivers down his spine, he attempts to play it off.

"Ah, understandable, so... you don't plan to stay? Why not?" He asked, "This was my parents' idea. They've been looking for any excuse to send me here. It's all a part of their nefarious, yet completely obvious plan."

"What plan?" Enid asked.

"To turn me into a version of themselves." She replies, and Enid looks a bit, curious.

"In that case, perhaps you can clear something up. Rumor's been swirling around that you killed a kid at your old school, and your parents pulled strings to get you off." Enid says, and (Y/n) chimes in. "Murder?"

"Actually, it was two kids, but who's counting?" She says, Enid and (Y/n) sees both taken aback by her odd behavior, even for an outcast. "Right.." Enid begins, "Let me give you a wiki on Nevermore's social scene."

"I'm not interested in participating in tribal adolescent clichés."

"Well, then use it to fill your obviously bottomless pit of disdain. There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners and Scales. Those are the Fangs, AKA vampires. Some of them have literally been here for decades. That bunch of knuckleheads are Furs, AKA werewolves. Like me!" Enid says to herself.

"Full moons get pretty loud around here. That's when Furs "wolf out." Id suggest you pick up noise-cancelling headphones, they've saved me ample sleep." (Y/n) says.

"I'm assuming Scales are sirens?" Wednesday said.

"You catch on quick. And that girl, Bianca Barclay, is the closest thing Nevermore has to royalty. Although her crown's been slipping lately. She used to date our resident tortured artist, Xavier Thorpe. But they broke up at the beginning of the semester. Reason unknown." Enid explains, much to Wednesday's uncaring attitude.

"Fascinating. And you?" She asked (Y/n) who gives a bow.

"A Fomorian, we’re..Ancient Tyrants from Ireland." (Y/n) explains, "There isn't many of us, Enids the only one who's really been a good friend to me, others are a bit wary. But they’ve come around, once Enid showed them I’m mot much of a real threat, they became much nicer and understanding thanks to her blog I suppose.” (Y/n) explains.

"I know, right? My vlog is, like, the number one source for Nevermore gossip." She explains, "(Y/n) sadly can't see it." Enid huffs.

(Y/n) leans into Wednesday a bit.

"There are some benefits to being blind. But I must ask, if you do murder people, what do you do with the bodies? Do you.. eat them? You might be a Fur."

"Quite the contrary. I actually fillet the bodies of my victims, then feed them to my menagerie of pets." She stares proverbial daggers at (Y/n), who just laughs, almost in disbelief.

"You.. really are different." He said. "Not that it's a bad thing of course."

"You should really get on Insta, Snapchat and TikTok." Enid says to Wednesday.

"I find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation." She replies, (Y/n) and Enid share a small glance. "Well, I should get to taking your stuff to your room." (Y/n) says.

"See you adequate enough to not get lost on the way there?" She asked, and he smirks.

"Well, much like you Wednesday..." he says, the Furs begin a food fight and one hurls a peach, flying at him, without even breaking a sweat he catches it. His focus still on Miss Addams.

"I'm very perceptive.."

As (Y/n) and Enid take Wednesdays things to her room, she is forced to say goodbye to her family.

"Look at you, my little deathtrap. Seeing you in this uniform brings back so many terrible memories. Doesn't it, Tish?" Her Father, Gomez. Her illustrious and, profound mother steps up, Morticia.

"Yes. Why don't you boys wait in the car? Wednesday and I need a moment." She said, Pugsley, her less than enthusiastic brother is then approached by Wednesday.

"Pugsley, you're soft and weak. You'll never survive without me. I give you two months, tops." She says, what seems to be nothing but cold insults to some were words of love to him.

"I'm gonna miss you, too, sis." He said, Gomez and pugsley leave, letting Wednesday and Morticia have a solemn stare down.

"Any plans you have of running away end right now. I've alerted all family members to contact me the minute you darken their doorstep. You have nowhere to go."

"As usual, you underestimate me, Mother. I will escape this educational penitentiary, and you will never hear from me again."

The two opposing forces seem so contested. Morticia sighs at her dismayed daughter.

"You are a brilliant girl, Wednesday, but sometimes you get in your own way. I'm sure you'll grow to love Nevermore, and find it as life-changing as I did. Oh, I got you a little something." She continues and hands her an amulet, dark in design.

"W... M. Our initials. It's made of obsidian, which Aztec priests used to conjure visions. It's a symbol of our connection."

"Which one of your spirits suggested this toe-curling tchotchke? I'm not you, Mother. I will never fall in love, or be a housewife, or have a family." Wednesday retorted with scathing remarks, Which Morticia tries not to respond to.

"I'm told girls your age say hurtful things, and I shouldn't take it to heart."

"Fortunately, you don't have one."

"..Finally, a kind word for your mother, We can't talk to you for the first week while you're settling in, so we'll call you next Sunday." She said, giving Wednesday a lovingly look before leaving. What seems to be a "Perfect." Rooming situation has turned into the complete opposite, as Wednesday tore off the colored plastic for the massive circular window within her room, only her side of course, which would have been fine for most people. But Enid isn't, most people.

"What the hell did you do to my room?!" Enid storms into her room after seeing it, which Wednesday calmly turns to her.

"Dividing our room equally. It looks like a rainbow vomited on your side."

"I—"

"Silence would be appreciated. This is my writing time." Wednesday says, sitting at her desk and in front of a vintage typewriter.

"Your writing time?"

"I devote an hour a day to my novel. Perhaps if you did the same, your vlog might be coherent. I've read serial killer diaries with better punctuation."

"I write in my voice. It's my truth. It's what my followers love."

"Your followers are clearly imbeciles. I'm surprised (Y/n) hasn't poured melting wax into his ears by now listening to it, They respond to your stories with insipid little pictures."

"Uh, you mean, emojis? It's how people express their feelings. I realize that's a foreign concept to you." Enid reminds, pretty surprising, they approach each other, standing on the edge of their respective sides of the room.

"When I look at you, the following emojis come to mind. Rope, shovel, hole. By the way, there are two D's in Addams. If you're going to gossip about me, at least spell my name correctly." Wednesday walked back to her typewriter. Enid, in pure spite, Enid plays pop music, just to annoy the more mundane Wednesday. She twists her head around, Owl like.

"Turn that off. This is your final warning." Wednesday approached, but Enids nails elongated into sharp claws.

"Rawr! Don't mess with me. This kitty's got claws, and I'm not afraid to use them." Enid and Wednesday are at a standoff, neither side giving any leeway, before and guts and glamor could be spilled, the door to their room opens. It was a woman, slightly brunette hair with an, oddly normal flair in terms of most teachers.

"Good evening, girls. Oh, sorry about the mud. I wanted to make sure that Wednesday was settling in. Ah. Is this a bad time? I'm Ms. Thornhill, your dorm mom. Apologies, I wasn't here to greet you when you arrived. I trust Enid has given you the old Nevermore welcome." She said, the two girl momentarily halt their fangs.

"She's been smothering me with hospitality. I hope to return the favor...In her sleep." Wednesday said, which Enid eyes her, Thornhill reveals in her arms a plant, which was oddly black, devoid of color, or life.

"Well, here's a little welcome gift from my conservatory. I try to match the right flower to each of my girls. When I read your personal statement in your application, I immediately thought of this one."

"The black dahlia."

"Oh, you know it?"

"Of course. It's named after my favorite unsolved murder. Thank you." Thornhill looks taken aback by it but tries to keep her composure.

"Okey-dokey. Before I leave, I want to go over a few house rules. Lights off at 10:00, no loud music, and no boys, ever."

"What's the story about going into the local town?" Wednesday asked.

"Passes to Jericho are a privilege, not a right. It's a brisk 25-minute walk, or there's a shuttle on the weekends. The locals are a tad bit wary about Nevermore, so please don't go making any waves, or perpetuating any outcast stereotypes. That means keep your claws to yourself, and no smothering people in their sleep. Are we clear? Great talk." Thornhill leaves, letting Enid and Wednesday alone.

Jericho, the City housing Nevermore have a bit of a history, an unfortunate one at that. Wednesday is being taken to her therapist.

"Dr. Kinbott's office is on the second floor. Other Nevermore students swear by her. Perhaps afterwards we can visit the Weathervane for hot chocolate."

"Principal Weems, this feeble attempt at bonding is beneath you. And chauffeuring your students around is below your pay grade." Wednesdays cold and unfeeling attitude made the Principal a bit, unwary.

"Given your history, I'm sure you're intent on running away. I'm here to prevent that from happening. I wish you luck." Weems says, stopping at the Office. Wednesday enters and to the clean, porcelain white room of her new and kind therapist.

"I read the notes from your school counselor. Mrs. Bronstein." She Said.

"She had a nervous breakdown after our last session and had to take a six-month sabbatical."

"Go ahead and take a seat. How did you feel about that?"

"Vindicated. But someone who crochets for a hobby isn't a worthy adversary."

"Adversary? I hope we can forge a relationship based on trust and mutual respect. This is a safe space, Wednesday. A sanctuary where we can discuss anything. What you're thinking, feeling, your views on the world, personal philosophy."

"That's easy. I think that this is a waste of time. I see the world as a place that must be endured, and my personal philosophy is kill or be killed."

"So, for instance, when someone bullies your brother, your response is to dump piranha in the pool?" She asked, and Wednesday looks a bit pleased with herself.

"You know the old saying, "never bring a knife to a sword fight." Unless it's concealed."

"Point is, you assaulted a boy, and showed no remorse for your actions. That's why you're here."

"He lost a testicle. I did the world a favor. People like Dalton shouldn't procreate. I've answered all your questions." Wednesday stands up but is shut down.

"We're not done yet. Therapy is a valuable tool to help you understand yourself. It can teach you new ways to deal with your emotions. It can also help you build a life that you want."

"I know the life that I want."

"Tell me about it. Everything said in these sessions is strictly confidential. Do your plans involve becoming an author? I understand you've written three novels about a teen girl detective, Viper De La Muerte. Can you tell me about her?" She asked, and Wednesday shows a hint of her true feelings.

"Viper is smart, perceptive, chronically misunderstood."

"Any luck getting your work published?"

"Editors are short-sighted, fear-based life forms. One once described my writing as gratuitously morbid, and suggested I seek psychiatric help. Hmm. Ironic, isn't it?"

"How did you take that?"

"I sent her a "thank you."

Wednesday sends her "Thank You", which was full of mouse traps, heavy steel ones that can and will break bones.

"...I've always been open to constructive criticism." She says with her classic mundane expression.

"I'm glad to hear that. Because I was sent the manuscripts as part of your psych evaluation. The relationship I found most intriguing was that of Viper and her mother, Dominica. Why don't we dig into that? Part of this journey requires us going to uncomfortable places emotionally."

"I don't travel well. Would you mind if I use the powder room first?" She asked, The Therapist kindly obliged and Wednesday enters, and quickly begins to come up with a way to leave.

"Wednesday? Is everything okay? You can't hide for the rest of the session."

"I'm all right. Just preparing myself for our uncomfortable journey." She says, and sneaks out of the window. Entering a local coffee shop, she procures a ride to her freedom. As Wednesday sits at a sit in, she looks out the window to the insignificant lives of those in this town. And her eyes focus on a crow, perched on the window still, looking at her.

"Wednesday." A voice said calmly, she turns forward to (Y/n) sitting calmly across from her, she didn't even hear him approach. She looks back at the crow, which disappears.

"So, new in Town?" He says breaking the Ice.

"What do you want?"

"Can't I just say hello? I would say it's nice to see you but alas, I can't."

"For someone who's blind you're annoyingly focused on your surroundings."

"It's a benefit of being a monster, speaking of, I talked to Enid and she said you and her had a "Disagreement." About something." He begins, but Wednesday quickly shuts him down.

"The Glorified Personification of the 21st Century and I have opposing views, she didn't need to send her blind hound after me."

"Enid doesn't know I'm here, most don't know I'm here. I'm not here to fight you, Wednesday."

"Then what is it that you want from me?" She asks.

"I've heard of the things you've done before at your old school, all I ask that you don't hurt Enid. She, means a lot to me." He said, there was a ping from his coat and he pulls his phone out, Siri reads out a message, but Wednesday notices his phone case was pink, handmade with stickers, it's obvious it was made by a person with a much more, Feminine touch. It has the words "Bestie" bedazzled on it.

"Your phone case oozes insecurity and self deprivation." She said, and he turns his head towards her.

"I was a gift from Enid when I first came here, almost dropped my phone and she caught it, told me I should be more careful and, we just started talking. So she made this for me, Heh, always protecting me." He tilts his head up back at Wednesday.

"All I'm asking is that you is to be, well not nice but, just sociable to her, she's not a bad person. And she was really excited about you coming." (Y/n) explains, and Wednesday for a moment hesitates for an answer.

"I'll.. consider your request."

"Thank you—"

"Under one condition... you tell me what you truly are… i doubt your story of who you truly are.” she says. His attitude softens and he sighs, and he places his cane on the table.

"I'm not just a Fomorian, but a cursed one.. you know the Tale of Balor? The War Tyrant who's evil eye cursed whatever it laid its eyes upon, that's.. me. I'm Balor. Just reborn as a human thankfully, but the eyes still linger, but when your eyes can literally cause the destruction of the world, ...Drastic measures have to be taken. And my parents.." he continues, his voice getting a bit, somber.

"They Blinded you." Wednesday says, finishing the story.

"Thus the Tragic tale of Balor of Nevermore.." (Y/n) said, he couldn't see it, but he felt Wednesdays silence somehow, for a girl not lacking an arsenal of insults, she was quiet.

"Your Story...is tragic, they feared your power and tried to shut it down. You kept up your side of the Bargain so I will keep mine. I'll.. try to refrain from harming your Pet." She said, he sighs from her declaration.

"She's not my... whatever; thank you." He says, he turns to face the window.

