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moonagedaydreamsofrhiannon · 6 months ago

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Perhaps the wilderness in Yellowjackets is not just a symbol of death. Perhaps it is also—in its own way—freedom.

In the wilderness, Lottie didn’t have to hide her visions for fear of being called crazy. She was exalted as a leader and a prophet. But when she returned, they called her crazy and locked her up.

In the wilderness, Misty didn’t have to be ashamed of her intensity and eccentricity. She was helpful, she was needed, she was important. But when she returned, they called her a freak and exiled her once again.

In the wilderness, Tai didn’t have to pretend to be something she’s not. Her other self was not a weakness but a strength, it gave her power, and kept her alive. But when she returned she had to suppress her urges and hide her other self, or lose everything.

In the wilderness, Shauna didn’t have to be small, and hide the fire inside her. She was angry, and violent, and powerful. But when she returned, she was forced back into a supporting role, forced to contain her darkness and her drive in order to fit a role she never wanted to play.

In the wilderness, Travis didn’t have to put on an act to fit the societal expectations of masculinity. He was feminine, and emotional, and soft—not the man of the group, but just another Yellowjacket in the hive. But when he returned, he was forced back into the cage—back into the closet—isolated, hardened, closed off and separated from the girls once more.

In the wilderness, Natalie didn’t have to feel guilty for surviving. She was the hunter, the provider, and the gun in her hands made her a savior, and a leader, not a killer. But when she returned, she was a killer once again, haunted by guilt, and outcast by society for the things she did to stay alive.

The wilderness gave them the freedom to be their truest and most authentic selves, but the cost was the blood spilled. The cost was their old selves. The cost was a place in the world upon their return.

Maybe the wilderness did not destroy them; it simply changed them into something new, something irrevocably different, something that would never—could never—fit back inside the narrow box of their old lives, and because they could no longer fit, society called them broken.

The wilderness freed them, but it never let them go. Because once you’ve tasted flesh and blood, once you’ve stared death in the face and overcame, once you’ve been to the very brink and seen the true depth of your own capacity for violence, once all the former markers of morality and success have become meaningless, in a world where survival at all costs is the only law, how can you ever go back to a world ruled by pointless, hollow, conventions? Once you’ve shed every remnant of your humanity, once you’ve run with the wolves, and howled at the moon, and become one with the ancient wild gods, how can you ever be a human again? Once you’ve had a taste of complete freedom, how can you ever be satisfied with a fake, insignificant, half-life, made up entirely of half-truths and haunting?

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houseofaegon · 12 days ago

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ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS/VOID SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲 ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ dark themes, witchcraft, mentions of trauma, grief, mentions of character's death, blood & ritual imagery, possession, morally gray characters, violence, sexual tension, slow burn, nsfw smut scenes, chapters with explicit sexual content will be tagged and rated accordingly. each chapter will include specific warnings.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. this series is my love letter to witchy women, lovers of fleetwood mac and mother stevie nicks, and misty day devotees. this is for the ones who speak to the moon, pull tarot cards, carry crystals on their purses, and leave salt at the doors just in case. arabella montenegro is an original character born from my obsession with witchtcraft, feminine rage, tarot cards, and folklore. she's not just a witch, she's a girl with a monster inside of her who still dares to love deeply and profoundly. i also craved a latina!oc for bob reynolds bc yes—latinas for bob reynolds. let's be for real right now, bob needs someone who can hex him and heal him at the same time. thank you for reading and giving this series a chance. reblogs are always welcomed and deeply appreciated, comments warm my heart and inspire me to keep writing, so thank you for always supporting me! lots of love, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

⠀‘ ݁ ִ ׂ ̧ ִֶָ 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ prophet girl, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chosen by the sun, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you hear the gods whispering ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀those silent stardust words?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀cursed daughter, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ uttering insanities no one believes ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you regret taking the vow?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‘ ݁ ִ ׂ ̧ ִֶָ 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

♱ ˖ ࣪ . ARABELLA MONTENEGRO was born under a blood moon, marked by old gods, bound to ancient magic, cursed and chosen all at once.

A witch.

A weapon.

An Avenger once, before the world became too loud, and her own shadows grew teeth sharper than anyone could control.

They called her The Enchantress, not realizing that name belonged to something else—the other half of her.

The darkness that lives beneath her skin.

Not evil. Not good. Just ancient, and waiting to be let out.

Now, Arabella walks barefoot through the Watchtower—salt at her doorways, obsidian rings on her fingers, shadows whispering her name like a sacred incantation. Her tarot cards never lie. Her shadows never sleep.

After the near-destruction of New York by the Void, she's called back to a world she tried to leave behind, she’s called back to the fight—to the Thunderbolts, to Bucky, to the ghosts of who she used to be.

And to BOB REYNOLDS.

The golden god with too much power, and too many fractures.

He is power incarnate.

And Arabella is the only thing he cannot destroy.

But the Void sees her too. Wants her. Recognizes the entity buried inside her—the one who looks back when she stares too long into the dark.

Because inside Bob, something dark stirs.

And inside her, something just as dark answers.

Arabella Montenegro doesn't believe in salvation. Not for herself, not for anyone else.

But somewhere between salt circles and moonlit rituals, between banter, bitten lips, and stolen touches—the witch and the void begin to burn.

And when they finally touch, the world will never be the same.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ROBERT 'BOB' REYNOLDS ╱ THE SENTRY/VOID

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ARABELLA MONTENEGRO ╱ ENCHANTRESS

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

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lazysoulwriter · 16 days ago

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for your birthday, babe. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: birthday surprise, Pedro is a Fleetwood Mac stan, reader gives him Stevie Nicks tickets, he’s emotional and dramatic in the BEST way, pure joy, soft post-concert moment.

---

You handed him the envelope while he was still in his pajama pants, hair wild, coffee half-drunk, his reading glasses still sliding down his nose.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

Pedro looked suspicious. “You said no gifts.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “I lied.”

He opened it.

Stared.

Blink, blink.

Then his jaw dropped.

“No fucking way.”

You were already grinning. “Way.”

“YOU GOT ME STEVIE TICKETS???”

You nodded, delighted. “Fleetwood Mac reunion. With Stevie. Real, live Stevie. Tonight.”

Pedro made a sound that could only be described as a choked sob-laugh. He clutched the tickets to his chest like they were ancient scrolls. “I’m going to cry.”

“You will cry.”

“I’m gonna scream.”

“You will scream.”

“I’m gonna ascend.”

“Probably.”

Hours later, inside the stadium, he did scream. And sing. And cry. (During “Silver Springs” and again during “Landslide,” holding your hand so tight his knuckles went white.)

Pedro danced like a man possessed by glitter and heartbreak.

He knew every word. Threw his head back. Cried without shame. Got misty-eyed when Stevie dedicated a song “to the people you hold closest.” Turned to you and mouthed, that’s you.

By the time the encore ended, he was hoarse, sweaty, and smiling like a kid who just met Santa and God in the same day.

“I think,” he said as you walked back to the car, “this is the best day of my life.”

You bumped your shoulder into his. “Yeah?”

He nodded, wiping his eyes dramatically. “You gave me the moon tonight, baby. The moon.”

“You sure you’re not just emotional because you screamed ‘RHIANNON’ like a banshee for three minutes straight?”

He grinned. “Both things can be true.”

Later that night, curled up in bed, hair still damp from a shower, wrapped around you like a sleepy golden retriever, he whispered:

“Thank you for knowing me so well. For giving me magic.”

You kissed his forehead. “Happy birthday, Pedrito.”

He fell asleep smiling.

