#and its fine now after matthew died

[glittergelpensherlock]

Thinking about how Mary just wanted to be the perfect son for Robert and her stubbornness and often mean and bitter attitude stems from the fact that she was raised to think she wasn't worthy of inheriting Downton and she needed to try to be more her whole life to impress her father.

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Three - The raven's call

☆☆☆

After visiting the Three-In-One, Morpheus instantly took off for London. Lucienne had tried to stop him. She had wanted him to come back to the palace to come talk to you, but he was insistent on getting his sand. It was the easiest of tools to get at the moment.

Lucienne returned to the palace and came to find you. You were chatting with Jessamy and Matthew. She had caught Matthew asking you questions about being a raven, and you replying happily.

She was just glad you weren't completely alone. Your reunion with Dream was not what either of you had anticipated at all.

Lucienne had tried to convince Morpheus to at least take a raven with him, which is why Matthew had been brought here, but Lord Morpheus had denied her request. Now she had a different idea in mind.

"Am I interrupting?" She asks, smiling at the three of you.

"Not at all, come in." You smile at her.

Lucienne walks over to you. "Can I have a word?" She asks. You nod. "Lord Morpheus has headed to London in search of his sand, and he refused to take a raven. However, I am choosing to ignore his wishes and send one."

"Jessamy has much experience, as you know, but yo want to see if Matthew is ready?"

"I can do it." Matthew steps forward, confidant. He had learnt a lot from you in the last couple of hours.

"Actually, I have another idea in mind." Lucienne looks at you. From that look alone, you understand what she is thinking.

"No." You shake your head.

"We both know from our little tests that while in the waking world, you can only take the form of a raven. You can do as you always did once again." Lucienne says.

"No. He will not accept that. It was already too much for him to see I am alive. He will not accept me appearing all of a sudden as a raven again. Its too much."

"He still trusts you. He always trusted you."

"No, Lucienne. I don't want to hurt him anymore. Jessamy told me she saw how heartbroken he was when I died. I don't want to push this." You wipe the tears that were staring to form in your eyes.

Lucienne rubs your arms gently. "He will come round to this. You're here, and we are so grateful for it. Whatever miracle took place in bringing you back to us, I am thankful for it."

You sigh softly. "Fine. I'm not sorry for my attitude if he starts trying to push me away."

Lucienne smiles. "Good. Put him in his place."

You chuckle softly. "Right. Okay... This will take some getting used to. I've grown mkre used to having arms that flying might take me a little practise again."

You hadn't left the Dreaming on so long, and you had struggled to grasp the changes between being a human and a raven. You had no control when you changed.

"You can do this. I know you can."

"Right..." You take a deep breath and then walk away. Lucienne watches you go.

"I could have gone instead," Matthew tells her.

"No. She needed to go. They need to talk." Lucienne says softly.

Matthew looks at Jessamy for answers, but he doesn't get any.

☆☆☆

You fly through the sky. It was a little rocky. You hadn't flown as a raven in a while. After returning to Dreaming in human form, you had a lot to get used to. You had never been human before. Walking as a raven was different than walking as a human. You took a while to get used to it.

Lucienne helped you every step of the way she had been a wonderful friend and teacher to you. When you tried to return to the waking world to help Morpheus again, you discovered you could transform into a raven. It had spooked you, and you returned to the Dreaming right away. You had become human again.

Over the years, you discovered you could go between being human and raven, but you were not able to control it. It frightened you every time it happened. Lucienne did her best to comfort you, but even she could only do so much.

You still couldn't transform at will, but you were a little better at accepting you had two halves now.

You found Lord Morpheus talking to a woman in a white coat. You landed on the bench nearby. You listened to their conversation for a bit, but then she pointed you out to him, and he turned his attention to you. You panicked a little.

Dream walked over to you.

"It's you."

"Yes. It's me."

"You're a raven again."

"Well done, you can see," you sass him. He doesn't seem.to understand what you said and looks at you confused.

"I do not need a raven. Go home." He tells you.

"No! You know what, you can't dismiss me forever. I'm here. I'm back. You have to accept that. I thought you would be happy. We were friends, weren't we?" You cock your head to the side.

"I told Lucienne I did not need a raven."

"Well, the woman is getting away, so yes you do." You point out.

Morpheus turned to find Constantine gone. He sighs and turns back at you. "That's your fault."

"Now you blaming me? Do you hate me?" You ask.

He doesn't answer.

"Wow. Not even the decency to tell me? I thought I was important to you..."

Morpheus can hear the hurt in your voice. "You were important to me."

"Were?"

"I thought you were dead. I mourned you. Suddenly, you're back, and I don't know what to do with this information."

"Look, I know it's a lot, but just let me help you. I know how important your tools are. I'm not taking no for an answer." You tell him, standing your ground.

He sighs quietly and walks away.

"Knew it." You fly after him.

☆☆☆

Constantine performed an exorcism. It's not something you expected to see today, but here you are.

Still keeping a little distance from Dream, you watch as he talks to Joanna. She brushes him off and goes home, disappearing just like that.

"Now what?" You ask.

"I can find her when she sleeps." He says.

"Right..."

He looks at you. "Come here."

You understand what he's requesting, and you land on his shoulder. He's taking you with him. You would be smiling proudly if ravens could smile.

Morpheus finds Constantine within her nightmare. When she wakes up, Morpheus is in her room towering over her with you on his shoulder.

"For fuck's sake." She sighs. "How did you find me?"

"You were dreaming. But it wasn't only a dream, was it? It's a memory. No wonder you do not sleep."

"Maybe I don't deserve to."

You look at her curiously as you land on a desk nearby. You didn't want to get too comfortable on Dream's shoulder.

"Perhaps not." He says to Constantine. "But I could make it go away."

"Only if I help you find your sand."

"Though finding anything in this place may require more magic than even you can muster."

Joanna falls silent for a moment and then gets up. "I'll look in the office. Try not to clean up while I'm gone."

"I'm coming with you," he says. "You have a gift for disappearing."

"All right. But if the mess in here offends you, wait till you see my office."

She glances at you and then walks past him. Dream follows her. You sigh and fly after him, not wanting to be left behind.

The office was so much worse.

You land on a pile of books and look around the place. How could she find anything in here? This wasn't even considered organised chaos. It was just mess.

"Why do humans love objects so much?" Dream asks.

"They do come in handy sometimes." Constantine tells him. "You seem pretty attached to your sand."

"It's not just an object. It's a part of me."

"If that's true, how'd you happen to lose it?" She asks, looking at him.

You can't bring yourself to look at him.

"It was stolen by either magic user called Burgess."

"Wait, not Rodrick Burgess? The old demon king himself, eh? Everyone used to say he was a fake. Said he had the Devil locked up in his basement. How the fuck did you..."

She looks up.

"Not the Devil," you tell her.

"Shit." She walks over to him. "We're you down there? All this time?"

