#actually the drawing of them in THE blanket is just them post everything ^^alive and happy and togheter forever

[ynnu-64]

i love Jayvik so bad I cannot function normally

[soapoet]

describing the dynamic...

...a requested continuation of this post.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

Shufflemancy: First day of my life by Bright Eyes

This feels like home. It is familiar and it is sweet. The two of you create an air of comfort, which draws in various orphans of the storm. Like a safe haven amidst stormy seas. A lighthouse. This has the blueprint of starting a found family. Your union echos with lots of laughter, the kind that brings tears and stomachaches. The joy here is tangible and it is imprinted in everything. Your dynamic is like an evolved version of puppy love. It's nervous, but adoring. Giddy and rosy. It feels like best friends falling in love. They know you and you know them at a deep level. The foundation upon which this relationship stands could withstand hurricanes, though there isn't much to worry about. Most issues that crop up seem a little silly, and you may laugh about them afterwards. Personal doubts and misunderstandings are the worst that can happen here, which are mostly due to the doglike loyalty and care you have for one another. Ever seen the face of a pooch when they've done something they shouldn't have? They appear so sheepish even though their mistake or mischief really isn't all that bad or serious. We often laugh at our beloved pets when they appear so apologetic because it is so often wildly out of proportion for their actual crime. The same applies to this relationship. Doubts may occasionally become bigger in your heads and cause a similar out of proportion shame or guilt or concern about how the other will react. Many inside jokes may stem from these situations, actually. Despite the occasional and shortlived whirlwind of doubt and concern about the status of the relationship, your communication is very good and open and clear. You might both simply have a hard time expressing yourselves when it comes to negative feelings and experiences, likely stemming from your upbringing. Which brings me to the point of healing. A key feature of this relationship is just that. Healing. The two of you treat each other the way you wish you had been treated growing up. As though you are raising each other's wounded inner child in a much better, loving, and attentive environment. There is a lot of validation and tenderness present. The reciprocation is beautifully balanced. When one is feeling low, the other takes on a guardian role, comforting and supporting them in various ways. Need a doctor's appointment but you're too anxious to call? Your partner gotchu. Next time they're ill you'll be making them soup and wrapping them up in a blanket. The give and take feels natural, like neither of you need to think twice about it, and best of all: nobody's keeping score.

02.

Shufflemancy: High heels by Mando Diao

Once this one gets going, it's long distance, not a sprint. Considering the delays this relationship experiences before it begins, however, the steady movement doesn't feel slow at all. And although this relationship is very spontaneous and fun, there is a balancing act at play wherein plans for the future are made early on. They want to make sure you're both on the same page and have an idea of where the relationship is headed right from the start to avoid conflicting ideas later. There are some traditional elements to this relationship because they lead a busy life professionally. Plans may be made to have you stay at home once things get serious, though they are very supportive of any business ideas you come up with or already have when you enter into the relationship. This person values ambition and drive, probably just as much as you do, and is very supportive of any endeavours you decide to pursue, and is likely to help fund or network to boost your success.

Expect frequent date nights. This person enjoys romance and works hard to keep the spark alive, so long as they don't feel smothered. When given the space and time they love to shower you with gifts and make you feel special. Travelling also figures strongly, and you may cross many destinations off your bucket list with this person. They favour quality over quantity, though, and may make it a point to spend big bucks on a resort for an extended period of time to really make the most of the destination and the time you get to spend together. It's possible the two of you eventually purchase a second home somewhere you like to visit. The two of you enjoy a rich social life as well, and may frequently entertain people in your home or at different venues. Your energy is contagious and other people are naturally drawn to the two of you because of the fun and welcoming energy created by your union. I'm not seeing much in terms of issues, mostly because the element of fun is so strong here. It feels very balanced because each of you gets to be in your favoured energy and feel appreciated for what you bring to the relationship. Very strong mutual respect. Each of you seem to succeed in life and your careers and projects better because the other is by your side. Reaching higher and farther because of the support of the other. This has an air of'us against the world', as though you are building an empire together. Your success is very new-money and modern. Flashy and extravagant, but still down-to-earth and humble in a way in which you really count your blessings and have much gratitude for what you have together and where you came from. The two of you may help or give back to your community, or donate to charity. It's possible they pay off your family's mortgage or do some other big financial gesture towards your family after the two of you commit. There is a lot of passion in this relationship. Very flirty, and there is a strong sexual attraction. The two of you make each other laugh a lot and may pull pranks on each other. Check out Destene and Brandon on youtube, because their dynamic mirrors this group a lot!

03.

Shufflemancy: Mary on a cross by Ghost

This is the one that will feel like things are too good to be true. You will want for nothing. The dynamic here is almost that of a knight and the one they have sworn to protect, or the royal and the peasant they chose for love. There is much adoration here, and it feels old-timey in a way. If you have been kissing frogs before, this one will really surprise you. They enjoy traditional courting and may look down upon the modern era of dating and the attitudes surrounding it, and don't like most of the people making them offers. They also appear to compensate for time spent apart through lavish gifts, and making sure you have everything that you need. There are a lot of calls and messages being sent back and forth, especially during their time away. They're very supportive of your studies or the projects you're working on, and will do everything in their power to create a good environment for you to do what you need to do. There is a strong possibility of them asking you to accompany them on their business travels, in an effort to help the two of you spend more quality time together. You have an energy that differs so much from what they have to deal with in their professional life, and they derive a big boost of motivation and confidence from it. It is almost as though they see you as their lucky charm.

The primary cause of friction appears to come from outside the relationship. You may frequently receive strange looks when you're together, or the way you differ somehow causes tension amongst your partner's peers. They, however, are incredibly proud of you and encourage you to speak your mind and stay true to yourself. They think you're perfect and don't want you to change, especially not through pressure from the kinds of people they find shallow or even fake. There could be instances where people try to steal your partner, but they fail horribly because of your partner's devotion to you. This can also go the other way, wherein people begin to pursue you in an attempt to steal you away from your partner, as if to spite them. You may receive invitations, offers, and gifts from people, especially ones you meet through your partner. This reveals a jealous streak in your partner which is very prevalent, but not in a toxic or controlling way. Because they have such social grace and know how to play the game, they never target you with their jealousy and dismay, but those who try to get in between. They are protective of what's theirs, but are very graceful and strategic in their methodology of solving problems. This also lends itself well to any wrinkles that need ironing in the relationship, because they don't appear to get angry and have a mentality that it's not you vs. them, but the two of you vs. the problem.

This dynamic may sometimes lead to waking up alone, but there is sure to be a lovely note left behind, or they may send flowers. They like to let you sleep in, and find you to be at your most beautiful when you're asleep because of the serene look on your face. You really help them feel at peace, which is something quite difficult for them to achieve on their own. They have trouble relaxing or doing things without it somehow boosting their qualifications or adding to their resume. You help them pick out books to read just because, watch movies regardless of their acclaim and accolades, go thrifting for the fun of it or visit the sweet little side street boutiques and unknown cafés. They really just feel like they have access to more oxygen when you're around, as though they've spent their whole life holding their breath and they can breathe easily and deeply around you.

04.

Shufflemancy: Me the machine by Imogen Heap

There is a whole lot going on here mentally. The two of you spend a lot of time talking, for hours upon hours. "Is that the sun?" can become a frequent phrase used when time slips through your fingers as you talk the night away to watch the sunrise. The two of you love to debate, especially in regards to matters you agree on, because it seems you reach the same conclusion from different angles and enjoy discussing each other's detours. They love picking your brain and value your opinions. There is a bit of a hopeless romantic in them, which may catch you off guard every time due to their cerebral nature. They might leave you notes or share songs to express their feelings. To them you are an equal, a missing puzzle piece that helps them see the bigger picture. You two are like the seeker and the explorer. They like holding hands and being close to you, but seem a little hesitant, even months into the relationship. You are certainly the more open and affectionate one, whilst they tend to be a little shy. Their awkwardness is quite charming, though, because they do try their best to show their love and support. Support plays a big role here, too, as they have a lot to teach you in various areas of life and you will grow quite a bit during this relationship. They are an excellent mentor and encourage you to chase your dreams, but are also good at holding you accountable. They can be a little blunt and clumsy with their words, but they mean well and wish for you to be the best that you can be and never sell yourself short. They really won't let anybody talk down on you, least of all you yourself. They have very high standards so any self-loating on your part feels insulting to them. They wouldn't date you if they didn't think you were incredible.

They enjoy your company and express genuine interest in your thoughts and ideas. You share many interests and engaging in them together is a big part of this relationship. You two are stronger together and can face many hardships with greater ease due to how you complete one another. Not in that you aren't whole on your own, but that your individual strengths and weaknesses balance each other out. Where you lack, they're abundant, and vice versa. It really makes for a dynamic duo, albeit one that may from the outside appear mismatched or peculiar. That does not stop you, though, and they especially have very little care for what other people think. The two of you may collaborate on various projects, or work together towards both joint and separate goals. Your minds and talents blend beautifully together, and your relationship is potent with inspiration and motivation. Tackling difficult tasks and the daily grind appears easier when you can delegate things depending on your individual strengths. The source of strife mostly stems from misunderstandings. Both of you value communication, but on occasion words are left unsaid or too much is said without prior thought and one of you gets hurt. This does not seem to ever be on purpose, just accidental slip-ups and thoughtlessness.

05.

Shufflemancy: Boys do cry by Marius Bear

Which one of you brought the gasoline? The dynamic here is hot and heavy. Passionate, as though desperation and need is causing you to crawl into each other's skin and wear each other's hearts. It can get a little crazy, fast paced and wild, in most things that you do. And you may get into quite a bit of trouble together, too. When Billie Eilish said 'I'm the powder, you're the fuse; let's add some friction' the two of you were taking notes. There is a lot of push and pull, and the relationship contains a lot of drama. Though I don't feel like that is wholly unwelcome, strangely enough. It seems beneficial for the two of you to keep each other on your toes, like you both crave some explosive feelings to feel fulfilled. This relationship really isn't for the faint of heart. But whilst others watch in horror, you make each other feel alive in this almost feral dance. They are very protective of you, and you of them. It's like you give each other scary dog privilege because nobody else can swoop in to steal a heart while the other stands on watch. You're both a little possessive, but it boils down to the deep connection you have feeling so intertwined with the very cores of your beings that losing the other would feel like losing yourself. Definitely worth checking yourselves for co-dependency to be sure it does not go overboard, but so long as you keep your individuality intact, this one is one hell of a ride. A ride or die, in fact. You are truly partners in crime and feel dangerously powerful together, like you could take over the world and overcome anything.

I won't sugar coat this: there is a lot of turmoil that the both of you conjure up. Most of the issues in this dynamic stem from the heightened emotions you are both capable of, and if either of you start wielding them as weapons it will cause even more explosive emotions. I will say, though, that this only gets physical in the make up part of the show, as the actual strife is emotional and verbal in nature. Because you care a lot for each other, neither would dare lay a hand on the other. The thought of you getting hurt by them or anyone or anything else would upset them greatly, and it's the same in reverse. You mirror each other a lot, and have much to learn from each other. Much of it will feel heavy and burdensome since you will be facing your own demons within the other person, and that's never easy. Fortunately there is a lot of gentle care here, too. Since you both feel things so strongly and have similar experiences in life, it is much easier for you to sympathise with each other and support each other. This is one of those relationships where you truly do not need to hide or be on your best behaviour, because you have both weathered storms and do not easily flinch when the thunder and lightning begin to roar, and you both provide each other shelter when needed.

06.

Shufflemancy: Light by Sleeping at last

I remember seeing a writing prompt once upon a time with the premise of seeing in greyscale until you lock eyes with your soulmate, and this has that exact energy. It really seems as though this person lead a very monotonous life until you barged in, inviting the sunshine into their life. Because in many ways they view you as the light of their life, they are very protective of you. You bring them much joy, laughter, and relaxation, all things they do very little of, at least successfully, and find themselves more able to partake in the joys of life in your presence. You are a breath of fresh air, as though someone finally opened up a window inside a stuffy office. They see stars in your eyes and they want nothing more than to preserve them, and make them shine even brighter. There is a little bit of a saviour complex here. Anything you struggle with they don an armour for to protect and to serve. Because you nurture their soul and heal their wounds with your tender love and care and expand their horizons with your sense of wonder, they feel compelled to take care of you. It feels almost familial, but not in a weird way. It is as if they want to keep your childlike wonder alive and well, and right any wrongs that come your way. They take a load off your shoulders frequently, and may especially take on all your mundane tasks and paperwork. They love your playful energy and can see that the stuffy stressors of life cage that bird in, and they want to see you soar. This is a very healing connection for both of you. You balance each other out whilst being a mentor for each other, teaching each other your strengths so that you two can feel whole and capable all in your own right. You are both willing to bend, to try new things, allow the other to show you new worlds and explore possibilities. Very likely to lead to marriage, and it would be a very happy and functional one because of the growth you inspire in one another both as individuals and together as one. It's like your relationship begins as a little sapling, slow, but once it has been given the space to grow it grows big and strong and will withstand any storm and leave behind a legacy, like your future children putting up a swing for their children on the tree you two once sowed.

[asher-agere]

Hiii! Can you do michizō tachihara Cg! HCS?

Of course I can! I find it pretty fitting that I initially thought of him as a flip then my first two requests were little then caregiver

Caregiver Tachihara

༉‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

𖤍 I think Tachihara has a pretty cool vibe? He’s really adaptable! He quickly determines what his little one wants and meets their needs! Playful little one? He can get toys and make up games! Sleepy baby? He’ll get the best blankets and snuggle up for cuddles! He’d very good at adapting to be whatever his little one needs, that makes him like one of the best caregivers ever!

𖤍 Tachihara is very soothing and good at handling tantrums specifically! He knows just the right way to hold his little one and talk them through whatever is upsetting them. Let them cry it out a bit first! Crying is a healthy release of emotions, but catering to someone’s every want the second they cry only encourages crying when it’s not necessary. However once the little one has calmed down a bit he’ll rock them gently, massage their palms, and whisper gentle praise!

𖤍 He always has backups prepared! Don’t want milk? That’s ok he also has juice. Don’t wanna watch cartoons? How about some coloring then? Not ready for bed yet? He can read a story first! He’s soooo prepared! Also always keeps a pacifier/teether on hand to be used at an instant’s notice. If a little one is trying to put something in their mouth that shouldn’t be in their mouth, they need an alternative! Nothing in their mouth is a bad alternative which leads to a fussy baby

𖤍 The BSD wiki lists one of Tachihara’s interests as… Pencils? Idk how to handle this- But I’m choosing to interpret it as he likes drawing! Thereforeee, Tachihara will draw pictures for his little one to color in! Instead of using coloring books he’ll just draw them custom things! Sometimes the little one wants to feel included so they might draw him things to color! Which he does of course! Very slowly though, much more focused on his baby than the coloring project

𖤍 I think he’d tell really good stories! Some caregivers use their life experiences and make them into stories, but I don’t think Tachihara would! He views his life pretty negatively, he doesn’t want to bother his little one with his sad stories! He has happy stories of course, but when he’s on the spot needing a story those aren’t what comes to mind, so he’ll tell fantasy stories! Tales of dragons and magic and demons! He’s really good at doing different voices too!

𖤍 Tachihara is very adaptable as a caregiver, like I said before. He’s also very willing! Thanks to Teruko he has plenty of experience with outlandish requests! When Teruko asks for unreasonable things he gets annoyed, but when it’s his baby? Polar opposite! He’s soooo willing to do absolutely anything to get them to smile! I think that actually makes him more annoyed when Teruko asks for things hehe, his special services are reserved for the baby and the baby only!

𖤍 Tachihara makes use of his ability during playtime! He’ll add tiny bits of metal into his little one’s toys, sew them in or something. Then he can make them fly and move around without even touching them! It’s so fun to watch! It’s like he’s putting on a whole show, especially with how good he is at different voices! It really makes the stuffies seem alive. It’s not only for playtime either! If his little one is sad he’ll control a plushy to go over to them and give them a warm hug! Very silly hehe, usually gets giggles in response

༉‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

I’m so sorry I’m not posting much (｡>﹏<) There’s a huge Comic Con this weekend and trying to get everything right while still balancing healthy things (Like seeing my caregiver tomorrow! Yay!) However I made huge progress on my Nikolai cosplay today! I feel very accomplished hehe

[hannie-dul-set]

LOVE VOMIT [n.] — the term when you become too full with your feelings too quickly and too frequently that you end up spitting everything out before even getting the chance to digest. this happens to you more often than you’d like to admit— every quarter, actually, ever since starting college. but what can you do when the prospect of falling in love is just too good to say no to? what can you do when maybe the next desert might actually stay inside your system this time?

or, wherein you fall in love with a different guy every season but fail to notice the one that’s been looking at you the whole year.

PAIRING. choi soobin x female! reader (ft. the rest of txt x reader). GENRE. slice of life, romance, humor, mild angst, SLOWBURN, college! au, orgmate! soobin, pining to the highest degree, multiple love interests, featuring some members of seventeen, enhypen, and le sserafim. WARNINGS. swearing, drinking, annoying org jargon, both mcs are pathetic, unrequited feelings. WORD COUNT. teaser: 429 | full fic: est. 25-30k. RELEASE DATE: late june to early july.

NOTE. i said i was going to post the preview at the end of the week but i got too excited 😭😭 this may be a soobin fic but. u see. i am in love with all five of them so YOU will also fall in love with all five of them i don't make the rules.

i also wanted to jump back into my comfort zone of writing ordinary college life tingz, especially now that i actually have 2 years worth of experience to draw reference from. anyhow, send me an ask/dm to be addded to the taglist. preview under the cut!

THE TIME IS SPRING. A soft musk in the air, freshly bloomed flowers lining the sidewalks, and the start of a new semester. There’s something gentle about springtime, reminiscent of crisp blankets straight from the dryer with lavender seeping into its cotton folds and sunlight leaking through pleated sheer curtains. The season is for cherry blossoms and picnic baskets, outings and first loves. You’ve always associated these things with spring, however none of these sensibilities are present tonight. 

Instead of clear skies and bright sunlight, the view through the diner windows is lit up by artificial lights and signages in the middle of a March evening. There’s no lilac nor daisies in the air, but cheap beer and the savory smell of fried chicken. It’s noisy, it’s loud, and it’s far from the gentleness of spring, but you’ve never felt more alive at this time of the year.

‘Why did you join Shutter.TXT?’ reads the sheet of paper sitting on your table. You’re all smiles as you listen to the answers of those sitting at your table, mindlessly nodding along after being three glasses in. Tonight is an orientation-slash-welcome party for the organization you impulsively joined upon entering the university. 

Because photography is my passion...because I want to explore other fields…because, because, because.

The answers carousel around the table, and honest to god, you stopped listening at some point because it’s getting repetitive. You don’t understand the purpose of this activity. Why else would you join a club for photography, videography, and editing if not for photography, videography, and editing? 

“Are you kids having fun?”

You perk up. The empty smiles you’ve been giving suddenly becomes brighter, your eyes crinkling at the corners. Spring came belatedly tonight, and it came in the form of your extremely pretty senior suddenly appearing behind your seat and you’re instantly all the more conscious about your posture when he leans down to check in on your group. He cranes his head to look at you with a smile. “Is it your turn?” he asks. The back of your neck is burning.

“Ah, yes,” you cough, clearing your throat to introduce your name. “I major in public administration. I know it’s pretty far from my discipline, but I decided to join Shutter.TXT because I didn’t want to be constrained in one field throughout college. I’m sure this organization will make my university experience a lot more exciting and interesting.”

Lies. You joined because of the very face that’s smiling at you this very moment.

“I look forward to working with you.”

love vomit. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[havethetouch]

update~

Still alive n kicking my guys, disassembling ikea furniture like it owes me a shitton of money and packing boxes with a vengance.

I am also incredibly pissed off currently but that works fine for me because spite is a good fuel and I have to get shit done so it works in my favour. Don't worry my absolute darling sibling from other parental units helped me through the thick of emotional bs I stumbled into a few days ago so I am doing well in spite of shit which is good because I don't have time for any of that crap anyway.

The 14th is gonna be M-day sponsored by Mama and BroBro and their sick ass big cars and if we employ our generational Tetris skills we might get this show on the road with just one big trip.

And given that the big day is around the corner I am vibrating again with possibility and my inherited need to make home and nest I am so ready to flip off the flat and run for them hills baby~

So yeah big excite around the corner lotsa stuff to remember still like quitting the utilities and have my mail forwarded to catch stragglers ans all that jazz. First thing to assemble after will be my workroom obviously everything else is secondary. My darling aunt gifted me her slim glass cabinets that I will mount to the wall and sort my inkbottles into which already has me giddy mainly because sorting these babies after type and colour is the most carthatic thing ever and I earned myself some carthasis me thinks.