"Some advice Wednesday, The Normies of Jericho, avoid Em, they don't see you as another human being, they see you as.. a "Freak." He said, while Wednesday couldn't see his eyes, she could feel the anger and spite forming from his words. Soon, the doors open from the Coffee shop to three teenagers, dressed as Pilgrims, they notice the Nevermore students.

"Hey, boys, check it out. Who's that?"

"Bro... Come on."

"What's a Pair of Nevermore freaks doing out in the wild?"

"This is our booth."

"Why are you dressed like religious fanatics?" Wednesday said, much to the Chagrin of the Teens.

"We're pilgrims."

"Potato, po-tah-to." She responds.

"We work at Pilgrim World." One said.

"It takes a special kind of stupid to devote an entire theme park to zealots responsible for mass genocide." She says, they approach Menacingly and (Y/n) stood up and tried to act peacefully.

"Cmon, guys there's no reason for us to act like this, we're just trying to enjoy our evening." (Y/n) said, the three scoff.

"The Freaks trying to weasel his way out of it." One said.

"Yeah, I don't think the Freak can see." Another laughs, and (Y/n) tries to keep his composure; leaning a bit on his Cane.

"Cmon, just leave us—" one, taking it too far sweeps his cane, forcing him to trip. He falls on his hands and knees and they laugh. Wednesday said nothing as they did, but she slowly stood up. Her glare catching the concern of them.

"It's fine.. Wednesday." (Y/n) says calmly, he takes his cane and stands back up, he walks over to the door, and with a swift motion, locks it. He turns to the boys.

".. Call me a Freak... One more time." He says, and they laugh at the blind one.

"Aww, gonna Cry? Call your Mommy? Or; are you gonna get your little creepy girlfriend to beat us up, better luck next Time, Freak." One said, they laughed once more, before the steel of the raven came went tying into his forehead, knocking him out, it's in the air and the other two look, (Y/n) comes running full speed, he jumps into the air, catches it and cracks another in the face, one begins to swing at him but he, with almost instinct, dodges and ducks each punch, before stomping on his foot, making him leap on one, he gut checks him with the steel end of the cane, he fails to one knee, gasping for air, he cocks back and swings, knocking him out as well. The three bodies lie on the ground, he adjusts his suit and uniform and walks to the door and unlocks it.

"Now, try and behave." He said, before the Sheriff, a gruffly man perhaps in his late 50s to early 60s.

"Tyler, the hell's going on in here?" He asked, turning his attention to the young man tending to the counter.

"They were harassing a customer, and he put them in their place." He said, the Sherrif looks to the young blind boy.

"This blind kid took down three boys? Did you help him?"

"Dad, I swear, I wasn't involved." Tyler says, and Weems enters as well; and looks Surprised to see (Y/n) and Wednesday.

"Apologies, Sheriff. These two slipped away from me. Come on, Mister Healy, Miss Addams, time to go." She says and the two begin to leave, before the Sheriff stops them.

"Wait a minute, hang on. You're an Addams? Don't tell me Gomez Addams is your father? That man belongs behind bars for murder. Hm...I'm gonna keep my eye on you." he says to them, and with those puzzling words, they leave, and Weems is more than miffed at them.

"Your first day and you're already on Sheriff Galpin's radar. Wish I could say I was surprised, and sneaking out of ground Mister Healy?"

"I caught the wrong shuttle; I apologize.. Wednesday found me and brought me to the cafe before we were accosted by those men." He said covering for her. "How kind of her." Weems said, somewhat buying the plausible explanation.

"What did he mean about my father?" Wednesday said.

"I have no idea, but a word of advice. Stop making enemies and start making a few friends. You're going to need them." Weems replies, their drive continues down to Nevermore, but slowly passing a car crash, a horrid one at that.

"Looks like an accident. I hope the driver's okay"

"He's dead. Broke his neck." Wednesday said, looking at the body. It's off How she could tell from the angle she had.

Night Falls upon Nevermore and while many of its students revel in the Darkness, some prefer to stay indoors with said activities. Such is Wednesday, who's haunting Cello tunes echo all throughout Nevermore, it especially reached the Ears of (Y/n), who stood at his rooms window, listening to the elegant but haunting tunes, and he had to get in closer. With a tap of his Cane, a crow bellows to his aid, he whispers into its ear and it flies off to the unknown. Wednesday ends her performance, and talks to someone.

"No, I don't really feel better. There's just something wrong about this place. Not just because it's a school." She says, and the taps of wood are heard, and Wednesday looks at the standing holding the music notes to a dismembered Hand, which was sown together. It somehow was, alive. Enid enters the Balcony as well.

"How the hell did you get that oversized violin out the window?" She asked and Wednesday turns towards her.

"I had an extra hand." She said deadpanned, and shows Thing.

"Whoa. Where's the rest of him?" She asks.

"It's one of the great Addams family mysteries." Wednesday said, and she hears the baying and howling of Werewolves in Nevermore.

"Why aren't you wolfing out?" Wednesday asks enid

"Because I can't." She says, she shows her growing finger nails, "It's all I got. My mom says some wolves are late bloomers, but I've been to the best Lycanologist. I had to fly to Milwaukee, would you believe it? Yeah, she says there's a chance I may never... you know."

"What happens then?"

"I'd become a lone wolf."

"Sounds perfect."

"Are you kidding me? My life would be officially over. I'd be kicked out of my family pack with no prospect of finding a mate." Enid says, holding back tears, Wednesdays looks off the balcony as well, seeing (Y/n) cleaning out a large bird cage.

"I doubt that, one mate would be walking into walls at the moment, I'm failing to see the problem here."

"I could die alone." Enid says.

"We all die alone, Enid."

"You really suck at this. Cheering people up." Enid says and cries, not able to hold it back.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm upset! Haven't you ever cried, or are you above that too?" Enid said obviously upset.

"It was the week after Halloween. I was six years old. I took my pet scorpion, Nero, out for his afternoon stroll, and we were ambushed. They wondered what kind of freak would have a scorpion for a pet. Two of them held me down and made me watch...while the others ran Nero over until... It was snowing when I buried what was left of him. I cried my little black heart out. But tears don't fix anything. So I vowed to never do it again. " Wednesday explains her story, and Enid, now seeing that she isn't some cold machine, feels for her.

"Your secret's safe with me. Still think you're weird as shit, though."

"The feeling is incredibly mutual. How would you like your single room back? You just need to show me how to use your computer." Wednesday said, which confuses Enid.

"Okay?.." she says and leads her in, after some basic instruction on "How To Internet." Wednesday is able to pull on a web chat with someone; the guy who ram the cafe, Tyler.

"Uh... hi."

"That's Thing. Is he, like, your pet? Look, I know Nevermore is ground zero for all things weird, but this is next-level. So, what happened to not wanting to be a slave to technology?"

"Desperate times. Are you still willing to help me escape?"

"After what happened today, I figured they'd have you in solitary."

"There's the Harvest Festival this weekend. Attendance is mandatory. I'm going to use it as a cover. If you're willing to drive me to the station, I can make it worth your while." Wednesday said, and Tyler obliges.

"I'm in. And no charge. Consider it a freebie."

"Why? "

"Cause I wish I was going with you. At least one of us will get out of this hellhole town."

The First day of the Weekend begins with the Harvest Festival, a crowning achievement for Jericho and their very urban and more down to earth festival of carnival and games. Wednesday and Enid stand before each other, watching Tyler argue with his father.

"Are you sure you can trust that normie?"

"I trust that I can handle myself. I don't want you talking to her."

"Well, good luck and safe travels." Enid offers a hug, much to the chagrin of Wednesday. "Still not a hugger." Enid walks away, leaving Wednesday to escape, but as she turns around, a crow watches from a building, and (Y/n) sits calmly on a bench, drinking a soda. And Wednesday can tell.

"The Fool is following me, fortunately he makes it easy to point out." She says and they walk off. He stands up to follow but with all the sounds, his hearing cannot focus and he must console them eyes of another, but even then, it's not enough to go on, he halts as he gets a hint, Wednesday breaks off from Tyler and chase someone into the forest. He begrudgingly attempts to give chase, listening to the sounds and impacts, what caught him off guard were the horrid screams of death and despair, he picks up the speed.

"Wednesday?! Wednesday!" He yells, he halts as he feels himself nearby something, he slams his cane against a tree and like a sonar, it brings it all to a picture, and more importantly the corpse lying on the ground and Wednesday nearby.

"... Wednesday.. what the Hell Happened?" He asked, she takes something and walks over to him.

"We don't have much time, and I'd rather discuss this without a corpse nearby, as much as that upsets me." She says, and the Boy sadly agrees, on the balcony of her dorm room, he gets most information.

"A monster? That killed Rowan? But there aren't any in Nevermore I can think of, but why was Rowan attacking you? How does this all connect?" He asks pacing around.

"I will need to do some investigating on my own, I can assume you and I share a common goal now. You wish to keep your Pet safe. And I want to understand why I am tied into this all." Wednesday explains, (Y/n) stops and turns to her.

"Again, not my Pet, and her safety is important to me, just as much as yours Wednesday."

"I can take care of myself."

"Obviously... I Never Said you couldn't, but it's never wrong to have someone who wants to help you." (Y/n) says. "I'll help because you're in danger, and I don't want my friends in danger.

"We're Not Friends."

"Not yet.. so, what all has happened?" (Y/n) asks.

"Let's see. I narrowly avoided death twice, discovered that my father may be a murderer, learned that I could potentially destroy the school, and was mysteriously saved by a homicidal monster. As much as it pains me to admit, mother was right."

"Right about what?" (Y/n) asks, and Wednesday responds.

"This school. I think I'm going to love it here." She says and has the smallest smirk on her face.

#wednesday addams x male reader #netflix #male reader #blindness #enid sinclair #wedensday x you #Wednesday #Wednesday x Reader #reader insert

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cowboyfromh3ll · 6 months

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Heyyy there💖 First off i’d just like to say how obsessed i am with your fics🥹 they are perfect and you really nail the characters perfectly so here’s my request if you don’t mind:

Could i request an angsty fic with Arthur where he and the reader used to be together when they were teenagers and they joined the gang together but the reader left after a few years because she has such an innocent personality (kind of like Mary-Beth) and she just didn’t want to live in the gang with criminals so when she leaves she breaks Arthur’s heart. But they stumble into each other in Valentine (where she works as a waitress) when Arthur, Javier, Charles and Bill go to the saloon. At first their interaction goes very good until that fight breaks out where Arthur beats Tommy, after that the reader is in tears because she hates violence so she storms off behind the saloon but Arthur follows her and it’s there where they start arguing and throwing insults where the reader says that she left cause she didn’t wanna be associated with criminals so Arthur calls her naive and is extra mean to her because he can’t hold all his built up anger and judgment towards her decision to leave him anymore. When he returns to camp that night he can’t stop thinking about their heated interaction so he returns to Valentine to find her and apologise for his rough words.

Sorry for this extra long request but i just love how perfect and detailed your fics are so i knew you would be the best to turn to for this request😊🫶🏻

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything

(Arthur Morgan x Ex!Fem!Reader Angst/Fluff)

No smut sorry didn't feel like adding it, also thank u so much ur compliments mean so much to me 😭

Warnings: arguing, depictions of violence, blood

Intimacy is the art of licking wounds. And the way Arthur loved was akin to the way a dog nurses an open wound, laving tongue and bared teeth and all. The truth was, Arthur longed to be loved so much that it made him sick. The smallest gesture of affection would bring a lump to his throat, and when he would inevitably fall into his grave, it would seep with all the longing he’s ever done. But like a dog, he dangles on his leash; and his need grows teeth. There are teeth marks on everything Arthur has ever loved.

Valentine was bleak, but it still maintained that hustle and bustle of a well-oiled machine. The town saw the daily passage of horse drawn carriages and hard working folks. Though everyone seemed to be there unwillingly, as though they had nowhere else to go; as though this was the only option they had. Such was the case for Arthur. He found himself left with no choice but to acquaint himself with the people of Valentine as the gang moved further east. The main road down Valentine had taken on the pungent weight of horse manure and wet earth. Arthur’s heavy leather boots stomped through mud, leaving deep, smeared imprints that proved he had been there. They traced him all the way towards the saloon, where he so ungracefully tracked more mud up the wooden steps and inside the establishment. He heard Javier’s voice call out distantly from inside.

He pushed open the dusty wooden doors of the saloon, the hinges groaning and squeaking as it let in another customer (it seemed even the furniture was equally as weary as the townspeople). The poignant scent of sweat, body odor, and what could otherwise simply be described as testosterone hung lowly amidst herds of inebriated men. The low hum of chatter and the lively playing of piano was nearly drowned out by Javier’s obnoxious hollering. He eyed the ox skull hanging decoratively on the wooden pillar ahead of him, as well as the dull, peeling wallpaper. The place was kempt, but just barely. Similar to the town outside, with folks just as tired and hard working coming through here. He approached Javier and Charles at the bar, who were accompanied by two women. Even with their backs turned to him, Arthur could tell they were escorts. With one of them having an off the shoulder blouse, a beguiling attempt at appearing more enticing; her burnt orange hair tied lowly into a bun that rested just above a black choker. Her counterpart was of a darker complexion, and she sported a floral top with a singular black braid cascading down her right shoulder; they both wore long purple skirts. Arthur sneered. ‘Unbelievable’ he thought to himself.

“Oh, Arthur!” Javier looked surprised to see him, his enthusiasm suggesting ulterior motives. Javier was not yet reeling drunk, but he was working on it (Arthur could tell the moment he saw the group raising shots together when he walked in).

“Arthur, Arthur, come here, come here, come over here” Javier pulled Arthur in by his shoulder, the rest of the group turning to face him. Wordlessly, he looked at Charles and gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“I want you to meet our new friends.” Javier added.