His lack of response was in itself an answer. You feel your heart ache as he drops his gaze to the floor. Your beloved king, your creator and master, locked away for a century alone. You can't bear the thought of it. Especially knowing he had to live with seeing you die.

You wanted to comfort him so much.

You watch Morpheus as he plucks a set of photos from a box and looks down at them. They picture Constantine and another woman in them.

"Is this you?" He asks.

"Why? Do I look that different?"

"No. Happy."

You remember a time he was happy. You shake your head for thinking about him so much at the moment. You needed to focus and prove you were still the raven he relied on so much.

"Shit." Constantine whispers. "I know where your sand is."

☆☆☆

You stand outside an apartment building. Constantine had gone inside to meet with Rachel. Someone she knew in the past. Someone she loved in the past. She had stopped Morpheus from following her inside, so currently, he was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at you.

"You really should go in there." You tell him.

"Yes."

"I have a bad feeling about all of this."

Last time you said to him, he ended up being captured and trapped for a century, unable to get home. If there was one thing that he could always seem to rely on, it was you having a bad feeling.

"Something is wrong." He says.

"Then go inside. I'll keep watching out here."

"It's raining."

"I don't care. I can fly just as good in the rain anyway." You tell him proudly.

He wanted to argue that you'd probably get cold, but he kept his mouth shut. He headed inside the apartment, leaving you on the doorstep. Once the door shut behind him, you flew up to a ledge, level with the apartment window Constantine had gone into. You couldn't see much though.

Not too much time passed before Constantine came outside. She looked sad. You flew down from the ledge and met her under the arch.

"You okay?" You ask.

She doesn't respond. She sniffles and then takes a deep breath, looking like her usual self again. She looks down at you. Just as she looks like she's going to say something, Morpheus returns to you both. You step away and look up at the two of them.

He has his sand back, so he's done what he came to do.

The two look at each other.

"She died in peace. In her sleep." Morpheus says softly.

Joanna looked out at the rain as she said, "I'll let her dad know." She looks back at Morpheus. "You know, she was actually a good person. There are a few of them out there, you know."

You catch Dream glancing at you for a moment.

"They're not all like me and Rodrick Burgess." Constantine says.

"You are not Rodrick Burgess."

Joanna walks closer until she's standing right in front of Morpheus. You look at them both, wondering what she was doing. You were very protective of your dream lord.

"And what's your friend's name?" Joanna asks, glancing at you.

Morpheus looks at you and says your name.

"Look after him." Joanna says, looking right at you. "He needs it."

You look up at Dream curiously. He is avoiding your gaze for now.

Joanna puts up her umbrella and steps out into the rain. Morpheus calls her name. She turns to look at him.

"That nightmare won't trouble you anymore."

Joanna walks away.

You hop on over to stand in front of Morpheus and look up at him. "That was nice, what you did."

"Don't spy on me again."

"I'm not spying on you. I'm trying to help. Like old times. So, what's our next move?" You ask.

"I'm going in search of my helm. You're going home." He says.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not. You're stuck stuck with me, Dream Lord." You ruffle your feathers as you stare up at him. "Take me with you, and we'll never have to talk about this again."

Morpheus looks at the rain. "That does sound tempting."

"See? We're friends again. So, where is your helm? Where are we going?" You ask.

Morpheus kneels down and looks at you. He can't deny it's good to have you at his side again.

"Hell."

"Hell? Like literal Hell? Or are you being mysterious. I hate it when you do that. Shouldn't we go check in with Lucienne first?"

Morpheus stands and takes his pouch from his pocket. You sigh, knowing he's not going to go back to the Dreaming just yet. You fly up and land on his shoulder.

"Fuck it, let's go to Hell."

He pours the sand into the palm of his hand, and it begins to swirl around you both. It's too late to go back now.

At least he's accepting you again. You're grateful for that.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @sitkafay - @snowsatsu - @ladyofketterdam - @thoughtsfromlayla -

[gabessquishytum]

I've spent almost all day at work thinking about my Haunted Mansion AU. I might actually end up writing this. So, some more of my ideas:

Just like in the film, Hob dies during a Masquerade Ball. He and Roderick meet to discuss 'business' and end up going to Morpheus' study, where they're supposed to wait for him. Hob doesn't trust Roderick but believes that he is safe because surely Roderick won't do anything stupid in the middle of a huge party. While waiting, Hob grabs wine for them, but Roderick poisons Hob's drink. Morpheus arrives, realizes what Roderick has just done, and loses it. Roderick assumed he'd be okay (ironically for the same reason Hob thought everything would be fine), but he doesn’t realize Morpheus is a very old and powerful vampire. Morpheus kills Roderick and then cries over Hob's body, eventually ending the Masquerade Ball by carrying his body through the party.

Like Mr. Gracey in the movie, he plans to kill himself to join his beloved in the afterlife but his eldest brother, Destiny, who can see the future, comes to him. Destiny tells Morpheus that Hob will be reborn in time (as Hob has always been one to reject death, which is part of the reason he and Morpheus worked so well together) and if Morpheus kills himself, he'll not actually be joining Hob in the afterlife. He won't tell Morpheus how long, but he tells Morpheus to wait. So Morpheus does.

I had the thought that instead of Ramsley, Lucienne is the butler, but she's also the librarian of the Manor because she spent so much time there that Morpheus just kind of gave it to her. She's also an Elf.

Jessamy and Matthew take the places of the Maid and Not-Butler (The "Inconceivable!" Guy) and they are siblings who are Fae. They both have the ability to shapeshift into Ravens.

I haven't decided if Corinthian is in this yet. Probably not because I can't figure out where to put him.

I also had the thought that Robert, the real estate agent that is Hob reincarnated, would spend a week at the Manor, and every night he would dream a little more about his life as Hob. How he and Morpheus met, fell in love, and it all culminates in Hob's murder.

Morpheus spends the entire time trying to Be Normal™ about this man who is absolutely his beloved returned to him, just as his elder brother promised. He's so busy trying to Be Normal™ (which, for the record, he's horrendous at lol) that he misses the very obvious hints Rob has been dropping about his memories slowly coming back. At least until Rob has his final dream, where he actually TALKS to Hob, the part of his soul that IS Hob. They have a conversation and realize they aren't all that different, and Rob admits he wouldn't mind if they... became one for lack of a better term. So they sort of merged into one being. He's still Rob, but he's also Hob now.

Hob/Rob talk to Morpheus, explain the situation, and they live happily ever after once Morpheus turns him.

- 🐺

I really really hope that you decide to write this, I love this outline so much. I love the inclusion of Matthew and Jessamy, I love how much the setting of the haunted mansion suits Dream’s vibes so incredibly well.

I love how well Hob can fit into this au as well, because it's almost like you can have 1389 Hob and 2023 Hob talking to eachother (only in this au its Hob and Rob ofc). I just think that could be really poignant and lovely. Like I said I really hope you write this up as a full fic, but even if you don't these ideas are really wonderful already <3

[courtforshort15]

Under My Skin

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word count: 2,700

Summary: You're extremely late for work, and your boyfriend is extremely unhelpful.