Imma post some pics once I'm done with it, still need to rig up the electricity in the workroom up properly bc right now it has a 50s chandelier going and that is not enough light for a proper workroom especially since I am a nocturnal beast and good light makes the difference when mixing colours and getting the hues right (used to have a real shitty desklamp and had sometimes to go off memory with my tools to get the colours right which is a point of pride but also wasn't fun). Anywaythe workroom will get the all white treatment mostly, white furniture (imma sand down my table and repaint that in white too), mostly white walls to hang my favourite artworks without visual discrations and some turquoise accents. Other side of the workroom gets a bigass rattan circular disk chair I dream of a massive thing with pillows and blankets that I can curl up in like a nest while I do embroidery and I even saw some neat fireplaces that come in white too which will be needed bc the workroom is hit with cold on two fronts as it is the last room on the corner of the house and it gets icy, which mind, is good for my materials like the copics bc it will keep em usable longer but I need the fireplace to warm myself up in winter if I stay too long in there which I will bc I can draw for hours and should not become an icicle while I am at it hah.

Either way plans start to take actual shapes now and it's hella nice. But also lotsa work ahead like I need to retile my bathroom at some point too. The good things about all my renovation projects and plans for breathing new life in some of the furniture is that I can do most stuff by myself bc my dad was a handy man and he taught me a broad spectrum of things you usually call handimens and specialists for. Hope my old man looks down at me fondly from whichever afterlife and laughs his ass off when I start cursing over retiling the bathroom though bc tiles are lil bitches but man I can't wait. I am so excited.

[awokennerd]

Saw this post and decided to focus on the two ghosts who have the most amount of headcanon lore--Minerva (my warlock, Bubo’s, ghost) and Edgewise (my bf’s titan, Tripore’s, ghost). Over the years, we have slowly fleshed out what our ghosts would be like, often when the Ghost is involved, we try to identify which one of our ghosts is speaking. So yeah, we just have way too much lore about them lol. 

Ghosts who refuse to heal their Guardians when they’re mad (in non-critical situations)

Totally Edgewise. He would get mad at Tripore for making Edgewise rezz him one too many times, so at the end of a battle, when he’s not too hurt, Edgewise just won’t heal him (Of course, it helps Edgewise knows Tripore has his warlock gf nearby to put down a well or rift for Tripore). Edgewise is like Saladin’s ghost, Isirah, who just believes that their guardian needs to just get good and not die so much. 

Ghosts who insist they want to try out tons of ridiculous hobbies, or try to find some to do with their Guardian

Minerva is the one who is upset about the possible ballet fan, Rasputin, getting hurt in that one strike. Bubo is very much into drawing and sewing in her down time, especially drawing cause she can take it with her very easily on her ship. Meanwhile, her ghost loves the performing arts. Music. Ballet. Dancing. Plays. Minerva likes to float around doing little dances and volunteers at the Ghost Community Theater.

Ghosts who sneakily transmat things they like back to the ship, much to the surprise of their Guardian

Minerva and Bubo are hoarders of mementos, so yes, I can see this happening 

Ghosts who like their own little cubby/space to spend time while their Guardian sleeps (it’s fully decorated)

I DREW A COMIC AND GAVE IT TO MY BOYFRIEND OF BUBO GETTING MINERVA AND EDGEWISE A LITTLE TERRARIUM FOR THE DAWNING. Of course Minerva absolutely adores it! Edgewise doesn’t like it, but secretly loves it and sometimes is caught sleeping in there when he thinks no one is looking but it's in a high-traffic part of the house, so he gets caught a lot. It has a little dreaming city tree and fairy lights and some small pillows and blankets. It's pretty lit. I need to draw just the concept art again and post it on here.

Ghosts that bonk their shells against their Guardian in frustration or playfulness

Definitely Minerva playfully.

Ghosts that hate each other, but their Guardians are best friends or lovers

MINVERA AND EDGEWISE ARE COMPLETE OPPOSITES LOLOL. They have to put up with each other now that their guardians are dating. Even worse was during the Red War, Bubo and Violet’s apartment (they were roommates when Bubo was a wee new light. Violet's apartment had a spare bedroom or two for hunter friends who wanna crash for a few days when they actually come to the city) was destroyed, so after the war Bubo moved in with Tripore. They eventually got a bigger apartment around Witch Queen. And this means Edgewise has to deal with both Bubo and Minerva who are weirdos. Bubo is always trying to learn about weird awoken magic he is pretty sure isn’t legal/safe to use in the city. And even weirder is her ghost Minerva who constantly floats upside down and is too happy considering how serious things are with the world right now. So yeah, they don’t hate each other, but they have very different personalities that clash. 

Ghosts who don’t care what their Guardian thinks, because who’s been alive longer? That’s right. It’s Ghost.

This is Edgewise. Definitely. 

Ghosts who are *way* too into the fashion show, and their Guardian is begging them to let it go

Minerva absolutely LOVES getting dressed up for literally everything and anything. He especially likes matching Bubo. Armor? Dresses? Casual nerdy warlock clothes? Minerva loves them all and loves getting fifty bazillion shells. Bubo’s wallet cries every single time they find a new shell out in the wild lol. But his favorite and the one he wears most often is his Rival Warlock Shell that bubo painted to match one of her armor sets (even tho she doesn’t wear those robes much anymore, he still loves it)

Ghosts who always use some of their down time in the City to mourn those lost. Some of those that their Guardian never knew, because they lived and died before Ghost found their Guardian.

Hmmm. Does Edgewise have an angsty backstory that explains why he is super serious all the time? Idk. I haven’t really thought of Minerva or Edgewise’s backstories. 

More Ghost things:

Ghosts who refuse to heal their Guardians when they’re mad (in non-critical situations)

Ghosts who ship their Guardian and are *vocal* about it

Ghosts who get passive-aggressive about who has a better Guardian (grandmas at a knitting circle style)

Ghosts who insist they want to try out tons of ridiculous hobbies, or try to find some to do with their Guardian

Ghosts who sneakily transmat things they like back to the ship, much to the surprise of their Guardian

Cuddly Ghosts who press up against their Guardian while they sleep

Ghosts who like their own little cubby/space to spend time while their Guardian sleeps (it’s fully decorated)

Ghosts who insist they’re better than their Guardian at interior decorating

Ghosts who like to wander the City alone while their Guardian is on the Tower taking care of things

Ghosts who remind their Guardian to sleep/eat/hydrate/fix their posture

Ghosts that bonk their shells against their Guardian in frustration or playfulness

Ghosts who get sick of it when their Guardian is in love

Ghosts that hate each other, but their Guardians are best friends or lovers

Ghosts that are best friends, but their Guardians hate each other

Ghosts without Guardians silently choosing a Lightless who they get along with, pretending they’re a pair for a while

Ghosts who stick with their Lightless friend until the end, hoping – always hoping – that it might change

Ghosts without Guardians that help look after the refugee children with/without parents, hoping to help in some way

Ghosts that are just. Really bad at reading the room, much to the chagrin of their Guardian.

Ghosts who don’t care what their Guardian thinks, because who’s been alive longer? That’s right. It’s Ghost.

Ghosts who made a bunch of friends (Guardian or Lightless) before they found their Guardian, so everyone forgets the new Guardian is there the first few times.

Ghosts who are WAY too proud of their Guardian, constantly embarrassing the Guardian who just wants to turn in bounties.

Ghosts who begrudgingly rate each new outfit/color as their Guardian plays fashion

Ghosts who are *way* too into the fashion show, and their Guardian is begging them to let it go.

Ghosts trying to sing with their Guardian – who also can’t sing.

Ghosts who adamantly want a pet

Ghosts who insist they can’t have a pet, because it’s already hard trying to keep the Guardian alive (and they get multiple shots at it)

Ghosts that get huffy when they’re upset, but not vocally. You just see their shells twisting and puffing in and out.

Ghosts betting things between each other (Hey, I bet you this shell that my Guardian will get more kills than yours)

Ghosts that tut at their Guardian over every little scratch and bruise out of worry

Ghosts who always use some of their down time in the City to mourn those lost. Some of those that their Guardian never knew, because they lived and died before Ghost found their Guardian.

Original post here

[patt-writes-stuff]

Beach Days with The Genshin Characters!

Wc: 1.7k+

Type: Headcanons

CW: umm nothing except mentions of alcohol and maybe people being creeps? (None of the chars or you tho it’s very brief)

A/N: HI IM BACK FROM THE DEAD! These were supposed to be a lot shorter but I got too excited. If you by any chance wanna see some for your fav character lmk! I know it says request are closed in my bio but since it’s just hcs it’s a lot less (and I really enjoyed writing these so ajdhdhdk)

🔥Diluc:

This man cannot swim. Tell me otherwise, I dare you.

Kaeya tried to jokingly push him off a lil diving cliff area when they were kids.

He almost drowned. Kaeya was in a lot of trouble.

So, good luck getting this man to actually get in the water. The most he’ll do is sit on the shore where it’s very shallow.

He usually prefers to just stay under an umbrella on the sand and keep an eye on you.

Calls you every two hours in advance and helps you reapply sunscreen.

He’s very pale so I feel like he burns pretty easily, meaning he needs to reapply super frequently otherwise he will become a tomato. He brings like three bottles of the good shit. Tch, rich boy.

If you ask him to build a sandcastle, he will pretend to be annoyed but do it anyways. Ends up finding it kind of enjoyable.

He has the maids prepare a nice picnic basket for the two of you!! It’s got all your favorite foods plus grape juice cuz y’know.

If any creepy peeps approach you, don’t worry. He brought his vision and his claymore.

Of course, he won’t have to resort to such violent lengths. Everyone in Mondstadt knows who Diluc is and they probably know you’re his s/o, so they’re usually smart enough to mind their own business.

If they don’t, don’t worry. Diluc’s glare is more than enough to scare them away.

All in all I definitely recommend a beach day with him! I’ll give it a solid 8/10 (-2 for not wearing floaties and getting in the water with you or letting you teach him how to swim.

🖌Albedo:

You guys definitely 100% take Klee out with you on a beach day.

You guys bring snacks, beach toys like buckets and shovels for optimal sandcastle building, a picnic blanket, etc.

Jean definitely packs a lot more stuff for you guys to take with you than you actually need.

It’s only cuz she’s worried for Klee and is nervous about not being able to go with you guys though! It’s very sweet really.

Klee tries to bomb the fish and cause havoc at the beach 😭

I think Albedo is a good swimmer and gets in with you and Klee so that he can help her (which is very cute omfg)

He’s set total workaholic, as we know, so it took a lot of convincing to get him to put down his experiments and accompany you to the beach (however, he’s particularly weak to yours and klee’s puppy dog eyes so he caved eventually)

Though, looking at you and Klee happily building sandcastles and decorating them with pretty seashells of all shapes and colors, he can’t really find it in himself to complain.

He, of course, takes this opportunity to take out his sketchbook and draw the waves, seagulls, you… Of course he won’t let you see the sketch book no sir. He’s a bit embarrassed to be honest, but an artist such as himself recognizes beauty when he sees it so he simply had to draw you. (God I love him so much)

If a creepy person approaches you,- well don’t worry. The sight of a small arsonist child blowing up fish is enough to scare them away 🥰

At the end of the day, all three of you are all ticketed out. Albedo has to carry Klee back to Mondstadt because the poor baby fell asleep the moment you started drying her hair with the beach towel. You’re, of course, carrying back Dodoco and your bags. (You also manage to sneak a peak at Albedo’s sketchbook and find some very pretty drawings of you and Klee with your sandcastle)

At the end of the day, you guys tuck Klee in and read her a bedtime story (she woke up and insisted). Afterwards Albedo takes you back home and thanks you for coming with you and Klee (which you ofc say wasn’t a problem because how could you not???)

All in all? I’ll give it a solid 10/10. You’ve got tasty food, fun times, your boyfriend and his cute kid adoptive sister (yes I am very biased idc)

🦋Xiao:

I think it would take a lot of convincing to get Xiao to go out on a beach date with you.

He’ll probably see it as a distraction getting in the way of his slaying of monsters and demons.

However, he also worships the grounds you walk on (hehe, simp XD), so I don’t think it’ll take that much convincing on your part (especially because it’s is self appointed duty to keep you safe so if you insist on going with or without him, he supposes he’ll have to go)

Is definitely a bit tense at first. He doesn’t know how to let loose and chill so while you’re sun tanning on a beach chair he’s like 🧍‍♂️ahdgshjsjd

Eventually calms down a bit though! You get him to relax and eat some almond tofu you brought along with you. It definitely gets him to perk up.

I don’t think he would mind getting into the water but I do think he’d rather walk along the shore and collect pretty seashells and sea glass.

He later gives the ones he deems pretties to you (he hands them over to you with a blush on his face and pretends it’s not a big deal and he definitely gets all pouty and grouchy when you coo at how adorable he is)

As for creeps, Xiao is both intimidating and well known in Liyue. No one is brave enough (or, let’s be honest, dumb enough) to approach you with any bad intentions.

Sure, Xiao has sworn never to harm a human/citizen of Liyue but that doesn’t mean he can’t scare the absolute shit out of them.

I think Xiao would definitely enjoy a beach day 🥺🥺. He’d find it very relaxing to go out with you and just hear the sound of waves and feel the sand under his feet.

He’d definitely hint at wanting to do it again later. Of course, he won’t tell you. No, that’s a foolish mortal activity and he has much better things to do.

Wait no, don't turn around, yes he will go with you next month.

All in all, I give Xiao a 9/10. It’s a very relaxing day (which he deserves 😤). And you get to see a whole new side of him.

💎Ningguang:

OK SO ORIGINALLY I WASN'T GONNA WRITE ONE FOR HER (at least not in this post) BUT THEN I THOUGHT OF LADY NINGGUANG TAKING YOU TO A WHOLE ASS PRIVATE BEACH

She knows you don’t care about how exclusive the beach you go to is (in fact, the fact that you don’t care about where you are or what you do is one of the things that make her fall more and more madly in love with you) but you deserve the best so she’s gonna go all out.

She’s a busy lady so days like this where the two of you get to go somewhere and be together are few and far between.

She knows it’s hard to be in a relationship with someone who is busy 24/7, so she appreciates how you remain by her side despite all hardships. (Y’all are a whole ass power couple istg)

The two of you spend your day relaxing. Sun bathing, drinking piña coladas, maybe taking a dip in the ocean. It’s all very pleasant!

Ningguang doesn’t quite feel like the type of person who would sit in the sand and make sandcastle, however you’re more than welcome to make some yourself. She finds it endearing <3

If you insist on her helping, she’ll eventually comply. She loves you too much to say no. I feel like she’ll either be terrible at it or like a total architect.

Sand is technically like tiny rocks right? So maybe she can use her vision to help her? If that’s the case, she’s making a replica of the Jade chamber out of sand.

If any creepy person comes up to you don’t worry. Ningguang will buy the whole beach and then use her right of admission as owner to permanently ban them from the beach you’re at.

The only downside to a day at the beach with Ningguang might be that there’s a big chance she’ll be called to tend urgent matters, seeing as she is the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing and all.

If that does happen, she’ll be sure to make it up to you somehow, whether it be rescheduling or taking care of the matter as soon as possible so that the two of you can get back to your day of relaxation and fun.

All in all?? Lady Ningguang will treat you like total royalty and the two of you will have an amazing time! I give her an 11/10 (she would literally buy a whole beach for you to be comfortable I mean c’mon)

🍃Venti:

BEACH DAYS WITH HIM ARE SO FUN!!

Swimming? Yeah, he’d love to! Sunbathing? Sure! He’ll ever conjure up a light breeze for the two of you. Sandcastle building? WELL OF COURSE WHY DO YOU THING HE BROUGHT ALL THESE BUCKETS AND SHOVELS?

No but seriously, he might be the best person out of everyone here to go to the beach with. He’s fun, free spirited, and he’s a traveling bard who’s been alive long enough to know where all the best beaches in Teyvat are. (He also knows a guy- er, well, dragon I suppose- who is willing to fly them to any place).

He’ll play some soft tunes while you doze under the sun.

HE PICKS PRETTY SHELLS AND GIFTS THEM TO YOU!!!

He will bring booze. I’m pretty sure this is a necessity. If you’re a little upset about it, he’ll probably “eheh~” his way out of it. That slick bastard.

If you really insist on him not drinking, he won’t consume much alcohol.

If some creepy person approaches you and tries to ruin you your day of beach time fun, all of their stuff will suddenly be blown away, causing them to scramble back to their spot and (almost embarrassingly) flail around trying to catch everything. What a shame…

At the end of the day, he’d be a little sad to leave. Definitely makes plans about tbe two of you going back soon.

I gotta give him a 10/10 he’s just so fun omg.

[wreckofawriter]

Bubblegum

pairing: remus lupin x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: language, none fluffy

summary: you know you annoy remus but that doesn't stop you from trying to get close to him

a/n: i actually like this fic more than I thought I would... anyway I'm actually motivated again so posts should be more frequent. I plan on writing the next part for pulled apart next

    Remus has always been very good at ignoring distractions. Considering who his best friends were that was really no surprise to anyone around him. He had ignored parties and screams and fights and pretty much everything else you can imagine. He could probably read through a tornado if one happened to strike the castle. But we all have that one thing. 

    The classroom was quiet. The scratch of quills on parchment and the occasional shuffle of feet filling Remus’s ears as he did everything in his power to focus on the test in front of him. Potions was a subject he excelled in, yet he had barely finished the first three questions and now sat practically fuming in his chair, his mind clouded with irritation. 

    A pop once again resonated through the room and no one else blinked, the quills continued their march. Remus gripped his own feather so tight he thought it might break in two. A few moments later  the sound greeted his ears again and he whipped around. His eyes fell on you, your hair bouncing lightly as you tapped your foot to some inaudible rhythm. Soft pink bubble gum lined your lips, the corpse of a bubble being tugged back into your mouth for rebirth. 

    “Would you cut it out?” Remus hissed drawing more than one pair of eyes. 

    You tilted your head in confusion, reminding the boy slightly of a puppy. You glanced behind yourself quickly and then pointed a finger at yourself in a silent question. 

    “Yes you.” Remus scorned, “Stop popping your bloody gum.” 

    Maybe it was because of how rude he had been or maybe it was the cute red tinge of anger on his cheeks, either effect led you to the same action. You gathered the treat in your mouth inflating one of the bigger bubbles you had made that day, popping it between your teeth.  The noise was loud like the snap of a whip. You smiled softly at the boy's stiff reaction, “No.” You hummed turning back to your work. 

    Remus was pretty sure you had verbally slapped him across the face. 

    The library was crowded with people, almost every chair was taken, faces shoved into books and fingers stained with ink.

The quiet atmosphere was broken by James’s loud groan, “Godric, that test Slughorn gave us was dreadful.” he complained, his head hitting the table in front of him. A chorus of hushing which he paid no mind to followed. 

“Tell me about it.” Remus mumbled his mood still sour from the period before. 

Sirius snapped to attention, “Since when do you have trouble in potions?” 

Remus sighed, rolling his eyes at his friend's amusement, “It wasn’t the test you idiot.” 

James turned his head, his cheek now squished against the wooden surface, eyebrows scrunched.

“There was this girl.” 

“A girl!?” Both boys shouted in unison, James’s head popping up from the table. They both were shushed aggressively. 

Remus scoffed, “Not like that-”

“Was she just so hot you couldn’t focus?” Sirius mused, the smirk on his lips mildly irritating.

“Did she have the top few buttons of her blouse undone? I damn near fainted last time Lily did that.” James chimed in.

Remus felt his cheeks go hot, “What? No-”

“So who's the lucky lady Moony?” 

“Yeah I can’t believe you didn't tell us.” James pouted. 

    “I don’t fancy her, you idiots!” Remus snapped, earning multiple glares.

    James and Sirius’s smiles dropped, disappointment finding their faces as all the excitement they had just been tempted with washed away.

    “I knew it was too good to be true.” Sirius mumbled halfeartly. 

    “So what was it then?” James asked, “If you don’t fancy this girl what’s the issue?”

    Remus huffed, “She was being bloody annoying that's the issue. She wouldn’t stop popping her gum, it is one of the most infuriating things I've ever experienced.”

    Sirius quirked a brow, “That's it?”

    “James was there.” Remus continued, “He gets it, it was absolutely dreadful.”

    James shrugged, “I don’t remember hearing any popping.” 

    Remus gauffed, “Seriously? It was so loud.” 

    “I probably just tuned it out,” He hummed, “Why didn't you just ask her to stop?”