Still humming Gypsy under his breath.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk

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alchemistc · 8 months ago

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Felt the urge to add a little something to this ficlet

Jee hates the baby.

It's glaringly obvious and has been for weeks, and Maddie can tell it's breaking hearts.

Buck and Tommy look like they haven't slept in a month, which she's very secretly pleased about mostly because they're always so good at taking care of other people's kids that they've gained a sort of muted awe among the rest of the group - how easy they get kids down for bedtime and how rested they look when parents show up, how sweet and kind and polite the kids always are at handoff and how the kids keep up that out of character behavior for at least half a day for their parents, too.

The baby is a game changer. The baby is making her brother and his kid-whisperer husband human again.

Maddie should probably feel bad that she's taking such private glee in watching them both down a fifth cup of coffee and go a little pale when the baby monitor set up next to the couch kicks up noise. She should probably feel bad that when Tommy swings up out of his seat with a hand curled around Buck's shoulder, his knees and back snap crackle pop their way into an upright state. She should feel bad about the tired sigh that escapes Buck's lips as Tommy shuffles off towards the baby's room they'd spent months laughingly arguing about as they grinned the grin of first time parents who'd never actually had a reference for how on-call they'd be once the kid was born.

Tommy hums his way back down the hallway with a fussing bundle and gives them both an exhausted smile as he shuffles past them into the kitchen, and Jee glares daggers at his back.

Oh, she should absolutely not take any pleasure in that.

It's just -

Buck has given her way too many details about the shit they got up to after a weekend taking care of Jee. Cheeky grins and the unsubtle widening of eyes and the implication that if either of them could get pregnant...

And Jee, in turn, spending days after reciting the things she'd done with Tommy like Tommy hung the goddamn moon and the stars, how sweet it'd been the first few times until she'd started to get annoyingly jealous of Tommy and how easy it all seemed for him.

Buck, at least, she knew got overwhelmed sometimes by the sheer amount of energy Jee had. Buck at least had the courtesy to look a little frayed around the edges on day three when Jee was swinging off his arm and trying to weasel an extra day of Buck and Tommy time.

Tommy always just grinned indulgently and looked a little sad to be going, like he could stand another few months of Jee screeching before he felt the slightest inclination to give her back to her parents.

Serves him right, actually, Maddie thinks, and then levers herself up off the recliner to go do the dishes piling up in their sink because they're too damn tired all the time to get to them.

---

Jee hates the baby.

Chim has watched her working her way through those feelings for a month, now. He's watched her put on a brave face at the sight of baby Kinard's squalling, wrinkly newborn face - watched her scowl at the bundle in her uncle's arms every time Tommy gets all doughy and enamored with something as simple as a tiny little hand reaching up for his chin - watched her throw herself a nice little fit when it was Athena and Bobby showing up to babysit for Date Night instead of Buck and Tommy.

She's a strange, mercurial little monster, and she hates a fucking baby. He should maybe check that.

It's just -

Her scowl is a new expression, and it reminds him so startlingly of her mother that every time he sees it he gets a little misty-eyed about it.

He's throwing a casserole in the oven, the baby monitor for once prised from Buck and Tommy so that they can take a nap while Chim tidies their living room and cooks them dinner, when Jee tugs at his pant leg and all out glares at the noises coming from the little device. It's just little snuffles, at this point - certainly nothing too dangerous, nothing that's gonna wake her exhausted parents in the next room, nothing that should bother Jee-Yun at all, except there she is, grimacing away as Chim watches the grainy video feed for a moment just to make sure the baby isn't gonna turn sideways and stick her head through the bars of her enclosure like Buck had apparently done once.

They don't talk very often about baby Buck, because baby Buck had been a miserable bastard screaming his lungs out because not only was he a tiny little thing with a mother who neglected him but he was usually in some type of discomfort and pain, those first six months. But it's a story Maddie remembers distinctly, and one that doesn't actually feature the Buckley parents actively ignoring their kid, so.

Jee protests when he swings her up into his arms, and protests some more when he tries to set her down in the living room five minutes later so he can start clearing away the various piles of baby crap taking up space all over the room. He remembers what it had been like, that guilty feeling of leaving for work with stuff just taking up space everywhere, and he remembers how it had felt to return to find Mrs Lee bouncing a near catatonic Jee in her arms, humming some Korean lullaby as she wiped down the kitchen counter, and Chim realized that all the stuff was back in it's place, his apartment looking tidy for the first time in what felt like months.

He remembers trying to work up the energy to feel guilty about someone else picking up his messes and being unable to do so for how damn grateful he felt instead.

Chim tries the cleanup song to distract Jee but she wanders off with something tucked into her fist and he knows, he just knows he's gonna end his tidying up with scrubbing some crayon graffiti off one of Buck and Tommy's walls.

---

Mara is a little obsessed with the baby.

Things are stable enough now that she feels comfortable in it - in watching the baby lift her head and cry her eyes out and giggle when one of her dads blows a raspberry into her stomach.

Mara begs to be taught how to support the baby's neck and how to angle her bottle to feed her and how to change her diaper and swaddle her, wants Tommy to wrap the baby up against her chest in the baby bjorn and only pouts a little when Tommy solemnly informs her that they just don't have the right size wrap for Mara.

Mara sits primly next to Buck on the couch and peeks over the blankets in subdued awe when the baby yawns, or farts, or smacks her tiny baby lips after finishing her bottle.

Mara is doing everything she can to convince Jee that the baby is actually a good thing but Jee isn't fucking having it.

---

It's not like Tommy hasn't noticed it. He'd have to be blind deaf and dumb not to notice that Jee hasn't dropped an Uncle Tommy since the day they brought Charlie home from the hospital.

He's just got no idea how to bring it up without sounding like a crazy person.

He already feels half insane from sleep deprivation, and he can't justify bringing it up to Evan when Evan's under-eye bags have gone from sensible purse to checked luggage in the span of a month and a half, the same as Tommy.

So he sits in it and he stews and he burps Charlie while across the room he can feel Jee burning a hole into his back with her eyes.

The thing is, every other child-adjacent human in this extended family loves Charlie a stupid amount. Mara has to be bribed away, and Harry and May have already offered up their babysitting services with gleams in their eye. Denny's spent hours just watching her through tummy time, and Chris will talk to her like she's a proper little adult who has any idea what he's saying and isn't just enamored with the inflection in his voice.

Jee full stop hates Charlie, and Tommy isn't an idiot - he'd love to have the energy for a piggy back ride or a Bluey dance party or literally anything more than ruffling her hair when he greets her and Chim or Maddie at the door.

He's just so damn tired.

And Jee clearly thinks that means her Uncle Tommy has been stolen from her by the loud, stinky, fussy baby.

---

California's paternity leave situation is...better than a lot of the rest of the country. They've had a solid two months to watch Charlie grow, and eat and sleep and work her little facial muscles until Buck can convince himself she's smiling at them.

He'd gone back to work first. It'd made sense for them to switch off, once they reached a point where they could sleep a solid four hours in a row, and as reluctant as Buck had been to miss a single milestone, he'd known that six weeks from his return he'd be the one allowed to take advantage of their family leave to watch his kid gurgle and roll from her tummy to her back while Tommy got behind the controls again.

The door clicks open and Buck blinks at the new graffiti decorating the space beneath the hook where they hang their keys. He'd thought they'd cleaned all of Jee's latest attempts to show her displeasure at the existence of her cousin.

There's something savory smelling wafting from the kitchen, and when Buck swings in to greet his husband he instead finds his sister, back to him while she holds her phone out like she's recording something, camera aimed over the couch in the living room.

His first few steps on the tile startle her, but she recovers quickly, one hand raised to indicate he should stay quiet while the other gestures him closer.