Trigger warnings: absolutely none, just the risk of possible death by the feral smirk of Matt Murdock

Masterlist

"Shit motherfucker God damnit!"

You're late, you're very late.

Matt laughs at you from his kitchen as you swear a blue streak, foul words falling from your lips like candy out of a damaged piñata. If you hadn't been rushing around his apartment like a chicken with its head cut off, you'd take the time to stomp over to him and shove your middle finger right in his face. But as it is, you don't have the time to stalk over to him and brush your hair in the mirror. You have to choose which one is more important, and right now, the only correct choice is the one that doesn't have you showing up to your 9am meeting with a rat's nest on your head.

You'll make sure to flip him off later.

"Where the fuck is my phone charger? Have you seen it?"

"Technically, I haven't seen any--"

"Save your repetitive dad joke for later or I swear to God, Matthew, I'll risk being screamed at by my boss in front of the whole damn company just so I can smack that smug grin off of your face."

The man snorts into his coffee.

"Seriously, where is it? I thought I plugged my phone in so it could charge last night. I need it so that I can at least charge it at work." With toothpaste foaming and a toothbrush now in your mouth as you rush to scrub the night's build up off of your teeth, you use one hand to frantically throw the blankets and sheets off of Matt's bed, desperately trying to find the charger.

"Where did you have it last?" He asks as he comes up behind you, a mug of coffee still in his hand. His hair is sticking up in odd angles, but you're too frantic to tease him or run your fingers through it. "Are you sure you even packed it before coming over after work last night?"

"I always have my charger on me," you grumble out around the toothbrush, the statement muddled with all the toothpaste that's still present in your mouth. You brush past him on your way into the bathroom, where you spit noisily into the sink. You gargle a large sip of mouth wash, hoping to make up for the short brushing period. Not a great start to the day, but it would have to do.

Matt "bloodhound" Murdock can suck a giant dick if he mentions anything about your breath.

"You should really get a new phone," he tells you as he begins making his bed, apparently having had no luck finding your charger. You eye the abandoned cup of coffee he's placed on his dresser longingly. "Your battery dies too fast."

"My battery is fine," you object tersley. "Or at least, it usually is. It lasts a decent amount of time."

"Right," he drawls sarcasticly. He places his hands on his hips, raising his eyebrows as he focuses in your direction. "That's why your phone died overnight when you weren't even using it."

"Shut up." You're yanking your black slacks up over your ass now, and you growl as the zipper catches. You fumble with it for a second, hands shaking in a steadily rising panic, before it finally breaks free, but not without popping a thread.

Fuck.

"I'm just saying, you wouldn't be rushing like this if your phone hadn't died."

"Yes, I know that, Matt," you snap. Matt raises his hands in a defensive position, and you wish you hated the self-satisfied grin on his mouth. As much as you love him, this man drives you absolutely nuts, cocky and self-assured in his ability to rile you up with little effort.

He's right about the phone though, you mentally acknowkedge with a groan. Your alarm would have gone off at the right time had it not ran out of battery.

Damn it, you hate it when he's right.

"Are you sure it's not in your purse? It's still hanging over by the door, isn't it?"

You freeze, mouth going slightly slack. You hadn't actally checked your purse, having rushed into the shower less than 30 seconds after he'd told you what time it was.  The look Matt gives you is one of astonishment as he accurately guesses the reason behind your silence.

"You mean you didn't check?" He asks incredulously, eyes wide in what looks to be disbelief. "Isn't that the first place you should have looked?" Matt tosses you your bra from the overnight bag he's already moved to the bed after picking it up from his bedroom floor for you. He exits the room to check your purse for the blasted charger.

"Don't judge me!" You call out defensively. "I haven't been able to think clearly since I got up and realized I'm gonna be horrifically late."

Snapping the bra straps over your shoulders, you walk over to your bag to pull out the shirt you planned for today. It's wrinkled, you notice with a wince. There's nothing you can do about it now, so you soak up the frustration and begin pulling it on, pushing your arms through silk sleeves.

"Sweetheart, the charger is in there," you hear him say from just outside his bedroom, and you know he was able to sense it just a few feet away from the purse in question. You bristle at his borderline condescending tone and you retaliate by laughing sarcasticly.

"Oh, thank God." You finish buttoning up your blouse. "Thanks for finally using those senses you're always bragging about, Matt."

"It doesn't always work like that," he informs you, speaking slowly as if he was talking to a child. You resist the urge to storm into the living room just so you can throw a pillow at his stupidly handsome face. "I have to focus on the right things, which is hard to do when you're screeching like a banshee at 7:30, sweetheart."

You roll your eyes, ignoring the fact that you know he's right again. The bastard.

"I'll just use my battery pack to help charge it on my way to work."

"How did you even forget about charging it last night?" Matt downright saunters back into his bedroom to begin stripping for his own shower. His shirt hits the floor and you have to force yourself to look away, acutely aware of the sudden flicker of arousal you feel just by glancing at his naked chest. The way his mouth quirks up on the left corner you tells you he's already picked up on it. "You always remember to plug it in at night."

"Yeah, well, I must have gotten distracted," you say defensively. "You came home last night and you...wait, hold on."

"Yes...?" Matt's face is one of slight puzzlement, fingers pausing as he moves to remove his boxers. Your head snaps up as your eyes narrow, struck with a sudden realization.

"I was waiting up for you on the couch, and then you came home and I must have forgotten to charge my phone when you...when you-"

"I what?"

"When you demanded I take my clothes off and then dragged me to your bed!"

Matt gapes at you in surprise, as if he's forgotten having his way with you last night, fast and rough and hard. Repeatedly. The look of shock lasts only for a second before it morphs into something heated and downright sinful instead. "Whoops."

His reaction and utter lack of repentance fuels the fire.

"It's all your fault!" You hiss at him, finger pointed in accusation. "I forgot to plug in my phone because you came home and apparently needed to fuck me right. that. second!"

"As I now recall, you didn't exactly have a problem with it."

You screech in frustration, doing your best to avoid tearing your soaking hair out of your scalp as you turn on your heel to make your way to where your purse is hanging on his coat rack. "I'm never letting you touch me again."

"Sweetheart, don't be rash." The smugness in his voice is still present even as he chases after you. "It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't, because I'm going to be celibate from now on."

"Sweetheart--"

"Celibate, Matt!"

You finish slipping your heels on, cringing as your feet start aching almost instantly, the arch throbbing and yesterday's blisters already chaffing. It's going to be a long day, and it's barely even 8am.

Matt wipes a large palm down his face, trying to hide his grin and utterly failing as you walk around him to grab your phone off of the kitchen table where you'd mistakenly left it last night. You shove the offending item into your purse with a glare.

"Let me make it up to you tonight?"

"Why, so I can wake up with a dead phone again?"