    “That's the problem.” Remus groaned, “I did and she was totally rude and popped it right in my face.” 

    “Sounds kinda bitchy.” Sirius mumbled, “Any chance you know who she is?” 

    Remus racked his brain, “I think her name is y/l/n something, I'm not sure.”

    Sirius paused, “Y/n y/l/n?”

    “That sounds right.” 

    Sirius whistled, “She is wicked hot.”

    Remus scrunched his face in mild disgust, “Is that all you have to say on the matter?” 

    Sirius nodded returning to Transfiguration book,

    Remus sighed, “You guys are no help at all.”

If you had heard the conversation that had just taken place you would have been sorely disappointed. In fact you probably would have stormed up to your dorm and pouted fiercely. 

Remus Lupin was someone you knew well. Probably too well considering he had never even looked your way until the period before. It's not like you were a stalker or anything, he was just… really cute.

He had caught your attention in 4th year and never seemed to let go as he slowly reeled you in with hazel eyes and soft smiles. 

You would count his freckles in charms and imagine running your hands through his hair in potions, he never seemed to notice the pair of eyes boring into his curls. You were pretty positive that your crush was hopeless. I mean this was Remus Lupin you were talking about, sure he wasn’t as sought after as Black but he definitely had his fair share of admirers.

Your friends, the few you trusted with important information that is, were always pushing you to take some sort of action on your crush. You ignored them for the most part claiming it was useless and he would probably end up with someone else anyway. Yet year after year he was still single. It was a bit shocking in fact. Almost as shocking as the words you had spoken to him earlier that day.

You buried your head in your hands for the third time that minute, embarrassment and regret were eating you alive. What the hell is wrong with me? You thought. 

Adrianna, who was one of your closest friends and the one seated next to you for the horrific event was snickering behind her hand attempting to turn it into a cough as you glared at her. 

“I mean at least you talked to him.” She chidded and you threw your book at her. It was her turn to pout.

You groaned, your head hitting the table infront of you, “I’m a fucking idiot.” 

Adrianna shrugged, “Well yes.” 

“Why did I say no? Why couldn’t I just say yes and apologize like a normal person?” You complained.

She shrugged again, “Maybe it’s just in your blood to be a dick?” This time she caught a quill on her forehead. “Sorry, sorry,” a pause, “You know you could use this to your advantage,”

You raised an eyebrow, “How the hell would I manage that?”

“You could apologize, you know like a normal person.” she giggled.

You cringed at the thought, “Why would I do that?” 

Adrianna rolled her eyes, “Because you were an asshole. And most people apologize after being an asshole.”

You scrunched your nose, “Do you have any idea how awkward that would be?” 

“You’re helpless.” She mumbled returning to her work. 

You pouted, “Well you're not very helpful.” your mind began to turn as she continued her essay, one you had already finished the night before. Then suddenly an idea struck. 

You marched up to Remus with confidence you didn’t actually have. Your anxieties buried beneath a blanket of boldness. Your hands shook, stuffed deep in your pockets. 

“Yes?” He repeated reminding you that you had indeed called his name. 

You glanced around at his friends, their eyes locked on you with amused smiles. You put on an uncaring mask and rolled your eyes at Potter whose smile only grew, “Could we talk away from your goons?”

Remus grinned a bit as Sirius gave an over-exaggerated gasp, “Yeah sure.” 

You nodded quickly turning and starting towards the staircase. You didn’t catch Remus raising his eyebrows back at his friends and he didn’t see you release a shaky breath.  

Once you both stood in the narrow staircase leading to the deviations room you turned back to Remus who stood two stairs below you, the height advantage made you feel powerful. 

He didn’t seem particularly bothered by it, “You here to apologize?”

Your eyes widened, he seemed snarkier than he had been in potions, almost like he was challenging you, “I was, but now I don’t believe I will.” you clipped back.

Remus rolled his eyes, “Can I leave then?” 

Panic struck you, this was not going well, “Actually I need a favor.” 

Remus was surprised, that was definitely not what he had expected.

You huffed, praying to whatever god was up there that this would work. “Can you tutor me in potions? I’m actually not all that good at it and I know for a fact you are.” One of those statements was a blatant lie. Potions had been one of your better grades for a while now but he didn’t need to know that. 

“Why should I help you?” Remus asked, taking a step towards you, the height advantage lessening. 

You weren’t really sure how to answer that, “I suppose you shouldn’t.” You sighed and Remus smirked, “But you will.”

He raised his brows, “And why's that?”

You popped your gum enjoying his flinch, “Because you are just so sweet.” you said it with a slight coo like you were talking to a young child.

Remus didn’t respond as you brushed past him.

“Meet me at the library tomorrow after lunch and don’t be late.” You called over your shoulder.

Remus stood in the stairwell staring where you had just stood. He let out a heavy sigh , his heart beating louder than it should have been. 

Part of you thought he wouldn’t even show and that instead you would sit in the library like a fool as Remus laughed about you with his friends. So when you entered the library and found the boy already seated at a table, textbooks and notes placed neatly around him you were surprised. You fought a wide smile skipping beside him and reaching for the book in his hands. Before you could snatch it away Remus snapped it shut and moved it aside. 

“Take a seat y/n”  He spoke, smirking at you, clearly happy about his quick reflexes. 

You rolled your eyes sitting beside him and glancing at the papers in front of you. They were notes, neatly taken, no doodles in the margins. 

Remus leaned over your shoulder, “I think we should start with the basics and see how much you already know.”

It was only then that you realised you were going to have to pretend to be terrible at potions. You swallowed thickly, “Sounds good.”

You surprised yourself with how easily you lied. You slipped up only twice, brushing both off as lucky guesses and contuinuting with your stupid little curade. 

Remus ate it up, showing you simple questions and walking you through them as one did a child. It would have bothered you if he wasn’t leaning over your shoulder with his breath soft on your neck. He smelt like chocolate and fresh parchment, his curly hair so close you could reach out and run your fingers through it if you wanted to. 

You walked back to your common room in a slight haze, your stomach full of wings.

Remus peered after you curiously. Your actions confused him, he could’ve sworn you had already known the practice problems he gave you. Yet you had struggled, almost comically. He supposed you were just really good at pretending to be smart. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend to be stupid?” You groaned.

Adrianna shook her head too focused on the note sheet in front of her to really care about what you were saying. 

Your rambles continued regardless, “Do you think I’m going to have to fail my next test so I can keep Remus as a tutor?”

She sighed fed up as she tried to study over your speaking, “You know you could just ask him out like if you weren’t such a pussy.” 

You glared at her lacking real malice, “I’m not a pussy, I’m just creative.”

“Pussy.” Adrianna coughed quietly and you rolled your eyes, she was only a little bit right. 

As your study sessions continued Remus found himself growing strangely fond of you. The banter you offered was entertaining, despite the fact you took every chance to annoy him. Your sarcastic comments made his lips twitch into a grin. Your response to his own remarks; a scrunch of your nose, making him chuckle. You still seemed a bit off and for the first week, Remus wasn’t sure what it was. It was clear that you were hiding something, faking something but he just couldn't place it. 

A pattern began to settle in front of him quickly. Your slip ups became a bit repetitive. And by slip ups he really meant your success. You were good at potions. In fact probably better than he was. Remus wasn’t sure why you were pretending to be terrible at a class you clearly were doing well in, but he was even more confused on why he didn’t call you out on it. 

For some reason he was dead set on keeping you at those study sessions. In fact he used a nearing test as an excuse to meet you daily. He debated his actions in his own mind most nights, why did he keep wasting his time to teach you things you already knew he wondered. He always came up empty, even more lost than he had been before. 

You had thought Remus to be smarter than he was. The fact that he hadn't picked up on your seemingly obvious act was astounding. You supposed it only helped you if he fell for it hook line and sinker, right? You started meeting him everyday in the library, he was very adamant about you passing the upcoming test and you weren’t going to complain, it gave you more time to count the freckles that dusted his nose anyway.  

You hummed quietly to yourself, fiddling with your quill. It was the night before the test and Remus had been insistent on you studying late into the night. So now you sat in the Gryffindor common room under the hazy light of candles with notes you had memorized ages ago. 

The crack of the fire was a pleasant background noise to your tune as your eyes locked onto Remus whose hair had fallen in front of his eyes yet again. You smiled softly watching him scribble final notes onto his Transfiguration assignment. Your gum was slowly losing its flavor on your tongue. 

Feeling your gaze he looked up, “You want me to quiz you on them?” He asked, gesturing to the notes under your arm. 

“Sure.” You reposed picking up the paper and passing it off to him. 

Remus watched you carefully, answers came easily most of the time but every once and  while you would struggle, himming and hawing as you pretended you didn’t know how to respond. He played along until you finished the note sheet.

You were confused when he put it down, “Aren't we going to go over the ones I got wrong?” 

Remus sighed, “Why would I do that when you already know them?”

You furrowed your brow, “I got them wrong.”

“You know them though don’t you?” He smirked, “You know all the stuff that I’ve been teaching you.”

You laughed but there was no humor to it, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He only smiled more, “Yes you do.” 

You just sat there, your mind was spinning, you hadn’t really planned for the end of it all. You had no clue how you were going to explain this. 

“I’m curious.” Remus said, “Why go through all this trouble?” 

You just started at him opening your mouth to answer only to close it again. 

“Come on y/n don’t leave me hanging.” He grinned and you felt like you were going to throw up. 

“How long have you known?” You asked quietly.

Remus shrugged, “About a week.” 

You hesitated, “Wait, why didn't you say anything sooner?”

He shrugged again, “No reason.” 

It was your turn to smile “No really Remus, why waste your time with me?” You questioned. 

He sighed, “It wasn’t really a waste of time.”

“It wasn’t?” 

Remus felt weirdly trapped, “You still haven't answered my question.” 

“Fine you really want to know?” You said chewing your gum anxiously. 

He nodded.

“I wanted to hang out with you, and I wasn't really sure how to ask.” You huffed picking at your nails. 

There was a beat of quiet, the fire popped behind you.

“Now you tell me why you didn’t say anything earlier.” You said trying to divert from your embarrassing confession. 

Remus pondered his answer for a moment, “Because I like you.” 

Your eyes widened, “I thought you found me annoying.” you laughed lightly.

“Oh no I do.” He grinned leaning closer to you as you scrunched your nose in annoyment. “You know you could have just asked me out instead of pretending not to know anything about potions.”

You ignored the heat in your cheeks as Remus leaned just inches from you, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He chuckled, “I supposed there isn't any.” his breath was warm on your skin and your eyes slipped shut as he closed the distance between you. 

Remus’s lips were smooth and soft against your own, his hand cupping your cheek lightly. You ran your fingers through his hair as he tilted your chin back, deepening the kiss. 

He hummed lightly, you tasted like bubblegum.

taglist:

@evyiione @accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings @coldlilheart @suseptiable-but-siriusexual @inglorious-imagines @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa

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A great big special thank you to @peachy-mags for the full version of the fantastic companion artwork for this piece! (https://peachy-mags.tumblr.com/post/654049235542622208/)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Warnings:  Smut, Swearing, Canon-typical violence

Summary: After years of service to Angelo Bronte, who would have thought that the arrival of little Jack Marston could change your life forever?

Notes: My submission for @rdrbigbang! Be sure to check out the AMAZING companion art for this fic from @peachy-mags!

-----

Another beautiful morning in Saint Denis. You breathed in deeply, reveling in the calm peace that so rarely enveloped the town. There was a slight nip in the air that you knew would fade away as the morning drew on, the sun rising and casting everything in a pale-yellow light, before the city itself awakened. It was your favorite time of day.

A cup of coffee steamed in your hands as you slowly made your way through the gardens at Angelo Bronte’s mansion. One of the perks of being a live-in servant, you supposed, was unfettered access to the (admittedly slightly ostentatious) statue garden out back - given that Signor Bronte himself wasn’t occupying the space. After a few minutes of slow, calm pacing, you found yourself standing in front of a marble statue of some Roman goddess, Aphrodite?, and taking a sip of your coffee. 

It was hot and bitter, the perfect juxtaposition to the cool morning that you would allow yourself to enjoy for a few moments longer. Soon, you would need to make your way inside and ready the table for breakfast, but for now you could enjoy this moment. This peace.

Unfortunately, that peace was almost immediately broken by the sound of terrified cries coming from inside the house. It was not all that uncommon to hear screams and sobs from inside the building, due to the scrupulous nature of your employer, but these sounded different. Almost childlike.

Curious, you made your way back indoors, trying your best to steady your pace so as not to draw unwanted attention. Setting the coffee cup in the kitchen next to the large washbasin, you nodded to the cook, Giovanni, before opening the door to the servant’s stairwell. 

The crying was louder here. Anguished and frightened sobs broken only occasionally by cries for “Mama”. 

So it was a child?

Quietly, you crept up the creaky stairs to the hallway, where several of Bronte’s more scrupulous henchmen, Gene, Alfonso and Irvin, were gathered around a door. The crying was even louder now, and most certainly coming from the room where the henchmen were standing guard. Above the desperate sobs, you could just make out the sounds of your employer trying to shush the child, albeit unsuccessfully.

“Now, now, my boy,” he soothed, his accent unmistakable. “There’s no need to be upset, I’m sure your family will come after you soon enough.” The boy continued to cry for his mother in between sobs. Signor Bronte’s tactic wasn’t exactly working.

The men standing guard had spotted you, and closed their ranks tighter. You knew how this went - you were never allowed to see Bronte’s victims. In fact, as far as you were supposed to know, Bronte participated in no underhanded dealings whatsoever. Which was, of course, completely wrong, and you had figured that out long ago. But for the most part, you tried your best to ignore the dealings - for the sake of keeping yourself alive.

But this was a child.

You had to do something. 

Carefully, you moved closer to the line of henchmen standing in front of the door. They were larger than you, Signor Bronte had a habit of finding and employing practical giants to act as his henchmen, but they were also silent.

“Signor Bronte?” you called, standing nearly face-to-chest with one of the large men. “Is everything alright? Can I be of service?”

The men in front of you reddened, irritated at your immunity to their intimidation tactics. They stayed silent, however, and maintained their position as a wall of flesh between you and the crying child in the room. 

After just a few moments, you heard your name being called with a familiar Italian lilt . “Come in, come in. We could use your help,” he hailed for you over the steady sobs from the room. 

The three men at the door reluctantly parted to let you enter the brightly lit room. A fire was burning low in the hearth, likely more of a symbol of comfort than to actually provide any heat, and your boss sat on the side of a large, gaudy bed. 

The boss of the largest crime syndicate in San Denis was a feared man, but if you met him in the street, you would never know. He was small, with a prominent nose and dark eyes that never overlooked anything. At home, his dark was hair slicked back under a floral headband, and his red housecoat opened in the front to reveal an unbuttoned white collared shirt. To anyone who didn’t know him, he could have passed as any rich, european immigrant.

But you knew better. In the middle of the luxurious home, beneath the extravagance of his clothing, sat a cunning, intelligent man who had clawed his way up from hell itself. He was cutthroat, manipulative, and would not hesitate to sell out his closest comrade for a step up the ladder. Knowing this, it didn’t surprise you to see a small boy curled up on the large, gaudy bed, his clothes muddied and his light brown hair in tangles. He couldn’t have been older than four or five, and was screaming adamantly for his mother. 

Instinctually, you rushed to the bed and sat next to him, taking the spot that had been occupied by your boss. “Now, my dear,” he said as he stood, clearing his throat and adjusting his housecoat, “this young man is Jack, and he will be staying with us for a while.” You looked sympathetically at the boy, still sobbing and curled up in front of you, before giving your boss a solemn nod. 

You hated this; seeing the boy in such a familiar state. A state that you, yourself, had been in for years upon your arrival in San Denis. Hopefully his parents, unlike yours, could pay off whatever debt they had soon. “If you could stop his screams, I would appreciate it. He’s giving me a headache,” Signor Bronte continued, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose with one hand as he headed toward the door. “Get him some breakfast. I’m sure he hasn’t been fed since those hillbillies in Rhodes took him.”

Without another word, he walked from the room and the three henchmen followed closely behind him. As he entered the hallway, you could hear him speaking to them in Italian, “Let’s hope these bastards come for him soon. I want to have the little shit out of here as soon as possible.”

The door closed behind them, and you were left in the room with the poor, frightened child. You sighed and slowly moved closer to the curled up figure on the bed. Making sure you were as gentle as possible, you reached out to place a hand on his tiny shoulder. “Jack?...” you said his name, low and calm, as if you were trying to tame a spooked horse. He curled even further into himself, but you noticed his sobs had started to die down to exhausted whimpers. “Jack?” you tried again, pulling your hand back to yourself and placing it in your lap. Calmly, you gave him your name before continuing, “I’m very sorry about all of this, Jack. I know it’s very scary…. I-”

What could you tell him? That you had been in the same situation when you were just a few years older? That your parents had never been able to come back for you? That you had spent the majority of your life in service to Angelo Bronte, notorious mafioso, in order to pay a massive debt that had been racked up by your father when you were eight?

No. He didn’t need to know those things. He didn’t need to know the likely reality of his situation.

It was rare that Signor Bronte dealt in child kidnappings, but when he did? The poor kids were lucky if their parents were able to retrieve them.

“I’m sure your ma and pa will show up for you soon,” you soothed, hoping it was the truth.

The poor boy, whose sobs had now turned into quiet sniffles, stayed curled up with his back to you, unmoving. You reached out a hand gently, brushing his dirty hair away from his forehead, only for him to flinch from your touch. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Alright, Jack,” you said quietly, standing from the bed. A nearby armchair held a throw blanket that you spread gently over him. “Why don’t you get some rest, I’ll bring you some water and some soup in a bit, I’m sure you’re starving.” The floor creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to the door. He didn’t move. He didn’t look up at you. He just stayed on the bed, a shaking, sniffling bundle. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sighing, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind you. You didn’t think he would run away, he seemed far too exhausted and overwhelmed for that, but you have seen desperate people do crazier things. The least you could do was make sure he wasn’t accidentally hurt trying to make his way past Gene, Alfonso and Irvin trying to escape.

You made your way quickly back to the servants stairwell and down to the kitchen, where Giovanni was waiting for you with bated breath. A joyous, loving man, an immigrant from Italy alongside Angelo Bronte several decades ago, Giovanni was one of your closest friends - possibly the next thing to family that you had had since coming here. Over the years, he had taught you as much as he could about Italian cuisine, all the while boasting about the restaurant that he would surely open one day. 

At first, you had scoffed. Hardly anyone in Angelo Bronte’s service managed to leave and start their own life. And, with as much as Signor Bronte boasted about Giovanni’s food, it wasn’t likely that he would be let out of his repayment contract that easily. 

Hardly anyone actively sought out Angelo Bronte as an employer. In fact, you suspected that the only actual well-paid employees were the contract killers he sometimes took out to keep his hands clean - but again, you weren’t supposed to know that. The rest of you were given room and board and a pittance of a salary, in exchange for paying off whatever debt was owed to Signor Bronte. For you, it was your father’s sizable gambling debts. For Giovanni, it was the cost of keeping his nieces and nephews alive after their father, his brother, had suddenly passed. Bail, loans, gambling - every one of his employees had a past, and every single one of them owed their future to Angelo Bronte.

“And, my dear, what is the news?” he asked, turning from the freshly baked bread that he had just taken out of the oven to face you. 

You gave him a somber smile and picked up a slice of tomato from the cutting board in the center of the kitchen island. “A boy,” you explained, leaning against the island and taking a bite of the vegetable. You glanced over at the washbasin and saw your coffee cup had been cleaned. Giovanni was a saint. “Maybe four or five? Small, either way. I…” you trailed off, but the both of you knew what was going through your mind. You felt bad for him, you didn’t think he deserved this.

Giovanni nodded, and turned to the stove. “Well, my dear, let’s give the boy a warm welcome, shall we?” he responded before pulling a large pot from the back of the stove and looking inside. “We have some leftover minestrone from yesterday, why don’t you warm some up for him while I finish Signor Bronte’s breakfast? There’s some stale bread in the pantry you can add to it. I’ll call in Anne to set the table,” he handed you a wooden spoon and was out the kitchen door, where you heard him calling for the older woman.

Your smile was significantly less downtrodden after speaking to the man, but you still could feel anxious, worried butterflies in your stomach as you collected a bowl, spoon and glass. After a quick glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, you also slipped a small chocolate bar into your apron pocket, hoping it would help cheer the boy up, even a little. Within just a few minutes, you were headed back up the creaky stairs to the room where Jack was housed, hot soup and cool water in hand, and armed with a secret chocolate bar.