Tommy's passed the fuck out on the floor next to the couch, which vaguely pleases Buck because he's been a little worried Tommy would forget to rest while Buck was on shift, but it's the rest of the tableau that has him yanking out his own phone as he putters to a stop next to his sister.

Tommy's got company. Jee, half asleep herself, fighting consciousness like only a kid really can, is tucked into Tommy's side, and she's got two fingers being held hostage by Charlie

Charlie coos, and giggles, and flexes her hand, and Jee blinks and yawns and the side of her mouth quirks, just a bit, exactly like her dads does when he's trying to hide a smile.

Buck makes a noise that has Maddie turning to him with a lecture already forming in her mind.

It's just -

When Buck had told Tommy he wanted kids, he'd sort of always assumed the plural was understood, but Jee's blatant dismissal of Charlie as anything other than an inconvenient distraction has been giving him pause.

Except.

Except Tommy's passed out on the floor with his niece half tucked against him and a baby Jee purports to hate has her completely tuned out to everything else in the entire house, and Buck's got that itchy feeling running up his spine again.

Maddie snaps a few more pictures and drags Buck further into the kitchen to point a finger at him.

"You promised Tommy you'd wait at least a year," Maddie reminds him in a hushed voice, and Buck sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. Tries to take another peek at his niece finally finally warming up to Charlie.

"He's gonna be so pissed if she calls him Uncle Tommy while he's sleeping," Buck announces, and fully ignores Maddie's stern look in favor of flipping through the dozen pictures he'd captured himself.

#bucktommy ficlet #bucktommy #tevan #uncle tommy is in the doghouse #Jee's doghouse anyway

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scarsnfevers · 2 months ago

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The Road Away

Prologue of Wolfgang

summary: You needed a clean break. A reset. If the past was going to haunt you, it could do so from a distance. The city had always felt too small and too loud all at once. The steel and glass, the relentless buzz of traffic, the stink of too many lives packed into too tight a space—it pressed against your senses in ways others couldn't understand. But it wasn’t just the humans. The city teemed with others of your kind. Wolves.

genre: werewolf!stray kids x werewolf!reader

chapter word count: 1,5k

chapter warnings: loneliness

You had never liked packing. The act itself was tedious, a chore buried somewhere between indecision and sentimentality. But this time, it was something else entirely. This time, it felt like peeling away layers of your own skin, each cardboard box a confession, a piece of yourself that no longer belonged to the person you were trying to become. You stood in the middle of the apartment—your apartment—where echoes now rang louder than your thoughts. The bookshelves were bare, the kitchen stripped to essentials, the bedframe dismantled. What remained were the ghosts of late nights, quiet breakdowns, and days blurred by exhaustion.

Outside, the early morning sky wore a veil of grey, mist curling between buildings like it was alive. Inside, you crouched by an open suitcase, carefully tucking in a worn photo album. The cover was scratched, the pages slightly curled, but the memories inside were too precious to leave behind. Alongside it went your laptop—your lifeline, your history, your work. A few clothes, a flashlight, a pair of sturdy boots, a half-used journal, and your favorite mug. That was it. You had given away most of your furniture. The couch that had supported your weary frame after long shifts, the armchair with the wine-stained cushion, even the coffee table with the splintered leg—all gone. You needed a clean break. A reset. If the past was going to haunt you, it could do so from a distance.

The city had always felt too small and too loud all at once. The steel and glass, the relentless buzz of traffic, the stink of too many lives packed into too tight a space—it pressed against your senses in ways others couldn't understand. But it wasn’t just the humans. Seattle teemed with others of your kind.

Wolves.

Too many packs, too many alphas posturing, too many silent battles fought in crowded elevators and boardrooms. You had spent the last few years trying to dull your edges, hide your instincts behind power suits and conference calls. But the scent of dominance hung thick in the air. There were always meetings where someone tried to assert control with nothing more than a glance. Always those late nights when the moon called too loud and you had to fight the tremble in your limbs. Always that feeling of being watched, challenged, provoked—even by those who smiled politely. And as an alpha, even one who never sought power or pack, it was a constant weight.

You had tried to hold it all together. Tried to be normal. But the tension never truly left your shoulders. Your skin itched under fluorescent lights. Your hearing stretched too far, your nose catching whiffs of anger, fear, desire—all so sharp, all so constant. Over time, the city drained you. Slowly. Quietly. Like water eroding stone.

So, when the final project wrapped and the lease came due, you didn’t renew. Instead, you searched. For something quieter. Simpler. Farther. Fox River. You hadn’t heard of it before you stumbled across a listing for a cabin in the woods. Five hours from Seattle, population barely three digits, tucked between forests and forgotten lakes. The pictures showed pine trees and a misty hill behind the cabin. The seller’s name was John Whittaker. The price was reasonable. And something about it tugged at you. You made the call.

The trunk of your car was a patchwork of duffels, sealed boxes, and a folded wool blanket. Everything you owned now fit in the back of a vehicle. You stood there for a moment after slamming the hatch shut, keys cold in your palm, breath fogging in the morning chill. The street was empty. A light drizzle began to fall, speckling the windshield, trailing tiny rivers down the glass. No one came to wave you off. There were no lingering goodbyes. Just the soft hum of the engine as you turned the key, the city skyline disappearing behind you with each mile.

Traffic faded as you moved northward, buildings giving way to trees, streetlights to open sky. You took the highway out past Everett, then veered eastward, climbing steadily toward the highlands. The terrain shifted beneath your tires—concrete to gravel, flatland to forested ridges. Each mile tasted of distance. Of release.

You kept the windows cracked. The air grew colder, crisper. Cleaner. It carried the scent of rain and pine and something else. Freedom, maybe. The road curved like a ribbon through the mountains. You passed a gas station that looked like it hadn't changed since the seventies. A lone hiker walking alongside the road. A family of deer that froze as you approached, then leapt gracefully into the trees. Time slipped differently here. You could feel it.

Eventually, your GPS went quiet, the screen blinking blankly at you as you reached the edge of mapped civilization. You followed the directions John had given you by phone, scribbled on the back of an old receipt. Left at the old quarry. Right past the dead oak. Two miles down a gravel lane until the forest opened up like a breath. The trees parted, revealing a small clearing bathed in afternoon light. Moss carpeted the forest floor, and the cabin stood in its center like something out of a dream—wood dark with age, the roof steep and shingled in rough slate. Smoke trickled from the chimney in a slow spiral. A dark red truck was already there.

John Whittaker was exactly as he sounded: tall, silver-haired, wrapped in flannel and denim, with eyes like weathered stone. He watched you climb out of your car, then walked over, a hand extended in welcome.

"You made good time," he said with a warm smile. You returned the handshake, firm and grounding. "Barely got lost." He chuckled. "That’s saying something. Most folks don’t make it on the first try."

Together, you walked toward the cabin. The porch creaked under your steps, and the front door opened with a soft groan. Inside, the air smelled of cedar and old firewood. Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden light. The interior was small but sturdy—a stone fireplace, a modest kitchenette, a cozy reading nook by a bay window, and stairs leading to a lofted sleeping area above. You walked slowly, fingers trailing along wooden beams and windowsills. Everything was handmade. Honest.

"I fixed it up over the years," John said. "Was going to keep it for the grandkids, but they’re more screen than forest these days. You look like you’ll treat it right." You turned to him, feeling something unfamiliar and warm rise in your chest. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief.

"I will. Thank you."