Matt huffs out a laugh. "I promise I'll help you plug it in myself. I'll even be nice and pick you up a new phone charger so you always have one on your side of the bed and don't have to worry about grabbing it out of your bag every night."

You groan. Despite the frustration of the morning, nothing sounds better than sleeping next to him again tonight on what he's affectionately labeled as your side of the bed.

But he doesn't need to know that.

"Even if I wanted to, which I don't because boyfriends who are capable of sex marathons at 2am are horrible for my career, I have to go home tonight."

"Can I persuade you otherwise?" This man has the most unreal set up puppy dog eyes you have ever seen, despite being unable to see how effective they are, and you hate him for it. His hands settle on your hips and they tugs you in gently, a sharp contrast from the restless energy thats been filling the apartment for the last twenty minutes, your bickering loud and unapologetic.

"No, Matt." He adds in the well-practiced lip quiver and you almost give in. Seriously, who taught him these things? "I have absolutely no clean clothes left. I'm not even wearing any underwear because I ran out of clean ones here."

"Oh, I'm fully aware you're not wearing any." His grin is downright salacious as his sightless eyes land somewhere around your lower abdomen. He licks his lips for good measure, assuring you of what exactly is going through his mind.

"Stop it!" You shove him, but he dosen't move an inch. "You can't have thoughts like that while I'm trying to rush out the door. It's not fair."

Matt lets go and grins as he walks over to the kitchen counter to pour coffee into your travel mug. You follow him in desperate need of the caffeine, and he places it in your awaiting hands once it's full. "You know...I might have a suggestion that could possibly help your underwear problem."

You hurriedly add creamer and then take a large sip, wincing as it burns on the way down. "If your suggestion is that I go without underwear every day, I will walk out that door and not come back."

"I was actually thinking that you could just move in with me and keep all of your panties here."

Coffee is spat on to the floor as you find yourself choking, eyes widening drastically. You thump your hand against your chest as you wheeze, still coughing as you stare at him in mild alarm.  "Did you...did you just..."

"Did I just ask you to move in?" Matt smirks at you, leaning unconcernedly against the counter, still in his silk boxers. "Yeah, yeah I did."

Your mouth is gaping like a goddamn fish. You wipe your chin off with the back of your hand, staring at him in disbelief. "And you think now was the best time to bring it up?"

He shrugs. "Seemed relevant, so yeah. I'd say so."

"Matt," you whine. You resist the urge to stomp your foot like a toddler. "You can't...You can't just ask that when I'm about to leave."

The smirk is still on his ridiculously handsome face. "And yet, I did."

"I don't have time to talk about this right now, I'm already so late," you say, regret seeping into your voice, hoping to convey that it's not a rejection, just a matter of the morning's poor timing.

Sometimes you think he lives for catching you off guard.

Your face is burning as you move to bend down with a paper towel to wipe up the coffee you'd spat on the ground. Matt waves your hand away, indicating that he'll clean it in a minute.

"We don't have to talk about it now," he tells you, and his voice is suddenly lacking the teasing edge it had a moment earlier as he takes the paper towels from your hand. He's still smiling, but it's softer now, less flirtatious, less merciless in his desire to continue riling you up. "Just...think about it."

Shaking your head, you reluctantly back away, closing the lid on your travel mug. You're at a loss for words. The mad rush of the morning has left you, replaced by a different type of buzzing that's resonating in your head, caused by the unexpected suggestion he's just thrown at you.

Still reeling, and still struggling with the one thousand thoughts running through your head, you make your way back to the hallway leading to his front door and crack it open slighty. You watch your hands tremble briefly before pausing to turn around. 

He's followed you, unsurprisingly, and he's now leaning against the wall to the right of the door, using his shoulder to brace himself as he crosses his arms. His chest is bare, and he's still only wearing boxers, much to your amusement and rapidly increasing hunger. The sight sends a shiver of lust down your spine without shame.

God, this man.

Even knowing that your boss will absolutely murder you in your sleep, you risk being late just so you can look at him for a minute before you go. He usually walks you to the faded exit of his apartment when you head to work, but this time it's different as you're suddenly hit with the realization that you've never found it so hard to leave.

"Matt," you say, swaying gently into him, and he places a hand on your waist as if to steady you. You can tell he's aware that the air around the two of you has suddenly shifted into something calmer, something more meaningful than your early morning bickering. The rapid fire of panic at the possibly to being late to work shifts into the flame of desire and want and love you feel for this man.

He leans into you instinctively, as he always does.

Sighing fondly, you reach up to place your hand on his cheek, and he immediately nuzzles into it. You take a small step forward and tip your chin up to kiss him, a faint gasp leaving you as his lips press more insistenly against yours than you had planned for. Despite the heat, it's a quick kiss, and you take your mouth away from his after only a moment, his quiet groan going straight down your spine.

You're unable to stop the smile spreading across your face as you whisper the next part. "You already know my answer is yes."

The smile he gives you is so blinding, you can't help but laugh in response. He moves to kiss you again, reaching out to pull you into him, but you deftly take a step to the side, effectively wiggling away. You know if you start now, you'll never stop, and you'll never be able to pull away from him, meeting be damned.

Besides, the man deserves to be teased after fucking you into submission last night and leaving you unable think and unable to move; the two factors absolutely necessary to plug in your goddamn phone.

All things considered, you'd still let him do it again in a heartbeat. You'll never tell him that, though; the man is already egotistical enough when it comes to his skills in bed. And on the couch. And in the shower. And on the kitchen table.

"Seeing as how you asked me at the worst possible moment, and I have a meeting that I cannot miss, you'll have to wait until tonight to celebrate," you tell him cheekily, already backing out into the hallway. You can tell by the look on his face that it's taking every ounce of his self-control not to pull you back in anyway. "I'll see you after work, and after I pick up more clothes from my apartment."

The smirk is back. "Will you still be without underwear?"

"I'm sure I could make that arrangement."

"Perfect."

[writing-whump]

I need Matthew's lighthearted teasing-grumpyness back. He seems so off recenty, poor guy. I don't know, maybe put him in the box with Hector and shake it a little, or something. Maybe some barking will help release some tension. 👀

(and i can't see the story progressing with Matt in current state, i know he is dealing with the situation as he can, but... We know what's coming 🥺)

A.

Well, people have been screaming at me bc of Matthew, so here you go. Your wish heard loud and clear :D

Hitting the limit

Matthew was exhausted.

He had been keeping up his routine the whole week as always. Except it was maxed up to two times its normal amount.

When he woke up, he took a protein shake and went for a run. After 10 kilometers he went to the gym and worked out. Ran the way back to their apartment gym and did the boxing routine with punching and jumping with the sail. Then weight lifting. Then another punching round. Then a session with his shadow.

When his legs turned to jelly and thoughts died down to bright lights and louds noises, he allowed himself to follow the scent to their apartment.

Isaiah found him on the couch and forced him to drink and eat. Then he passed out.

So went the days for the whole week Rip was almost healed up and the first week after the kids moved away.

To an apartment next door.