Arthur looked utterly unimpressed by Charles and Javier’s ‘friends’. Arthur stood to the side, eyeing the women up and down, the ginger one busty, exhibiting her cleavage almost proudly. He could tell the two men were here for a lay. Though perhaps, he supposed they were fulfilling their duty of acquainting themselves with the townspeople after all.

“Pleased to meet you.” Arthur greeted flatly, nodding his head.

“Well ain't you just the tough as teak mountain man.” One of the women teased coyly.

“Oh, you be quiet, Anastasia! Anyone can tell this one is a pussy cat!” The other one added.

Javier seemed to butt in overzealously.

“Exactly, yes he’s a pussy…cat. Ain't that so Arthur?” Javier seemed entranced by these women, his judgement clouded by lust. Arthur thought it only bothersome. Charles said nothing the whole time, but Arthur knew he was just as enraptured as Javier was; spanning one of his hands behind one of the women's backs.

“Whatever you say.” Arthur murmured. “How much you cost anyway?”

The women looked at him scornfully.

“Well ain’t that a nice way to talk to a lady?” One of them said sarcastically. Javier and Charles looked on awkwardly, unsure of how to aid the situation.

“Oh, I didn’t know I was talking to a lady.” Arthur put emphasis on lady, even stepping forward to punctuate his sarcasm. That seemed to be the last straw, as the two women excused themselves and walked elsewhere, their unwillingness to stick around any longer suggesting that years in their business had diminished their tolerance for such derision. Javier and Charles looked on in disappointment, watching as the objects of their desires made themselves scarce.

“Well, I must say, you got a fine way with the women amigo…” Javier sighed in defeat, retreating back to the bar and leaning his elbows on the counter.

“Yeah, a regular and dandy charmer.” Arthur humored. He picked up one of the abandoned shots of whisky on the counter, throwing back the liquid and letting it simmer its way down his gullet. He cleared his throat, not expecting it to be quite so potent. Valentine's saloon didn’t feel quite as dismal as Arthur had expected, despite its appearance. Valentine had its fair share of shady gray alleyways and sordid, dodgy customers ducking in and out of low dark doorways, but the bar seemed lively enough.

“Is there anything else I can get you boys?” A strangely familiar voice called out. It was soft, but very sharp. It cut through Arthur’s tedious judgment like a serrated knife through butter. Pleasantly easy, but jarring. Arthur looked up, blinking away disbelief, as he beheld what he thought might’ve been a mirage in the middle of this stalemate of a town.

Arthur’s eyes squinted as he studied your face, noting with fondness the familiar way your eyes looked at him with a deep seated compassion. Your hair seemed to float around you almost angelically, the wispy ends of your hair illuminated by the gentle lighting coming in from the saloon windows— making it appear as though you were materializing from a dream. But when the hardness of your silhouette came into focus, you proved to be very real. Your hands maintained the same gentleness they had years ago. Your skin had matured wonderfully into a sophisticated womanhood. You had matured wonderfully. Arthur could still see teeth marks all over you.

“(Name)?” Arthur whispered. He watched the way your face hardened with realization before melting into a warm smile.

“Arthur?” You breathed, tightening your fists and digging your nails into your palm as if it would wake you up from this dream-like sequence. Charles and Javier looked at each other knowingly, a silent agreement between the two of them to move away from the obviously intimate scene. Arthur barely took notice of their absence; he was too entranced by the sight before him.

“Oh my god…” Your disbelief turned into happiness, your gasps turning into airy laughs. “How long has it been?” You exclaimed, becoming suddenly very excited. Part of you wanted to jump over the counter and pat Arthur down, unable to fathom that this was really him. Out of some sort of second instinct, you placed your hand over his, as if touching him would ground you in reality. He flinched, but he did not move his hand away, rather, he felt a sprinkling of butterflies in his stomach. Unlike yours, his hands had a new roughness to them, decorated with scars and calluses. These hands held stories; memories.

“How have you been?” You asked, feeling the faint but familiar feeling of tears well up in your eyes. Arthur was bashful, you could tell from the way he was hiding his face with his hat, not quite capable of looking you in the eye again.

“I’ve been just fine.” He smiled politely and nodded, fully taking your hand into his and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. There was a shakiness in the way he did this; you felt his hands tremble softly. In another act of familiarity, you placed your other hand over his, cupping his own fully. There was a noticeable tension in you as you contemplated your next question.

“You still ride with…uh…” You did not complete your sentence. Both of you knew you didn’t need to. He nodded in response, his smile hardening.

“Yes, still do.”

“Well… it’s good to hear you’re doing good Arthur.” You smiled. The two of you exchanged committal half smiles, not yet letting go of one another’s hands. You seemed to study each other for a moment, and despite customers calling for you, Arthur did not want you to go. And you seemed in no hurry to go either.

You shook your head gently in contemplation.

“Arthur, I… I’ve missed—”

In the not so far off distance, you listened, then watched, as two men bumped into each other. Your stomach dropped in fear as you watched the bigger of the two head-butt the other man, knocking him into a table occupied by patrons. Your hands tightened around Arthur’s as you heard a bottle break, and in a split second, the hammer dropped; the entire bar dissolving into a brawl. All around you, fists began flying and chairs were picked up, as men knocked into eachothers and swung in their clumsy, drunken haze. The testosterone in this saloon alone was nearly tangible. You looked to your left and watched the few women there flee out the back door. With Arthur’s hand still in your own, you began walking towards the back, half expecting him to come along with you.

But to no one’s surprise, and to your disappointment, you watched as he turned his back and threw himself headfirst into the fight. As the only woman there now, you felt safest behind the bar. You feared that if you stepped out, you’d be caught in someone’s flurry of fighting. You backed into the mahogany cases of liquor behind you, feeling the way the bottles vibrated and shook with the far off slamming of bodies against the floor. Your eyes remained fixated on Arthur, and you felt your blood run cold when you saw a man come at him, putting his entire body weight into swinging at him.

His name caught in your throat, but it quickly died down when Arthur dodged the punch, stepping to the side before landing a flurry of punches to the man, kicking him away with his boot. You watched in morbid mesmerization as Arthur continued to fight the man, the fight bordering on unfair as Arthur easily out did the man with skill born of experience. His face was already beginning to bruise a nasty red and deep purple after each punch he took, but Arthur never faltered. Eventually, he knocked the man out cold against a chair, and relentlessly, Arthur moved onto the next. He headed to a group of three men this time, seemingly on his way to help his friend; the same man who started this entire fight.

Arthur’s determination seemed to be helping his friends out of losing fights; it appeared this was something he was used to. Like it was just another daily occurrence for him. But to you, this senseless fighting had no other meaning than to prove who could punch harder.

“What the hell is going on down here?!” Another burling man came stomping down the stairs, his ego just as big as he was, it seemed. Only a man with an inflated sense of self would insert himself into this mess, you thought. You ducked behind the counter, but peered over just enough so that you could see what was going on. You looked to your left, briefly, and saw another one of Arthur’s companions fighting a man. Another man pleaded with this “Tommy” to not involve himself. Your throat became dry as you saw him, with ease, knock back Arthur’s other friend.

Arthur tried to approach Tommy and Javier, but was promptly jumped by another man who wrapped his arm around his neck from behind. Arthur had to continually jab his elbow into the man in order to get him off, the struggle ensuing for excruciatingly long. As soon as Arthur threw him off, he made sure to turn around and land a punch in his jugular, knocking him out. Arthur’s fighting would’ve impressed you, if not for the fact you were terrified.

“Javier could use some help, Morgan!” Bill called out from across the bar.

You watched in terror as Arthur confidently, and calmly, sauntered up behind Tommy, who was ruthlessly slamming Javier into a table over and over, before landing a punch behind Tommy’s head. The impact barely seemed to phase Tommy, before he calmly turned around and punched Arthur across the jaw. The sound of fist meeting flesh made you squirm, especially when it was Arthur’s. You nearly shrieked as you watched Tommy grapple Arthur’s shoulders brutishly before throwing him over the same table. His body tumbled over the surface before landing on the floor with a grunt and a thud. To add insult to injury (and even more injury), Tommy walked around the table and picked Arthur up off the floor once again, before sending his body crashing through the saloon window.

“Oh my god!” You screamed, not caring for your own safety anymore as you followed the scene outside.

Arthur crashed through the glass, gaining new cuts and bruises as he rolled off the wooden porch and onto the mud. He skid across the earth, smothering his jacket and pants with filth. He stood wearily, taking notice of the crowd forming around them. Cold rain poured down on him, only making the surface beneath him even more slippery.

“Come on, pretty boy.” Tommy’s voice was gravelly as he marched down the wooden steps, a parallel to the way Arthur had marched up them earlier.

“Pretty boy? You’re kidding me. Pretty boy?” At this point, Arthur wasn’t sure why he was fighting. To not die, he supposed. He could’ve stepped away at an earlier point, but pride did not allow him to. Now he was stuck in this. The two sized each other up as they got into fighting stances, then Tommy stepped forward and grabbed Arthur’s neck, throwing him to the side.

You heard a cacophony of horrified screams, disapproving howls, and cheers for either Tommy or Arthur. You saw the rage sizzling in Arthur, and felt a combination of pity, horror, and disappointment. It’d been so many years since you last saw him, so many you had lost count, and this was the first time you had seen him since then. The only thing that had changed was how his eyes and hands had hardened. And suddenly, the calluses and cuts on his knuckles that you had seen earlier seemed to explain themselves.

For a moment, Tommy seemed to have gotten the upper hand on Arthur, and you feared the worst. You weren’t sure how far this would go, but your body flinched with each punch you saw Arthur tank. But against all odds, Arthur clambered on top of Tommy.

A smattering of blood and mud smeared all over Arthur’s face, he grunted with each brutal punch he landed onto Tommy’s head. He felt Tommy claw at the thick leather of his jacket, attempting to shove his face away, but Arthur persisted. Arthur got some sort of wretched exultation out of watching the way Tommy’s face turned into one of helplessness. His body thrashed and his limbs flailed as Arthur continued to strike his head, the skin breaking and bleeding from the repeated impact.

Arthur grit his teeth so hard he swore a tooth nearly cracked. He had tuned out the cheering surrounding him, an uninterrupted ringing replacing any other discernible sounds. The only thing he could focus on was the way he would slam his fist, over and over into Tommy’s head, as if in hypnosis. The man below him was a pitiful, bloody pulp; reaching his arms up as if he were begging for some unlikely act of mercy. But Arthur would punch again, and again, and again…

“Stop! Stop! Please!” You watched as Mr. Downes bravely stepped forward, pleading desperately with Arthur to stop. Arthur raised his fist, but did not connect it, instead looking at Mr. Downes. Arthur and Mr. Downes exchanged a few more words before Arthur pushed past him, covered in mud and all, limping away from the scene and pushing past people.

He caught sight of you looking on tearfully, and the gravity of what he had just done crashed down on him all at once when you turned your back and scurried down the alley besides the saloon. Arthur abandoned any resolve he had and followed you. You heard the rugged breathing and heavy footsteps behind you, which only terrified and spurred you on to run deeper into the alley. You turned the corner, back pressed against the rear wall of the saloon. You held your breath, and for a terrifying few seconds, heard the footsteps approaching. As if it were some sort of deliberate jump scare, you yelped when Arthur turned the corner and faced you. Normally you’d find the mud revolting, but now it served to scare you. It made Arthur seem all the more savage, traces of seething rage still present in his eyes. His hair was wild, face bruised and beaten; his blood mixed with mud and smeared his face in a grim unfamiliarity. He took a step towards you, and you flinched, trying to back away but you could not; you could only shuffle to the side.

At once, Arthur was overcome with an unfathomable sense of self hatred and disgust upon seeing the fear present in your face. He felt sickened with himself, and was given a moment of clarity as he looked down at his dirtied hands, his mud smeared clothes, his bruises and bleeding knuckles. Arthur saw his reflection in the window next to you, the person staring back at him unfamiliar, yet startlingly recognizable all the same.

“(Name)—”

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!”

Arthur’s eyes began stinging, a deep pang hitting his chest. His shoulders slumped and his body sagged, contracting your squared and tensed shoulders, your arms lifted and crossed over your chest protectively.

“You… You… I… I thought maybe you might’ve changed! But you proved me wrong.” You were sobbing at this point, and you weren’t sure whether you were trembling from your anger or fear. Probably both. Arthur could not find the words to respond.

“How dare you! Come into our town, into our businesses, and start a fight! And beat on us like you own the place! You beat that man half to death! WHAT FOR?” Your body buzzed in anxiety, unable to hold in any more of your anger as you shook.

“(Name), he was going to kill Javier back there if I didn’t—”

“You’re an animal!”

Arthur seemed to forget himself once more, feeling rage upon being called an animal. But perhaps it was more than just being insulted. Perhaps it was years of hurt and heartbreak behind his words.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Listen to yourself—.” He spat through grit teeth.

“Oh I know!” You huffed, lowering your arms now. “Which is exactly why I left in the first place. Why I left you.”

You both felt that one, Arthur the most. The sting was reminiscent of being stabbed in the chest. He turned his sadness to anger, fueling the burning flame inside his chest. It kept him going.

“You left what we had, the good thing that we had, so that you could come and work at some dead end town? Is this really the life you want? Is your way of living any better than what we do?”

“I live a good honest life now!”

“You’re just a naive girl who doesn’t know that sometimes, this is all we got. Some of us don’t have the luxury of being able to just turn away and start anew. For some of us, we only have each other!”

You were enraged at this point, enough to let your guard down and walk up directly in front of him, sizing him up almost.

“I’d rather die working than live my life as a despicable criminal living with a lowdown gang constantly on the run. If that’s your idea of a life, then good god Mister Morgan, I pity you.” Your every word dripped with venom. And you made sure Arthur felt every bit of it, even going as far as to jab your finger in his chest.