He nodded, then handed you a heavy brass key. "She likes to be warm in winter. Keep the hearth going, and she won’t give you trouble. Pipes are good. Roof too, unless it’s a real blizzard." He paused then, glancing toward the woods. "Me and my wife live a few kilometers that way, down the trail behind the house. If you ever need anything—tools, food, help with the generator—just holler. Don’t be a stranger." You stepped onto the porch with him, watching the sky shift into a palette of lavender and gold. The trees whispered in the distance. The world here felt wider, older.

"I won’t," you said. "Thanks again. For everything."

He tipped his hat, smiled once more, and drove off slowly, tires crunching over gravel until the forest swallowed the sound.

And then you were alone.

You stood there for a long time, breathing. Listening. The woods pressed close around you, but not in the way the city had. This was different. This was peace, not pressure. The weight in your chest began to lift, like something inside of you had been held underwater for too long and was finally surfacing. As dusk fell, you unpacked only what was necessary—a blanket, your journal, a single lamp. You lit a fire in the hearth, watching as the flames caught and grew. The light danced across the wooden walls, casting long shadows.

And then, just as the last blush of sun dipped behind the ridge, you heard it.

A howl.

Far off. Low. Mournful.

It echoed through the valley, resonating in your chest like a memory you hadn’t known you carried. You froze, heart stuttering. Every hair on your arms stood up. You knew that sound. Not just what it was, but what it meant. You stepped onto the porch again, eyes scanning the darkness. The trees swayed gently, their branches rustling like breath. And something inside you stirred. Something old and aching.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you let your instincts rise, let the wild inside you shift just beneath the surface. You closed your eyes, tilted your head toward the moonlit canopy, and listened.

And somewhere deep in the forest, something listened back.

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harridansibyl · 6 months ago

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Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

#astrology #astrology community #astro tumblr #astro notes #astroblr #astrology aesthetic #4th house #6th house #8th house #12th house

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cocosparkel · 5 months ago

Text

Curiosity killed the cat (but satisfaction brought it back)

chapter 3

Summary-

When Marinette finds out that she is adopted, she tracks down her Biological aunt. Who happens to live Gotham, the place she swore she wouldn't go. Well, Gotham just gained a new vigilante - Chaos.

<<Previous next>>

Chapter 3 : Hello, Gotham

(Word count : 829 )

Looking around at her now empty room, Marientte felt nostalgic. Same time tomorrow, she would be in Gotham, arranging her things in her new room in her penthouse in the safest part of Gotham, which once belonged to Her biological parents. They were well off, and left quite a fortune in her name, including the penthouse which was apparently her childhood home.

After having a long overdue talk with her godmother, she learnt quite a lot about her family.

Her father was supposed to be the heir to a famous fashion company, The Draper. (When she heard that her grandmother is one of her idols, Marinette couldn't stop fangirling.) But unfortunately her father had been disowned by his mother, for he refused to marry the woman his mother wanted him to marry, and instead married Diane, her mother.

Diane came from a middle class family, apparently she was the illegitimate child of some underboss. Diane’s mother had committed suicide when diane was young, and her father was obviously out of the picture. Her step father however, continuously abused her mother when she was alive, and after her death, abused Diane and her sister, Selina.

Selina was definitely alive, but Sabine said she had fallen out of touch with her many years ago, when Marinette was still just a child.

Now, Marinette decided, she would reach out to both her aunt, and her grandmother, and make amends.

Finally ready to leave, Marinette made her way downstairs.

“Maman ! Papa !” She called. “I’m ready to leave!”

Immediately, her parents were next to her, pampering her, making sure she had everything.

“You promise to call twice a day ?” her mother asked her.

“Yes maman” Marinette said sincerely, guilty about lying.

“Marinette, we are going to miss you so much,” her father said, his eyes growing misty.

“Papa, I'll be back before u know it. It's just for the next 2 years !” Marinette said, touched at her father's confession, but slightly exasperated.

“I know”, her father said, the ‘I'll still miss you too’ left unsaid, but it was understood.

“My baby is all grown up,” her mother said, and Marinette sighed, thinking 'here we go again', without any real annoyance.

______________________________________________________________

After another 10 minutes of her parents smothering her, Marinette finally left her home.She still had six hours for her flight, and she had to meet up with the miracle court. Well, a part of the miracle court.

“Marinette!” Chloe exclaimed as she walked into Chloe's room, “you look so stunning!”

“You look so pretty, Mari-hime,” Kagami said, looking up from her phone without missing a beat.

Blushing, Marinette thanked both of them.

Marinette was in fact very proud of the dress she was wearing, it took quite some time for her to design. To ‘celebrate’ her last day in Paris, she decided to dress up.

Her dress was a spaghetti-strap v neck, coming till just above her knee. It was a dark, midnight blue, with golden glitter at the hem of the dress. At the neckline, she had sewn tiny white rhinestones. The part of the dress which took her the longest was its embroidery.

She had used a thin gold thread, and embroidered little stars, in an array of constellations.

She paired the dress with a black scarf, which had a moon at one end and the sun at the other end.

Slipping off her surprisingly comfortable heels, she sat on the couch opposite Chloe.

For the next one hour, she talked to them about her plans, and what was to be done in case of an emergency.

After promising to call daily, and a very tearful goodbye, Marinette made her way to the airport.

______________________________________________________________

On the aeroplane, Marinette felt quite nervous, her mind racing with all the different things that could happen.

She knew that if she was treading down a path which led to the end of the world, Bunnyx would let her know, and she and Bunnyx would work together to fix it, like they always did.

That mere thought calmed her down enough, for her to close her eyes without vivid scenes of destruction of Paris, her family and her friends dying flashing through her eyes, a reminder of the responsibility she held, which was crushing her, and god did she wish she had someone she could share it with.

Sure she had the miracle court, but everyone of them looked up to her, she was their leader. The Order of the Guardians couldn't take her seriously, she wasn't trained or chosen the way they were as if that was more than the things she did to protect Paris for the past 5 years, and so she was lesser than them, nevermind the fact that she was the grand guardian.

She craved for someone to see her as their equal. Honestly, Marinette was exhausted.

Maybe, just maybe, Gotham would provide her a fresh slate.

Slowly, with a new hope ignited in her, Marinette fell asleep.

______________________________________________________________

<<Previous next>>

A.N. Want to know when the next chapter is posted ? Let me know and I'll tag you in the next chapter :)

(Short filler chapter, but i hope you like it !)

Taglist -

@radmusicstrawberry @trashyangelic

@myazael @shadowwyng @depressed-bitchy-demon @meira-3919

@itsanimepotato @gladly-be-the-good @jenjubili

#mlb x dc #maribat au #marinette dupain cheng #damian x marinette #dc x mlb #daminette #marinette x damian #damian wayne #damian al ghul #miraculous ladybug #batman #robin #damimari #daminette december #miraculous marinette #miraculous au #batman and robin #batfam #dc robin

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marilynthornhilllover · 2 months ago

Text

{ Camera Lens }

Misty Quigley x Fem!Reader

Warning:SMUT, minors DNI, fingering, foreplay, sucking of breast, body worshipping, use of honey, use of ice, slight cunnilingus, praise kink, squirting, video recording, semi public sex.

Synopsis: Ever since misty found an old but fairly new camera in the shed she’s been obsessed with capturing long lasting memories on it……

A/n: honestly not my best work I was not in the mood when writing but the lack of misty fics on here is diabolical……

Ever since the plan crash, everyone has been trying to find something that resonates with them, something that brings peace and not add to the chaos that we were all already experiencing. It was kinda pretty fun actually, like we all pretty much had hobbies now. Taissa and van would go hunting, Jackie and Shauna could still try to do their girly stuff while Natalie Travis would go about doing their own weird science shit, or they would try to but sometimes they’d go haunting too. The other girls had their other stuff going.