Matt understood he would have to get used to it. To the proximity, to the scents, to the shadows.

Heck, Dylan showed up not a day into them moving out and crashed on their couch for the whole day like it meant nothing.

Matthew was very very proud of himself for being so exhausted he couldn't hold a coherent conversation.

He hated himself for being so weak and a burden. For his shadow being hungry and curious about Dylan's presence. In a way the boy felt like a threat, his jealousy almost his own perfume. It irked the possessive part of Matthew's shadow.

Isaiah and Seline were his. And now there were those two kids, Rip and Dylan, drawing each of them away in different ways.

Away from Matthew.

It was stupid and childish and he was so emberassed he couldn't even formulate the thought out loud.

So he kept running. Running and running and running, so he wouldn't have to look any deeper why his shadow was a mess and why his core was shaking in fear he would be left behind, cause look, Seline had a family and Isaiah could connect with anyone and there was nothing special about Matt without them, nothing where he could go...

It wasn't hot, the weather switching between quick rains and puffy greyness. That was good, he didn't have to worry about heat exhaustion.

At some point he did get a bit of blackness over his eyes and his legs got a bit shaky. He would sit down in a second. That couldn't hurt, right?

Maybe he had decided that too late, cause his vision went from black to nothing.

"Oi. Oi. You dead?"

Someone's feet next to his ear. His ear? What?

Matthew blinked himself awake. He was lying in a ditch by the sidewalk that led to the economy university campus.

It was a rather calm side of the road, now that the holidays kept the complex of buildings empty.

"Oi. Go pass out on someone else's turf, you hear?"

The gruff and annoyed voice sounded familiar.

Matthew felt too tired to move, only lifting his gaze. And sure enough, Hector's spiky hair and bushy eyebrows came into view as the wolf leaned over him with an angry scowl.

"Hmmm?" He said intelligently.

"Are you gonna be lying there for a long time?"

"Maybe we should call an ambulance." Another voice. Girlish, one that Matthew didn't recognize.

"Nah, that's fine," Hector waved his hand dismissively. "He is fine, just being lazy. Matt, get up or you're gonna seriously piss me off."

"You don't need me for that," Matthew said in a scratchy voice. He had to cough to clear it, but his throat still felt dry and painful.

He dragged himself up into a sitting position on a second, nope, third time, blinking like a madman as the sun came into view and his surroundings got back their colour.

Hector was still standing there, looking terribly smug. Beside him was a girl, small in statute with a heart-shaped face, round puffy cheeks and short black hair. Her eyes were wide and smoky, looking at Matthew with worry.

She kept glancing at Hector as her reference point, so she was probably crazy.

Matthew let his shoulders slump. Where was he going? His digital watch was out of battery and he had no idea how much running he had left for the day.

When Hector opened his mouth to say something again, Matthew quickly interrupted: "What do you mean, 'your turf'?" This was the biggest university campus in Vienna, no way someone could just come and claim it as part of their pack's territory.

Hector shrugged. "You heard me."

Matthew shook his head, the notion amusing him, despite himself. He braced himself against his knees, trying to work up the energy to stand up. "You can't claim fucking Praterstern, man. It's a whole subway stop, school and lunapark, are you crazy?"

Hector huffed at him, insulted, before a hand suddenly appeared in front of Matthew's face.

Matthew stared at it a bit longer than he should have, almost spacing out again. Then he took it.

Hector got him upright in a smooth motion, without a single catch in his breath. "Am not. It was nobody's, so now it will be somebody's. Mine."

Matthew steadied himself, then lost his balance again.

Hector scoffed, grabbing him by the elbow. "Olive, Matthew. Matthew, Olive." He maneuvered him to the nearest bench. Ah. It was so close, he should have noticed.

A noise of paper hitting pavement caught his attention. The girl let go of the pile of notebooks in her hands, rumpaging frantically through her backpack.

"Here." Olive offered him water in a cute black and pink thermo bottle with shaking fingers, cheeks red with embarrassment. "What do you mean, 'claim turf'?" she said, turning to Hector.

Hector put his hands on his hips, glaring at Matthew like the question was his fault. "Why are you here, anyway? The buildings are closed during summer break."

The black-haired girl gave him a miffed look. "The Messe is right behind you, genius. There is a manga expo as we speak."

Matthew looked vaguely in that direction. Yes, there was the giant Messe building, where all big expositions took place. This was a very frequented district. It didn't belong to no-one because all kinds of wolves and humans passed through it.

Claiming it was inviting trouble.

It was kind of funny. Everyone was moving on with their lives, having hobbies and interests and people. Matthew couldn't deal with any of his problems, while Hector was actively looking for some.

How much more behind could he get?

Matthew took a swing of the water. It was nice and cool, soothing his throat.

"You can't expect me to know what manva means, Olive."

"Manga, it's manga!"

Hector laughed. "You mean the comics for children?"

"They are graphic novels, you jerk, and it's a highly artistic and deeply expressive medium!"

"Oh, another artistic cr- I mean, I see, it fits you very well."

Olive gave him a pouty look. "Anyway. Your friend doesn't look well."

Hector rolled his eyes. "That's not my friend. He is just a pain in the ass sec-I mean, friend of my brother. He is an annoying, good-for-nothing, muscle head with a scary look, nothing more."

Matthew leaned back against the bench, staring at the ground sullenly. That was typical Hector. Nothing surprising.

But it was one hit too much while he was feeling this sorry for himself. He couldn't muster up a retort, tears burning at hearing what he had been thinking the past weeks out loud.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Matthew closed his eyes, all hunched over himself. Hopefully, they would both leave him alone soon.

"Olive, could you get him a coke from the vending machine over there?" Hector pushed his credit card into the chubby girl's hands. "Take one for yourself too. I'm buying. Sorry, I'm doing it wrong."

"No, that's fine," she shot a timid look towards Matthew. "I'll be right back." She hurried away.

The bench dipped under Hector's weight. "Hey. You are acting weird today."

"Nah, not really," Matthew said, sniffling a little. The water must have gotten into his nose. "Just amazed you are picking up problems left and right. Do you want some of mine?"

Hector's scowl deepened, looking positively scary. "Isaiah?"

Matthew shook his head. That was the only important thing, wasn't it? For Hector for sure.

"Do you want me to call him?" Hector's voice dipped a little, like he wanted to whisper but never tried before, so it came out as normal instead of a shout.

"No. Though you might-" Matthew took a shuddering breath, covering half of his face with his hand. "-you might wanna keep that girl away from me."

"Bad day, eh?" Hector said lazily, one leg coming up on the bench.

Matthew clenched his jaw. "If the voices could stop for a second..." He felt raw and exposed without his shadow, but when it was exhausted, at least it wasn't so loud, screaming at him to tear, to fight, to be angry.

"It'd be like that sometimes." Hector leaned back, hands coming behind his head.