“You’re a brat.” He growled. “You seem to forget where you come from. You were once a part of the gang, you went through exactly what I went through and you knew what it was like. And now you wanna act like you’re better than me? Like you’re above me?” He looked back down at you with malice, a hidden layer of hurt and sadness just beneath the surface. He looked somewhere between a kicked puppy and a crazed, rabid dog who’d been rolling in mud.

You said nothing in return, instead falling into some sort of stare off. He looked at you expectantly, but did not anticipate an answer. It was as if by looking into your eyes or expression, he could catch a slight change in your expression that indicated, just maybe, that you did not mean what you were saying. That this was all some adrenaline fueled attack on him after having watched him savagely beat a man. But even he could realize the irony in that line of thought.

But not once did your face soften, or look away from him in a show of discomfort or even intimidation. You stood your ground, heels firmly planted on the mud beneath you both.

Wordlessly, but with a grunt, Arthur moved past you, his arm brushing past and saturating some of your skin and clothes with mud. Arthur grumbled lowly to himself as every fiber in his body urged him to turn around and look at you one last time, to throw himself at your feet and ask if you really meant what you said, but his pride did not allow him.

Even as Dutch spoke to him at the front of the shop, his ears ringed and obstructed any other words from entering and being processed (He hadn’t even questioned Dutch’s sudden appearance with Trelawny). Arthur seemed to look past anyone who spoke to him, only nodding in response when they asked “are you listening?”. It was only when he was able to dunk himself in a nearby barrel of water, did the striking coldness snap him back to reality; the gritty veil over his consciousness being washed away.

The ride back towards camp was a gap in Arthur’s memory. He fell back into a pit of thought that tunneled his vision once again. He was all at once, keenly and uncomfortably aware of every sound and movement around him, but he could not be bothered to give it any thought. The shockwave of impact that traveled up through his body as he got off of his horse rather clumsily did not shake him from his pensive state. He wearily returned the greetings that people sent his way, not in the mood to entertain any sort of conversation with anyone. Arthur wanted nothing more now, than to rest his sore and aching muscles. He changed out of his caked, filthy clothes and changed into his union suit, the clean fabric feeling angelic in comparison to the squalid state of his clothes. His joints began to throb suddenly, as if the pain was triggered at once by laying on his cot, which suddenly seemed to sky rocket in comfortability. A deep ache settled into his side; the side he had landed on after being thrown.

His bed echoed his groan as he rested his weight on it, a large sigh leaving him as pain settled into every cell of his body. His exhaustion overtook him as he slid his eyes shut; his head hitting his pillow like there was a weight tied around his neck. Every bit of his being screamed for sleep, but his racing mind would not allow rest. He thought of you: the terrified look in your eyes after he followed you behind the saloon, the way you looked akin to a wild, injured animal backed up into a corner. He was sure he looked the same.

His bodily aches were accompanied by the pang in his chest as he remembered your heavy words. He squeezed his eyes in an attempt to prevent tears from surfacing, but the pressures in his nasal passages proved to be too much. He turned his back away from camp so that no one could see just how pathetic he looked.

The insults on him, his gang, his way of life. They were all too much to bear. He did not anticipate seeing you at all. He looked back regretfully on how the sweet encounter had turned so sour so quickly; part of him blamed Bill. He could at least find solace in the fact that you had missed him after all these years. As he did. Though he had had women since then, he never did quite forget about you. A boy never forgets his first love. And now that he was a man, those feelings amplified, and he knew it had been more than just puppy love. Part of him could not understand your rejection of the lifestyle. When you initially left the gang, and Arthur by proxy, you explained you could not withstand the violence and bloodshed, but that you respected and understood that this was his way of life, the only way of life he had known, even before he met you and joined the gang. But with the way he had heard you speak so lowly of the gang, he could not understand where all your compassion had gone, especially since you had been part of it.

Part of him still held onto a childlike sense of anger, feeling as though you wronged him in leaving him. But he could at least understand why you decided to up and leave. Perhaps his own judgment of your life had been harsh. You weren’t wrong in saying you lived an honest life, objectively it was better than his. You got to live freely without fear of the law, you made honest clean money, and as far as he knew, you only had yourself to support with the money you made. Arthur hadn’t even considered the possibility you were seeing someone, his stomach dropping at the thought. He was guilt ridden and anxious, nauseated by the thoughts. His temporary solution would be falling asleep to quell it.

When Arthur awoke, it was nighttime. The sun had set, the sky tinged with dark purple that faded into night. Most of the activity around camp had calmed, but many people were still awake. Arthur stood at once, bee lining towards his horse. He ignored any gang members that attempted to come forth and ask him if he was okay, where he was going. Wordlessly, he mounted his horse and spurred it on, riding back towards Valentine.

Perhaps it was unwise to go back into town so soon after raising hell there. But Arthur couldn’t care less. His objective at the moment was to see you. And he hoped to god you’d still be at the saloon. His heart thrummed in time with his horses running, and he began to pant as if he was the one doing the physical activity. Perhaps it was the anxiety that made him so short of breath.

He saw the promising glow of Valentine as he approached the small town, pulling on his horse's reins to try and slow down. His horse trotted down the streets of now dried earth, the prints of shoes and wheels having dried up into casts. He cringed internally when he saw the still broken window of the saloon, the glass having been cleaned up long ago. Luckily for him though, the lights of the saloon were on, and he heard the same lively piano from before. From the outside, it was almost as if nothing had ever happened, but he knew that as soon as he stepped inside, all heads would turn in his direction and stare him down. Arthur was used to looks, he would pay it no mind. But it was the thought of you sending him a disgusted look his way that had his head spinning in apprehensiveness.

Arthur was not a man who was scared of confrontation, and when it came to violence, he was best at letting his fists speak for him. But for more emotional matters, he sounded as eloquent as a child learning how to read for the first time. He would get stuck on using the right combination of words, and would opt towards not saying much at all. But this was something he wanted, and he knew that if was going to ask for your forgiveness, he’d have to put effort into sounding decent.

The hinges of the saloon doors creaked, and as Arthur expected, the volume level of the saloon lowered, the lively chatter dissolving into whispers and grumbles of threats. He looked over towards the bar to see if coming here had been worth his time. And there you were, standing in your confused, and frankly appalled, glory. You were wiping down a glass, continuing for a moment too long as you stared at him.

You had not expected to see him back here, grimacing at the tender purple skin of his cheek. Part of you felt pity, but it was replaced by indifference as you remembered he brought the injuries onto himself. As he began walking towards you, you slammed the glass down on the counter with a sigh and rolled your eyes. The sudden slam startling, but not fully waking, the passed out patron slumped against the counter.

“What are you doing here.” You asked, hand on your hip. It came out as less of a question and more as a statement professing your annoyance. Arthur leaned on the counter, moving his head to the side so he could look anywhere but at you as he attempted to find the right words to start off with. He opened and closed his mouth, and you were beginning to get impatient.

“I’m sorry…”

You were about to demand Arthur either leave or speak up, until you heard his meek apology. You felt your facial muscles relax from the scowl you had held for so long.

“What?” You asked in disbelief.

Arthur fidgeted where he stood, occupying himself by drumming his fingers along the counter. You lowered your arms to your side, fidgeting as well.

“I’m sorry too.”

A moment of awkward silence hung over the two of you before you grabbed his hand; bruised and callused, taken into soft and gentle. You pursed your lips in a half hearted smile before nodding your head towards the stairs. Before Arthur could even understand what you were implying, you were leading him past the bar counter and up the stairs towards a private room.

“What do we need this for? I just wanted to apologize…”

“I know. I just didn’t want my patrons hearing, y’know…” You laughed awkwardly. “A little privacy is nice, they don’t exactly keep their noses to themselves.” You fumbled with your keys, a sweat forming on the back of your neck as you struggled to jam the key into the lock before turning it. Arthur found it rather suggestive, but he decided to move along anyway. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have the hots for you anymore.

The two of you stiffly scooted over towards the bed; first you, then him, the bed dipping significantly from his weight. The sudden dip caused you to bump into his arm, which neither of you wanted to acknowledge outright. Your thighs rubbed against each other, and at last, you were able to see side by side how much Arthur had grown since you last saw him. Seeing the way he dwarfed you tugged at your heart strings.

“Oh, Arthur… How I’ve missed you… I’m so sorry for saying all those nasty things. And I know it’s no excuse but I was scared and… I felt a little betrayed that you had gone off to fight instead of… coming with me.”

Arthur nodded as you spoke, processing each word.

“And I know I shouldn’t have expected that. They’re your gang afterall, they’re your family. And I don’t think you’re all lowdown, or any of those nasty things I said.” You were gripping Arthur’s arm by now, as if holding onto him at that moment might better help him understand and accept your apology.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He began. “I’m a fool and fighting’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever known. I ain’t the smartest… but…” Arthur seemed to lose his train of thought, physically pained by his own mental fumbling. “I’m just trying to say that I’m sorry. I especially don’t have any right to judge your lifestyle.”

It was your turn to nod, slowly breaking into a smile.

“I’m glad you came.”

“I wanted to see you.”

The two of you slowly began to intertwine hands, shyly at first, until you fully sent it and gripped his fully. You felt his arm go tense against you as he looked back and forth from where you two conjoined to your face. The tension in the air had a nostalgic feel to it. It brought you back to all those years ago when you and Arthur had first gotten together. You were so young then. Holding hands also allowed you to feel the size difference, causing the both of you to blush.

“You’ve uh… really grown.” You giggled together. “I mean, you always were much larger than me but my my…”

Arthur nodded, looking down at the noticeable differences between you.

“Yeah, I always did love giving you piggy back rides.” He added. The recalling of the juvenile memory had you laughing even more.

“Oh, how I missed those! And you were always so helpful. Could be really helpful to have you around the saloon, can intimidate some guys away like you did for me when we were younger.”

“Gladly will, sweetheart.”

As the laughter died down, you hesitantly leaned upwards, looking for a sign to stop on his face. Though with more hesitation, you abstained from kissing him.

That is, until he went ahead and did it himself. He let go of your hand so he could cup your face, using the other arm to wrap around your waist and hold you close, as though you might disappear if he didn’t. Your lips molded perfectly against one another. It felt like the reunion of lips that should’ve always been together. And even though you had attempted to peel away from Arthur for so long, the meeting was like two sides of a wound finally mending back together.

The muffled chatter of the downstairs saloon was drowned out by your and his heavy breathing. You pushed your own lips hard against his teeth, gripping the downy tuft of hair at the base of his neck. He was taken aback by your enthusiasm but returned it nonetheless. The men you had had in Arthur’s absence were insipid compared to his passionate kisses. The two of you idly palmed and groped each other, the same tenderness as when you two were younger, but with the renewed passion of lovers long separated, finally reuniting with a more carnal desire.

Memories come in waves, and tonight, you were drowning.

PHEW this took me days, I can finally work on all my other requests. Thanks for being patient y'all

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything - Bauhaus

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #van der linde gang x reader #writing #red dead fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader angst #arthur morgan x reader fluff #fluff #red dead

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kidstemplatte · 8 months

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Hi! I'm here to say I would read anything you have or make about Terzo as a dad!! 🥰🥰

the devil’s kiss

pairing: dad! terzo x female reader

summary: after giving birth to you and terzo’s first child, you discover there is something different about her.

message: hi angel!!! thanks so much for your request, i had an idea i absolutely loved, and as i kept writing it, i realized it could be split into several parts. what started as a few headcanons has now become a fully fledged story with characters of my own, and i’m a little in love with it if i’m being honest. it’s something very special and personal for me. i hope you enjoy this and i’m sorry if it’s not exactly what you wanted!!

When your baby girl, Violetta, was born, many tears were shed. First, tears of pain. Then, tears of joy, tears of fear, and tears of joy once again.

And just barely after she took her first breath, entered this world, she was taken away before you knew it. Before you could even process her arrival, she was rushed out of the room.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” you cried in a panicked haze, weary from medication and high on adrenaline.

You had never felt such fear in your life. Terzo held your hand and muttered soft, rapid prayers in Italian and words of reassurance into your ear while you let out broken sobs, desperate to hold your daughter for the first time.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. She will be okay.”

Little did you know, he was just as afraid in that moment. But he kept a strong face, for you. For her.

“May Satanas bless our baby girl.”

And that he did.

Soon, a nurse entered the room, holding your daughter. She was a young woman, highlighted blonde hair pulled into a bun, wearing a dainty gold necklace with a small cross on the chain.

“Is she okay? Please, tell me she is okay.”

“She is perfectly healthy. She has what is called a port wine stain birthmark. We weren’t sure what it was initially, that’s why we rushed her out so quickly. I can’t apologize enough for the stress that caused, but you can breathe easy. She’s doing perfectly." The nurse explained, heart beaming with kindness. “You did a wonderful job. And you too, dad. You two are going to be great parents. Congratulations.” She reassured you, and with care, placed your baby into your arms.

“You know, some people consider marks like these an angel’s kiss. I do.” She remarked.

After catching sight of the pitch black grucifix on the bedside table, she was drawn aback. She was scared. But upon seeing the love in your eyes you had for your little girl, she quickly realized that neither of you could be evil. She couldn’t be scared of something because it was different.

“Or the mark of the devil. It’s really whatever makes you happy. The figure you may believe in, whether it’s God, the Universe, or Satan, whatever it is: they have blessed her. She is a special baby girl. Congratulations, you two.” And in the last few moments you spent with the nurse, you caught sight of her name tag that read “Elizabeth”.

And you were left with your precious baby girl, Violetta Elizabetta Emeritus.

“She’s beautiful.” you said, tears rushing down your face.

Eyes resembling your own, his raven hair, and of course, her devil’s kiss, entirely her own; a perfect representation of your love.