Lottie on the other hand…… she was just in her own world. But if needed she had her own role that she often played very well. Everyone was teamed, grouped or coupled up. Except for you and misty. They all thought that misty was the weird one…. You know the so called ‘psychopath’ that wanted to poison or kill everyone. So no one really hanged out with her, or allowed her to join their group so it was just you and her.

After some time you all lost count of how many days you’ve been stranded. Everyone had different numbers but everyone was still close to a year, so that’s all the information you had pertaining to day counts. It was like being caged in a room with nothing to do, or rather caged in a world, you see the same damn people everyday. Eat the same thing everyday— sometimes nothing at all.

It was the worst. When misty found an old camera in the shed of the old cabin you guys were living in she was over the moon happy. She’d make vlogs, take pictures, record little nature talks. And sometimes when a week had passed she’d neatly arrange the videos properly and set it up on the old projector and have little movie nights. It wasn’t the clearest or the loudest, the audio was messed up a bit but at least everyone had something to keep them entertained— sane rather.

The more time passed the more you started to catch feelings for misty. She wasn’t so bad after all, she was kind, smart, funny— sometimes. She was very protective of you, on some concerning levels but you didn’t mind. And she’d rant to you all the time about random shit that you strangely found quite interesting, maybe it’s because you were cut off from civilization but at least it kept you occupied.

The two of you would get rather close and touchy but tried to keep it on the low so the others won’t notice. When they were all asleep she’d slip her hand in your underwear and touch you, or when they went out haunting the both of you would take turns eating eachother out and doing all the naked sexual activities imaginable.

Today was hot……. Too hot to bare. The heat didn’t exactly bother the others but it did for you. So you decided to change into your swim suit and head down to the lake. But obviously misty wouldn’t let you go alone. On her note ‘ there could be wild animals waiting to ravish you’ she wasn’t wrong, on the way you both had to take different routes due to bears and other wild animals but you had finally made it down to the lake in one piece.

“ it’s so hot, I’m gonna take off my clothes” you didn’t even wait for misty to reply before you dashed off into the water. You floated for a while before you decided to take a dip completely. After you cooled off you decided to go back up to the shore and get your towel. But you should have noticed the way misty was looking at you and the camera in her hand. As soon as you were reaching for your towel you saw a flash go off.

Turning to look at her surprised you realized what she did.

“ misty…. Did you just take a picture of me?” When she didn’t reply you tried to take her camera but she wasn’t swift and quickly pulled it away, you hurriedly rapped your towel around your wet dripping body before you tackled her to the ground. You both fought against eachother for a while before misty flipped your body over, caging you in with her thighs of either side of your waist before pinning both your arms above your head.

“ misty i’m serious! Delete it” you couldn’t fight against her anymore, she was far more stronger than you and plus you were tired and it was way to hot to be playing these type of scandalous games. You were not having any of it. She chucked softly when she saw your pout and frustrated sigh. She released your hands before leaning over and sitting up the camera against a stone, carefully positioning it to directly face the both of you.

The reached inside of her bag and pulled out a small bottle of honey and a zip lock bag with ice. You were completely confused and concerned, is she gonna eat you. She saw the slight panic on your face and instantly leaned down and captured her lips with yours. The kiss was slow and reassuring. Like she was telling you to relax. The heat of your body and hers mixed together was already driving you insane.

And her body on you who was half naked had you squirming as your head began to spin. Misty broke the kiss and began moving her hands up and down your sides, gently squeezing and scratching her nails against the soft flesh causing you to shiver and move away slightly. She carefully undid the knot from your towel and unfolded it. She paused for a moment as she looked at your breast. So round and full, your nipples were stiff and stood upright before her, as tiny droplets of sweat passed through the valley inbetween your breast.

“ god you have the nicest tits I’ve ever seen” you watched as her eyes light up like a little child on Christmas as she slowly started to massage your breast. A soft moan escaped you as she continued before her actions came to a halt. She leaned over and opened the bottle of honey before pouring a huge amount onto your breast and chest.

“ Misty what if someone comes down here and sees us” you whisper as your scrutinized the area around you, especially the trees, they were said to have eyes. The wilderness sees everything.

“ let them baby, if i wanna have you then i shall have you” with that she took one of your nipple into her mouth, moaning at the sweet taste of the honey. Your chest arched slightly up towards her when she bagan sucking furiously on the small bud, carefully swirling her tongue around it before continuing her pulls and twist. After all the honey was gone she repeated the same process on the other one.

Releasing your left breast with a pop, saliva still connecting her lips to your bud she pulls away and decides to make her way down your body. Leaving hot trials of kisses on your stomach and sides as she spreads your thighs open, her eyes snaps up towards you when she sees the mess you’ve made for her already.

“ such a pretty pussy, and she’s all mine” her voice was husked and stern, possessive even. But she was right, no one has ever made you cum on their fingers the way Misty has, you’ve only ever screamed her name, only she has ever fucked you senseless. And God did you love it.

“ such a good girl, gonna let me play with your pussy baby?” She asks and you nod gasping when you feel her fingers drag against your folds, she swirls all the slick onto her two digits before unexpectedly pushing them into you. You moan her name sweetly as your hand flew to hold her wrist in place, she doesn’t move, she allows your cunt to adjust to the stretch, feeling as your walls swell open to accommodate her fingers in you.

Your eyes roll back when she starts easing her fingers out before gently thrusting them back in. She raises one leg and places it on her shoulder as she continues thrusting in you.

“ misty please—FUCK” your hand immediately goes to cover your mouth when you feel her curl her digits deep within you as she quickens her pace. You eagerly spread your other leg a little wider allowing her to go deeper within your cunt. Her fingers hit just the right spot as your spongy walls hold into her fingers, clenching down on them tightly . Misty leans down and kisses your jaw and neck area as she evens her pace.

Your back arches even more as your eyes roll back. Your toes curl as you hold onto her hair for dear life. Your breathing becomes deranged, mind fuzzy as you begin to completely lose yourself in the feeling of euphoria.

“ please please please” you didn’t even know what you were begging for, but it just felt so fucking good, you needed her to fuck your brains out, you wished she had a cock, to make you cum over and over again then fill you up, breed you and make you have her baby. God you’d love that. To carry her baby. Be called her slut.

You were rolling your hips and meeting her thrust and all that could be heard was the filthy sound of your juices soaking her hand as she fucked you raw and knuckles deep. You were her whore and you were proud of it.

“ that’s it baby, take it, you wanna cum? Wanna cum on my fingers and make me proud?” At this point you couldn’t hear anything, you were too much in the haze of it. You were completely gone, to another world, all you could feel and comprehend was how good she was making you feel right now and you didn’t want it to stop.

“ FUCK—shit! Misty I’m gonna cum! Gonna pee—“ before you could warn her your orgasm hits you twice as hard as it usually does you and feel yourself release something that feels way more liquefied than normal. Oh You definitely squirted. You completely crashed. Your body shivered and shook violently as she continued fucking her fingers in your cunt feeling all your juice soak her entire hand. She pulls out her fingers and brings her hand up to your mouth.

“ clean my hand bitch” you obey her orders and take each finger into your mouth one by one as you sucked each of them clean. After she peppers your face with kisses before she snakes her way down back towards your cunt. Watching your thighs tremble uncontrollably she still pushes them part and licks around your labia. Your hand grabbed her hair making a make shift ponytail as you sat up to look at her.