Matthew lifted his head at the nonchalant voice, peeking through his fingers. He just told Hector his shadow was messed up and upset, that he could be dangerous to the girl the other wolf obviously wanted to keep out of the shadow stuff — and Hector didn't react at all. Instead of defending her, ushering her away, getting angry....

Was he that confident he could handle Matthew if something went wrong? Or did he believe in Matthew's exhaustion keeping the shadow at bay?

Matthew couldn't imagine Hector understanding, of coming anywhere close to a state like this one.

And yet the blond wasn't alarmed, choosing the most non-fighting position possible.

Something about the sheer calmness of the scene, the mundanity, the sun coming down on the horizon painting everything in orange, while Hector wasn't making a fuss, trying to solve this or control it...felt comforting.

Olive returned with three cokes, panting for breath from how much she was hurrying. She offered one bottle to Matthew. Hector snatched it and opened it for him, for some weird reason, only then handed it over.

It might have been the right move, because Matt's hands were shaking as he took a sip. The sugar exploded on his tongue wonderfully, though.

Hector clicked his bottle with Olive's, draining half of it in one go. Olive watched him in disbelief.

"What? You wanted to be drawing something? Your sunset is going out."

Olive exclaimed, throwing herself to the ground to grab the right notebook so suddenly Matthew jumped in his seat. "Where did I- ah yes, this one..." She took a thick notebook and colorful chalk, sketching the sunset right there, still on her knees.

"There is nothing weirder than drawing," Hector said thoughtfully. His hand came to rest on the backrest behind Matthew.

The red-haired wolf watched with narrowed eyes as the human fought to save the light from being swallowed by shadows, mind going blissfully blank.

[new-tella-us]

Another old timey AU edition! Cowboy Sam! Yes this in the same timeline as Pirate Matthew. If I were to put a time period here, I’d say this is in the early 1700s. So the pirates are in their prime, but cowboys aren’t yet. They did exist though and were called “Vaqueros”. They more helped with livestock and that’s what Sam did when he drifted in and out of towns. He was seen as an odd good luck charm as he would be helpful to any town he came across and would lead to years of prosperity even after he left.

Though he wasn’t always considered peaceful. He always had a large, oddly shiny shotgun (then called a “fowling piece”) with him and he was known to use it if it was deemed necessary. One of his many names, the second most popular behind “The drifter”, was “Lead eater”. Many people noticed the bullet wounds on his person. He’s had to have taken at least five shots before. Some in vital areas like the one on his chest yet he never died. People also reported “inhumane” features like large, pointy ears, sharp teeth, and claw like fingers though nothing was confirmed. Not even his face; taking after his mother, he covered his face with the shadow made from the rim of his hat. All of these combined made him an amazing legend and a folktale eons after he’s gone.

Now, for what is true. Sam left the demon world with his brothers but, like Matthew, was unsatisfied with the peaceful life they would eventually have. Unlike Matthew though, he didn’t just disappear. He told his brothers and they came up with a compromise; Sam would travel the world if he liked as long as he took some measures of survival (the “death” of Matthew still lingered with the brothers) and that he always came back at some point. He was fine with those terms, he never intended on leaving permanently anyway. That is where the shotgun came from. The “measure of survival” was James creating a magical shotgun for Sam, one that needed no aim to hit its target.

And that’s Sam! I might draw the others another day.

[leupagus]

I've never had a mystery plot so completely mapped out in my head that was so secondary to the actual Plot of a fic, please ask me all the questions about Oscar Underwood and Matthew Lannisford

(This is more of the conclusion to the Shipping Forecast trilogy, which at least now I have the excuse that I've been acting parent to my nephews this week and good lord jesus children are exhausting, how Ellie manages her kids AND managing Hardy is a mystery for the ages)

~

They duck back into her car just as the rain really starts in, hitting the roof and the windshield like a million angry football hooligans after a loss. "Christ, somebody ring Noah," Miller laughs, tugging at her hair elastic. "I think I've got a — yeah, here." She twists round in her seat to pull at something behind her.

Hardy gives her room to half-crawl into the backseat, the bottom of her shirt riding up to show a flash of stomach, the sweet give of her waist. He looks away, toward the house. "Do you think he's lying? About knowing about Underwood and his son?"

"I think," Miller grunts, "That he's been lying to himself for over a decade, and probably longer than that, and at this point it's impossible to tell what he thinks is true and what he doesn't. And of course, what he thinks is true might not even be true. Got it!" she adds, and flops back into her seat with a wrinkled towel. She begins patting gently at her hair, the rain still bright on her cheeks and neck. "This case is like one of those Russian dolls, you know, the wooden ones? Every time you think you've cracked it, there's another one waiting for you."

"Matryoshka," Hardy offers, watching her. Her nose is getting red, the way it always does when she's cold. "Turn the bloody heater on, would you?"

"Fine," she grumbles, and shoves the towel in his face.

"Thanks very much."

"Oh, it's barely damp. And your hair's going to go all sticky-uppy the way you hate if you just let it dry on its own." She turns the ignition and fiddles with the heater; a moment later lukewarm air blasts at their ankles. "God, this bloody car. Can you get me a raise so I can buy something from this century?"

"This is a 2005 Volkswagen," Hardy feels compelled to point out, but obediently scrubs at his scalp.

"So all right, say he's telling the truth, that he had no idea Underwood and Matthew were an item. Back in the 90s, that sort of thing — Matthew might never have said. Fathers and sons and all."

"We're still basing all of this on the idea that they were an item," he says. "There's no proof either way. They could've just been work colleagues."

Miller makes a considering noise. She's staring out through the windscreen, unseeing. "They were both out. Despite what Matthew's dad claims, we know neither of them made a secret about it. In a town like this, back then? Options would be limited."

"So you think they started shagging because they couldn't find anyone better?" Hardy can feel the sharpness in his own voice, but he can't seem to do much about it. The towel is scratchy against his skin, too rough, and smells of her shampoo.

"Maybe, or — I don't know." She doesn't seem fazed by his tone, but then she rarely notices it these days. "Underwood loved someone. Desperately, the sort of love that makes you do desperate things. Before he died, he wrote that letter, hoping whoever it was he loved would find it."

"Meaning what, exactly?" he demands, the towel creaking in his fists.

She turns to look at him, eyes large and dark and horribly beautiful. "Sometimes the right option is the only option you've got," she says, and Hardy can hardly breathe round the stone in his throat. Then she scowls at him, her gaze roving, and snatches the towel back. "You're still dripping, I just got the upholstery cleaned, come here," and she encases his whole head and shoulders in the towel while he protests, rubbing at him like he's a wet dog who'd got mud on the carpet.

"Bloody hell, Miller," he grumbles, once she's done to her satisfaction, and she smiles at him and puts the car into gear, taking them back toward home.