You had introduced Terzo to so many kinds of love, but nothing like this. Nothing like the moment when he caught sight of your baby girl for the first time. Nothing like the first time he held her, her skin so soft and eyes so big and round. His heart ached. He wanted nothing more than to make a perfect world for this child, it was his purpose beyond anything else. Nothing else mattered. The years of fame, traveling, money, and success meant nothing; she meant everything. The word “Papa” had become something entirely different, no longer a term of power, but one of love. He was her Papa. Nobody else’s.

A few minutes later, after you had spent some time with your newborn skin-on-skin, the doctor came back into the room and gave you another explanation of her condition, one that wasn’t as kind, but to the point.

“These birthmarks are rare. There are some conditions she may develop which correlate to the birthmark, but nothing to be too concerned about. Everything looks stable. She’s not in pain.”

She was safe with you, and that’s all that mattered.

After the doctor exited the room, Terzo kissed you on the forehead and stroked your hair gently through his fingers.

“I love you, amore mio. Le mie preziose ragazze. Il tuo fiore prezioso.”

——————————————————————

AAAAAAAA!

that’s it!!!

i really hope you enjoyed and please stay tuned for more dad terzo!!!

i got a little emotional writing this ngl,

remember that you are beautiful and so loved!

#ghost band #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus x reader #terzo #terzo x reader #the band ghost #papa emeritus #ghost #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa terzo #dad!terzo #terzo emeritus #nameless ghouls #ghost x reader

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crystaljellie · 1 month

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An Analysis of My Scott Playlist

Big long post as promised <33 roughly 40 songs

I've Had Enough by Melina KB

This song in the context of double life is very interesting to me, but I also like to see it in Scott talking to Jimmy (Sorry flower husbands truthers I love soft and kind flower husbands too but we have all seen what happened in limited life they do have some slight issues)

"Cause you miss the way I let you walk all over me" | Again could work in both contexts, Scott never really went out of his way to stop Pearl from doing what she does with the powdered snow, sure he did retaliate but you can tell at some point he just gets used to it. And then in the context of Jimmy I'm thinking very especially about limited life flower husbands and Scott giving up time for Jimmy.

"I'm done with shutting up I've learned a lot better" | Maybe in this of Scott thinking he's learnt to stand up for himself? And I say think because I'm talking about how he thought he was in the right in double life (None of them were) It's also funny because he has the confidence so strongly in double life where he makes his feelings known and then it's just like... 'Oh yeah you can kill me!!' And I know it's part of his whole making everything fair thing, but still

"Admit you did it we all know you did it" | We all know you're the one who left me when you went to the nether, tormented me, screwed me over repeatedly. Both Pearl and Scott do not understand each others perspectives of the situation and villanize the other for it.

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Washing Machine Heart by Mitski

"I know who you pretend I am" | Limited life Scott and Martyn, Martyn pretending he's serving his king again, Scott being alright with it because he knows Martyn is by his side for more than just that reason, and he's right Martyn is.

It's a pretty short analysis here but it's mainly I guess about Scott wanting allies and wanting to be loved by them but they always have someone else more important to them than he is

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The Moon Will Sign by the Crane Wives

"All those empty rooms" | Something about Scott being alone after Jimmy died in 3rd life, empty rooms with no noise to fill them

"We made our peace with weariness and let it be" | The weariness oof being forced into death games over and over, the blood brings chaos the familiarity of death brings peace

"I shine only with the light you gave me" | OKAY NOW HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE You might be saying "But Scott was the one who lived longer in that relationship and is literally seen as the stars" But have you ever considered Jimmy was the one everyone loved more, jimmy was the one to make strong alliances, Jimmy was the one there was fuss over when he died. Scott was only able to be strong because he had Jimmy by his side and without that 'light' he was simply a tool of vengence

"Instead you hoarded all thats left of me" | In the sense that Jimmy unknowingly kept Scott's ability to love another other than him, and all his courage and faith in the world. Not that Jimmy was doing it on purpose but it still happened anyways

"I want to feel the fire that you kept from me" | NOBODY TALK TO ME THIS IS 100% SCOTT TALKING ABOUT RANCHERS. I DON'T CARE IF YOU LIKE RANCHERS AND HATE FLOWER HUSBANDS OR WHATEVER BUT YOU CANNOT TELL ME THIS IS NOT SCOTT BEING BITTER THAT JIMMY GAVE MORE LOVE TO TANGO THAN HE EVER DID TO SCOTT. HE WANTED TO FEEL THAT FIRE OF A LOVE HE NEVER GOT TO KEEP

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Two Slow Dancers by Mitski

Another double life-coded song

Very much Scott and Pearl

"And We've both done it all a hundred times before" | More so in reference to last life, they've played the death game before they know how it goes

"it would be a hundred times, easier if we were young again" | If they were young and still filled with faith, if Scott hadn't won last life and learnt the pain of winning and become bitter in the season following

"We get a few years and then it want's us back" | Not necessarily a few years but more so like the gaps between the games, a bit of freedom and then the watchers want them all at each others throats

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Evelyn Evelyn by Evelyn Evelyn

Surprise surprise another Pearl and Scott one

"Why do we bother to stay? Why are you running away" | Scott and Pearl with their conflicting feelings at the start of double life, with Scott wondering why he should stay and Pearl not wanting him to leave her

"We grew up closer than most, closer than anything, closer than anything" | In either they grew up close in last life or their soulbound in double life, either way their fates are intertwined

"What if they find us? They're not looking anyways" and it's counter part line "I want to be famous, they're watching us anyways" | WATCHERS WATCHERS WATCHERS!! There's so much about this that just gives, hiding away from the watchers or giving into their whims

"At your side I feel like a ghost" | It can go either way in my mind, Pearl not feeling adequate enough to be seen and Scott feeling like she's killing him

"A parasite needs a host- I'm only trying to do what is best for us!" | because Pearl only wanted to help her soulmate, not that Scott didn't but he felt so betrayed and then it turned to a feeling of her leeching onto him

"You're always trying to be somebody else" | THIS!! Because Pearl wasn't acting like who she used to be and who Scott became friends with, she became 'somebody else' in an attempt to bring him back.

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Little Soldiers by the Crane Wives

"Beneath the table you would offer up my bones And all the dogs would lick your fingers" | As in how Jimmy does things at Scott’s expense to get people to trust him or to get time and hearts and such

"And I dragged you through every room inside our home" | Scott struggling to get Jimmy to do anything with him anymore and feeling like the effort he puts in is not enough

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November by Sparkbird

"Admit it, you were never going to get it I was always going to get it" | Can't explain why but this gives last life Scott killing Ren

"Maybe that's relevant somehow, can I explode now" | ....boom boom at the end of double life :3

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Allies or Enemies by The Crane Wives

"And I swear I didn't mean what I said" ...I live by the belief that Scott didn't actually mean to tell Pearl he was 'breaking up' with her, guys trust me it was the watchers. But also apart from that it could be anything

"Are we allies or enemies this will be the death of me" | Scott in secret life, not understanding what his teammates actually think of him

"All is fair in love and war but I can't fight with you anymore" | FLOWER HUSBANDS LIMITED LIFE GUYS!!

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Canary in a coal mine

CANARY IN A COAL MINE IS SCOTT’S SONG NOT JIMMY’S I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

"Am I the only thing that keeps you safe when the light is gone?" | Scott being the only person to protect Jimmy in third life and protecting his memory even after he’s dead

"I’ll be worth more than all the silence left in my way" | The silence referring to how Jimmy doesn’t really interact or talk to Scott outside of third life, he is silent towards him, and Scott is hoping that he’ll be more than that to Jimmy if he tries hard enough

"I’ll sing you songs until the darkness does recede" | Scott calming Jimmy down when he needs it always being there to reassure him, keeping his hearts safe and him armoured in 3rd life

"Will you forget about your love for me?" | If Scott is no longer able to keep chasing after someone that won’t come back from him will that love that they once had in 3rd life be forgotten for good?

"And when you break the surface, oh, without me" | When Jimmy meets new people achieves new things and finally manages to break the curses all without Scott because no matter how much Scott tries Jimmy won’t let him help

"Please don’t return me to the dark of all the memories, yeah" | The dark actually being hope don’t give him any more hope that those memories could be recreated

"I will save you when your lights go out" | Scott is giving him time which continues to live being his breath, Scott’s love for him keeps him alive and that act of love is letting Jimmy kill him for time, saving him when he needs it most

This song is so so Scott coded most if not all the lyrics fit his perspective of things, the song is associated with Jimmy mainly because he is the Canary in the coal mine which sure fair enough but the lyrics themselves don’t fit his personality or his view of things, I guess some things could refer to how the winners and others have left him behind and he is weighed down by the curse but nothing else really fits him.

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Misery Meat by Sodikken

"You want a taste of my brain? Okay, it's yours anyway, A bite of my eye alright I won't put up a fight" | Scott giving his time away and hearts away for other people with little complaint

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This is going to be part 1, and I will reblog this later with part two

#trafficblr #life series #flower husbands #scott smajor #3rd life smp #traffic smp #3rd life #traffic life #song analysis #limited life #double life #mean gills #smajor

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helaelaemond · 8 months

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All Things End - Osferth x reader

For @arcielee's 1k celebration - thank you for being such a wonderful supporter to so many writers in this little community, and for writing the most exquisite pieces yourself.

Pairing: Osferth x reader (not gender-specific - his rejection of marriage can be because you are a woman, but he is a cursed bastard, or you are not a woman and pre-medieval queer marriage is just not quite accepted, damn it!)

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Knowing that everything will end should not change our plan. Osferth is dead, and his lover remembers their last conversation before they parted.

Content warning(s): major character death, angst, no happy ending

Rating: Gen/Teen

Masterlist

Notes: No porn and no plot? It's more likely thank you would think. Not tagging the usuals as I'm unsure if this is what you want to read as you usually only get smut from me.

They are back. They are back! The streets begin to fill with people crowding close to greet Uhtred and his men back, and you look for the sandy hair of your tall man. It feels so long since you have set eyes upon him, although it is never as many weeks as it feels. Some of the men are cheerful to be back. Some are grim faced. Less return than left.

You do not normally approach Uhtred. It is not your place, after all, but you can't see your man. Your Osferth. "Lord?" you ask hopefully. "Where is he?"

He looks at you for a long moment, and rests his hand on your shoulder. Something akin to ice prickles across your skin. At his side is Finan. Your eyes are drawn to the cross about his neck.

The smile on your face is frozen. "Where is Osferth?"

Slowly, Finan's face begins to crumple. His hand goes to the cross on the string, and he bows his head. "I tried, I really-"

It's like he can't bear to face you, to face what happened. He tries to turn away but you catch him. He is not your friend, and you never spent much time together before, but you know how much Osferth loves him, how much Finan loves him in return. "You tried to what?"

"I couldn't save them both."

Strange, how it feels, when a smile pulls back over one's teeth until it's ghastly and fearsome. When all beauty is gone, and in its place is terror. "What are you saying?"

"I..." At his side, Ingrith squeezes his hand.

She looks at you sadly. "He saved me. But... he died. He's with his God, now."

Finan's jaw tenses and he gulps in air. When they walk away, you are left alone. Somewhere out there, your sweet love rots.

Osferth laid his head on your chest and began tracing shapes across your skin. You glanced down at his sandy hair and smiled, threading your fingers through it. He let out a quiet hum of approval. His lips were warm when he pressed a kiss against your sternum.

"I won't be away long," he promised. "I never am."

"Do you think it never feels long, because you are always having adventures?" you asked.

He smiled against your stomach as he moved down your body. "Maybe."

"It's dull without you."

"You could always come with me, you know?"

You gripped his hair not unkindly, and tugged him to look up at you. How pretty his mouth was when he smiled. "I don't like it when you go. I grow weary of it."

The smile turned into a grimace, one side of his lip pulled up, and one eye closed. "It is my duty. I'm sworn to it."

"And when will you swear to me?"

Osferth knelt on the bed between your thighs and sighed. His hands ran down your legs and settled around the backs of your knees. One swift yank pulled you to him, and he wrapped your legs around his waist. "I cannot swear to you."

"Why not? Finan has sworn to his wife, and Sihtric to his. That doesn't prevent them from fulfilling their oaths to your lord."

He bit his lip and shook his head. It was a discussion that you had already had many times. He did not budge, and neither did you. "It's different for them than it is for us. I'm sorry."

Rolling away from him, you got off the bed in frustration and pulled on a linen shift. The idea of feeling his skin on yours felt overwhelming now. "There are only so many times that I can survive your rejection, Osferth."

"My love," he murmured softly. He reached out a hand to you that you ignored. "I do not reject you. It is simply that... we cannot marry. And as we cannot marry, I will swear to you no oaths and bind you with no promises."

"Do you want me to find someone who will marry me, then?" Your voice was cool, and your arms were crossed over your chest. You were hurting, and it was a cruel instinct, but hurting him back in the moment soothed you. Once your tempers had evened, it would feel even worse, though.

Osferth got up from the bed and walked over to you with kindness in his eyes. He stood in front of you, tall and slender, and guided your head up with a hand under your chin. "I would see you be happy, my love. If that means finding someone else to love and marry, then yes, that is what I want."

It was the wrong thing for him to say, not what you wanted to hear. It was kind in its own way, but a lie would have been kinder. You wanted to be possessed by him completely, for him to need you more than anything and have you at any cost, but- but that was not in his nature. He was kind.

You shook your head and looked down. "What are we doing, Osferth?"

He bit his lip nervously. His hands went to your shoulders. "We're trying to get it right."

A lump rose in your throat. "We didn't get it right, Osferth. My love, we tried our best."

You felt a kiss on your forehead. "When I return, we will try again. I promise. We will make each other happy."

"Osferth. This can't last forever."

He tilted your chin up again and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. It made your heart race. When he pulled back, he rested your foreheads together and gently bumped your nose with his. "That will not change the fact that we will try again."

He was gone the next morning before you could go to him and apologise. For the five years that you had welcomed him at your hearth and table, in your heart and bed, he had been honest that he could never marry you. It wasn't your fault, you knew. It was no one's fault. But after a while, it had become easier to blame him. Unfair though it was, you couldn't help it. Sweet Osferth hadn't deserved that. But neither had you.