Quietly, you opened the door, balancing the soup and a glass of water with your left arm as you entered. The room was silent now, except for the low breathing of the boy on the bed. If it weren’t for his red-puffy eyes and the chapped rings around his nostrils, he would have seemed peaceful. Like nothing was wrong at all.

You stood for a moment, looking at the poor boy. Should you wake him? He was bound to be starving, but you were sure he was exhausted as well. You hesitated, but decided against it. You could leave the soup and water on the bedside table and check on him throughout the day - he deserved his rest.

Slowly, quietly, you crept across the room to the side of the bed and set the soup and water down, followed by the chocolate bar. You glanced quickly at him, relieved he didn’t wake, before making your way back to the door.

Just as you were about to leave and go about your duties for the morning, you heard a small cough and a hoarse, timid voice from the bed. “Wait…” he said. You turned to see the boy propped up on his arms, looking at you with puffy, shining eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

Looking at him made you want to cry. How could anyone hurt someone so small, so fragile, so helpless? How could someone be so cruel as to take him away from his family and thrust him into this god awful world?

He was already so exhausted, so frightened, so sad, you couldn’t leave him to sort his feelings out on his own.  You could convince Anna and Giovanni to take your duties for the day. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded at him and moved back toward the bed to sit with him. “I won’t.”

---

Slowly, Jack began to settle in. Although he was still obviously upset, the boy proved to be far more flexible and resilient than you had expected from someone so young. Whether from his natural resilience or from your constant reassurance that his parents must be doing everything in their power to get him back, you weren’t entirely certain. You spent plenty of time with him, making sure he was doing alright, and eventually he chose to sleep on a small cot in the servants quarters, next to your bed. 

He was prone to constant chatter during the day, and you soon learned quite a lot about him and his family. He apparently had plenty of aunts and uncles, who all moved together around the country. They had been down near Blackwater for a long time, where Jack had apparently left his favorite storybook, but then something brought them north to a small ghost town “with lots of snow, it was real cold!”. Luckily, they hadn’t been there long before heading south again to “a place by a river with lots and lots of trees” where, notably, his Uncle Arthur had taken him fishing. Most recently, they had moved down to Lemoyne, once again near a river, but this time Jack described it as “really hot and nothing ever dries and it always smells like fish.”

An accurate description if you had ever heard one.

In the meantime, although he wouldn’t talk much to the others, most of them couldn’t help but dote on him. Giovanni had a habit of slipping him sweets throughout the day. Anna and the other maids would occasionally bring him books or toys that they had found around town - he was amassing quite a collection. And from Signor Bronte himself, Jack received a brand new outfit made from the finest cotton. You suspected it was most likely to keep the worn rags out of the man’s sight than to actually please Jack.

But, despite the gifts and the treats from the others, Jack clung to you. On laundry days, he would help sort and fold. When cooking, he would clean the vegetables without a second thought. During cleaning, he happily carried supplies around after you, handing you what you needed whenever asked. Although you had told him multiple times that he was more than welcome to sit and read his new book, he preferred staying by your side. 

Almost as if he was afraid that, if left alone, he would be taken again.

And at night, it always came to a head. In the dark and left with no distractions, you could hear his whimpers from the cot next to yours. You could hear his murmurs and quiet cries for “Mama” as he dreamt. And it hurt. You couldn’t bear to see him so miserable.

After the third or fourth night, you reached down and brushed the hair from his head. “Jack?” you whispered, looking at the small boy with all the affection of a loving mother. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

He didn’t wake. Instead, he sleepily lifted his hand to yours, and held it in his until the sun rose.

--

The first few weeks went by similarly. Working during the day, with Jack at your side, helping you out as much as a child could, and comforting the poor child during the night with reassuring words. Soon, the reassurance and affirmations turned into stories -  tales about dragons and castles, about magic and the sea. 

About two weeks into his stay, you spent the day preparing for a large feast alongside Giovanni, Anna and with plenty of help from Jack. 

“You didn’t finish your story last night,” he said, pounding away at a ball of bread dough with his tiny fists. 

“Oh yes I did,” you teased, looking the boy dead in the eye with a grin. “You were just too sleepy and fell asleep before the end.” As you joked, you set down the knife and pushed aside the tomato you had been chopping to poke him lightly in the side.

His joyous laughter lit up his face. “Hey!” he whined in between bouts of giggles. “That tickles!”

“I know, silly,” you returned not relenting your tickle torture. “That’s the point!” You did acquiesce after just a few moments though, not wanting to actually cause him any pain.

“Alright you two, calm down, now,” came Anna’s voice from across the room. She was a lovely, portly older woman, with graying hair and a smile to light up a room. If Giovanni had been your father figure since coming here, she certainly took the place of your mother. “We’ve got plenty to prepare for tonight. Signor Bronte is having the Mayor over to talk about his party.”

You let your giggles die down, and nudged the red-faced child next to you. “Now look what you’ve done, Jackie,” you teased softly, ruffling his hair before going back to chopping vegetables.

“Nuh uh,” he responded, giving the bread dough a thorough punch before looking up at you again with a childish grin. He had lost a tooth recently, which only made it all the more adorable. “Can you tell me the end of the story?” he asked after another moment, turning back to the mound of dough on the table. “It was so good, I wanna hear the end. Pretty please?”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Alright, alright,” you chided, picking up yet another tomato. It wasn’t a particularly good story, just a thinly veiled version of… well, you didn’t want to dwell on that, but if he wanted to hear it, you would oblige. “Where were we?”

“Hmmm…” he mused, stopping kneading the dough for just a second to recall. “Well, the king and queen had just sent the princess to talk to the mean dragon, and then he caught her in a trap, remember?”

“That’s the beginning of the story, Jack.”

“Well, that’s as far as I remember,” his giggles echoed through the room and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright, fine,” you feigned irritation that he definitely could see right through. “Well, the princess had been caught in a trap by the mean dragon, but he didn’t hurt her. He… he just wouldn’t let her go home. He wouldn’t let her see the king and queen again so she could be happy.

“‘Your king and queen need to send a knight to come get you,’ the dragon told the princess. ‘Little girls cannot roam the forest on their own.’

“And so, the princess waited, and waited and waited and waited. She learned to read, and write, and she even learned to speak Dragon, which were talents unheard of for princesses in those days. 

“She had lots of friends who came and went, and even though she couldn’t go back to the king and queen, she... she wasn’t so lonely… and she learned to find happiness in the small things, like the smell of coffee in the morning, or turning the page of a brand new book, or even the glow of the sunrise on spring dew. 

“After a while, she finally realised that she didn’t need the king and queen to be happy. She could make her own happiness… And she did…” you trailed off at the end, returning your focus once again to the vegetables. The other two adults in the room remained silent. You couldn’t have been more blatantly obvious. “The end.”

Jack was quiet for a moment as well, hands stilled on the dough as he looked at the ceiling in thought. “That wasn’t a very good ending,” he said quietly, looking up at you.

You had been caught.

“The princess should have run away, or she should have asked one of her friends to take her when they were leaving,” he continued, determined.

You chuckled solemnly. “You’re probably right, Jack,” you murmured. “I think she was just… scared. The world was dark and scary for her, and she weren’t a very brave princess, and she was worried about what would happen to the king and queen if she left.”

“But that’s not true,” he interjected, throwing one final punch at the bread dough before Anna came to collect it from him. “She was real brave! She lived with a dragon! And dragons are real scary!” He was handed another mound of dough which he immediately proceeded to punch with all his might. “And maybe some of her friends come back to save her! Maybe she helped lots of people while they were living with the dragon, and then they come back to help her! That would be an even better ending!”

Another chuckle. He was far too adorable and far too naive for this house. “Maybe, Jack,” you responded, plastering a knowing smile to your lips. “That would be a good ending.” Clearing your throat, you wiped your hands on your apron and turned to face the small boy. “Alright now, you. Finish up with that bread and then we can get cleaned up for lunch. I think Giovanni is making us spaghetti.”

---

The hot water splashed out of the bucket, spraying suds across the floor. Jack giggled and picked up a handful, blowing it in your direction.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The kid sure did know how to make even the most boring of chores into a game. Looking around first to make sure no one caught you messing around, you picked up a handful of bubbles and plopped them onto his head. This brought out a shrieking laugh from the boy. He really was settling in. For better or worse, at least he seemed to be happier. 

Finally, you told him gently that you needed to finish the laundry, and then the two of you could go outside for a walk. This, somehow, convinced him to calm down, left playing with the bubbles and giggling to himself until he was interrupted by a voice calling your name from the hall.

Signor Bronte.

“Get these men drinks,” you heard, his spoken Italian echoing across the hall.

Immediately, you put the wash down and wiped your hands on your dirtied apron before hustling to the liquor cabinet. “Wait here, Jack. I’ll just bring the whisky out and be right back,” you instructed, quickly gathering six whisky glasses and a serving tray.

This had been your job for years, you could practically do it blindfolded. As one of the youngest servants in the house, Signor Bronte tended to like to have you wait on his more esteemed guests. It was degrading, but it kept you in his good graces. You had seen enough servants come and go to know that complaining about your role would get you nowhere. Or worse.

Quickly, you pulled a decanter from the cabinet, and left the room with the tray full of glasses in your hands. Already in the hallway, you could hear the conversation between the men in the room. “Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, John Marston,” introduced one of the strangers, his voice confident.

You brushed past Irvin, who was standing guard at the entrance, into extravagant parlour. Upon entering the room, you could immediately see that these were not the typical guests that Signor Bronte would waste his good whisky on, but you hardly had time to look at them individually. They seemed dirty, rough, and completely out of place in the richly-decorated parlour. 

“The pleasure is mine, all mine, please,” he said, summoning you forward. You warily step between the chairs to place the tray on the table and pour the glasses, handing them to each man in turn. First, to a tall, thin man with dark hair and a frustrated scowl etched into his face. Next, a muscular man with light brown hair and bright teal eyes, and finally, another dark-haired man, his hair slick with pomade and dressed in clothing that looked like it used to be expensive. 

“So, can my friend have his son?” says one of the men - the one who had introduced them all earlier. You nearly froze. Can my friend have his son?

Jack. 

It took you just a moment to gather your wits before you turned to your boss, handing him the last glass. He took it with a nod to you and a chuckle, before looking back at the men in front of him. “Of course, of course!” he grinned, taking a sip of the whisky. You immediately got yourself out of the way, standing behind the couch in case you were needed for anything else, as you had been taught. “But… should I be out of pocket over a misunderstanding? Of course I know you would not want that…”

“No,” answered the man, slightly reluctantly. You noted that none of the other men had yet spoken, this must be their leader.

Bronte seemed satisfied with their response, choosing to ignore the reluctance with a jovial laugh. “No, no no. So, how about this? You perform a simple job for me and you get your son back,” he explained, rubbing his hands together like the villain he was.

Finally, one of the other men spoke.“What is it?” the larger of the two groaned, beginning to stand up, as if he knew he would be assigned to this task.

Bronte, of course, made light of the situation, waving his hands through the air as he spoke, “A couple of people have taken to grave robbing in the cemetery.”

“That is a fine place for it, the best,” joked the leader. You cringed, but Signor Bronte seemed to enjoy it.

Your boss burst out laughing, from the gut this time. “I love this guy, don’t you love him?” he laughed, looking at you. You nodded, plastering a smile to your face until he turned back to the other man. “I love you!” He paused for a moment to pour himself another glass of whisky before continuing his explanation. “See they’ve taken not only to desecrating the dead, but they've done so without paying a tribute to the living. Thing is, they see my men, of course, they run a mile. So maybe you two head off, huh?” he said, indicating to the men on the couch before pouring yet another glass of whisky and handing it to the group’s leader. “And you, Mr. Van der Linde? Why don’t you tell me more about my manners?” he finished speaking and held up the glass to the other man, Mr. van der Linde, for a toast as the other two men stood to leave the room. “Salute.”

“Salute,” parroted Mr. van der Linde, clinking his glass with your boss’s. The other two men exited the room, as your boss and Mr. van der Linde continued conversing. Their laughter was real, but something in the room was tense, fake. Two men cut from the same cloth, both trying to one-up the other without making it completely obvious.

You had seen this enough times to know that this would only end badly for at least one of them - if not both.

The hour dragged on, as you stood in the corner, ready to jump into service if need be. Your mind drifted to Jack - now sitting alone in the washroom - and that you would soon be saying goodbye.

It was bittersweet, this feeling that came over you. You wanted him to be happy, to be home with his family, of course, but over the course of the last few weeks, he had wormed his way into your heart. He was the family, the son, that you would never have. And it broke your heart to have to let him go.

But you knew better. You couldn’t keep him here. Not for you. It was better if he were able to go home, to see his mother and his family, to see his dog that he missed so much. That was the life he needed, the life he deserved.

You felt the tears well in your eyes as you stood, waiting for your orders. A little over three hours had passed, and the men were still away. Signor Bronte and Mr. van der Linde were well into their cups, and you were not surprised in the least when your boss stood and unceremoniously sent his guest on his way.

“And the boy?” asked Mr. van der Linde, standing from his position on the couch and reaching out a hand to shake.

Signor Bronte took it, gave it a quick shake and began to stagger out of the room. “Yes, yes,” he slurred, turning to you on his way. “Bring him down, would you?”

“Yes, Signore,” you nodded, looking from your boss to the other man. It was really happening. It was really time to say goodbye.

--

To say Jack was excited at the news was putting it lightly. He had nearly bounced with joy when you had told him that his Pa was here to pick him up. You had led him down the stairs and out the front door to where Mr. van der Linde was waiting patiently. Jack nearly tackled him to the ground in his excitement.

“Uncle Dutch!” he called, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. 

A loud, barking laugh left the man as he patted Jack’s head. “Well hello there, son,” he said, a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you around camp.”

You smiled, looking at the two of them. This was the right thing to do. But then, Jack did something wholly unexpected. He led Dutch to you, and introduced you.

“She’s been real nice since I got here,” he explained to the older man. “She told me stories and brought me candy, and today she even put bubbles on my head!” his excited giggles echoed across the yard.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dutch said, looking you up and down before reaching out for your hand, which he then pulled to his lips in a theatrical show of chivalry. “And thank you so much for taking such good care of our boy.”

You plastered another smile to your face and gently pulled your hand away, wary of potentially offending the well-armed man. “Of course,” you responded. “I was happy to-” you were cut off by the well-timed sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones, and a loud, rough voice ringing in your ears.

“Like I said, we’ll see where we’re at once we got Jack,” said one of the men from earlier as their horses came to a halt in front of the gate. They dismounted and were immediately let in by one of the front guards. 

Upon their arrival, Dutch seemed to immediately forget your existence, instead striding towards the two men with an exasperated, “Well, you took your time.”

And then there was Jack, nearly bursting with excitement at the sight of the men, he couldn’t wait until they were through the gate before he ran to them with a cry of, “Pa!”

The sight warmed your heart. Jack was quickly picked up and clutched to the chest of the taller, dark-haired man as the other moved past you to hand something to the guards. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said, rubbing the back of Jack’s head and holding him close. 

However, Jack, completely oblivious to the nature of the situation, wiggled free of his father’s arms and, instead, grabbed his hand and pulled the man in your direction. “Pa, come here, come here, you have to meet my friend!” he said, voice loud and excited, as he introduced you to his father. “She’s been helping me since I got here. She tells the best stories!”

The man looked down at Jack with a loving smile and then up to you. “That so?” he asked the boy, reaching out to shake your hand. “John Marston.” 

You took his and introduced yourself as Jack rambled on, “Yeah! And she taught me how to make bread real good, want to see?”

“Sure, you can show us when we get back to camp,” John acquiesced, still holding tight to the boy’s hand, who then proceeded to drag the two of you over to the one man you did not yet have a name for.

“Uncle Arthur!” he called. The man, having dropped off whatever he had needed to give Signor Bronte, was leaning against a column and smoking. “You have to meet my friend too.”

“Is that right?” he said, smiling at Jack. He pushed himself off the column and snubbed his cigarette on his boot, moving toward the three of you. “Nice to meet you, miss,” for the third time that night, a hand was held out.

You shook it and introduced yourself, “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

John, looking both relieved and exhausted, heaved Jack back into his arms. “Thank you for taking care of him, I-”

Immediately, you stopped him. “It weren’t no problem, really. He’s a lovely boy,” you explained, once again trying to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. Taking care of Jack had easily been one of the highlights of your life. Having someone need you, someone that loved talking to you, someone who was simply excited to be around you - it was such a drastic change from how you had lived for so long. And, even if you would never experience it again, you wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for the world.

John nodded, you didn’t have to explain any further. “Comeon, Jack, your ma’s been worried sick.” Jack nodded to his father enthusiastically, a grin on his face, before turning and surprising you with a big hug.

You bent over to hug him back, patting him on his head when you heard your name. “You’re coming with us, right?” he asked, his tiny face buried in your dress. You looked around at the others, Arthur had paused in his tracks, John was frozen in place, Dutch was stopped near the gate. No one said anything for a moment.

You don’t know how to break it to him.

So, you pull his face from your skirt and kiss him gently on the forehead, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “I’m real sorry, Jack,” you say, looking him in the eye, “but not this time.” You felt tempted to say something like I promise I’ll write or You can come see me any time but you knew both of these things weren’t true. He would get home to his family, and in a few days you would just be a stranger from his childhood. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood again, ruffling his hair and turning him to face his father. “Now, you go on back to your family, alright? Teach them how to make some good bread, like I showed you.”

His head was shaking as he looked back up at you, tears welling in his big brown eyes. “But…”

This hurt. More than saying goodbye to a child you had only known for a few weeks should. “I know, but…” you started, still not entirely sure how to explain yourself. “I have to stay here. This… this is my home.” You pull him to you once again in a tight hug and place a kiss on the top of his head. “You be good for your parents, alright?”

You can feel him nod under your chin, but he does not respond. It’s easy to tell that this is a new feeling for him - being so happy and so sad all at once. You wished you could tell him that its only temporary, and he will never have these conflicting feelings again. You wished you could have gone with him, broken free of Angelo Bronte and this life. There were so many things you wished you could do at that moment, but you couldn’t. Or you wouldn’t.

With a light sob, Jack wraps his arms around you one final time until he is gently pulled away by his father. “Comeon, son. We should get going.”

They walked to the gate together, John’s hand on his son’s back, leading the way. Jack was hoisted high onto a horse, and you could vaguely hear them talking to him, trying to cheer him up. “We have a new camp set up, Jack, you’re going to love it,” says Dutch before they ride off down the street.

Finally, you allow your tears to fall.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

---

The days pass slowly after Jack’s goodbye. There is little entertainment to pass the time. No dumb jokes, no begging for stories. It was exactly as it was before. Still, it felt like something was missing.

Early in the morning, a few days later, you walked around the house as usual, coffee in hand. You mused over the tasks for the days ahead: the Governor's garden party was in about a week, so it was time to start preparing. Clothes needed to be pressed, shoes to be shined, and, most importantly, mounds of food needed to be cooked.

Giovanni’s cooking was, although rarely shared outside of Signor Bronte’s home, lauded as some of the best in town. So, of course, Angelo Bronte’s personal chef would be graciously catering the meal.

It was supposed to be a sign of generosity, you theorised, but in reality it was all a show to keep Signor Bronte in the San Denis elite’s good graces - and to worm his way into another favor from the mayor.

You chuckled lightly to yourself as you paced slowly around the perfectly manicured gardens. Marble statues, imported from Italy, gazed down at you, unmoving. Quietly, you began to hum a short tune, not noticing the figure at the fence across from you. 

“Mornin’,” he called, his voice low and gruff, just as it had been when you had first met him.

You look up from the grass to the man, in surprise. He was leaning aginst the fence, patiently smoking a cigarette, and waiting. For you? “Ah, good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you call, making your way to him. He stubs out his cigarette on his boot and turns to fully face you. Only now, in the morning sunlight and away from the stress of Angelo Bronte, do you notice how attractive he is. Light brown hair framed an unshaven face, a strong jawline, light smattering of chest hair showing through the top of his unbuttoned collar. “It’s lovely to see you again. How is Jack doing?”

Arthur smiles at you, and the sun suddenly seems slightly brighter. “Boah’s doin’ good,” he says, leaning forward on the fence, one arm above his head to balance himself. “He’s happy to be home.”

You shoot him a small, bittersweet smile before turning your gaze to your coffee. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Misses you, though,” he continues, once he realises you aren’t going to say anything more. You look up at him, and notice he is fishing something out of his satchel. A small, folded piece of paper is passed through the bars of the fence, and you gently pluck it from his hand. “Sent this. Special delivery.”