[cosmic-star-dust]

so i have some thoughts on the state of critical role lately

so. this whole arc of c3 has been getting me thinking, and i just want to get some thoughts down, maybe for the people who also aren't super jazzed about this whole... pc cameo extravaganza that's been going on (obviously, huge spoilers for c3, up to e51)

a few disclaimers:

I love CR. I adore it. I love matt and his storytelling. All of these things are what got me into D&D to begin with. This is not just me shitting on CR or matt for no reason

i haven't seen c1. i don't know if vm have any sort of major standing in the plot. but i'm just not interested in vm, never have been, and, especially after this stint in c3, i can say with confidence that i won't ever be, unfortunately

i have so much respect for matthew mercer. i cannot imagine what it must be like to run this show. these are just my opinions as a fellow storyteller-- i can love the show, and love his work, and still not agree with its narrative structure

now i know i'm in the minority for not particularly enjoying the c1 and c2 cameos that have been happening in the last couple of episodes of c3. i understand that a lot of people love it, and i think that's great! i'm glad you guys enjoy it! i'm just not one of them, and here's why.

first and foremost, it's gatekeepy. i got my friend into CR via c3, and both of us were working on the promise that someone who was brand new to CR could start with c3 with no prior knowledge and be totally fine. but now, they've kind of gone back on that. and listen, i get it. narratives change. characters get introduced. but to have them continuously play such a large role in the narrative is really making it difficult for newer fans of the show, while appealing to the nostalgia of the older ones. this is a tough (and most likely very sensitive) topic, as nostalgia is a very attractive thing to a lot of people. but, at the same time, it robs new fans of creating those meaningful memories of the characters for this campaign, which is just kind of sad, honestly

second, the dependency on c1 and c2 characters is robbing the c3 characters of their own character arcs. now, this one... is a little spicy. i'm sorry-- character arcs are my bread and butter, and this is something i'm quite passionate about. my first irritations with the c1 cameos really goes back to laudna's revival, because, in all honesty, i don't think vm should have (or would have) helped bh from a narrative standpoint. i understand, you don't want to paint your players' former pcs as total assholes, but, by the same token, imagine it was turned around. imagine the members of vm were approached, cold turkey, by a group of random assholes who said their friend just up and died-- when they had already lost their own members. they had already failed to bring someone back. and now, this random group wants to bring back their friend who is carrying the spirit of one of their greatest enemies of all time? the dependency on the c1 characters really started here, imo, because matt showed the players that, yes, no matter how outlandish the request, they could just ask a few favors of some of the highest-ranking individuals in tal dorei, and everything would be hunky-dory.

but imagine a narrative where vm refused. imagine a narrative where vm antagonized the group. imagine a narrative where they had to continue on without laudna-- the trauma that would inflict upon the group, upon imogen, upon orym. imagine a narrative where keyleth told orym that he can't keep depending on her help every time they face a battle they can't win. imagine a narrative where bh and vm were enemies. but, no, now the c3 characters are essentially acting as little more than lackeys and frontmen for vm... and, narratively, it's just kind of... lackluster, and, unfortunately, disappointing (and i hate saying that, trust me).

now. with e51, especially. imagine a narrative where these characters, who are believed to be essentially invincible at this point... died. beau, caleb, keyleth. imagine they died because of bh's insistence that they help them. imagine the character arcs that could have come out of keyleth's death alone. if they had to face the consequences of their actions, and lost favor with vm because of keyleth's death, or orym had to abandon the air ashari because of it, or a million other ripples that could rise just from that scene alone. i love happy endings, don't get me wrong, but i also don't want it just handed to characters in a narrative. a happy ending is much more fulfilling when one has to work for it.

but now, it more feels like these characters have stagnated, and aren't actually developing on their own anymore. and i really noticed it as soon as they got vm's help with laudna's revival. it's just... a shame, honestly. i was really excited, and really hopeful, but now it's becoming an obligation to watch episodes, especially since i don't care about vm. even beau and caleb being there is like... fine, whatever, i guess it makes sense, but i would much rather have people who work with them rather than beau and caleb, themselves (and i love those two goofballs!). think of other members of the cobalt soul, or just other agents, in general. there are so many opportunities for other npcs to come in and be their allies, and it's a shame that they're just recycling old materials instead of coming up with something new.

this is not, by any means, all matt's fault, or a result of bad storytelling, or anything. there are certain players that are equally as responsible for nostalgia pandering. and i get it, you're excited to see what your old pcs are up to, and how they're doing, but, if that was the case, then just play a c1/c2 reunion campaign, as they have in the past. as far as what could be done now... it would honestly just be matt putting his foot down, and having the old pcs say "no, we're not helping you. you need to figure it out on your own." they're busy people in canon, after all!

i could go on and on (i already have), but, ultimately... if you don't like the pc cameos that have been happening, you're not alone. if you're disappointed by the narrative as it stands right now, you're not alone. as someone who loves cr, and wants to be a fan of this arc so badly, i get it. i just want these characters to stand on their own again.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

for the fic writer asks: 3, 15, and 18!!

3: What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

oof, there's a lot. i'm very longwinded and i hyperfixate easily, which is a recipe for fics that take a long time to make and then never gets made. 

the all stars:

bucky barnes designated driver au: a personal fave, no idea if i'll ever write it in full but i hope i do. bucky barnes, fresh out of hydra, ends up stumbling into hell's kitchen and meets its devil. matthew murdock has an air of such good natured, reckless stupidity that usually manifests in a violent back alley street fight that it punches through decades of hydra programming because jesus christ, this man is terminally, dangerously stupid. why is that so familiar. this is one of the most chaotic things i've ever come up with and i love it with my whole heart. it's one of my favorite peter parkers i've ever come up with in it. he's so feral. may is where he gets it from. she is in a polycule with frank castle and karen page. it's so fun.

peter parker roommates au: weird cosmic energy linked the three peters from nwh and let them do what america chavez does, just with each other's universes. they immediately use this fact to save on rent costs by moving in together. multiverse shenanigans ensue. this one i'm probably going to write after i wrap up a few other projects.

time travel au: probably never going to write this one unfortunately, which is a shame, because it's an absolute party. matt murdock and peter parker are sent back to their old bodies in a freak magic accident. they immediately decide not to tell the fucking wizards this happened, because the fucking wizards ruin everything trying to "preserve the timeline" and "not destroy the multiverse as they know it." it's fine, peter did the math and they only have like a 13ish% chance of destroying space and time, trapping everyone in an endless void where death and escape will be impossible and those are like, AMAZING odds. and they sort of need those odds because they got booted back to the day that frank castle's family died and they simply fucking immediately saved them with no regard for the consequences. featuring a peter who refuses to be swayed by the fact that he's fucking thirteen again, he's going to airdrop the CIA's files to the entire state of new york, a matt who insists that he is aware that peter is like, thirteen and allergic to grass but this is one of his best friends, it's not weird, a frank who has no idea who these fucking people are, and a karen and foggy who got together and immediately sailed over the relationship hurdle of both mutually finding matt to be unspeakably attractive when he engages in open and honest communication, stumbled right into the most awkward seduction of all time. everyone is so stupid, except for peter, who is using this less of a romance opportunity and more as an opportunity to commit federal crimes.