Your sweet love is buried miles away in a shallow grave marked only by a cross of sticks. There is no place for you to mourn him, no place to speak with him. Only a letter from him remains, but it is nothing to you, for you cannot read. Still, there's some comfort in stroking where he left the ink on it years ago. At the bottom amongst the scrawl is a circle like a wheel - this marks where he had signed his name. Osferth.

You touch it. Already you are forgetting what his voice sounds like. Sounded like.

You lie in bed in the linen shift that has stopped smelling like him. The letter rests on your chest like a two-tonne weight. But the thoughts of him are as light as sand, blowing away in the wind to nothing.

Matthew 7:26. And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand / And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.

Osferth knows the verse in Latin. Knew. Osferth knew. The sound of his voice slips with the sand through your fingers and into the wind. The sound of your sorrow follows it. To dust, to dirt, to the earth and sky. You are lost, and so too is he.

Did he know that you were sorry when he died? Did he think of you? Did he fear death? He didn't always, but as he grew to love life, it frightened him. Still, at Uhtred's side, he had seemed invincible. Like death would not dare come for him.

You curl around his pillow and cry.

Please bring him back to me, you plead with God. Let me live it all again. Even knowing how it ends, I wouldn't change a thing. Bring him back to me, I beg.

Bring him back. Let us begin again.

God does not listen. You never do find someone to marry.

#osferth x reader #mine #osferth #osferth x you #tlk fanfic #osferth fanfic #ewan mitchell

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rogers-the-musical · 8 months

Text

I’ll never understand how people can think Steve putting down the Shield and going back is slandering his character.

All he’s wanted, besides to fight, is to go home, to have Peggy, to have his date. Yeah, they’re not sweethearts yet when he leaves. But the relationship he has — my goodness, it’s so unique and special. Their bond over being “less than”. The way Steve looks up to Peggy, tries to do right by her; and the way Peggy sees Steve’s goodness and steers him in the right direction to express that is amazing.

Steve and Peggy are both incredibly good people - but for Peggy, sometimes she needs the the inspiration and hope that someone like Steve gives her, as someone who’s seen so much bitterness in the world. And Steve, who is so good through and through, doesn’t always know where to put is good heart-how to express that with his actions, what the right thing to do would be.

Steve fought the biggest battle he could. He helped people. He suffered. And one thing the snap did teach him, was that both he and Natasha needed to “get a life.” Not because Avenging is bad, but because it’s a job. As Tony would say, it’s not the end goal.

There will always be another fight. Steve knows that. I know that. We all know that. But Steve recognizes that sometimes self-care, and retirement, are okay. He was depressed. He was weary. He was oh, so tired. He’d just fought the battle of a lifetime - perhaps the biggest battle in the world - and he left the world in good hands, with people he knew would take care of it. As for Bucky, I think we get enough characterization to understand that he is on his own path. We know they talked beforehand, and we know Steve wouldn’t have left someone who desperately still needed or wanted him. They would always be best friends. But for the growth of them both, it was time to part.

The rest of this mess really depends on what theory you take. For me, I’m more inclined to go with the same-timeline theory, because it makes more sense, and I like the idea of him being Peggy’s husband the whole time. But then, there are so many questions to bring up - according to the writers, there’s a lot of unknowns about the stones. If none are removed from their timeline, how can Steve create a branch reality? Maybe he tries to change things, helps Peggy with SHIELD - because why wouldn’t he? What if the outcome we get is as good as it is, as @melliabee said once, because of Steve’s involvement? What if it would have been worse?

Or what if time is just far too dangerous to mess with that explicitly? We don’t know what happens when you try to change something without taking out the time stones. Does it just backfire, in some loop where that’s always what happened? Or what if the “once scenario” in which they win against Thanos all depends on staying in that timeline? What if a single change - such as thawing his other self out- assuming he even knows where he is - makes it so that he’s no longer in the future in said branch timeline, and Thanos wins? What if everyone dies?

The writers said that their thoughts are that since there are two Steve’s - one in the ice and one not - he knows that everything will be okay, because he knows where frozen Steve is going and what’s going to happen.

And I think Steve would have recognized the dangerous of trying to change anything massive, and took that as a sign to rest.

And finally, for Peggy-for dear Peggy, who spends years grieving him and even longer moving on - can still love him while living her life. She can still miss him and change, but I don’t think either of them changed in any ways at their cores. They are still enough of the same people, that it would make sense to see a Steve come back ten years later to the best and most influential person of his life, and for things to still work out. And Peggy - having moved on, having started a whole life without him - could see the chance she has been given, understand she is getting a choice she might not have gotten, and decide that yes, she still loves him; and yes, she still wants him, so why not continue her work and allow him to continue to inspire her, perhaps in more ways than just his memory did?

I don’t understand the issue here. People saying Steve took away Peggy’s life are in the same way saying that he shouldn’t go back and try to rescue Bucky (which, in another branch, assuming it was safe to do so, he would have); because Bucky faces a lot of growth in the future. Why take that away from him, just as he would be taking Peggy’s growth away from her?

At the end of the day, Peggy moves on. But still, she loves him. Getting him back doesn’t take away that pain or growth, just gives her another chance at this choice in life-the choice to receive him back; the choice to get to know him, as the person she has become and as the person he has become, while still understand they’re the same at their cores; it’s the choice both she and Steve have always so desperately wanted.

So, then, I don’t think we can really complain too much.

Is it a good ending? Yes. A slandering one? Not so much. Every soldier has to return home sometime, and at the end of the day that is what Steve is - not even just a soldier, but just a good man moving on with his life.

#Avengers Endgame #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Steggy #sorry for the length I just got off on it lol

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lynettethemadscientist · 2 months

Note

So. . . what is Fallout 4 about in your opinion?

(Asking this not angrily, but as someone who's genuinely curious about your thoughts on the game. I played it too and I love it. Nick Valentine my beloved!)

Thank you for asking!!

Fallout 4’s story is primarily about two things, both concerning how we cope with Suffering and Despair.

When you begin the game, you and your spouse are finally reunited after a long military deployment and you have a brand new baby (no more than a few months old). You’re on the cusp of a beautiful future together. All your dreams are finally coming true.

And then it’s all taken from you. In the worst possible way. Your spouse is executed in front of you. Your child is taken by people with unknown but undoubtedly horrific intentions. And when you wake up for the second time you have no idea how long he’s been in their possession.

When you find the last remnant of your past life (Codsworth), he informs you that everything you know and love has not just been destroyed, but is long forgotten.

You only have one thing left; one reason to keep going, so you pursue your only lead.

And there you find Preston Garvey. He tells you about people and places that mean nothing to you. And he burdens you with the responsibility of saving these people.

It feels almost cruel. The world has brutally taken everything from you and still it sees fit to task you with saving it.

You only say yes because your moral compass insists. You can’t just leave people to die. Not when you can do something about it.

But if you do ask Preston about his recent tragedy he’ll tell you:

“I had to put on a brave face as long as there were still people counting on me. That's the only reason I kept going.”

You don’t know it yet, but this foreshadows your future in the Commonwealth.

As you search for your son in a poisoned, decaying land full of giant monsters, you quickly realize there are two kinds of people: those who want to kill you, and those begging you to rescue them from certain death. Everywhere you turn there is desperation. And you grow more weary and more worried each time you steer away from your search to save a family pleading for your help.

And then you find Kellogg. However you feel about killing him, the answers you need are locked in his head, so you leap in. As you walk through his memories, to your dismay you find that his family was brutally taken from him in much the same way yours was. And that he chose to become the very same monster that created him.

And here we find the first thesis of the story: suffering is inevitable, and it will change you, but you are the one who decides whether your strife changes you into a better or worse person.

However the Sole Survivor chooses to respond (or not respond) to this is up to your character, but the message is clear.

For the purpose of truly realizing the second thesis, let’s say this moment was a wake-up call for your Sole. You grit your teeth and silently swear an oath to yourself that no matter what happens, you won’t end up like Kellogg. You won’t let your loss turn you into something evil.

But it’s hard to fight the despair creeping into your heart now that you know your son is already 10 years old. He’s been raised by the Institute. An organization that has thus far only seen fit to inflict harm on the Commonwealth for unknown reasons. You try to push the implications of this out of your mind as you now search for access to the organization that has haunted this land for over a century.

The burden of helping settlers only grows heavier as the seemingly insurmountable task of getting into the Institute looms over you.

And when you finally get inside, not even your most harrowing nightmares could have predicted what you find.

Your son is an old man. A callous and calculating old man. He bears features resembling that of you and your spouse, but the more he talks the more he seems like a cruel mockery of your once happy family.

Searching the Institute for answers only plunges the knife deeper. Every terminal, every overheard conversation only confirms the worst; that the squalor and desperation of the Commonwealth, the constant fear and instability, is all the intentional result of the Institute’s machinations. Your own son is the one who has been making life a living hell for all the people you've met and befriended on your way to rescuing him.

Devastating doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The one thing you had left, the one reason you endured for so long has not just been irrevocably taken from you, but has been twisted into something monstrously evil.

When you reach the surface again, you realize you have nothing left. Maybe you consider walking into the water and letting the rads take you. Or maybe putting the barrel of a gun in your mouth.

You wonder why you even survived this long. Why couldn’t you have just died in that cryopod? Or been another casualty of the wasteland? Why are you even still here?

But before you can finish the job you remember why. As much as you might want to, you can’t die yet. There are too many people depending on you now. And you’re the only one who can stop your son.

And here we find the second thesis of the story: having a purpose beyond oneself is the only way to endure impossible levels of suffering. Without a purpose, one succumbs to despair.

What was once a moral obligation has become your only reason to keep going. What was once a burden is now your lifeline.

And with that I think perhaps I should stop haha ^^; I’ve already waxed on for a lot longer than I intended and I feel bad that I made you wait so long for a response. I’ll keep going if anyone wants to hear the rest but I think I’ve about covered the core themes of the story and I fear I’ve already been too tedious about it

#i swear I tried to be as brief as possible #but immersion is essential to understanding the story #Fallout 4 #fo4

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trillscienceofficer · 2 months

Text

A long time ago @nebulouscoffee asked me to write the DVD commentary of “Best Left” (which is a Raffi/Seven/B'Elanna fic set between Picard S1 and 2) and now I'm finally doing that.

This is inevitably going to get long because the fic itself is much longer than anything else I've ever posted, and I still have so many feelings for a story I put a lot of effort and heart into! But first things first, here's chapter one.

Cris, I know you’re really busy these days on the Stargazer, so I’ll keep this short.

As I was coming up with ideas for “Best Left”, my main goal was to have Raffi (which I knew would be the POV character) in a very different place than where we see her first on Star Trek: Picard. I wanted her, by this point established, long-distance relationship with Seven be a part of the network in which Raffi is now deeply enmeshed (ie La Sirena's crew). That said though, both canon events (by this time Rios has been made captain) and my plot ideas were not very accommodating of having literally everyone on board the ship. It would've been too unwieldy for a project that was already shaping up to be very ambitious for my standards. But while Jurati and Picard's absence is, I think, not that big of a deal, I still very much wanted to underline Raffi and Cris' friendship, which I think is essential in order to understand Raffi and one of the few relationships she's had that didn't go sour on her. I obviated to his physical absence with both real and imaginary correspondence, from which Raffi could draw strength in difficult moments. The fic both begins and closes with Raffi writing a message to him.

Raffi hits send on the message and looks up only to find Elnor at her side, looking just as morose as he’d been a few days earlier, when she’d told him first about the road trip idea. She sighs internally; the queue to transporter hub number four advances. It’s a busy day on the new Betazed spacedock, but luckily no one among the crowd seems the wiser to a Romulan young adult carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He holds the straps of his bag and his staff with a white-knuckle grip. Raffi hooks her left arm into the crook of Elnor’s right. “What’s the matter?”

Rereading this I remembered how fun it was to write Raffi and Elnor interact. My intention here (and throughout the fic) was to have Raffi obviously care for him while also not losing her somewhat world-weary attitude because of her affection. Raffi is still a woman who analyzes everything around her, and acts accordingly—not to mention all the unacknowledged guilt she carries wrt her son Gabe. I didn't want to have Raffi be straightforwardly ‘maternal’, it didn't feel right and I think older women in fiction should be allowed to have mixed feelings about this role more often. Plus, like Raffi herself realizes later in the fic, Elnor has already had plenty of other women bossing him around all his life, he doesn't need one more.

Soji is at the navigation console, smiling and waving a little awkwardly. And finally, Seven watching them from the captain’s chair, which she occupies with ease, leaning on one armrest. The very image of the roguish pirate captain; Cris wishes he could pull it off this well. “Welcome aboard,” Seven says, the hint of a smirk on her lips, as if she’d just heard every single one of Raffi’s thoughts.

I honestly think Raffi is constantly roasting Cris in her head. Also when rereading I was surprised about this reprise of the idea of mind-reading from the previous dialogue between Raffi and Elnor, that was cool and I can't remember if I even wrote it entirely on purpose. In any case, I wanted to have both Soji and Elnor along for this story because (1) they could offer an interesting outsider perspective on the older women drama about to unfold and (2) I wanted to have them interact with each other and have an adventure that had nothing to do with their specific backstories. Writing Soji in this story was so much fun! It was a nice challenge to balance her characterization between the right amounts of deadpan honesty and genuine care, and making it obvious that she's still figuring out how she wants to live her life.

“I don’t think Cris would forgive me if I tried to take La Sirena into another Borg transwarp conduit,” Soji says. “And honestly I’m not sure the ship can take it.” “It wasn’t particularly pleasant on a Borg cube either,” Seven adds. “As I’m sure Elnor remembers.” “Crashing on the surface was worse,” he replies, and some of the gloom lifts from his face. The effect Seven has on people sometimes—but Raffi should be the last to judge, shouldn’t she? It’s not as if seeing Seven again, sitting on that chair so lazily and yet still projecting intent, isn’t reminding Raffi of the few weeks they’d spent on board La Sirena before. But it’s probably best if she revisits that particular recap reel in private.