You gently unfold the paper, and see a row of several stick figures, several people and what looks to be a dog, standing in front of some trees under a sunny sky. Under each of the figures, you can see several names scribbled in an adult’s hand.

Pa, Ma, Jack, Cain, Uncle Arthur… and you.

“Been told to tell you,” he continues, reaching through the fence with the hand that had been keeping him balanced and pointed at the figures on the paper. “That’s you… with us…”

You laugh lightly, glancing from the paper to the eyes of the man in front of you. A handsome teal, complimented by his, admittedly dirty, blue shirt. How had you not noticed him before? “This is real sweet of him, thank you,” you breathe, slightly softer than you had intended. You turn again to look at the drawing, hoping he didn’t notice the blush that had suddenly stained your cheeks.

The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun rise above the horizon. “You could come with us, you know,” he said after a minute, pulling another cigarette from his satchel and lighting it. “The boah would shoa be happy to have you ‘round.”

You smile at the thought. Waking up in the fresh air, telling Jack stories, getting to know his family. It would be lovely. But at the end of the day, it was easier said than done. “That… that’s a nice dream,” you told him, smiling. 

He huffed, and took a long drag from his cigarette. “It’s true,” he tells you, leaning against the fence once more. “The life… well it ain’t pretty. Sure as hell not as pretty as livin’ in a mansion. But it’s free. You ain’t gotta answer to no one you don’t want.”

You scoffed and found yourself kicking at the grass beneath your feet. It would surely be better than what you had here. Hell, it would be easy enough to walk through the gates with the intention to never come back. And, what was even keeping you here? Your family? You hadn’t seen them in years. Giovanni? Anna? They would both leave if they could. 

But, you knew it wasn’t possible. You’ve seen this kind of thing before. One of your fellow servants found a means of escape, only to be back within a week. If they weren’t found and killed onsight. Angelo Bronte had eyes in every corner. Flies on every wall. He would find you.

“I�� I wish I could.”

--

You went to bed late that evening, your conversation with Arthur resounding in your head. You could come with us, you know. The boy would sure be happy to have you around. The thought had even permeated your dreams, enveloping you in a fantasy world. A beautiful campsite by a river, a group of people, happy, laughing, free. Jack and Arthur and John and Dutch, and even Giovanni and Anna. They were all there, and they were all happy.

But, of course, the threat lingered. What had started as a beautiful dream quickly turned sour as Angelo Bronte entered the scene, scaring away your friends, capturing you and dragging you back to San Denis, into a mansion that looked more like a prison with every step. You would never escape him. You could never be free.

You had woken early in the morning, covered in sweat and sheets kicked from the bed. Breathing heavily, you glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. It was early, but not early enough to warrant going back to sleep. Groaning, you stepped quietly from your bed and pulled on your dressing gown. Your morning ritual would begin earlier today.

The air was crisp, but your coffee was hot - the perfect combination for waking a person up in the morning. The birds sang in their early morning chorus as the slowly rising sun cast everything in a calm, light blue. It was earlier than you had been up in ages, and you were fully prepared to sit in the garden, alone, and bask in the peacefulness. 

To your surprise, however, the increasingly-familiar smell of cigarette smoke and campfire reached you. You turned to the fence, the same place as the day prior, to be greeted by the rugged cowboy, leaning casually against the railing. Tired as you were, you couldn’t keep the smile from lighting up your face. 

“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you say, making your way over to him, coffee cradled in both hands. You took a sip, thinking that you may need to start making two cups if this becomes a habit. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How’s Jack?”

Arthur’s grin immediately made your stomach flip. “Mornin’, miss,” he responded, tipping his hat to you. He lazilly flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground before leaning against the fence again, his arm above his head, like he had done the day before. “Boah’s doin’ good. Still talkin’ ‘bout you.” His grin never left his face as he looked at you. 

You cleared your throat and maintained eye contact even though you were sure you could feel the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Well, ain’t he a sweetheart?” you tease, only partially talking about Jack.

He chuckled and reached into his bag, mirroring his actions from the day prior. “I been asked to deliver this,” he said, pulling out a string of slightly crumpled red flowers from his bag. They were strung together, tied at the stems, into a long, vibrant necklace. 

You gingerly took the necklace from him with a smile, examining it. Wild yarrow.  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” you respond, pulling it over your head before striking a cheesy pose for the man in front of you. “How do I look?”

God, you could look at his smile all day. “Gorgeous,” he responds, only slightly teasing, and you are suddenly struck with a feeling of giddy embarrassment. It was rare that you got on with someone this well, this quickly. But with Arthur Morgan, despite his rough exterior, you felt strangely comfortable. 

The two of you stood together, talking through the morning sunrise until you were very nearly late for work. When the sun was almost fully above the horizon, you found yourself giggling and dashing into the house, with one last glance to the cowboy at the fence, eyes shining.

And so it went.

For the next week, like clockwork, you would wake, go for your walk, and meet Arthur Morgan at the fence. Gifts, supposedly all from Jack, were exchanged - a nice rock, a beautiful notebook, a seashell, a fountain pen - and you sent your fair share of notes back, including candy for the boy, and a (stolen) flask of good whisky for your postman.

Soon enough, you found yourself gladly waking earlier in the morning - butterflies in your stomach as you made your way outside to greet him. Your mood was better, despite Jack’s farewell only a week ago, and even your colleagues had taken notice.

“What’s got you walking around here all smiles lately?” Anna had asked on the morning before the Mayor’s garden party, as you sat together, adding finishing touches to several large pies that were to go into the oven. 

You scoffed, still unable to wipe the smile from your face, and looked at her over the stack of pans in front of you. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you responded. “Now don’t distract yourself with me, we need to get this all ready to take this afternoon.” Your chiding didn’t deter her, as she continued pestering you the rest of the day.

Her teasing had very little effect on your mood, however, despite the large amount of work ahead of you. And, so, the day passed quickly, in anticipation of the coming evening. It was well known throughout San Denis that Angelo Bronte had one of the best chef’s in town under his employ, so the household staff was asked to provide a portion of the catering. It was a massive, and time consuming project, but it was well worth the work. 

You finally had the opportunity to get out of the house, even if it were for just an evening, which would be an incredible change of pace. Almost before you could even gather your bearings, you were slipping into your best uniform, and were on your way to the even larger home.

You had been to the Mayor’s home a handful of times, but it still left you in awe. If you had thought that Angelo Bronte lived in the lap of luxury, but this home was somehow even more opulent. Marble pillars, statues lining the hallways, mahogany floors, golden chandeliers, art on every wall. You had to make a conscious effort to not allow your jaw to drop as you walked through the hallways to the kitchen. There was no time to dawdle, guests would be arriving shortly.

With an unintentional grunt, you hoisted the box of chopped vegetables you were carrying onto a table, and got to work helping Giovanni finish up a large pot of étouffée. It took some time, but after some significant effort from yourself, Giovanni, and Anna, as well as plenty of help from the Mayor’s own servants, the food was served and guests were mingling in the garden.

You leaned carefully against a counter and wiped sweat from your brow. Cooking for upwards of 100 people was exhausting, not to mention that the kitchen was absolutely scalding. You could use a large glass of water and a breath of fresh air.

Nodding at your colleagues, you told them as much before stepping into the hallway and taking a deep breath of the cooler air. If you were lucky, no one would be on the upstairs balcony, and you could head out and watch the fireworks for a few minutes. As you made your way to the back staircase, hoping that the balcony would be empty, you spotted a flash of a black tuxedo and familiar light brown hair in front of you.

Arthur Morgan. Now what was he doing here?

With a smirk, you carefully followed him up the stairs, catching a further glimpse of him as he entered the first door on the second floor. You hadn’t been up here before, but with the way he was walking, you could be sure that he wasn’t sneaking off to the toilet.

Glancing around, you saw no one else in the hallway. 

Good. 

Slowly, carefully, you pushed open the door to what appeared to be an office. And there, in all his glory, was Arthur Morgan, rummaging through the Mayor’s desk. As you snuck in and quietly closed the door behind you, he slipped a small stack of papers into his tuxedo jacket. 

You took a moment to look over him. Damn, he cleaned up well. A recent haircut, clean shaven, and a brand new tuxedo made him look like an entirely new man. Not that you had any problem with the bearded, dirt-covered version of him that had been meeting you all week.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” you said quietly, startling him. He turned to you, wide-eyed, his hand instinctively flying to where his pistol was usually holstered. He was red in the face, adrenaline pumping, and you had to admit that it was a very good decision to not allow weapons at this party.

Upon seeing you, however, he noticeably relaxed. Face still red, he glanced quickly around the room before moving toward you, a predator stalking its prey. “Could say the same to you,” he whispered, voice low, as he backed you slowly toward the door.

That familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach rose again as he neared, but you held your chin high in defiance - and then you did something even you didn’t quite expect. You kissed him.

Lunged would be a more accurate description. You closed the distance between the two of you in a second, lips crashing with his. You had only known him for a week, but somehow it felt like you had been wanting to do this your entire life. 

After a moment of shock, he returned the kiss, lips frantically moving with yours as he wrapped his hands around your body. He was warm and strong, and smelled of campfire and cologne and you wanted to get lost in him. You wanted to lose yourself with him. Reaching up, you ran your fingers through his hair until you reached the base of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

He moved with you, slowly, steps matching yours, until your back was flush against the door. For only a moment, he pulled away. You heard the light click of a key and he was on you again, hands fluttering over your hips as he began to work his lips down your jawline. You had to swallow the moan threatening to spill from your lips as you pulled him impossibly closer, fingers toying with the ends of his hair. Then you pulled.

He leaned back with a guttural groan, following your hands as you gently pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. His cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. You couldn’t help yourself as you pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and crashing your lips to his.

The taste of him, the feel of him, it was overwhelming and you wished you could be surrounded by him like this for the rest of your life. Silently, lips still on yours, he turned the two of you so that your back was against the nearby bookshelf. You lifted a leg and wrapped it around his, grinding into him without breaking your kiss. 

Before you knew what was happening, his hands moved from your hips to pull up the skirt of your dress and finger the waistband of your bloomers. A nip at the bottom of your lip brought out a groan from you as he slowly made his way into your underclothes, exploring until he found your core. 

Gently, he toyed with your lower lips, ghosting his fingers along the outside teasingly. If you were in any other state of mind, you would have been embarrassed about the way your hips began moving - wantonly, desperately, trying to maneuver his exploratory fingers exactly where you wanted them.

But Arthur Morgan was apparently not feeling cooperative. He pulled away from your kiss and brought his hand out of your bloomers at the same time, leading you to throw your head back against the bookshelf with a desperate groan.

The twinkle in his eyes matched the mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you, your breathing heavy, cheeks flushed. The cocky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying this. This torment.

 With a sudden burst of courage that you didn’t know you had in you, you found yourself pushing him backward. Hands on his chest, you led him roughly to the mayor’s desk, and lunged. Lips crashed once again with his, the taste of whisky and tobacco overwhelming you once again. Your fingers toyed with his tuxedo jacket before slipping underneath and sliding it from his shoulders.

As good as he looked in this outfit, he was far too clothed for your taste.

Next came his vest, unbuttoned with help from him as you both lost your patience. You peeled his suspenders off until they hung loosely at his sides, and finally all that stood between you and his bare chest was his shirt. He yanked it roughly from his pants, the two of you unbuttoning it as quickly as your shaking fingers allowed, and flung it across the room before leaning in for another desperate kiss. 

As his lips met yours once again, you felt him push you back toward the bookshelf as he untied your apron to pull it over your head. Next, his fingers unbuttoned the high collar of your dress, quickly followed quickly by his lips as he placed kisses and nips on your flushed skin. He trailed ever downward - to your collarbone, to your cleavage - drawing moans from your parted lips.

Desperately, you reached for his face and pulled him back up to you, caressing the smooth shaven skin as you kissed. Once satisfied, your hands wandered downward, toying with the hair splayed across the hot, hard panes of his chest. Slowly, teasingly, you followed the path of his hair with your fingers until you reached the top of his pants, and his breath hitched in your mouth. 

Your kiss slowed and turned into a peck as you undid the button and pushed his pants down, revealing muscular thighs framing a growing bulge hidden under his underclothes.  Pushing down the thin cotton finally revealed his swollen member, which you took gently into your hand as you pulled him in for another heated kiss.

He groaned into your mouth, growing impossibly harder with each stroke, until he pulled away to look you into the eye. His face was flushed, his hair in shambles, and you swore you had never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life. You nodded, and allowed him to hoist up your skirt and slide into you through the slit in your bloomers.

In unison, groans left both of your mouths. You were balanced precariously on a bookshelf, your leg wrapped around his waist as he sank into you, head thrown back in pleasure. Once he gathered his bearings, he slowly, torturously slowly, began to move. 

He thrust in and out, in and out, his face buried into your shoulder. Each thrust was paired with a small grunt and a gasp from you. You reveled in the feeling, the warmth, the intensity. 

His hands gripped your hips through the fabric of your dress, pulling you closer to him with each thrust. You wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him up to you. Your lips met, tongues entangled as tiny gasps swelled up from your throat. It was all you could do to keep in the loud moan that was threatening to spill from your lips.

With each thrust, the bookshelves shook, sending a few trinkets to the carpeted floor with a light thump. You should be more careful. The thought echoed in your mind for only a second before it was whisked away by another thrust that shook you to the core. 

As he grew closer and closer to completion, his thrusts became faster, more frantic, and you found yourself clutching the edges of the shelf for balance. 

Finally, he pulled one of his hands from your hip and wormed it between your bodies to find the place where he had teased you so well before. And then he pressed. And rubbed. And stroked. And finally, in a glaring flash of white before your eyes, you found yourself biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming his name. Your body shook, your breathing came in harsh gasps, until you could finally open your eyes.

Not a second later, Arthur took a few final thrusts and pulled out of you, stroking his member once, twice, and then spilling himself on the floor with a series of loud gasps. A shaky breath followed as he fell onto you, his head balancing on your chest to catch his breath.

Finally, there was silence, only broken occasionally by a heaving breath. The two of you huddled together against the bookshelves, clinging to each other until you could regain your balance.

You found yourself leaning hard against the shelf behind you, running your fingers through Arthur’s mussed hair. “Those last few gifts… the journal, the pen… those weren’t from Jack, were they?” you asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

A low chuckle came from Arthur, still bent forward with his head balanced on your chest. “I s’pose I’ve been caught again…”

--

The party ended with a spectacular fireworks show, which you and Arthur watched together, now fully clothed and hidden from sight on the empty balcony. Shortly after the last firework had lit up the night sky, he left you with a lingering kiss that you swore you felt on your lips for the rest of the evening.

To say your head was in the clouds would have been putting it lightly. You would have never expected such a rough, dirty man to be your knight in shining armor, but here you were. 

Your good mood carried over through the party cleanup, into the night, and even on into the morning during your daily walk. Glancing at the gate where he usually stood, you were slightly disheartened to see his spot empty. Your smile faltered for just a moment, before you reasoned with yourself. He was probably just tired, or hungover, and just because he had showed up every day for the last week and a half did not mean he could keep up that habit forever. 

So, you sat and waited for nearly a half an hour at your normal meeting spot, before heading back inside only slightly disheartened. He had a life outside of meeting you, you reminded yourself, it was unfair to assume he would be there every day when he had never promised this.

Despite your disappointment, your good mood persisted through the day. Through stained laundry, through dusting and mopping, through cleaning a massive pile of cooking dishes from the night before - you couldn’t have wiped the smile off of your face.

And then he didn’t show up again. And again. And again.

For over a week, you missed Arthur’s presence on your morning walks. You found yourself waiting at the fence each day, coffee and the morning paper in hand to pass the time, only to end up disappointed once again. At the very least, there seemed to be a lot of dramatic news to report that week - a trolley station robbery ending with a crashed trolly on main street, a wealthy man on a steamboat robbed for all he was worth - but that information only helped pass the time you spent waiting for him.

Outside of your morning walks, your mood slowly soured. Maybe Arthur had gotten what he wanted. Maybe the dirty, lecherous outlaw’s only goal was to bed you and be on his way. Maybe Jack had forgotten you completely, and with nothing new to deliver, so had Arthur.

You took to writing angrily in the journal he had gotten you, having no other reasonable outlet for your emotions. Originally, you had wanted to toss the damn thing into the fire, but - without someone to vent to, without someone who could understand the depths of your frustration - it seemed like such a waste. Instead, you chose to use the gift for its intended purpose, and wrote down all of your frustrations toward the man who had gifted it to you, before stuffing it underneath your pillow and falling asleep for the night.

There it lay, throughout the day and night until you finally did see Arthur Morgan again. A loud crash, followed by gunshots and yelling in Italian and English from the back gardens, met your ears as you cleaned up after dinner with Anna and Giovanni.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte! Send out every man you got!”

The three of you had no guns, and even if you had it sounded less like a gunfight and more like a massacre. Quickly, you locked the doors, hoping that it would be enough to deter the intruders. And then, huddled together out of sight with your friends, you waited.

The back door was kicked open with a gunshot and a loud bang. More gunshots, screams, and crashes echoed through the hallway and into the kitchen. You heard the yells get closer, before the kitchen door was shot and forcefully kicked open. 

This was it, this would be your end.

Only, it wasn’t.

Standing in the doorframe was none other than Arthur Morgan, shotgun in hand, eyes frantic… until he caught sight of you. 

“Comeon,” he said, rushing over to where the three of you were huddled together and pulling you up by the arm. “You three gotta get outta here,” he ordered, gruffly, hurriedly, as he opened one of the larger windows. “We only came from the back, so head to the front and go somewhere safe.”

Giovanni and Anna looked from each other to you, and then to the open window, hesitant. Another volley of gunfire reached your ears from inside the house. There was no time for debate. “Go ahead,” you told them. “We can trust him.” 

That (plus another few rounds of gunfire in quick succession) was all it took. Giovanni nodded to you, grabbed Anna by the forearm, and they were out the window and running across the lawn to safety. You breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Arthur. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to ask, but there was no time. 

As if sensing your hesitation, he took you by the shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “Go,” he said, face buried into your hair. “Get to the Fontana, I’ll meet you there when this is over.” You could have sworn you felt a light kiss atop your head before he pressed a crumpled ten dollar bill into your palm and lightly pushed you in the direction of the open window. “Get outta here.”

You nodded, mouthing a quick “thank you” before climbing through the window. In the distance, you could see Anna and Giovanni, silhouetted against the night sky. They were running as fast as they could, to safety, and you felt a pang in your chest. They had been the closest thing you had had to a family for so long. The three of you had been forced together by fate, and had come out a team. But… where would you end up if you followed them? 

Likely back in the service of another rich man. But, maybe it would be better. Maybe the freedom you found yourself longing for was to be found in the familiar, the known. Could you really abandon your friends, your way of life, for the promise of a man you had known for little more than a few weeks?

Quickly, you glanced in the opposite direction, toward the city. Toward the Fontana. Toward the promise of freedom. The clock was ticking, you needed to decide. Now.

Torn between what was and what could be, you took a deep breath and took the advice of a child who was far too wise for his age. You ran toward the Fontana. You ran as fast as you could to a new life.

The sound of gunfire and screams followed you to the gates, where it then became overwhelmed by the shouts and sirens of incoming police. Luckily, you were able to slip outside of the gate and get partially down the street before they stopped in front of the house.

Bowing your head, you quickly made your way down the cobblestone street and into the city, away from the violence. By the time you reached the Fontana Theater, the gunshots had all but faded into the hustle and bustle of the city center, and you became acutely aware of how much you didn’t belong. It had been years since you had been anywhere outside of Signore Bronte’s mansion other than the grocery and occasional trip to the tailors. It had been even longer since the last time you had been to a Magic Lantern Theater. And you knew, with your hair mussed and maid’s uniform, you must stick out like a sore thumb.

Luckily, if your memory served, the theater should be dark enough that no one would notice. You slowed your pace, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, and proceeded to the ticket counter, purchasing one ticket to the three upcoming shows. That should be more than enough time, you hoped. 

You entered the dimly lit room and practically collapsed into one of the seats. Now that you had managed to escape, now that you were in relative safety, the adrenaline you had felt earlier had completely vanished. You were exhausted. You were confused. You were scared. 

Now, you could only wait, and hope that Arthur would be back for you as promised.

In front of you, the film started with a flicker. The recorded voice of a man telling the story of several forest animals as a series of images were projected onto the screen. The room was silent, except for the recording, and you found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open.

What must have been a few hours later, you were shaken awake by an unfamiliar man. You were startled for only a minute before you realised that he was the same man who had sold you the tickets earlier. “That’s the last showing for the day, miss,” he was saying, quietly, pulling his hand away from your shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be on your way, now.” 