“ baby please, no more” Misty shakes her head and moves to your clit, licking and sucking around the small bud, your head falls back slightly as a pornograhpic moan escapes your throat. That’s when you feel a sharp coldness on your lower abdomen and looking down you seen that she placed an ice cube on your tummy, gently swirling it around. Soon pressure starts to build up within you and just when you’re about to cum misty places the ice on your clit , pushing you over the edge. She holds your hand as you ride out your orgasm before placing another ice cube inside your cunt.

You whine before she hushes you as she gently pulls your panties up your thighs for you.

“ get dressed and let’s head back, it’s getting dark” you gulp and nod at her suggestion, getting up quickly you grabbed your stuff and quickly threw on the pair of shorts and the tee shirt that you had brought. Misty takes up her camera and quickly runs through the video, smiling at her work of art….. that was made for only her eyes to see.

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yungistiny · 2 months ago

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THIEVES GUILD

[ J. Yunho ]

COMING IN MAY

╚═════════

In the world of Z, nothing is ever as it seems.

The cities glitter with modern towers built atop the bones of ancient kingdoms. Neon signs glow in the misty alleys of Elven markets, where merchants trade spells like currency. Vampires sip synthetic blood in rooftop lounges, and werecreatures run in underground rings, far from the reach of law or light. Magic thrums beneath the pavement, tangled with the scent of oil and incense, and old power still lives in the shadows, waiting to be claimed, or stolen.

The Thieves Guild answers to no crown. Led by the sharp, minded and ruthless human Hongjoong, it operates in the cracks between worlds. No job too risky. No target too sacred. Just the score.

This time, the score is a princess.

Kidnap her. Deliver her. Walk away rich.

That was the plan. A royal masquerade would be the perfect distraction. San and Yunho would slip in unnoticed, cloaked in elegance and false names, pluck the girl from her gilded cage, and vanish before midnight.

But nothing in Z is ever that simple.

They didn’t expect her to fight. To run. To see them, truly see them.

And Yunho didn’t expect to recognize her.

Not from memory, but from prophecy.

Years ago, when he was barely more than a boy, a seer with silver eyes and a voice like cracking ice had told him his fate. Beware the girl with the mark of the two moons. She will be your undoing.

He’d laughed at the time. He doesn’t laugh now.

Because the princess, Y/N, bears the mark. Faint and luminous, just beneath her collarbone. Two crescent moons, locked in orbit.

She is half elven, half human. A child of two worlds. And in her presence, Yunho feels his carefully built walls begin to crumble. Every instinct screams to finish the job. To deliver her, collect the coin, and forget she ever existed.

But it’s too late for that.

The job has failed. The plan has fractured. And now, with San at his side and Y/N bound by more than ropes, Yunho must carry her across the wild, dangerous land of Z, hunted by enemies, haunted by fate, and holding fast to the one thing he never wanted….

Hope.

Because she is no longer just a mark.

She is the beginning of his end.

And maybe… the only way to truly be free.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990

#if anyone wants to be added to the tag list please let me know #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x y/n #yunho x reader #ateez #ateez fic

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neeksparksg · 8 months ago

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A Moonlit Memory

On 0001 Cemetery Lane stood the Addams mansion, looming in eerie grandeur against the dim light of a misty morning.

Y/n, stepped into the living room. "Ghoulheart, my love," she purred, wrapping her arms around Gomez, who was engrossed in his model trains. "are we letting the locomotives roam free today?"

Gomez chuckled, his mustache twitching with excitement. "Absolutely, Amore mio! All aboard the Addams Express!" He turned to face her, planting a kiss on her lips.

Just then, Morticia entered, her elegant gown flowing as gracefully as ever, her presence enough to capture everyone’s attention. "Beautiful as always, my beloved Nightshade," Y/n greeted her, giving a subtle but intimate kiss on Morticia's cheek.

Morticia’s lips curved into a smile. "And a lovely morning to you too, my love." She reached for Gomez, pulling him into their embrace.

Their moment was interrupted by Uncle Fester, bursting into the room. "Gomez! Y/n! Morticia! Guess what I've invented? A train track that changes its form automatically!" he declared, dragging in a desk covered with a blanket.

Gomez’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Halloween. "Fester, you’ve outdone yourself! Let’s give it a whirl!"

"Boys and their trains," Y/n whispered with a smile as she watched Gomez and Fester excitedly pull the blanket off the table to reveal an built-in train track.

As Fester and Gomez fiddled with the setup, Morticia turned to Y/n. "There will be a beautiful full moon tonight, my dear. Perfect for a moonlit stroll."

A smile crept across Y/n’s face at her wife’s suggestion. "Absolutely perfect, my love. Let's ask Lurch and the kids if they’d like to join." She pulled on the rope hanging from the ceiling, ringing the large bell that echoed through the house.

Lurch’s tall, looming figure appeared silently from the shadows. "You rang?"

Y/n looked at him with a grin. "Lurch, my dear, ominous friend, would you accompany us on a moonlit stroll tonight?" Lurch answer was just to give a solemnly nod.

Just then, Grandmama shuffled in from the kitchen. "A stroll, eh? Just remember to watch out for werewolves!"

"Don’t worry, Mamá," Y/n replied. "I’ll be sure to pack a snack for them."

The sound of scampering feet announced the arrival of Wednesday and Pugsley. "Morning, Mother, Mom," Wednesday greeted, looking up at Morticia and Y/n. "We've been working on a potion to turn vegetables into bats."

Pugsley added, "It’s not working yet, but it makes great slime!" He held up his hands, covered in a gooey mess.

Y/n chuckled. "Still that is Impressive work, you two."

As the morning melted into afternoon, the family went about their usual activities. Morticia tended her garden; Y/n rested in the living room, listening as Lurch played the piano; Gomez and Fester tried to outdo each other with in a explosives battle, and Wednesday and Pugsley enjoyed their break in the playroom after finishing Grandmama’s lessons.

As night fell, the family gathered in the garden, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. Before setting off, Y/n turned to the kids. “Did you remember to leave food for Aristotle and Homer?”

“Yes, we fed them earlier,” Pugsley replied. Fester chimed in, “And I gave Kitty Kat some meat. You know how much that cat eats—wouldn’t want him sneaking out to hunt.”

“Good thinking,” Y/n nodded approvingly. “Poor thing wouldn’t last a second out there.” With everyone ready, they began their moonlit stroll, arms linked.

“It truly is a remarkable night,” Morticia murmured, resting her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

Gomez grinned. “Absolutely. A brilliant idea to come out tonight!”

The stars twinkled above, casting long, shifting shadows across the garden. Pugsley and Wednesday glanced up at their parents, curiosity lighting their faces.

“Mom, Dad… Mother,” Pugsley began, “how did you three meet?”

Morticia’s lips curled into a nostalgic smile. “Ah, well then, gather ’round, and we’ll share a tale from the days of our youth.”

Gomez leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “It was a night much like this, many moons ago. Your mother and I were young.”

Morticia continued, her voice soft and melodic. “We’d heard whispers of a peculiar circus in town, one promising oddities beyond imagination. Naturally, we thought it would make for an unforgettable date.”

Gomez chuckled, his enthusiasm infectious. “The circus was like no other—a strange blend of performances and macabre wonders. But amid it all, we spotted something special.”

Morticia gently brushed a stray lock of Wednesday’s hair. “A curious sign caught our attention: ‘Gaze into the Spirit Veil and Communicate with the Beyond.’ We were intrigued, drawn in by the mysteries it promised.”

Y/n’s eyes sparkled as Morticia spoke. “We entered a tent adorned with mystic symbols and deep velvet curtains. In the center, a figure cloaked in shadow awaited. She stepped into the light, revealing the most captivating girl I’d ever seen.”