I based this little Seven-Elnor interaction from my own feelings about my Cool Aunt, which I think are fitting lmao (ie especially as kid, if she was speaking to me I would immediately feel better no matter what)

Also while rereading I was like, damn I made this first half of the chapter so horny... but I've been in a ldr myself and this is pretty true to my own experience. Reuniting always means a mixture of attraction and awkwardness, and it's what I wanted to convey about Raffi and Seven here, especially since they both have a hard time trusting in people or believing that they're capable of being around people without fucking it up. The following misunderstanding about room assignments is part of this pattern.

She’s re-learning restraint, in the hardest way possible, in other facets of her life.

So here comes the part of this fic I agonized over the most... Raffi's history of substance abuse and her current commitment to sobriety. I thought the latter is what fit better with Raffi's actions on the second half of S1 (ie locking herself out of the replicator) and some scenes of S2—imho those are clues that she (wants to) simply quit. Now, a commitment to complete sobriety (including weed snakeleaf, like in a 12-step program) is not necessarily an effective way to treat addiction long term—actually quite the opposite, from what I could learn from the research I did, even if still the most popular recommended form of treatment today. I'm not entirely sure it would be at all recommended in the 24th century. So how to reconcile this with the hints about Raffi quitting cold-turkey? Is it even something I would want to depict in a good light? What I eventually tried to do is treat the matter strictly from a character perspective. I hinted that Raffi is seeing a counselor, and now feeling part of a network of people, and is now restored to her place in society via Starfleet (from her perspective). Sobriety is something she thinks she should do and can do now, so that's what Raffi did; it's all part of her wider commitment to live a different life. If this also has a whiff of self-punishment... I don't think you'd be entirely wrong. I tried to hint that Raffi has her own thoughts on her addiction but I don't necessarily share them myself (see the disclaimer on top of chapter 4), and those thoughts might be another way in which she's denying herself (because no one else grants it to her either) the compassion I think she deserves. It's a really complex topic and I don't know if I did it justice here. I welcome feedback if you have any.

She’d thought she’d lost any interest in making out, over the years—she was surprised to find out how much Seven enjoys it, and how much of that enjoyment is infectious.

I have this headcanon that Seven really enjoys making out (it's appeared in other fic of mine too, eg “Doing the Unstuck”) and her partners never expect this of her. I think I like the idea that Seven's approach to sex and intimacy is still about the sudden thrill of closeness she displayed when she twirled Chakotay around in order to kiss him lol. I especially like the idea it's one of the things about Seven that's not changed despite all that happened to her since said kiss, and that she could bring Raffi to enjoy making out again as well.

It’s still the same suitcase-shaped contraption that she cobbled together months earlier with Borg parts from the Artifact, as far as Raffi can tell. Some other parts Seven had replicated on La Sirena, and then had proceeded to build the device with surprising ease. She’d explained that it was a modular design she and other friends had come up with over the years. It hadn’t been the first time she’d found herself needing a regenerator without having one handy. Raffi had admired her resourcefulness then, and still does now.

I ranted a lot about Seven's regeneration last summer, and all my thoughts and headcanons ended up in this fic. Regeneration for Seven is now a bit different than what it used to be on Voyager; still a necessity but quicker, and something that doesn't tie her down to bulky machinery any longer. Something that ultimately Seven has more control over. However, it's also a necessity that now needs to be articulated explicitly to the people she's close to, and that other people have to learn to take into account about her. I also wanted Seven to determine clear boundaries around regeneration—eg, here she doesn't want other people around when she regenerates—but boundaries that she is still constantly renegotiating, as it happens in chapter two when she invites Raffi to stay. Seven isn't used to be around people much anymore, so she's still adapting to new realities (like her relationship with Raffi) and rethinking what is comfortable for her.

“I hope your other stops were less frustrating than Trill,” Raffi offers, making her presence known. Soji looks up at her, and her face breaks into a smile. “Oh hey, I didn’t realize you were here, Raffi. But yes, I can honestly say it was the worst one so far. I think, and Agnes agrees, that their academic institutions really opposed the lifting of the synth ban for some reason.”

This little piece of Trill worldbuilding came to be because in “Second Self” Una McCormack wrote that Raffi has taken part in the zhian'tara of a colleague. Which is absolutely bonkers to me!! I couldn't help myself and expand on it a bit, all the while maintaining my stance on Trill being very conservative when it comes to decide on people's personhood. I know it's maybe controversial but I really don't think Trill institutions are that enlightened on the topic. They might think they are, but in presence of someone like Soji the appearance would crumble immediately. I honestly loved revisiting my Trill feelings through Raffi and Soji, I haven't written Dax fic in a very long time, so this was a nice way for me to scratch that itch.

Raffi crosses her legs, raises an eyebrow. She’s reminded all too well of when Soji had first come aboard, the confusion of a young woman whose entire life as she knew it had been a deception. She can recall how Soji described her relationship with Narek, and how Raffi had been the one to name his behavior for what it was. Maybe some pointing out of the obvious is needed here too.

This is one of the things that caught my attention the most when I rewatched S1—Raffi has been looking out for Soji practically from the start, calling out Narek's presence for what it was (abusive). I wanted to let Raffi speak her mind here as well, about the kind of interactions Soji has had while on tour.

A scratchy, stuttering audio signal starts playing from La Sirena’s bridge speakers. ‘—damage. Propulsion systems offline. Atmospheric controls—’ More digital artifacting of the signal. ‘—predict where the subspace eddies will take the ship. I don’t know how long I still have—’ The audio signal cuts off, then the message repeats once again. ‘—damage. Propulsion systems offline. Atmospheric controls—’ “I think that’s all of it,” Soji says, soberly. “Damn,” Raffi says, at a loss. “She’s dying, if not already dead,” Elnor says, voicing what everyone is thinking. He turns to Raffi. “What do we do?”

When she read this chapter, my partner asked me about the use of pronouns for the yet unknown person in distress—here Elnor assumes it's a she, while Raffi and Soji don't. It was actually on purpose, I wanted to hint at the fact that Elnor's default assumption is that the people that do stuff out there in space are women because the Qowat Milat usually speaks in these terms as well. Maybe it's silly, I don't know, but I wrote it in anyway as a subtle wordlbuilding detail. Maybe too subtle if it leads to pronoun confusion.

“I’m not sure I could live with myself if we didn’t try to save the crew of that ship. There’s a chance they might still be alive.” “Then let’s do it,” Raffi says with a curt nod. “You’re in command of La Sirena now.”

In the rescue scene I tried very hard to let Raffi do tactical evaluation in a way that didn't come off as callous as it sometimes does for Worf on TNG or Tuvok on Voyager—she's honestly trying to give Soji, now in command, a good overview of the situation.

Raffi takes a long look at Elnor, and to his credit he looks genuinely curious, hands folded together, leaning with his elbows on his knees. She knows better than to doubt his intentions, but—when he wants, he knows exactly when and how to ask one of his blunt questions for maximum effect, doesn’t he? In this case, distraction. She idly wonders if this is a skill that everyone in the Qowat Milat picks up, along with the assassin training. Using the truth as a finely honed blade, rather than the cudgel it’s always reminded her of.

That the absolute candor tenet of the Qowat Milat may be used in more than one way and for more than one goal is something I already written about before (ie in “Policy of Truth”). I think Raffi has her own different ideas about telling the truth because she's trained in intelligence gathering and also because pursuing the truth has always been painful for her—see her quest to find out who was behind the Mars attack. So here she's surprised to find out that Elnor's honesty is not at all a weakness, which she's assumed so far, but rather a very well-honed skill.

“It is the ship we’re looking for,” Soji confirms, going through the readings with, once again, an ease that belies her actual experiences. “It is still transmitting the distress call, though it’s extremely garbled. The hull is pressurized, somehow, at least partially. Life signs—one, I think. Humanoid. Very faint” She looks at Raffi, eyes wide, and Raffi braces herself. “We have to beam them over. The subspace tug might breach the hull at any time. I know that we have no idea who we’ll find, but they’re dying.” Goddammit. They really should’ve woken Seven up before getting here. Then again, at this point it’s probably best to ask for forgiveness than permission. If they’re all still alive to do so. But they will; a boy assassin, an android with super strength, and Raffi. Risk assessment used to be her job in Starfleet, long ago.

I still really like Raffi thinking 'oh well, too late to go back now, but at least I have backup'. I thought about her characterization a lot while writing this fic, and tried to convey her dry humor at best I can. She's really funny in canon! I really enjoyed writing her constant quips, even if they're just in her head.

Down the stairs, she hears Emil grumble. “I can’t deliver proper emergency care if you rush me.” “You’ll replicate what you need, as you need it,” Soji retorts impatiently. “Just initiate the transport.”

All EMHs are the same.

She’s older now, and out of uniform, looking much worse for wear after what she just went through. But there’d been a time more than twenty years prior when her face had been on every Federation newsfeed, along with the rest of the crew of the USS Voyager. “You know her?” Raffi turns to Soji, frozen in bemusement beside Emil. “I’ve never met her but yes, I know who she is,” Raffi says. “You two stay here and keep an eye on things. Seven needs to see this.”

I really like the way this chapter ends (so much so that it's the quote I chose for the fic summary on AO3). I thought about the idea of generational difference a lot when coming up with this fic, and how Raffi has witnessed so many momentous events, like the return of Voyager, that Elnor and even Soji really have no context for. It's an interesting aspect of having older characters that weren't around in previous shows, and an opportunity for a different perspective that unfortunately I think Star Trek: Picard squandered completely (Una McCormack was more attentive in her novels, luckily). Regardless, Raffi's experience turns out to be an asset more than once in this fic—no one aboard La Sirena at this point is as intimately aware of the events of the Dominion War as she is.

#i did this before but i forgot how i tagged it rip #fic commentary #<- this was the right tag

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fitrahgolden · 4 months

Text

WEARY MEMORY: 4 - BROKEN INTO PIECES

“OK, guys! Your nan's almost here!”

Kaveri came skipping into the living room. She started checking herself out in the television's reflection and doing more skips and jumps, no doubt relishing in the sound of her new shoes, which she’d dubbed her “dancing shoes,” against the hardwood floor.

“Kav, baby, don't stomp on the floor too hard with those shoes.” Kate warned.

“Do you hear my shoes, Amma?”

“We all hear your shoes, Riri,” Edmund groused upon entering the living room.

“Good!” Kaveri continued entertaining herself in front of the TV.

“Ned, where's your brother?”

“In the backyard with his dog.”

Kate sucked her teeth and muttered. “Dammit, Newton is my dog.”

“Don't swear, Amma.”

Kaveri's censure of their mother got a laugh out of Edmund.

The doorbell rang, stopping Kate from going and staking her claim on Newton–again.

“Hi, Violet.” Kate gave Anthony’s mum a hug. “Come in. They’re almost ready.”

“Thanks, dear.” Violet sat on the couch–and was instantly introduced to her granddaughter’s new shoes–while Kate went out back to fetch Maaran. The two only argued briefly about who Newton belonged to before returning inside.

“Thank you for letting them come tonight. I know the weeks didn’t line up.”

Kate waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, of course. They want to go, and it’s an important performance for Fran. There was no question about it.”

Kaveri took a break from her own performance and jumped onto the couch next to Violet. “We have flowers for Aunty Fran! I got to pick them out!”

“Oh, how sweet, Riri. Francesca will love them.”

Kate looked down at her watch. “I think you guys should get going.”

“Yes,” Violet agreed as she rose from the couch. “My dears, I’m just gonna talk to your mum for a minute, and then we’ll be on our way. Neddy, can you get everyone in the car?”

“Sure, Nan.”

As Edmund ushered everyone outside, Kate tilted her head in concern. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, nothing dire,” Violet said quickly. “It’s just… And I know this isn’t really your, I don’t know, wheelhouse anymore, but has Anthony seemed OK the last few times you saw him?”

Kate winced a little at the implication that she wouldn’t know anymore if anything were going on with Anthony. But it was true, wasn’t it?

“Um… Yeah, he seemed alright. Did something happen?”

“I don’t think so. He’s just seemed a little off lately, is all. Maybe it’s something with…” Violet trailed off and looked at Kate sheepishly.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Violet.” Kate forced a laugh. “You can say her name. Give me a bit more credit than that.”

“Yes, of course.” Violet shook her head. “Anyway, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Well, I’ll keep an eye out. We still talk. Sometimes.”

Violet nodded. “And it’s almost time for your holiday, isn’t it? That will be good for him. Where is it going to be this year? Anthony hasn’t mentioned it.”

Kate and Anthony made sure to still do their family holiday every year, just the five of them. The kids always looked forward to it. Sharing a house for a week never went completely smoothly, especially that first year after the divorce, but they made it work, and the following two holidays had them finding a rhythm much more quickly.

“We settled on Edinburgh. It’s a short flight, and all three of the kids should be into it. Castles for Kav, history for Maan, seaside for Ned. And the house Anthony found looks amazing.”

“Brilliant.”

“Well, have a great night.” Kate walked with Violet to the door. “Tell Francesca I said good luck.”

The two shared another hug, and after Violet left with the kids, Kate tried not to think too much about what she’d said. Kate was sure there was plenty going on in Anthony’s life that she wasn’t privy to. Of course there was. They mostly only saw each other briefly on Saturdays, and texted sparingly throughout the week. The last time he seemed upset when she was around was… the day she went out with Tom. There was no way that could still be bothering him. They’d gotten over it later that night.

Hadn’t we?

It was a silly thing to fixate on. Violet was right. She didn’t know that much about Anthony’s life anymore.