You blinked and looked around the room, now flooded with light. It was empty except for the two of you. “What… what time is it?” you stammered, voice cracking lightly.

“‘Bout 11:30,” he responded, looking quickly to his pocket watch to confirm. You had been asleep for a solid 4 hours, and Arthur hadn’t yet arrived. “You should get on home.”

Home. Where was that? 

You stood, nodding abashedly at the man. “Thank you,” you murmured before making your way out of the theater and into the dark streets. 

It was quiet, the same kind of quiet you had grown so used to on your morning walks. However, instead of finding it calm and refreshing, you found yourself longing for the noisy streets. The hustle and bustle of San Denis that would overpower your thoughts, that would drown out your anxieties. 

Instead, you were alone, left to mull over your current situation on the steps of the theater. The long, dark tendrils of doubt crept into your mind as you waited. Did you make the right choice? Did Arthur abandon you? Was all of this some horrible trick? Tears spilled silently from your eyes as you waited. Exhausted. Frustrated. Sad. The only thing to break you out of your thought spiral was the occasional drunk would wander by, heading home for the evening.

Eventually, the ground where you sat grew cold, and you found yourself falling asleep against the wall of the theater, huddled up like an abandoned animal. You could sleep here tonight, in case he did show up, and head … somewhere … in the morning. A hotel, maybe? A workhouse? You didn’t know where, but that was a thought for the morning.

It was only when the steady clip-clop clip-clop of horse hooves made their way down the dark street that you willed yourself to look up. Coming slowly into view through the darkness was a lone rider on a horse. He looked exhausted, frustrated, as he stopped his horse in front of the theater and dismounted, glancing around the area until he spotted you.

You stood on legs that were strangely both stiff and shaky and made your way over to him, where he pulled you into a tight hug. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, once again burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to leave you so long.” You nodded against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as tears of relief threatened to spill. “Let’s get you home.”

--

The ride went by in a blur. Not that you were moving fast, but rather because you were so exhausted that everything was a bit of a haze. You must have arrived at the large, dilapidated mansion early into the morning, before anyone was up to disturb you, because you could not remember the journey into Arthur’s bed for the life of you.

There was no crunch of the grass as you slid off the saddle, no creek of the stairs, no groan of the bed as the two of you lay down together. Nothing. All you could remember was that you were here. You were safe. You were home. 

You awoke around midday, sunlight streaming through the broken windows of a small-rundown room overlooking the swamps of Lemoyne. It was sweltering hot, but you found yourself cuddling closer into the strong arms that were wrapped around you. The scent of the swamps mixed with whisky and tobacco, campfire and gunsmoke, as you nuzzled into his chest.

He was breathing deeply, soundly, as you lifted your head from his chest to look around. The room itself was old and dilapidated, it would barely serve as a shelter during any storms that may strike. In the far corner stood an old shelf, filled with photos and trinkets. Next to it, a small table with a map, and across from that, a larger table, stacked to the brim with weapons and ammunition. 

Arthur’s room. 

You stood, intending to make your way over to examine the trinkets across the room, but were instead gently pulled back to bed by the man behind you. “Mornin’,” he grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as he held you close.

You acquiesced, leaning back into him and basking in his presence. “Mornin’, Mr. Morgan,” you whispered back to him, gazing over his face. His eyes were still closed, but he couldn’t keep a small smile from forming as you spoke. Gently, you brushed hair away from his forehead and planted a light kiss to the revealed skin. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, finally opening his eyes to look at you. You could have melted in the soft, loving look that came your way. “Nothin’ to thank me for,” he said, reaching up to run his thumb along your cheek in admiration. “Just needed to get you out alive, is all.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I feel like that deserves thanks.”

A scoff came from the man beside you. “Nah, it was all selfish, really,” he explained, his gaze travelling over every inch of your face as if he were committing it to memory. “I just wanted to keep you ‘round.” With that, he planted a quick kiss on your lips and sat up, turning to his satchel that had been tossed to the floor by the bed. “It weren’t pretty last night… ‘n’ I’m glad I got to you before it got worse.”

“What happened?” you asked, watching as he pulled the satchel to him and began to rifle through it.

“Bronte… well he done his best to screw us over,” he explained. “Set some traps for us… ‘n’ Dutch made sure he paid for it.” You figured you knew what he meant, but let him continue anyway. “Bastard’s dead - some poor alligator’s breakfast.” 

To your surprise, you felt incredibly conflicted. The man had essentially kept you hostage for the last few years, but he had at least taken care of you. He had by no means been a good person, but… you had grown some sort of strange affinity for him over the years. And yet, you didn’t find yourself shedding a tear for him. If anything, it was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, like you could finally breathe freely after so long. 

You didn’t know what to say.

“I did manage to get hold of these, though,” he said, pulling several items from his satchel. You gasped when you saw them, and felt the tears that wouldn’t fall for Bronte begin to well up. In Arthur’s hands were a child’s drawing, a flower crown, a very special rock, a beautiful journal, and a fountain pen. 

Now, the tears did fall as you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you, Arthur,” you said, burying your face into his neck. “Thank you so incredibly much.”

With a small chuckle, he set the momentos down on his lap, and wrapped his arms around you as well. “‘Course.”

The two of you stayed like that, reveling in each other’s embrace, for a few perfect, blissful minutes. So this is what it felt like to be wanted. This is what it felt like to have someone really, truly care about you. This is the feeling you had been waiting for for so long.

It wasn’t a minute later before there was a tentative knock on your door, and Arthur pulled himself away from the hug. “I think someone might be excited to see you,” he said, nodding toward the door.

You looked over, calling for the visitor to come in. As the door swung open, you were greeted with the sound of your name excitedly being called, and the sight of a child, red with excitement, standing in the doorway. Jack. “You’re here! You’re really here!” he exclaimed, darting over to you and jumping into your arms. He was followed by a smiling, dark-haired woman, and a man who you recognised as John. “I knew it! I knew you would come live with us!” 

“Of course, Jack,” you childed, squeezing him tight. “I could never leave you.”

He squeezed you back, before pulling away and grabbing your forearm to lead you out of the room. “Come on!” he said, leading you forward. “You have to meet the rest of our family!”

[my-writings-and-musings]

MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Warm Fire

Pairing: Valkyrie/Brunnhilde/Fem-Reader

Word Count: 3876

Summary: Val helps you warm up after you get caught in a storm.

Warnings: Fluff, Spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame (erring on the safe side with this one), Explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex- f receiving, scissoring, fingering) SMUT, 18+

A/N: I’ve decided for my b-day week I want to bless all you sweet bitches with a brand new smutty fic each day. My holes are worn out from all the rough himbo sex I’ve been throwing at you, so today I wanted to soften things up with something for my WLW ladies. I sub for no man, but Val could spit in my mouth and turn me into a housewife!

“Well, fuck.” You sighed.

You had hoped you’d be able to outrun the storm you saw rolling in off the coast on your weekly trip to New Asgard but hadn’t even been driving for an hour when lightning started streaking across the sky and the clouds let loose a deluge that had your ancient pickup’s wipers maxed out. You couldn’t even see 20 feet in front of you and slammed on the brakes suddenly when you came upon a massive tree blocking the road. The engine stalled out and you had now been trying to turn it over for 10 minutes with no luck.

You had thankfully been able to contact Aud and Sigurd and have them bring your animals in and batten down the barn, but there was no way you were making it back tonight. You resigned yourself to sleeping in your front seat when a pile of rocks reared out of no where and tapped on your window, causing you to let out a shriek.

“Everything ok in there?”

“Jesus Christ, Korg, what are you doing out here?”

The massive Kronan straightened back up and you thought you saw his brow furrow before his face split open in a wide grin.

“Y/N, excellent! Some of us got concerned once the storm rolled in and Val sent out a group to make sure you made it off of the Fjord ok.”

“Ok, well clearly this piece of shit is not cut out for Skagerrak storms.” You told him as you stepped out into the deluge, pulling your parka around you tightly as the wind tried to whip your hood off. “I don’t suppose you drove here in any sort of vehicle?”

“As a matter of fact, Miek drove the Jeep.”

“I’m sorry, Miek drove?” The thought of the Sakaarian larval creature driving a vehicle filled you with equal parts horror and mirth. “Do you mind if I drive us back?”

“Probably for the best. I told him that knife hands are not conducive for steering but you know he doesn’t listen to me.”

You let out a laugh as Korg lumbered into the large trailer hooked to the back of the Jeep, causing it to sink into the mud a bit. Miek scooted into the passenger seat as you turned the vehicle around and started to head back to Tønsberg.

Your cautious driving extended the trip by a good 45 minutes. The thunder had stopped but it was still pouring as you parked the jeep in one of the converted stables. Korg and Miek gave you a wave as they headed back to Thor’s, Korg carrying 3 of the pallets of Aquavit you had brought with you earlier.

You headed towards the town square and saw Brunnhilde leaning against the posts in front of her small brick house, watching the storm that was still raging out at sea before she saw you and broke out in a grin.

“Y/N, I told you not to head out in this! That piece of shit truck of yours give out on you?”

“What do you think, Hilde? I just decided to walk all the back to your house for fun in this?” You shook out your hair as the two of you stepped inside, spraying her with a thin mist of rainwater.

“Ah, you bitch! Get out of those wet clothes, I got a fire started and some dry towels and blankets set out for you. Want a hot toddy?”

You winced at the thought as you started peeling yourself out of your soaked jeans. “I’d like to be able to wake up tomorrow hon. Your hot toddys are literally just a hot mug of Aquavit with a slice of lemon.” You cursed yourself silently for introducing the Asgardians to the spicy Scandinavian liquor that you now had to truck in every week. While it was extremely lucrative, they now put it in everything.

Hilde sauntered back into the main room carrying two steaming mugs as you wrapped yourself in a wool blanket and settled in front of the fire, wearing only your bra and panties.

She rolled her eyes at you and handed you a mug, which you took a wary sniff of and were pleasantly surprised to find it was just peppermint tea.

“You’re just a lightweight.” She said as she curled up in her armchair, wrapping one hand around her mug while the other picked up the worn book that was sitting on the end table.

“How do you like it so far?” You asked her, sipping your tea slowly as you waited for it to cool.

“The writing is lovely, but it’s pretty inaccurate.”

The friendship the two of you had built over the past 3 years was something truly lovely. When she and the rest of the refugees had landed, after the snap, they were all hollow shells of grief. Thor shut himself away almost immediately, and Hilde found herself thrust into a position of leadership she had never wanted. All of them wanted nothing more than to be left alone with their sorrows, doing just enough to keep themselves alive.

The first storm off the Skaggerak had almost devastated their new home though, and when she contacted Banner for help, he called you. You still kept in touch after your years together at university, and he knew you had settled somewhere in Norway and could arrive to lend a hand faster than he could.

Your arrival brought some much needed distraction to their sleepy town. You had managed to round up a group of your Norwegian neighbors, along with some fellow expats, and set about making the necessary changes to assure that New Asgard would be a thriving community. While the rest of your group set to restructuring architecture, and teaching the town’s new inhabitants the necessities of a seaside existence on the windy Fjord, you began the slow process of helping the refugees move on from their sorrow.

Your anthropology doctorate was specialized in Norse culture, after all, and you would often bring small reminders of their lost home with you whenever you came to visit. Whether it was a collection of replicated Talharpas, Skalmejens, and Lurs to give to the children to learn music or a large cache of drinking horns to stock their taverns, every time your truck came lumbering down the hills, Brunnhilde watched the faces of her citizens light up with anticipation for some new pleasant surprise. When you arrived with your first load of Aquavit and spent the night drinking with them and singing the drinking songs they knew well, you were all but confirmed as an honorary Asgardian. Your haunting rendition of Lilja actually brought tears to a few eyes.

Brunnhilde made sure to let you know how grateful she was as much as possible. She would always have some small gift for you when you arrived, but all you asked her for was to sit and talk, discussing the history of Asgard and the nine realms as you scribbled copious notes. She loved watching your face screw up in concentration as you bent over one of your notebooks, one stubborn lock of hair falling into your face.

She laughed to herself softly now as she remembered the visit a few weeks ago when she had first introduced you to her winged steed, Aragorn. Your look of awe had been replaced quickly with uncontrollable laughter when she had told you his name. You refused to tell her what was so funny, but she was determined to get it out of you at some point.

You had brought your original copy of Snorri’s Edda the next week, and she had read it through 3 times already.

She ran her hands softly over the spine of the book before tossing back the rest of her toddy and setting the book and her mug back on the end table before sinking to the floor behind you and nuzzling herself into your hair, sighing as she inhaled the scent of fresh rain.

You leaned back into her slowly, giving a soft hum of contentedness. She slipped the blanket off of your shoulders to pool around your waist as she left a trail of soft kisses down your neck, before softly raising a bruise into your collarbone with her mouth.

The moan you gave her made her grin against your skin, and she slipped one hand into the front of your bra, softly drawing her fingers across your nipple.

“Fuck, Hilde!” you pressed your chest further into her hand as her other moved behind you to unhook your bra and slip it off your shoulders, freeing your breasts. She felt your nipples harden against her fingers as she turned your head and slowly teased your mouth open with her tongue.

“Eyes open, pretty girl.” She whispered as her left hand continued to palm at your breast and roll your nipple between her fingers. You stared at her through your lashes as she brought her right hand up and put her index and middle finger in your mouth. You gave them a soft nip before sucking and swirling your tongue around them slowly.

She grinned at you wickedly as she dragged her soaked fingers down your torso at an agonizing pace, leaving a thin trail of your saliva before she tucked them under the edge of your panties and dragged them over your sopping cunt, separating the soft folds there to tease against your entrance.

“Oh, poor baby, look how much this pussy missed me?” She said as you let out a thin keen, screwing your eyes shut and dropping your head against her neck. She slapped your tit suddenly and tweaked your nipple hard, making you gasp. “You better keep those eyes open if you want me to let you come sweetheart. You want me to stretch this pretty pussy around my fingers and make you feel good?”

“Yes, god” you let out breathlessly, forcing your eyes open as she studied your face.

“Ah, ah, ask nicely.”

“Yes please.” You hissed as her fingers continued to tease at your folds, lightly brushing against your clit.

“Good girl”

She slipped one finger inside of you slowly and you immediately clenched around it as she pressed it against that soft spongy spot.

“Ooh, honey. You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna stretch you out so good.” She whispered against your lips as she kissed you softly.

Her second finger slipped in easily and she started fucking them into you slowly, pressing her palm against your clit as she did so and your arousal seeped all over her hand. Your breath was hitching in your chest as she increased her pace.

You felt yourself flutter around her and it took all of your willpower to not screw your eyes shut and drop against her shoulder. You ground yourself against her hand as she suddenly slowed down, hungry for more friction.

“You want me to add another finger, sweet girl?” She asked slyly, teasing her promise against your entrance.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak so you nodded at her, your chest heaving as she continued palming your breast and you felt a resounding shiver in your core.

“You’re lucky I’m soft on you sweetie, I should be making you beg for this.” She murmured as she shoved all three of her fingers in suddenly, causing you to let out a small cry as she started fucking them into you at a rough speed. “I’m just finishing you off so I can feel this sweet mouth of yours on my cunt. You want to taste me baby?”

“Shit, Hilde!” The thought of her taste on your tongue sent you over the edge as she drove her palm into your clit one last time and you released around her, fluttering as you soaked her hand. Her strong arms held you still as your orgasm wracked you and every muscle trembled. Once you had ridden it out, she drew her hand out of your ruined panties to suck on her fingers.

“Mmm, you taste so good honey. Don’t you think?” She placed her mouth on yours and pressed her tongue against yours and you moaned as you tasted your own release.

“Help me out of my clothes baby, I need to ride that pretty face.”

She climbed around you and settled into your lap, kissing you deeply and making happy little humming sounds. You drew her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside, and were pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t wearing a bra. You gave her a wicked grin before lifting her up and pressing her chest to your face, latching your mouth to one of her nipples as your hands cupped her ass through her leggings. She gave a light laugh and tossed her head back as her fingers carded themselves through your hair. You brought one of your hands between the two of you, shoving it down the front of her leggings and drawing your fingers through her slick, making her gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking greedy.” She laughed lightly as you peppered her chest with kisses, occasionally creating some light suction with your tongue to raise a light bruise. “Mmm, you know just what to do, but I want to come all over that beautiful face of yours.”

You smiled against her chest as you gently nuzzled yourself between her breasts before falling back abruptly and making her gasp.

“You are being such a trouble maker, today, Y/N. Fine, I’m going grind your pussy so good before I rub that smirk off your face with my cunt.”

She sat up between your legs a drew your soaked panties off before removing her own leggings. She stretched your right leg off to the side and lightly drew her fingers up the inside of your thigh, removing them right before she reached your quivering pussy and making you whine.

“Don’t be a brat baby. Look at this pretty pussy, just weeping for me.” She stared at your swollen cunt with a grin as she hooked a hand under your left knee and positioned herself so she was straddling you, her soft folds just kissing yours as she hovered there. “You want to feel my pussy on yours, baby? Want me to grind that clit so good? You better fucking beg for it.”

“Oh god, pleasepleaseplease…” you let out in a hiss as she pressed herself down and ground herself into you.

“Mmm, I feel that sweet pussy quivering for me. God, you’re like my own fucking vibrator.” She kept twisting her hips into yours, hitting you at that perfect angle each time and making you mewl and whimper unintelligibly as she edged you closer to your release. She unbent your right leg slowly, running her thumb up your calf before nipping at the pad of your big toe, making you arch into her. “No no, sweetheart, isn’t it so much better when you hold still? You know I’ll take care of you.”

She stretched your right leg out so you were wide open and pinned your thighs down with her hands as she picked up the pace. She bit her lip and gazed down at you through hooded eyes and you felt her core twitch against yours. One more drive of her hips and you came apart at the same time, your releases mixing together to coat the insides of your thighs. You let out a scream while she just gasped, still managing to hold you down as your pleasure wracked through you and you wound your hands into the blanket beside you for some kind of anchor.

“Fuck baby, this pussy is so good to me. I wanna run my tongue over this pretty cunt while I ride your face. You better be good for me.”

She twisted herself around to straddle your face. You softly nipped at her left cheek then gave her ass a slap, making her yelp, and she responded by smacking your pussy twice before grinding into your face.

“Oohh, are you going to be a bad girl?” She scolded you as you wrapped your arms around her thighs and teased her folds with your tongue. “Am I going to have to edge you all nigh… Fuck!!” Your tongue found her entrance and you moaned into her cunt, causing vibrations that made her clench against your face. “God, baby, you’re so good at that. Your miss this pussy so bad, look at the mess you’re making.” She separated your folds and softly blew against your clit before shoving three fingers into you with no preparation. “Mmm, you’re fucking ready for me sweetheart, I’m barely even stretching you now. You want me to add another finger?”

She gave your clit another soft slap and you came suddenly, legs and core trembling as you clenched and released around her fingers. You tried to come up for air, but Hilde just ground her hips into your face.

“Na-ah.” She scolded you. “You wanted to get fresh with me and now you better make me come if you want to breathe. You get to work. I’m going to wring every ounce of pleasure out of this pussy until you give me what I want, I don’t care if you pass out.”

She inserted a fourth finger into your canal and started to fuck them all into you, flicking soft kitten licks against your small bundle of nerves before she latched onto it, sucking hard.

Tears started streaming down your face as another orgasm ripped through you. You were starting to feel light-headed from a mixture of pleasure and oxygen deprivation. She drew her tongue slowly up and down your entrance while her fingers kept moving inside you, doing her best to lap up your release before her tongue went back to massaging your clit.

You barely skimmed your teeth against her clit and she let out a soft cry against you, slapping your pussy in response and making you come again. You shook your head to bury yourself deeper into her folds and fought off the urge to pass out before shoving your tongue into her pussy and bringing your fingers up to rub harsh circles into her tiny apex of pleasure.

She collapsed against you at the sudden change in sensation with a gasp before she rose up to really grind into you.

You started fucking your tongue in and out of her, making sure to press it against her g-spot each time and felt her thighs tense around your face.

“God baby, don’t fucking stop. Fuck, just like that, right there. That tongue of yours is so fucking good. You’re so fucking good. Feels so good.” You knew when she started babbling breathlessly like this she was close. She brought one of her hands up to palm her breast as her other gripped the wrist of the hand you had working her clit, making sure you didn’t move away.

Just as the edges of your vision started to close in, you felt her core vibrate and her cunt clenched around your tongue as her release gushed into your mouth. The only sound she made was a rapid breathless pant and she rolled off of you slowly, finally allowing you to suck in oxygen as stars swam behind your vision. You did your best to catch your breath as you felt her stretch languidly beside you before she sat up to stare at you.