Pugsley leaned forward, wide-eyed. “You were part of the circus?!”

Y/n chuckled softly. “Yes. I had a gift—connecting with spirits—and the circus… well, they exploited it. People would come to speak to the beyond through me.”

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened. “What happened next?”

Gomez’s gaze softened, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “As I looked into Y/n’s eyes, it felt like the world around us disappeared. We were drawn to each other like moths to a flame.”

Morticia’s voice held a touch of mystery. “It was love at first sight.”

Y/n’s smile was tender. “We spoke without words; it was as if our souls connected in that single moment.”

Gomez’s tone turned mischievous. “We knew we had to help Y/n escape the circus and its clutches.”

Morticia nodded, her eyes reflecting a boldness from her younger years. “With a plan as daring as it was risky, we orchestrated a grand escape. Beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, we whisked Y/n away into the warmth of our love.”

Pugsley’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And then you got married?”

Gomez laughed, ruffling Pugsley’s hair. “Exactly, my boy!”

Y/n let out a soft laugh, watching her family fondly. “Well, it wasn’t quite that simple, but yes, that’s how it all started.”

#the addams family #wednesday addams #morticia addams #gomez addams #pugsley addams #fester addams #the addams family x reader #morticia addams x reader #gomez addams x reader #gomez addams x reader x Morticia Addams #polylove

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shelovesosa · 13 days ago

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And, if it was you?

A/n: pure agnst.I luv this song oh me gah.

The rain had a habit of visiting on days Toji didn’t want to remember. It wasn’t a storm, not really. Just a soft, persistent drizzle that made the streets of the sleepy seaside town smell like rust and old regrets. He walked without an umbrella, water soaking into his coat, drops clinging to the strands of his dark hair like memories he couldn’t shake.

He didn’t flinch when thunder rolled far off in the distance. Just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking.

The ocean waited at the end of the street. Waves whispered against the shore like a voice he hadn’t heard in years—yours.

You used to hum when you didn’t think anyone was listening. Low, soft, tuneless things that made him want to stay in the room just a little longer. He remembered that. He remembered too much for a man who told himself every day that forgetting was easier.

And yet here he was. Following the sound of something that wasn’t really there.

Toji stopped at the edge of the boardwalk, staring out at the misty water. It was the place you used to come in the early mornings, always barefoot, always carrying coffee for two even when he didn’t ask.

“It's quiet here,” you had once said, tucking hair behind your ear. “People don't say the things they mean out loud here. But sometimes, the silence says it for them.”

He had laughed at the time, said something about you being too poetic. You only smiled. Toji clenched his jaw, muscles ticking. The café on the corner was still open. Same dull lights. Same crooked window. He passed it, as he always did, but paused. Something in the air had shifted.

He saw the back of a figure seated by the window. It couldn’t be you.

But the shape of the shoulders, the way they tilted slightly like you always did when you were lost in thought—that detail made the blood leave his face. His heart thumped once, hard. He turned away before he could see more. Coward.

You weren’t there. You hadn’t been for a long time. But maybe, if he stood still enough, he could imagine what it would be like if you were.

He returned home, wet and cold, the apartment as silent as always. The walls were bare except for a single photo tucked in the corner of a bookshelf. The kind you didn’t frame, didn’t mean to keep.

In it, you were laughing.

He hadn't even realized he was in the frame too, slightly behind you, out of focus, looking at you like you'd hung the moon. That version of him didn’t exist anymore. Toji poured a drink he didn’t want, sat on the edge of the bed he never made, and stared at the photo until it blurred.

“What if it had been you?” he whispered to the dark. The rain answered, soft against the glass.

The knock came at noon, sharp and steady. Three times. Toji didn’t move right away. He stared at the door from the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand, the other braced on the countertop. No one ever visited. No one had reason to.

The knock came again. Louder.

He opened it.

“Long time,” said Shiu.

Toji’s shoulders tensed. He hadn’t seen the man in years—another ghost wearing skin. Shiu still dressed like he worked security for someone rich and paranoid. Bulletproof smile, black coat, hair slicked back like he’d never aged a day.

Toji didn’t reply. He stepped aside without a word.

Inside, Shiu glanced around the small, undecorated apartment. “Still living like you're halfway packed for somewhere.”

Toji grunted. “Say what you came to say.”

Shiu took something out of his coat pocket and set it on the table. A small object. A ribbon.

Toji stared. It was yours.

Still tied into a loop the way you used to wear it on your wrist when your hair was too short to pull back. Still the same faded burgundy, edges frayed from your fidgeting.

“Where did you—”

“She left it at my place once. Years ago,”

Shiu said casually. “Found it cleaning out a drawer.” He watched Toji’s reaction. “I figured maybe it still meant something.”

Toji didn’t answer.

“You were different when she was around,” Shiu added after a pause. “Didn’t smile more, but… you were alive.”

Toji walked to the table slowly. He didn’t touch the ribbon. Just stared at it like it was radioactive. Then—almost too quietly to hear—he said, “I don’t remember the first thing she said to me.”

FLASHBACK —

It had been raining that night too.

He was sitting on the steps outside a run-down training hall, shoulders burning from too many hours fighting off men who paid him to hurt them. A busted lip. A split knuckle. His cigarette was soaked before he could light it.

And then, you showed up. You were holding a broken umbrella and a bag of food. You didn’t look at him like he was a monster. Just dropped down beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I think your knuckles are going to scar,”

you said, passing him a rice ball.

He blinked. Took it.“You’ve been watching me?”

You shrugged. “Hard to miss the guy who never looks up.” He should’ve told you to leave. Instead, he stayed quiet. Ate. Let the silence fill with something new.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said after a while, eyes on the street.

He laughed, once, dry. “You should be.”

But you weren’t. You never had been.

PRESENT DAY —

Toji sat at the table long after Shiu left, the ribbon still untouched beside his drink.

He picked it up just once, held it between calloused fingers, then let it drop into the drawer where he kept everything he didn’t want to feel.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped.

But the sky was still gray. And your voice still echoed in the places where silence lived. The city had started to bloom again, cherry trees heavy with petals that never seemed to fall. But Toji noticed none of it. He walked with his eyes lowered, hands in his pockets, steps careful—as if the sidewalk might split open if he moved too fast.

You were everywhere.Not in the way people are when they leave behind clothes or shared playlists. It was subtler. More dangerous. He saw you in the curve of a girl’s smile on the train. In the rhythm of a laugh from a passing stranger. A shadow cast across a window that lingered just a second too long. The color of someone’s coat in a crowd, the soft drag of a footstep behind him.

But when he turned, it was never you.

It couldn’t be. You were gone.And yet.

He kept hearing his name.

Once in a bookstore, low and breathless—“Toji…”

Once in a dream he woke from with his hands clenched and your name caught between his teeth. And once, standing outside the old riverside café, where his chest suddenly hurt like it remembered something before his brain did.

That day, he followed the pull.

FLASHBACK —

You were barefoot in the park, toes in the grass, spinning in place while he leaned against a tree, watching with narrowed eyes.

“You’re gonna fall,” he muttered.

You grinned. “You always say that when I’m happy.”

“That’s because your idea of happy looks like danger.”

You didn’t answer. Just walked over, chest rising and falling from the effort. You stopped in front of him, too close, the heat of summer and your skin brushing his arm.

He didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe the fact that you looked at him like he wasn’t broken. Like he could be gentle. Like he deserved someone saying his name the way you did.

So he kissed you. Rougher than he meant to. Brief. Uncertain. When he pulled back, you just touched your lips and smiled. “I was wondering when you’d get around to that.”