—

Anthony heard Siena come up behind him as he sat at his kitchen counter, chai in hand, looking at his laptop.

“Good morning,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Morning. Want coffee?”

“Don’t get up. I’ll make it. What are you working on?” she asked as she made her way to the coffee maker.

“Booking the caterer for Ned’s birthday party,” Anthony answered distractedly, not looking up, missing the way Siena froze.

“I take it I'm not invited?”

His head shot up from his computer screen. “Siena…”

“Unless, of course, you're finally ready to introduce me to your family.”

“You've met my family.”

“Come off it, Anthony. You know I mean your kids.”

He did know that, and felt foolish for pretending otherwise.

“Is it your ex?” Siena asked.

Anthony’s jaw ticked. “What do you mean?”

“Does she not want me to meet them?” Siena crossed her arms. “Does she even know about me?”

“I’ve mentioned you, yes. Not often. Is it that odd that I don't talk to my ex-wife about my love life?”

“Not for most people, no. But you seem to actually talk to your ex–”

“Kate,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“Don't correct me as if I should remember that. Why would I? You don’t talk to me about her or your kids. Such a huge part of your life, and you won’t let me near it. Shouldn’t you want me to know that part of you? If we're serious?”

Anthony opened his mouth, but no words came out. Siena stepped towards him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Anthony felt mortified that he had no idea how to comfort her.

“Are we?” she asked, pleading. “Are we serious, Anthony?”

Tell her yes.

“We…we could be.”

Siena shook her head, disappointed. When she spoke again, she sounded defeated. “When? When you stop wearing your ring?”

What?

“I don't wear my ring.”

“No?” Siena scoffed. “It's not looped onto the pocket watch that you have on you at all times?”

Oh. Anthony’s mind went to Kate's rings, which hung off her neck on a delicate chain every time he saw her.

“And you kept her name,” Siena continued.

To that, Anthony took offence. “We hyphenated our names when we got married. It's our kids’ last names, Siena. Why would I change mine back?”

Siena turned away from him and paced for a few long moments before looking at him again.

“Remind me, why did you two get divorced?”

Where to fucking start? “I… We–”

“You said you wanted to stop hurting each other, that you felt you couldn’t give each other the support you needed after everything that happened. You literally said ‘everything that happened.’ I don’t even know what that means, besides your father.”

“It’s… It’s all her business as much as it is mine.”

“It’s your business as much as it is hers. And you won’t clue me in.”

Siena collapsed onto the stool next to Anthony.

“Siena… Siena, I’m sorry.” That was the truth, but not nearly enough, he knew that.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Siena wiped an errant tear and asked, “And you're sure you two aren’t hurting each other now? And dragging other people down with you?”

Fuck, is that what I’m doing?

Siena grabbed his hand. “Look, Anthony. I like you. A lot. But it’s painfully clear that… Well, I don’t want to force you to open your whole world up to me. I wouldn’t want to. I’d want you to do that on your own, because you want me there.” She sighed heavily. “But you don’t, do you?” she whispered.

Anthony floundered. “We… I can see–”

“No. Don’t tell me you could in the future. Don’t tell me it’s possible. I can’t hear ‘not yet’ again. I really fucking can’t. Do you want me there, Anthony?”

There was nowhere left to hide. Siena didn’t deserve his bullshit. She never did.

“No.”

Siena pressed her eyes shut, releasing more tears as she nodded. “Right.”

Without another word, she walked into Anthony’s bedroom, undoubtedly to collect her things. Anthony stayed frozen at the kitchen counter. He had no idea how much time had passed when Siena came back out, with an overstuffed tote bag. She slowly approached him, and deposited a kiss on his cheek. It was soft and kind, and nothing he deserved.

“I really hope you figure it out, Anthony. I hope both of you do. Please don’t do this to anyone else.”

—

Kate had just made sure all the kids were settled for the night when her phone rang.

“Anthony?”

“Hey.”

Kate didn’t need to ask if he was OK. She could hear in that one syllable that he wasn’t.

“What is it? Is everyone alright? Is it–”

“Everyone’s fine, Kit.” Anthony had fallen back into calling her that all the time after their last thunderstorm phone call. Kate didn’t mind.

“Everyone but you?”

His laugh was humourless. “It’s just been a shit day.”

She knew that wasn’t all, but didn’t push.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I know my problems aren’t your problems anymore.”

“I mean, some of them are. What’s wrong, Anthony?”

“I think I’m just missing the kids this week. I'm just sat here, looking at pictures. A bit pathetic.”

Kate sucked her teeth. “You know that's not pathetic.” That also wasn't the real problem either, she was sure of it. But perhaps she could at least do something to help. “I can ask them in the morning if they are OK with you picking them up from school, if you want a few extra days with them.”

“We shouldn’t,” Anthony said after a while. “We agreed–”

“We’ve never needed the agreement, Anthony. It's fine. And it’ll be up to them.”

“OK. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Anthony fell silent again.

“Anthony?”

“I’m going to try to sleep,” he said a little abruptly.

“Oh, OK. Um, good night. I’ll ring you in the morning about the kids.”

“Alright. Good night, Kit.”

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ratkingssillyboy · 6 months

Text

So! Here’s part one, it has not been edited in the slightest and I know I said one shot but it will definitely be multiple parts. This part is just over 2 thousand words!!

—————————————————————————

Halt found himself climbing up the winding staircase outside of Aralds office with a heavy heart holding the babe whose family Halt had cause the demise of.

He knew he had to hand the boy over to allow the the castle to tend to him, it would be the right choice as Halt himself was only 22 years old and in no position to care for an infant but as he stared down into the soft brown eyes of the babe he found he couldn’t bare the thought of leaving him behind. Steeling his nerves he knocked one on the door before entering once he heard a ‘come in’.

“Do you have a wet nurse you could spare sir?” Halt watches as the barons eyebrows shot up, leaning back into his chair he let out a huff of disbelief.

“A wet nurse you say? Well you might do with Mary she’s recently lost her own daughter a tragedy you know but she has offered her services and is set to begin in a week or so but I’m sure I can ask her to start today” the man nodded to himself deep in though as he spoke “am I to send her to you cottage?”

“If it’s no trouble” holding the babe tighter he continued “what salary would she have been paid? I would like to match it”

But Arald shook his head with a small smile looking at the tiny bundle in Halts arms.

“No need for all that no it will be covered by me, I imagine the baby’s parents died due to the war” he stood before crossing the threshold to grab the boy and look at him himself, Will stayed asleep though his eyelashes fluttered against his soft cheeks for a moment.

“I couldn’t possibly ask-“ Halt begin but was quickly shushed by the dark haired man.

“Lucky you didn’t ask then yes?” Halt often forgot how generous the baron could be, instead of voicing his thoughts Halt nodded.

“Yes I guess so” Halt didn’t like the idea of taking the man’s offer but it would allow him to use that money to care for will with less of a financial strain.

“It’s just” swallowing Arald looked at him firmly “are you…certain this is the right choice?”

“No, no rather I’m certain it’s very much the wrong one but” Halt let his voice trail off unsure as how to express his feeling into words

“But you can’t let him go can you” the other man finished with a sad sort of smile, clasping Halts shoulder with his left hand, his right still cradling Will, he nodded in understanding and the rest of the evening was spent discussing the finer details of the arrangement.

———

A month later Halt found himself weary. Everything was going as well as it could be as he took leave from the corp, it had been decided that he would continue with paperwork and another ranger just out of his apprenticeship would take up residence at another cottage just a ways away from his own to keep everything in check while Halt tended to his own business. Mary had settled in to the spare room and was a decent house mate as she mainly kept to herself and tended to simple household chores, she never overstepped with Will only really interacting with him during feedings or to occasionally change his diaper when Halt was busy.

Everything was going well but Halt found himself out of his depth far more than he anticipated, caring for an infant was strange and he often found himself obsessively checking that Will was safe which of course he always was but even still Halt would wake during the night to ensure he was still breathing after hearing about Mary’s daughter going to bed seemingly healthy only to never wake. He found himself constantly holding the boy even while doing paperwork only leaving him be during meal preparations.

It was only when lady Pauline came by and made him have a proper rest that Halt realised that he was exhausted, he slept for ten hours only because he knew that Pauline would never allow any harm to come to his boy. Once he awoke after a full nights sleep and made his way to the kitchen he found Pauline cradling Will in her arm and using the other to lightly tickle his stomach, Will of course was delighted and was squirming while letting out happy little gurgles, Halt could only allow a rare smile at the scene.

“I reckon he might just like you better than me” Halt joked as he started breakfast, three servings of eggs that he collected from the chickens he bought just two weeks before, each plate also had a helping of various greens and a rash of bacon to finish them off

“Oh don’t be like that Halt, he already loves you” and as she said this Will seemed to notice Halt and let out a soft coo which only made Halts heart warm, he already loved the boy and was certain that if it came down to it he would exchange his life for Wills without hesitation.

After everyone had breakfast and Will was settled with his own full stomach Halt found he could breath again, and after noticing the improvement Pauline made a throwaway comment how she would see him next week and so began the weekly routine of Halt getting a proper nights rest to alleviate any stress or tension cause from lack of sleep.

———

Will was now six months old and already a handful, he was often heard babbling away to Halt who was starting to finally understand what the different babbles tended to mean, if Will is babbling with lots of spit and laughter it meant he was happy and content to be left to his own devices, if he was gurgling and cooing it often meant that he wanted attention and Halt to talk to him, if he was banging his hands and loudly letting out strings of gibberish then that meant he was demanding Halts (and only Halts) attention and if he didn’t get that it would lead to a very long crying session that no one could calm the boy down from.

Halt found that he was…content, happy even, he often had Will strapped to his chest using a long roll of soft Cotten gifted to him by, surprisingly, Crowley of all people. Today he had a sleeping Will strapped to his chest as he rode Abelard towards Old Bob’s home, he had wanted to get Abelard checked over by the man as it had been just over a year since his yearly check up.

After arriving and letting Bob take Abelard he was left to his devices while the man looked over his companion, taking a finally awake Will he made his way to a near by pasture that had a newborn foal. Will squirmed as he made grabby hands towards the young horse and Halt let the boy rub his tiny hand against the soft fuzz of the foals snout as it stared back at the boy contently. It wasn’t surprising that he was enamoured by the animal as he was just as taken with Abelard, bringing Will back up to rest against his chest he looked at the chubby cheeked boy.

“Say bye bye to the horse Will” it sometimes felt silly saying such things to the infant but as will babbled something that sounds vaguely like a bye bye with a gurgle at the end he found he really didn’t mind it too much. An hour or so later Old Bob found him resting with a quiet Will on his lap watching the few horses grazing, watching the scene before him Bob smiled it was a rarity to see the usually grim faced man relaxed and content.

“Abelard is perfectly fine to go, apart from replacing the horse shoes and usual grooming I haven’t had to do much else” Halt stood up before resting Will on his hip, nodding to Bob he looked back to the horses that will was still very intently watching “seems the boy likes horses hm”

“He always has to be present when I’m grooming Abelard and Will gets fussy if we don’t go to see him at least once a day” Halt said with mock exasperation but the slight upturn of his lips gave him away.

After exchanging goodbyes Halt made his ways home ready to relax and finish the mountain of paperwork that Halt was certain was half of Crowley’s own, once he made it inside he placed Will down into his cradle and placed a few toys for the boy to throw around and began his work.

———

It was only two months later when Will was eight months old that Halt would find out just how deeply the boy had worked his way into his heart.

It was a normal morning of Halt letting Will gum his way through a bowl of mushed apple after his morning nurse, Will was being extra talkative as he played with the rest of the mush with most of it ending up on his face. Will was going on and on barely taking a breath as he seemed to be recounting the entire history of Araluen in gibberish, but when Halt went to wipe the boys face with a cloth he took note of the sounds the boy was making.

“Bada ba fa da da dada dada” with the usual grabby hands he made whenever Halt would come close “da da da dada da”

With trembling hands Halt picked Will up, his heart swelled even bigger as Will let out a loud coo of approval and continued on.

“Yes yes I’m here Will what were you saying before?” It had gotten easier to have technically one sided conversations.

“Ah ba ba la da” and on it continued as Will pulled at his beard, once Will was secured on his chest he made his way to Abelard to groom him before he started getting ready for bed.

“Let’s go give Abelard a visit, how does that sound Will?” Halt asked and was rewarded with a squeal and a lot of squirming, or as much as the wrap allowed, once Abelard was in Will’s sights the boy lit up

“Ab Ab Ab” this was followed with both giggles and coos, it seemed that Wills favourite sounds were da and ab and he continued on with both of these as Halt tended to his companion letting the babbling sooth him.

———

It was only a week until Wills first birthday and Halt found himself cross legged on the ground playing peekaboo with him, watching as the boy pointed and cooed dada every time Halt removed his hand before letting out a peal of giggles, his hair a mess of brown curls on his head that he was certain had mud in it how this had happened Halt wasn’t sure but he went and prepared some Luke warm water in a small tub.

“It’s bath time Will” he called as he went back to retrieve him but he found that in the few moments it took to prepare the bath Will had taken off and Halt felt as though the ground underneath him had been yanked away, he hurriedly searched just to find him hiding behind the lounge and he felt the pure relief fill his veins as the adrenaline subsided. Once found Will let out a shriek of laughter, hoisting the boy up Halt proceeded to bathe and redress him. Not bothering to do much more than remove his shirt, collapsing onto his bed cradling Will he just allowed himself to feel the soft heart beat as they lay there chest to chest.

Halts thoughts wandered to the fact that he was expected at the annual rangers gathering as he was still a ranger and he knew he would have to talk to Crowley about easing back to work which would mean setting Will up to be looked after at Castle Redmont with what would have been his ward mates, but for now he held onto his boy watching as he fell asleep.

#rangers apprentice #halt o'carrick #will treaty #the rangers apprentice

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