“Fuck, baby. I don’t know why I let you take this pussy away from me. I know you just lay there by yourself every night dreaming of my fingers buried in you.” She slowly drew a hand along your slit and you groaned when she brushed against your overstimulated clit. “Just swollen and crying for me. Whose pussy is this baby?” She asked you, curling her fingers against your mound.

You knew if you didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, she would wring it out of you, and if you had any more orgasms you were going to pass out. “Yours, baby.” You murmured, staring at her through your eyelashes.

“Good girl.” She patted your cunt twice, making you twitch, before she bent down and kissed you softly.

She stood up and collected your mugs and brought them back into the kitchen, wiggling her ass at you when she felt you watching her, making you laugh.

“Can you throw some more logs on the fire, Y/N? I’ll grab us some clean blankets and pillows and we can sleep out here.”

“Yes ma’am.” You called back to her, breaking the current logs apart with the poker before adding three new ones and stoking it. You gathered your discarded clothes and the soiled blanket in a bundle and headed to the bathroom to put them in the hamper and run a damp towel against your sex to clean up, bringing another out with you as you headed back to the fire, where Hilde had piled a ridiculous amount of blankets and pillows in a massive nest for the two of you.

You sank down next to her and she drew your face to hers for a kiss. You smiled against her lips as you gently drew the soft towel you had brought with you over her cunt and along her thighs to clean her off as she gave a contented sigh.

“Stay.” She said softly, nuzzling softly into your neck as you held her against her chest and slowly sank back against the pile of cushions, giving her hair a soft kiss.

“Hilde, the road is out, I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow.”

“No, Y/N. Stay. Move here with me. I need you.” She looked up at you with genuine pleading in her eyes. You had never seen such open emotion on her face before.

You only had to think about it for a minute. The weeks between your trips were always spent planning your next visit. Thinking over what you wanted to talk to Hilde about. Your bed felt empty without her there.

“I need you too baby. I love you.” You whispered to her, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes as you gave her a gentle smile.

Her face split into a grin. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, Hilde.”

“Oh god, Y/N, I love you too!” She drew your face down to hers and kissed you deeply, clutching you to her needily before releasing you with a grin. “I miss that pussy almost as much as it misses me.”

You laughed at that and laid back with a sigh. Hilde rested her head between your breasts and brought her hands close around your sides, pulling the thick wool blanket around the two of you tightly.

“Just make sure Miek doesn’t try to fight my sheep again.” You whispered to her, running a hand softly up and down her back.

“That was a misunderstanding.” She smiled against you as her breathing slowed and deepened, and she sunk closer to sleep.

The two of you laid there intertwined for the rest of the night, drifting off as the fire crackled and died. You had never felt so content in your life.

[elriel-oblivion]

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

[im-moreofa-dogperson]

A Fearful Encounter - Part 4

Featuring: Dr. Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow x Female Reader

Warning: gun violence

Summary: After John’s promise to free you from the wretched Gotham city, he teaches you how to defend yourself so you can make it on your own. However, when pushed far enough, you may just be more than he’d made you out to be.

Words: 1890

Previous parts: part 1 part 2 part 3

**Sorry it took so long to post this new part!

____________________________________________

As if on cue, as soon as John had professed his intents to help you escape from the vileness of this city, you were startled by a knock at the door.

You both looked at each other, as if questioning whether the other knew who was there. After it was clear neither of you were expecting company, John grabbed hold of your hand and pulled you quickly to your room where there was a fire escape.

Just as you unlatched the window, you heard the door swing open and crash against the wall. You hurried along raising the window, scattering the dust that had collected on the frame, and quickly climbed out with John right behind you.

He jumped down to the ground first and caught you by the waist after you landed right next to him. It wasn’t until you’d made it into his car and drove 3 blocks away when you finally felt it was safe to breathe again.

You rolled your head over against the head rest to stare at him. “Who was that?”

He glanced over at you and quickly back to the road before responding, “not sure.”

You sat with this uneasiness for a few blocks before he finally pulled up to what must have been his apartment building. It was far more casual than you had expected although you weren’t quite sure what it was you were expecting.

A young girl and her mother were exiting the building as you were walking in and they barely gave you or John a single glance. You wondered if any of the residents were aware of who they were more or less bunking with. Maybe John paid them off to keep quiet.

Upon entry to his apartment, you slowed down in the door frame to take it in. Although you hadn’t been picturing a dungeons-like cavern with spikes on the windows and knives fanned out on the coffee table, you also hadn’t expected such a pleasantly pleasing atmosphere.

The living room was well furnished with a not so well-lived-in couch pushed up against the wall of which an antique, baroque style painting hung from. The dark, morose hues of the depicted scene fit well with the borderline demented passions of the man who hung it.

Otherwise, the room was casual and almost homey. John had been studying you while you took in his apartment before finally speaking up; “you need to learn how to defend yourself.”

Taken aback, you glance at him and respond, “what”?

“Well, this is only a temporary residency,” he goes to say, plopping his keys into a turquoise bowl on the coffee table. “Eventually you’ll be on your own where I won’t be able to jump in and rescue you.”

You snort at that and reply, “Yeah, and you won’t be able to put me in a situation where I need rescuing either.”

“Either way, you need to learn.” He smiles slightly, and it’s a smile that used to suspend you in uncertainty, but now you’re able to get enough of a read on him that you know he’s simply trying to assure you of his sincerity.

You agree to his proposition nonetheless as he leads you to the building’s basement to practice self-defense.

******

For the next few days, you painstakingly practiced fending off attackers through physical altercations as well as how to shoot a gun. John didn’t make things easy for you, constantly pushing you to do better.

You were reminded of the disappointed expression he’d wore on his face when he’d found you’d overwhelmed a security guard through force during the Fear Aversion Therapy.

Ironically, the very thing he’d once punished you for doing, was now the very thing he was teaching you to be better at.

During your lessons, you noticed there was an abundance of physical contact between the two of you. You suddenly recalled the first night you ever spent together when you’d kissed him in a lapse of judgement.

You tried not to dwell on these thoughts too much as John held your trigger finger under his in an attempt to better your aim. You could feel his breath against your exposed neck and once again fought the urge to turn around just then and kiss him.

To take your mind off these intrusive thoughts, you considered how you were in need of fresh clothes. Afterall, you’d been living at John’s place for three days and still hadn’t revisited your old apartment for your stuff.

After badgering John to drive you after your lesson, he finally agrees, and you head out back to your old home.

******

Walking up the concrete stairs that you’d once found so familiar felt alien to you now. Though it hadn’t been long since you’d resided in this home, you still felt as though you’d changed so much.

It was almost as if it wasn’t you that had once climbed and descended these stairs for years, but rather a stranger you’d left behind in the past. For good reason.

When you reached the door, you extended an arm out to the handle, but as soon you did, John gripped your wrist and held you still. You give him an inquisitive look before realizing what he must have been thinking.

The intruder that you’d barely escaped from three days prior most likely wouldn’t have cared enough to shut and repair the door they’d just busted through. Meaning someone else has been here. And that someone could still be here.

John clearly was thinking the same thing as he took out his gun and cautiously opened the door handle.

When he pushed the door open, what you saw made you drop your gun. You barely even registered John mumbling ‘shit’ under his breath.

“Dad?”

******

“Thought I was dead, huh?”. Your father simply asks. He was lounging on the couch as if he’d never left. “That why you look like you’re seeing a ghost?”

The state of shock you’re in prevents you from even answering him. John, however, recovers much quicker than you.

“Thought I told you what would happen if you ever came back here,” he says. You immediately sober up at this threat of John’s. The implication of it being he knew your father was alive and never actually killed him like he’d told you. It was simply another tactic to instill more fear in you. Fear of him.

You know you should feel betrayed. You should hate him for tricking you yet again. All that was behind you now, however. Now all you felt was pure disdain for the man sitting in front of you, the throw blanket you’d once lent to John lying at his feet.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as apathetically as you could.

“Straight to the point, huh? Not gonna ask how I’ve been, what I’ve been up to, if I wanna catch up-“

“Like you ever gave enough of a shit to ask me any of that,” You scoff.

Abruptly jumping to his feet, your father points an accusatory finger at you and replies, “I did give a shit about you! Everything I did was for you! You don’t even know the half of what I’ve had to give up. For you.”

His statement was so foreign and ridiculous to your ears that you feel like laughing. How could someone be so delusional?

“Everything you did was for yourself. The best thing that ever happened to me was hearing about your death.”

At that, John whips his head to you. He’d been watching your argument back and forth like a tennis match, in an almost amused way. He knew some sort of violence would ensue upon seeing your father, but this he didn’t expect.

“Fine,” your father says sighing, and sitting back down. “I’m here because I need your help. Well, I need your connections. I’ve come into some trouble… something that I can’t run away from.”

You squint your eyes trying to decide what he meant by all this when John suddenly laughed mockingly and said, “Sir, I thought I made it clear that if I were ever to see your face again, mine would be the last you see. What makes you think I’d submit to any request of yours?”

Having put everything together given your advanced knowledge in the deceiving ways of your father, you answer for him, “because he thinks I’ll convince you on his behalf.”

“Look, I just need you to use your little home-brewed concoction on some guys who think I owe them money.” You shake your head at the all the unearned confidence your father must have in order to talk to Jonathan Crane like that.

“Or maybe I’ll use it on you,” John simply threatens.

“Enough!” You finally say. “No one’s doing anything to anyone. Dad, we’re leaving. You’re on your own. Your favorite game of scaring me into doing your bidding is over.”

John puts his hand on your waist to push you out in front of him towards the door. As you leave, however, your father begins to laugh. It’s a guttural laugh that stirs your darkest memories of him.

Without thinking about it, you slip your hand into John’s jacket pulling out his gun and train it at your father’s head.

John eyes you curiously, and in the strangest of moments you finally realize what draws him to you. You’re unpredictable. You act in ways in even you can’t anticipate.

Your father’s laughter stops when you pull the trigger.

******

The walk back to the car was a blur. You remember vomiting in the stairwell and then John eventually scooping you up after your legs had given out.

When he set you back in the passenger’s seat and began driving, you knew you needed to pin down how you really felt before you drove yourself insane. One of the many lessons you once learned as John’s patient.

You knew it wasn’t regret you felt. Although the information of your father’s murder had once been used to threaten you against escaping Arkham Asylum, you had still sighed a breath of relief at the mention of it.

Now, to see him again was like a waking nightmare; unsure whether his presence was real or imaginary, but positive that it was unwelcome.

You definitely felt shock. You’d been imagining this scene unfolding for quite some time, but even you were surprised to have found yourself reaching for the gun and pulling the trigger in such an unyielding manner.

Though, what it really boiled down to was exhilaration. You felt as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and for once, it was by your own hand. You were no longer the scared girl you once were standing with her back to the sea and a total dependency on the hand extended out before you.

You giggle as you almost compared yourself to the Great Loch Ness Monster in all her green finned glory that you once thought you’d be swallowed whole by. Your giggle soon turns rampant and you fail to stop the uproarious laughter that then pursues from you.

Even with Scarecrow in the driver’s seat, you felt as though you’d finally taken control. Of your mind, and your trigger finger. You laugh like that all the way back to the apartment.

______________________________________________

[bedlamsbard]

Some concept writing! I originally wasn’t planning to post this (because self-indulgent), but it seemed popular during the daily snippets so here it is.  This is a similar base universe to this concept, but Caleb got rescued soon afterwards.

About 2.4K below the break. Please note I don’t warn.

***

Hera didn’t have to ask to know that the Jedi were uncomfortable with her being here, but she wasn’t rude enough to comment on it.  She followed Master Unduli through the wide, airy corridors of the Hidden Temple, trying not to sneeze at the heady, unfamiliar scent of the massive tree it was built in.  It had been an impressive sight on approach; if Hera had had the luxury she would have been happy to take half an hour or so to fly around it, inspecting it from roots to canopy.  Inside, it felt solemn, temple-like, but without the heaviness Hera had half-expected before coming inside.  There were very few people about for its size, but she didn’t know if it was because most of the surviving Jedi were absent or because there had been fewer survivors than she had assumed.

“Caleb’s hurt?” she asked eventually. “How?”

Master Unduli paused, then turned back towards Hera.  Hera stopped obediently, looking at the other woman – they were nearly of a height. “What did Master Windu tell you?”

“Just that Caleb had been hurt during the – the Purge.”  She stumbled over the word, self-conscious about mentioning it in front of a Jedi. “But that was months ago –”

Master Unduli bit her lip, hesitating over the words.  When she finally went on, Hera suspected that it was less because she actually wanted to talk about it and more because there was no way not to say.  “The traitor Jedi – they’re starting to be called Inquisitors now – took prisoners, mostly younglings, some initiates.”  A muscle in her jaw worked silently before she went on. “Caleb is the only padawan we know of who was taken; one of the traitors had an – an obsession with him.  His master was killed.  We were able to rescue some of the younglings and Caleb a few weeks ago.  The physical injuries are one thing,” she went on. “Except for the broken bones, they’re mostly healed now.  But he’s hurt inside, very badly, and nothing any of us can do can get through to him. Master Billaba said that you two had a connection during their last mission to Ryloth.”

Hera hesitated, uncertain if Master Unduli’s delicate phrasing meant she knew that they had had an affair. “I’m not a Jedi.”

“He doesn’t need another Jedi,” Master Unduli said, sounding very sad and very tired. “He needs a reason to live.”

Hera looked up at her, horrified.

The Mirialan gave her a weary smile and then started walking again.  Hera followed her, feeling a little sick. “I love him,” she said to Master Unduli’s back, glad that she wasn’t looking at the woman’s face; she knew it wasn’t the sort of thing that the Jedi approved of, though Depa Billaba had never protested it. “Maybe he loves me.  We didn’t talk about it when he was on Ryloth.  I didn’t ask him to leave the Order; I wouldn’t have.  I know how much it meant to him.”

Master Unduli looked back at her. “That doesn’t matter anymore,” she said wearily. “There are enough of us dead that if something will keep one of us alive, then we’ll take that chance.”

Hera swallowed and kept following her.

Master Unduli led her to a room in an outer fold of the trunk; a tired-looking teenage Wookiee was sitting outside it, mostly asleep.  He got to his feet as they approached and crooned a question.

“I’ll take over, Gungi,” Master Unduli said. “Go get some rest or some food.”

The Wookiee nodded and bowed, then trotted down the corridor the way they had come.

Hera swallowed uneasily, then made herself ask, “Is he – did he hurt –”

“No,” Master Unduli said immediately, not having to ask what Hera meant. “But we would rather be safe than sorry.”  She put her hand on the door and it slid silently open.

The room beyond was bright and airy, with light spilling in through an open window.  The bed was empty, sheets and blankets pulled off it into a knot on the floor; it took Hera a moment to see Caleb, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall where the sunlight could touch him.  His eyes were closed; he didn’t look up as the door opened.

“Caleb?” Hera said.

His eyes snapped open, wide with shock and surprise.  His lips shaped her name silently before he pushed to his feet, bracing himself against the wall; he was barefoot, and Hera could see the splint on one ankle.  Hera crossed the room to him quickly so that he didn’t try to walk on what was clearly a broken bone, feeling him flinch for an instant as she put her arms around him.  Then he hugged her back, burying his face in her shoulder.

Mindful of his injured ankle and the bandages Hera could feel beneath his shirt, she helped him sit again and sank down beside him.  He put his face into her shoulder, weeping silently as she held him against her.

“It’s all right,” Hera whispered to him in Twi’leki. “It’s all right, it’s me, I’m here, you’re all right.”

Master Unduli slipped silently out of the room, letting the door slide shut behind her.

Eventually Caleb straightened to look at her.  Hera cupped his face in her hand, touching the fresh scar on his chin, the small one that cut through his left eyebrow.  There was another scar around his neck, a pair of them on his wrists, all with the slightly raw newness of bacta and recent healing.  Hera touched them gently, then kissed him.  It was only when she drew her fingers through his hair, loose around his face, that she realized his padawan braid was gone.

He kissed her back, touching her face gently with the backs of his knuckles. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Master Windu asked me to come because you were hurt,” Hera said, a little hesitant.  She kissed him again. “I thought you were dead.  I’m so glad you’re not –”

He sighed, tipping his forehead down against hers. “I wished I was, for a while,” he admitted.

“I know Master Billaba is dead,” Hera told him.

Caleb nodded, shutting his eyes. “He killed her,” he said eventually. “In front of me – because of me.”

“Who is he?”

She felt him start trembling and kissed him again. “It’s all right,” Hera told him. “I’m here, you’re here, there are a hundred Jedi here.”

“More than that,” he said absently, his gaze going unfocused for an instant. “He’s a Knight,” he said eventually, his voice hesitant; Hera had the immediate impression that for the rest of his life there would only be one he. “A Temple Guard.  He…hurt me. He killed Master Billaba and he hurt me.”  He looked down at his hands as if he had never seen them before, tracing the scar on one wrist.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Hera asked gently.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” he said.  “Except I can’t stop, even here.  He’s – he –”

Hera took his shaking hands. “You don’t have to talk about it.”  She kissed his knuckles gently, silently noting the scars there, as if he had battered his hands bloody against some hard surface.  “I can talk, if you want.  What do you want me to talk about?”

Caleb shrugged. “Tell me about the temple?” he said eventually. “I was unconscious when we got here.”  When Hera frowned at him, concerned, he said sheepishly, “They had to sedate me when we left Mustafar – where the Inquisition headquarters are.  I haven’t seen anything here except the halls of healing and this room.  I’ve heard the Hidden Temple is beautiful.”

“It is,” Hera agreed. “I don’t know if the Jedi would let me fly around it for a better look, since I came straight in when I landed.  Everything is forest, all around – not the whole planet; there are plains and mountains and at least one sea that I saw – but around the temple it’s all forest, with trees as big as this one.  I think this one is at least the size of a star destroyer.  Everything outside is all shades of green, even the light, because it has to filter in through the forest canopy.  Some of the branches are almost wide enough to land the Ghost – my ship – on, and there are platforms where smaller branches have come together as supports for gardens, even pools and waterfalls that come from other parts of the tree, I’m not sure how –”

“The roots draw up water from beneath the forest floor,” Caleb murmured.  “It’s like wroshyr trees on Kashyyyk, a little, but different.”

“I’ve never been to Kashyyyk,” Hera admitted.  She had been off Ryloth a number of times, but never that far afield.

“It’s pretty,” Caleb said. He sounded a little sleepy, leaning his head against her shoulder.  “You’d like it.”  

Hera touched his hair gently.  She was still a little fascinated by it; it was as soft under her fingers now as it had been all those months ago back on Ryloth. “I thought the halls here would be dark, but they’re full of light.  There are windows –”  She nodded at the one in the room’s outer all, “– some big, some so small I couldn’t see them except that they let in light, and glowing flowers and moss. Everything is decorated with carvings, sometimes inlaid wood or gems or shell.  I didn’t see anything painted, but they brought me straight here from the hangar.”  She hesitated, then asked, “Why haven’t you been out of this room?  You’re not a prisoner?”

“I could if I wanted,” he said. “They’d probably keep someone with me in case I fell over.  And I’ve got a cracked collarbone and three broken ribs, so the healers aren’t thrilled with the idea of me wandering around even without the broken ankle.”  He turned his gaze downwards, studying the scars on his hands.  “Usually we heal faster than that.  It’s not…working very well for me just now.  They’re worried about that.”  He ringed his left wrist with his right hand, fingers overlaying the shackle galls there.

Hera turned her head and kissed him gently.

Caleb kissed her back, mouth warm against hers and surprisingly delicate.

“How did you get hurt?” Hera asked him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added when he hesitated.

“The ankle was an accident,” he said eventually.  “I fell badly when he was knocking me around.  The rest is from him knocking me around.  He had me chained up most of the time,” he added, rubbing the scar on his wrist before he gestured vaguely at his face and the unfamiliar scars there.  “Lightsaber, from the Temple.  I’ve got some others.  Everything else is healed already.  It’s just flesh,” he added wearily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think by definition bones aren’t flesh,” Hera said mildly, and was rewarded by seeing his mouth quirk for a moment in a smile.

“You know what I mean.”

Hera didn’t, not entirely, but she curved her hands around his face and kissed him anyway.

“I thought about you,” he breathed against her mouth. “I thought about you all the time.  About talking with you, about being with you, about –”  He bit her lower lip gently.

Hera smiled.  She was a little disoriented by the sudden change of subject, but not opposed to it; she also thought that Caleb was probably desperate to think about anything but what had happened to him. “About what?”

“Guess.”  He kissed her again.