PRESENT DAY —

Toji opened the drawer. The ribbon was still there. But this time, it felt heavier in his hand. He stood up. Walked to the sink. Turned on the faucet—and stopped.

The bathroom mirror was fogged, though he hadn’t used the shower. And across the glass, written in the condensation he hadn’t made, were the words:

"Do you still think about me?"

His stomach dropped. He spun around.

Empty. No windows open. No heat. No logical answer. He reached for the mirror with a shaking hand and wiped it clean.

Gone.

Toji stood there a long time, heart thudding, ears ringing with silence that didn’t feel like his own. Maybe he was losing it. Maybe you were still here in the only way someone could be when they were loved and lost but never really let go.

Or maybe…

Maybe something else was happening.

Toji found himself back at the river.

He hadn’t meant to go there. He’d been walking without thinking again, letting the city guide him the way your voice used to—wordless but certain. The river had risen from the recent rains, the water running faster than he remembered.

He stared at the railing where you once leaned, elbows folded, face tipped toward the water like you were asking it a question. That was the last time he saw you. His fingers grazed the metal rail.

It was cold. So was the memory.

FLASHBACK —

It had been raining that night, too. It always seemed to rain with you. Maybe the sky knew something he didn’t. Maybe it mourned early.

You curled beside him on the couch, legs tangled in his, heartbeat pressed against his chest.

"Promise me something," you murmured.

He had hummed in response.

“If something happens… if I ever disappear or fall off the edge of the world… don’t forget I was here. That I loved you. That I meant it.”

He’d frowned. “Why would you say that?”

You didn’t answer. You just kissed him.

PRESENT DAY —

Toji lit a cigarette with trembling fingers, the taste bitter on his tongue. He hadn't smoked in months. The wind kicked up. Something moved across the water—a reflection? A shimmer?He turned quickly.

Nothing.

But then—his phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, expecting some junk message. But the screen showed “Unknown Number”.

And the text read:

"You said it wasn’t love. But what if it was?"

His breath caught. He deleted it without thinking—but the words burned in his chest. Back home, he dug through the closet, searching, pulling down old boxes like a man unburying a body. He found your journal—forgotten, bent, full of your handwriting.

And in the back, between torn pages and sketches, there was a folded piece of paper he’d never seen before. Dated the week after your last visit.

“I’m not gone yet, Toji. But if you keep pretending I was never here… I will be.”

What he didn’t know was that you had never meant to disappear. You were going to come back. You were going to try again.

But something—someone—got in the way.

And Toji was just beginning to realize: this wasn’t over. You weren’t done with him yet.

It started with the smell. At first, Toji thought he was imagining it. A trace of jasmine in the hallway outside his apartment door. Faint, like a memory. Like the perfume you used to wear when you wanted him to notice. He paused, fingers grazing the wood of the doorframe, heart slowing to a crawl.

Jasmine.

He hadn’t smelled it since you left.

He pushed into the apartment and froze.

There was a sound—soft, rhythmic. A hum. Coming from the bedroom.

Toji approached like a man chasing a ghost in his own mind. The door creaked open with a groan, and the room lay empty. Still. Unchanged. Except for the mirror.

There were fingerprints on the glass. Small, too delicate to be his.

And across the surface, fogged just faintly, someone had traced a word:

"Stay."

He stepped back like it burned him.

And then the knock came.

Not from the door. But from the past.

One Hour Earlier – A Woman Outside

She had been standing in the rain when he passed her. At first, he didn’t stop. Then she called his name—not loudly. Not angrily. Just… knowingly.

“Toji.” He turned. She was older than you, but not by much. Hair pulled into a loose twist. Familiar eyes.

“You don’t know me,” she said before he could speak. “But I knew her.”

Toji didn’t move.

“She was my sister.”

PRESENT —

Her name was Emi. You never spoke about her much. Said she was the golden child. Said she wouldn’t understand.

She stood in Toji’s kitchen like she’d done it before, making tea like she was searching for something more than warmth.

“She tried to tell me about you once,” Emi said, pouring the water slowly. “Said you made her feel like the world wasn’t so loud.”

Toji didn’t speak.

“She stopped calling after a while. Said she needed to get away from everything—Tokyo, family, memories. Said it felt like no one heard her anymore.”

He tightened his grip around the mug she handed him. “She told me she loved you,” Emi continued, watching him carefully. “Said you were the only person who ever looked at her like she wasn’t broken.”

He flinched.

“She left something with me.”

From her bag, she pulled out a sealed envelope. Inside: a single polaroid—Toji with his arms around you, laughing. A second paper, folded carefully:

“If he ever comes looking… tell him I never stopped. Not even once.”

He stared at the words. His throat tightened. “Where is she?”

Emi didn’t answer right away.

Then: “She was in an accident. A car crash, about four months after she left you. I didn’t even know until the hospital called. They said she was found by the coast, unconscious. No ID. She’d written my number on a bracelet.

Toji looked up, breath gone.

“She’s… she’s alive?” Emi nodded slowly.

“In a coma.”

And just like that, the floor opened beneath him. You hadn’t left him.

You were still here. Somewhere between this world and the next. And now… Toji wasn’t sure if the haunting he felt was your ghost… Or your soul, fighting to be remembered.

The hospital room was colder than he expected. White walls. One chair. Machines that blinked and breathed for you. You were smaller in that bed, stiller than anything he’d ever seen. As if life had paused mid-sentence and forgotten how to finish the thought.

Toji didn’t speak at first.

He stood at the foot of your bed with his hands in his pockets, his shadow falling across your blanket like it still belonged beside yours.He looked at your face—soft, unchanged, eyes closed like you were just sleeping.

Like any second, you'd open them and say something sarcastic and warm and achingly familiar. He sat down. The ribbon was in his hand. He hadn’t meant to bring it. But here it was, looped between his fingers like it had waited years for this.

He placed it on your pillow. And then he said your name. Quietly. Like a prayer.

Like a goodbye.

FLASHBACK —

It was raining then too.

You stood in the doorway of his apartment, eyes red, lips parted like you were trying to speak but couldn’t find the words.

He was already shutting down, arms crossed, jaw locked tight like it always got when he couldn’t understand why things that made him feel also made him want to run.

“I’m not asking you to fix everything, Toji,”

you said softly. “Just let me in.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared at you.

And something inside you shattered.

“You never tell me anything,” you

whispered. “I tell you how I feel. I show up. I love you. But you don’t even give me scraps. What am I supposed to do with someone who won’t even try?”

“I didn’t ask you to love me,” he said

coldly. “That was your mistake.”

Your eyes widened like he’d slapped you. And in a way, he had. You nodded once. Just once. Then you turned. And you left.

He never chased after you.

PRESENT —

He stayed for an hour.Then two.

The machines beeped in rhythm. The rain whispered at the window. Before he left, Toji leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t softer,” he said. “I’m sorry I made you think you were the only one who felt it.”

His voice cracked. “I do love you. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Your hand didn’t move. Your breath didn’t change. And still, he waited. For a sign. For a twitch. For a miracle. But you didn’t wake up. You stayed exactly where you were—caught between what was and what would never be. Toji left that night without the ribbon. And when he stepped out into the hallway, he swore— Just for a second

He smelled jasmine.

The hospital bed is empty now.

You didn’t make it. They said you slipped away quietly. No pain. No suffering.

Just a breath that never came back.

They gave him your things. A journal. A sketch. That ribbon. He didn’t take them.

He asked them to bury it all with you.

He didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see.

But sometimes, when the rain falls just right…He hears your voice. Soft, like wind on glass: “What if it was love?”

And he answers in silence. Because it was. Always was. Just too late.

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