Hera kissed him back, sliding her fingers into his hair.  After a moment she climbed into his lap, bracing her knees against his hips as he pulled at the hem of her shirt, undoing the fastenings from bottom to top.

“I thought about your breasts,” he said gravely once he had her shirt open.

“Good,” Hera said, grinning as she shrugged her shirt off over her shoulders.  She shivered a little as Caleb kissed the top of each breast, his lips slightly chapped despite the planet’s relative humidity. She reached to draw her hands up over his chest, meaning to pull his shirt off, and accidentally put her palm against his cracked collarbone.

Caleb flinched back, hissing through his teeth.  He didn’t dislodge her, but his hands tightened where they were braced against her thighs.  His eyes were wide with shock and pain, suddenly unfocused – thrown out of the moment to somewhere else.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hera gasped.  She touched his face, trying to drag him out of whatever nightmare he had suddenly been forced back into, and said, “Caleb – Caleb, it’s all right, it’s just me –”

For a horrifying moment, longer than Hera liked, there was no comprehension in his eyes, just blind terror.  Then he blinked, shuddering; his lips formed her name before he tipped his forehead down against her shoulder, shaking.  Hera held him against her, feeling him weep silently, his tears briefly warm against her bare skin before they cooled.

“It’s all right,” she breathed. “It’s all right, Caleb, you’re safe, you’re not there, you’re here, you’re all right –”

He shook his head, not looking up. “No,” he said eventually, his voice utterly flat. “No.”

Hera held him until he finally cried himself out, murmuring to him in Twi’leki.  When she thought she could, she got up to fetch a blanket from the tangle of sheets on the floor by the bed and brought it back to him, wrapping it around his shoulders.  She pulled her shirt back on and sat down beside him, her arm around him.

“Can I help?” she asked him. “What can I do, love?  What do you need?”

Caleb shook his head wearily, his expression so tired and so hurt that he looked a decade older.  He leaned his head against Hera’s shoulder, turning his face down so that she couldn’t see it.

“All right,” Hera said gently. “I’m here.  I love you, and I won’t leave you.  When you need me, I’m here.”  She kissed the top of his head.

He didn’t say anything, but after a moment his hand found hers.

[commanderrivercc-3628]

Rose Petal: Chapter 1

Next

pairing: Wolffe x fem!Reader

warnings: cursing, horrible views towards clone(I’m sorry)

word count: 1,951

Fluff/Angst

notes: I would like to give a special thanks to my best friend (@jelisnail) for coming up with the baby’s name. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to post this. I hope you like it.

Tags: @jelisnail​, @catsnkooks​, @queenchaos-5​

Wolffe sat in the back of the cab, holding a small bundle of blankets close to his chest. Tears that had once poured down his face had long since dried, leaving stained streaks on his cheeks. Wolffe’s eyes were still puffy and the tip of his nose was pink. Wolffe was in a daze, lost in his own thoughts as he stared out the window next to him, hardly able to focus on the speeders rushing past him. The lights of the other speeders blurred at the speed.

 ‘Why couldn't you have stayed?’ Wolffe thought. ‘How can you expect me to do this? I don’t know what I’m doing.’

Wolffe wanted to cry again, but he had no tears left. He was at a complete and utter loss. He hadn’t felt this broken since the Separatists killed the majority of his original battalion. His vod. Leaving only himself, Boost, and Sinker. 

He was pulled away from his thoughts by soft cooing coming from the bundle in his arms. Wolffe looked down at the bundle, seeing the face of the small baby it held. He smiled softly at the baby, who was looking up at him with big golden-brown eyes. His baby. His daughter. Wolffe slowly lifts his hand and lightly boops her nose, drawing out a little giggle from the baby. Wolffe leans down and presses a small kiss to her forehead. As he pulled back, Wolffe saw a big smile on his daughter’s face. 

“Alright, buddy, we’re here.” the driver said, as the cab slowed to a stop.

Wolffe passed him credits and carefully exited the cab. He watched as it sped away. He sighed and started walking back towards the barracks, trying to figure out what to do with his daughter. He wasn’t just going to abandon her.

‘This wasn’t part of the plan. Sera wasn’t supposed to-’ Wolffe thought.

He sighed again. He needed a new plan. Who could he go to for help? Wolffe’s eyes widened in realization. 

“(Y/N),” Wolffe said out loud, looking at his baby, who only blink at him in response. “She’ll help us, ad’ika. I know she will.”

You were Wolffe’s best friend, but it wasn’t always that way. You two met when you arrived to the 104th as a civilian medic. You two instantly disagreed on everything. Wolffe refused to believe you actually cared for the clones. That is until he got hurt. Ventress attacked him with her lightsabers, resulting in Wolffe losing his right eye. You were the one who treated him, took care of him. After that, Wolffe saw you differently. He actually talked to you. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. And one thing led to another. 

You were the only one who knew about the baby. Though you both suspected Plo Koon knew and he just didn’t mention it. Though neither of you knew for sure. That’s why Wolffe instantly thought of you. Not that he didn’t trust his vod. It’s the fact that they wouldn’t know what to do any more than he did. Since you were a civvie doctor, however, he figured you were his best bet. 

He quickly made his way to your barracks. He’d apologize later for how late it was. He checked the chrono on the wall: 0300 hours. He sighed and pounded on your door. He heard grumbling on the other side. The door opened and revealed an extremely grumpy you. 

“Do you have any idea what time it-,” You paused, realizing who was at your door. “Wolffe. What’s wro-.”

You stopped when you saw the bundle of blankets in his arms. Your eyes doubled in size. You instantly looked up at Wolffe’s face, seeing nothing but anxiety, fear, and sadness.

“Come in.” You said, moving out of the doorway for Wolffe to make his way into the room.

You closed the door behind him. As you turn back around, you see Wolffe standing awkwardly in the middle of your barracks. You could tell he was trying to think of what to say. You’d never seen Wolffe at such an utter loss for words. It hurt you to see him this way.

“Wolffe?” you asked, drawing his attention. “What happened?”

He sighed, still clutching the baby.

“She left. Sera left. She kriffing ran away!” He yelled. 

The baby began wailing. Wolffe winced and tried rocking her, but she wouldn’t stop crying. You stepped forward and looked at Wolffe. Wolffe nodded and reluctantly handed you the baby he hadn’t let go of since he left the hospital. As soon as the girl was in your arms, she instantly calmed down with the help of your gentle rocking and soothing shushes. Wolffe let out a sigh of relief. 

“I’m not even gonna ask how you did that.”

“What do you mean she ran away, Wolffe?”

“I just… I just went to go get caf.”

“She’s beautiful, Sera,” Wolffe said in awe as he stared at his sleeping daughter.

“Yeah.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Wolffe asked. 

“No.”

“Um, al-alright. Hey, I’m-I’m gonna go get some caf real quick. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Sera didn’t respond and Wolffe decided just to take it as a yes. As he made his way to the mess, all he could think about was the precious baby girl in her mother’s arms. From the moment he saw that little girl, he knew he’d protect her with his life. He’d do anything for her. She was his world. And if doing anything for her meant he’d have to live the rest of his short life with Sera, then he would. He’d do it in a heartbeat. As much as he’d hate to do so. 

Wolffe got his caf and made his way back to the hospital room. Once he got there his brows furrowed in confusion. The baby was there, but Sera wasn’t. In her place on the bed was a note.

‘Wolffe,

I’m not going to do this, and trust me I’m not sorry about it. I can’t raise a baby with something like you. A clone, not even a real person. Just an object owned by the Republic. Something for me to use for my own pleasure. Something to die alone and forgotten on some battlefield. And then I got pregnant with your spawn. A punishment I didn’t deserve. I’m not going to sit around and raise your baby, if you can even call that thing a baby at all, while you go running around the galaxy, leaving me to do everything. But I’m not going to do that. We both know we don’t love each other, and I certainly don’t love that thing you put inside me. And I know you were going to leave me. That is until you found out I was pregnant with your whatever it is. Don’t even bother trying to find me. I’ll be long gone, starting a life with a person, a human, a real man. Not some freak laboratory experiment like you. Oh, and name the little monster whatever you want, I don’t care.

Sera’

Wolffe crumpled the note in pure anger. But then tears started to fall, but not for Sera. She was right he didn’t love her, and he was going to leave her until he found out she was pregnant. No. He cried because of his daughter and how Sera called her a ‘thing’. And be really couldn’t care less about what Sera thought of him, because he already knew it was true. He was just a clone. Expendable. Property of the Republic. A weapon, created to destroy and die. But that beautiful baby girl was NOT a thing. NOT a monster. She was a person. One who deserved the world. 

‘It’s my fault,’ Wolffe thought. ‘If she hadn’t been my baby, she would still have a mother. She could have the life she deserved. Maybe I should give her her best shot and give her to a couple who can take care of her and give her a normal life.’

He dropped the note, letting it fall to the ground, and made his way other to the small bassinet that held his world. His heart. Tears still pour down his cheeks. He looked at the small girl. He gently picked her up, and gently held her in his arms, making sure to support her head just like the nurse had instructed him to do. His heart melted as she slowly opened her eyes to look up at him. They were golden-brown, the same as his. He knew then and there, that he’d never give up his daughter. He would fight until his last breath to keep her. 

“Wolffe, I am so sorry.” You paused looking down at the now sleeping baby. “I can’t believe Sera said all those horrible things about you and the baby.”

“Yeah, Sera shouldn’t have kriffing said banthashit about my daughter.”

“She shouldn’t have said that banthashit about you either, Wolffe.”

“It’s the truth, (Y/N).”

“Gods, Wolffe, no it’s not. You’re a man, not an object. You’re a person. You’re not something she can use. You’re a human being with feelings and emotions. I wished you’d understand that.”

Wolffe didn’t meet your gaze as you both stayed quiet for a few moments. Wolffe broke the silence first. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, (Y/N). I want to keep her. I have to keep her, but I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”

You hummed at that. Thinking of how you could help Wolffe. You rolled your eyes.

‘Damn Republic and your stupid prejudice and you unfair rules towards the clones.’ You thought. 

If clones were allowed to have children this would be a lot easier to deal with. Wolffe could get decommissioned if this got out. You knew his vod would protect both Wolffe and their new niece. And General Plo certainly wouldn’t let anything happen to them either.

“I’ll help you, Wolffe.”

He smiled at me. 

“I figured you would, but I just don’t know how to do this. How do I even be a father? How am I gonna watch my daughter while I’m planetside, trying to keep myself, the General, and my vod alive?”

You think for a moment, then smile. You still hold the baby in your arms.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you other than you’ll figure out how to be a father. That’s what everyone has to do. As far as watching the baby… I can watch her.”

Wolffe’s brows shoot up and his jaw drops. 

“No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I offered and I’d be glad to do it. Look, I’m not a field medic, meaning I’m almost never planetside. Meaning your daughter will be safe with me away from all the shooting and explosions.”

Wolffe sighed, seeing no other option that didn’t involve giving up his daughter. He nodded reluctantly in agreement. 

“What do we do now?” Wolffe asked. 

“Well, for right now, you need to sleep.”

Wolffe went to protest. 

“No, Wolffe I’m guessing you haven’t slept in hours because of the baby being born. I’ll stay up and watch her. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow. I already have some ideas I need to think more about.”

Wolffe nodded and you gestured to your cot. Wolffe plopped down on it and closed his eyes. 

“Wolffe?” 

He hummed in response. 

“What’s her name?”

Wolffe opened his eyes and looked at the bundle in your arms. He thought for a second before smiling at the baby. 

“Rose.” He whispered so softly you almost couldn’t hear him. “My little rose petal.”

[mldrgrl]

omg your little plot to the red shoe gif... i need them making out in the pilot and then continue what you said... please write it 😨🥵😍

Reckless

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13

Referenced post here

“Mosquito bites,” he says.

“What?”

“They’re mosquito bites.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I got eaten alive out there myself.”

The rising panic she’s been feeling turns to relief and she’s flooded with a release of adrenaline.  She fumbles with her robe, hastily drawing it back up over her shoulders and pulling the knot closed with shaking hands.  She turns without thinking, throwing her arms around him in gratitude so forcefully she feels him stumble backwards, but then one of his arms comes around her shoulders and he holds her back, albeit very loosely.

“You’re shaking,” he says, and rubs the side of her arm.

“I’m just...cold,” she lies, through gritted teeth.

He leans into her, stretching his arm out to place the candle he’s holding onto the table beside them and then he wraps both his arms around her.  She’s embarrassed by how nice it feels to be held by him and then chastises herself for her weakness.  Don’t do it, she tells herself.  Not another coworker.  Not another superior.  She pulls away from him, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  

“For what?”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this.  I’m not qualified.”

Oh god, she thinks.  Stop talking.  Just shut up, Dana.  She braces herself to be condescended to.  She doesn’t know if it’s all men, or just her luck that the men she’s had experiences with all have a terrible knack for making her feel even more inferior when she’s at her most vulnerable.  And Mulder would have every right.  She’s a liability, not an asset.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” he says.  

He guides her to the bed with a gentle grasp on her elbow and sits her down.  He unfolds the blanket at the end and drapes it over her shoulders like a cape.  She pulls it closed around her like it will protect her somehow.  He crouches in front of her and tips his head to the side.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks.  “A glass of water?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“What is it you think you’re not cut out for here?”

“I’m not a field agent.  I’m a medical doctor.  A pathologist.”

“And a damn good one, from what I’ve seen.”  

“How would you know that?”

He shrugs.  “Your reports are easily accessible in the database.  I read a few.  Very thorough and you have an eye for detail.”

“It’s not doing me a lot of good here.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I know what you think of me, Mulder, but I was given this assignment to find answers and all I’ve found are questions.”

He nods.  “And?”

“Don’t you want answers?”

“Of course I do.  But, the x-files are about asking the questions that no one else will.  And sometimes that’s more important than just getting answers.”  

She stares at him with two simultaneous realizations.  He’s completely serious, for one.  And despite the hoops he’s made her jump through, he never once tried to discourage her from doing her job.

“Look, I know I’ve been giving you a hard time,” he says, as though he can read her thoughts.  “But, these files are important to me and I can’t let anything happen to them.”

“I want to help you.”

“Do you?”

There’s something in his tone that she can’t grasp.  He doesn’t believe her, but he wants to believe.  Almost earnestly.  It kickstarts her heart a bit.  She wants to say something reassuring, but doesn’t know what that would be.  

A loud crack of thunder like a gunshot makes her jump and tense.  Mulder squeezes her knee once and moves to stand, but she covers his hand and even though she knows she shouldn’t, she pulls him into her and kisses him.  It isn’t passionate, but it isn’t abrupt or awkward either.  It’s surprising, but warm and soft.  He pulls back and doesn’t say anything, but she can tell he’s thinking what she’s thinking.  This is wrong, we shouldn’t, but I can’t stop.  I don’t want to stop.

He kisses her this time and the blanket falls from her shoulders as she opens her arms to him.  She brings him down to the bed with her as she lays back.  He hovers above her, one knee on the bed, but still standing.  He’s got one hand pressed down next to her head and the other cupping her face, stroking her cheek as he kisses her.  It’s not enough.  There’s something magnetic about him.  As close as he is, she still wants him closer.  Her body is crying out for his touch.

Everything happens so very fast and she knows it has to be this way for if they stop to think about it, they���ll just stop.  But, that is not an option.  She pushes his shirt off and he unknots her robe and she unbuckles his belt and still there are just too many clothes and she can’t get enough.  They’re both being so reckless and irresponsible and she tries to care, but she just doesn’t.  She only regrets that they don’t even make an attempt at slowing down.

“Oh, god,” is all she can say.  He whispers her name over and over.  Scully, Scully, Scully.  Yes, her body sings in response.  Yes, yes, yes.

Now, they’re both trembling and the rain hasn’t even had time to subside.  Mulder retreats almost immediately, rolling away from her and hunching over the side of the bed.  She still feels too liquid to move, but he’s up and pulling his boxer shorts on and heading to the bathroom.  She forces her limbs to work, to push her upright and to bring the sheet up over her body.  She doesn’t know where her robe is, or her underwear.  She’s leaning over, patting the floor with one hand and holding the sheet to her chest with the other, when Mulder comes back out.  He sets a glass of water on the nightstand and hands her a warm, damp washcloth.  

Discreetly, she cleans herself up and watches Mulder flop down in the chair by the window.  He puts his head in his hands and braces his elbows on his knees.  Her gut twinges in remorse as she takes a sip of water.

“I was twelve and my sister was eight,” he says.  “When she disappeared.  My parents were at the neighbor’s and I was supposed to be in charge.  We were arguing over what to watch on TV one minute and then she was just...gone.”

“Gone?”

“I struggled for a long time trying to remember what happened.  They found me passed out on the floor next to the lockbox where my father kept his gun.  And Samantha was just...gone.”

“You never found her?”

He shakes his head.  “There was no evidence, no note, no nothing.  And no one would talk about it.  It tore the family apart.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Eventually, I went to school in England.  I came back and got recruited by the bureau.  It seems I had a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases.”

“I’ve read your monograph on Monte Propps.  We studied it, actually, in the academy.”

Mulder snorts a little and rubs his face with both hands.  “My success, ironically, is what first gave me the freedom to pursue my own interests.  That’s when I stumbled on the x-files.”

“You found them by accident?”

“At first, it looked like a garbage dump for UFO sightings, alien abduction reports, the kind of stuff that most people laugh at as being ridiculous, but I was fascinated. I read all the cases I could get my hands on.  Hundreds of them. I read everything I could about paranormal phenomenon, the occult, and…”

“And what?”

“There's classified government information I've been trying to access, but someone has been blocking my attempts to get at it.”

“Who?”

“Someone at a higher level of power. The only reason I've been allowed to continue with my work is because I've made connections in congress.”

“Why would they block your attempts?  Are they afraid you’ll leak the information?”

He looks up at her and steeples his fingers, resting his chin upon them.  “You’re part of that agenda.”

“I’m not part of any agenda.  I told you, I’m-”

“You are, you just don’t know it.”

“That can’t be true.  It’s just not possible.”

“I'm telling you this, Scully, because you need to know.  Because of what you've seen. In my research, I've worked very closely with a man named Dr. Heitz Werber and he's taken me through deep regression hypnosis. I've been able to go into my own repressed memories to the night my sister disappeared.  I can recall a bright light outside and a presence in the room.  I was paralyzed, unable to respond to my sister's calls for help.”

“What are you saying, Mulder?”

“We are not alone.  The government knows it and I need to know why they’re hiding it.  Nothing else matters to me and this is as close as I’ve gotten.”  He drops his head back into his hands and scrubs hard at his face.  When he looks up at her again, his eyes are red and wet.  “I don’t ever talk about this with anyone.”

With the sheet wrapped around her, Scully gets up and moves to him.  He slumps back into the chair with a sigh and she sits across his lap, putting her arm around him.  He looks up at her wearily and she brushes the hair off his forehead before she places her lips to his brow.

“I want to help you find the answers,” she says.

“I know you do.”

She tips her head at him in question and he pushes the sheet off of her shoulder to run his hand down her back.  His fingertips brush over the marks on her lower back, tingling where he touches her.

“You believed me,” he says.  “No one else ever has.”

She stares at his face, wanting to protest, but it’s true.  She felt those marks and in that moment, she believed what she knows is impossible.  Her eyes fall to his mouth and she strokes his jaw, thumb grazing the mole at the back of his cheek.  She wants to kiss him again, but take her time with it.  The power is still out and they have all night.

The phone at Mulder’s nightstand rings and they both tense.  On the fifth ring, Mulder eases Scully from his lap and she slips into the chair as he gets up to answer.  He rubs the back of his neck as he barks a greeting.

“What?” he says.  “Who is this?  How did-hello?”

“Who was it?” she asks, when he hangs up.

“I don’t know.  A woman.  She said that Peggy O’Dell is dead.”

“The girl in the wheelchair?”

“Unless there’s some other Peggy O’Dell I don’t know about.”

Scully stands and spots her robe on the floor, along with her underwear.  She picks them up and clutches them against her chest with the sheet.  Mulder looks away and then brushes past her towards the bathroom.

“I’ll get dressed,” he says.

“I’ll...meet you back here when I’m done?”

“Okay.”

“Mulder?”

He stops in the door to the bathroom, but doesn’t look back.

“Should we talk about...this?” she asks, gesturing back and forth in the space between them.

“Maybe when the case is over.  I can’t really...afford to be distracted right now.  You understand?”

“I do.”  She nods, but feels a pang of disappointment.

“Good.”

She pulls her robe back on, stuffs her underwear in the pockets, and leaves the sheet on the floor before she heads back to her room.

The End