Spider-Man v Kingpin x2: I have these two really different plot lines of Peter Parker versus the kingpin that’s like, cat and mouse, mind games, suspense type things. An older peter parker than what I currently have on my account, post nwh, that kind of showcases his ability to hold his own in the new york underground. Ensemble vigilante cast for both, but in very different ways. disney hire me i would make either of these into an eight episode series in a second. 

De-fridging the punisher's family: okay so like, i think there's a distinction between all “my wife/kids/girlfriend/family died and now i have to commit gratuitous acts of violence” backstories and fridging that's like, bad writing (even though it almost always is bad writing, very few writers have pulled it off) and i don't actually think frank castle's backstory is bad writing. that being said, i LOVE undoing it. i do not know why i am hyper fixated on the castles, but i am. they are alive and they live in my head. i have wayyy too many stories that are focused on the castle family. i do not know why. my favorites:

Maria Castle was Jack Murdock's kid sister AU--probably one of the sadder ones of the bunch. Maria is the painfully estranged aunt of Matt Murdock, who she recently bumped into, only to find that he looked like someone kicked the shit out of him. In an effort to make sure he's okay, she tries to revive ties long since buried. She invites him to join her family on their tradition in Central Park.

"Castles for Christmas" AU--Winter break is here, the dorms have plumbing issues, Foggy has a mandatory trip visiting a horrible bitch of a great aunt who doesn't want any blind best friends tagging along, and Matt says "I have a place to stay" when the place is an old mattress next to the boiler in Fogwell's. Meanwhile, Agent Orange takes a very different approach to the problem of Frank Castle and steals his kids. Matt Murdock hears a couple of kids in trouble and decides to handle it himself. When the kids' father tracks him down afterwards--well, nightmare scenario, but they aren't ratting him out to the cops, so it's as good as it can go. The problem: these people are fucking insane and their mission of "thank the nice young man who saved our kids" turned into "fully kidnap him and force him to live in their guest bedroom because they have an exaggerated sense of duty and this man is living like a fucking goblin." Featuring a matt who's like, trying to politely explain to the Castles that he appreciates the concern, but also this is a fucking kidnapping, like there's literal zip ties involved, like seriously this is a felony, a castle family who has decided that if frank keeps dragging him off the windowsill before he can wriggle his way to freedom then maybe they'll give him stockholm syndrome and it will be a nonissue, and a foggy who is wondering if his best bro has been enslaved by a suburban family of four to make gingerbread men.

Maria Castle Matt Murdock Best Bros Au--at the start of his Daredevil career, Matt saves a random suburban housewife mid-mugging--only she was in the process of saving herself and Matt gets clipped with a bullet in the process. the injury to his person is minor. the injury to his pride is major when random suburban housewife pistol whips him in a moment of panic, proceeds to kidnap masked man for medical treatment. The thing is 1) she hates the PTA 2) it's so hard to make adult friends with you know, kids and everything 3) she is extraordinarily okay with aiding and abetting and 4) this man is her dumbass little brother now, look at him, he's so ridiculous and pathetic, she can't not bully him, this is an excellent life decision curtis calm DOWN. featuring a curtis who does not want to be a part of this, please and thank you, maria stop calling him, and a frank still in Afghanistan, under the impression that this is his wife's new gay best friend instead of like. a man she met via vigilante justice.

15: Are there words, phrases, mannerisms or scenes you tend to use a lot?

Uhhh, i overuse stuff like “(s)he sighs” or “(s)he doesn’t say anything” or “(S)he scoffs” and “(s)he shrugs,” etc. because i’m looking for a specific like, rhythm(?) in a conversation or in the prose and shove in those mannerisms like placeholders. I haven’t figured out a better way to handle that problem with my writing yet, but hopefully will one day. 

Frank’s a weirdly expressive character, at least the way Jon Bernthal plays him, so I tend to kind of add in like, exaggerated exasperation. He has a lot of looking heavenward for strength, side-eyeing, that kind of thing.

Matt and Peter very purposefully have some parallels across my projects, but especially the Matt  and peter in pottery shards. it’s this kind of impatient way of downplaying concern for them. I think that all narrators are inherently unreliable, is the thing. It’s all going to be framed through their mindsets and experiences. Matt and Peter are both deeply isolated characters who don’t know how to comprehend--let alone accept--help and concern, for different reasons. Matt’s used to systemic abuse and instability. He’s used to him having problems being treated as him having done something wrong and being punished for it. So there’s usually a scene with a character showing some pretty appropriate concern for him--Brett, Foggy, Karen, etc.--and Matt’s entire internal monologue is about how endless this conversation is and how he doesn’t know why they’re reacting like this, and the thing they’re reacting to is like, horrible abuse. 

Peter has the same thing, because Peter in pottery shards is someone who enters the narrative as someone who has purposefully isolated himself and set himself into the mindset that people trying to interfere in his life--aka help him, the fourteen year old--is just going to hurt both himself and the people he loves. And there’s a lot of reasons for this, not all of which has been unpacked yet, but it’s resulted in this same mindset that Matt has as perceiving concern as something that’s at best a waste of his time and at worst a big problem he has to fix. So you have scenes where Curtis is actively providing him health care, or teachers are concerned about his wellbeing, and his entire internal monologue is either frustrated musings on how to get out of this, or perceiving it as them being upset with him. 

Foggy and karen haven’t gotten to the brunt of their roles yet in any of the projects, but I usually try to model them around these same internal baseline characteristics that results in repeated mannerisms. Foggy is someone who is usually very purposeful in how he acts and the words he uses. like, he’s really more self aware than any other character, and he’s good at teasing through the maladaptations of other characters. So foggy gets these repeat lines of verbal clarifications like “This isn’t a fight” because he’s good at clocking what exactly is wrong with another character and trying to make his own actions clear. I’ll refrain from karen because most of her repeated baseline characteristics haven’t popped up yet. 

18: Recommend someone else fic! (And tag them if they have a tumblr!)

i don’t think this author has a tumblr, and I haven’t seen anything from the in years, but silverpard on both AO3 and fanfiction.net has this one fic that changed the chemistry of my brain. it’s called a mirror, darkly and it influenced my own writing to a ridiculous degree. i’m not much of one for batman, never got into DC, but it’s very much worth it. 

[daringdoombringer]

Got bored and made this, now that I have a decent amount of Ocs now. Is this just an excuse to summarize their backstories? Yea probably. One things for certain I am FAR NICER to my Ocs than a lot of people. They are my children and they deserve happiness goddamit.

Tier One: Moderate to Typical Oc Trauma/yea you need therapy after that you’re ✨messed up✨ now

Matthew Fencer: Originally made solely as a protagonist for an MCYT horror game thing before evolving into his own character (and the “AU” evolved into its own thing/story/timeline whatever) so yeah I’d say he’s been through some crap. Mofo had SIX very angry people-turned-monsters trying to kill him cause they weren’t happy he was entering their town without permission (actually, at all). He didn’t even enter on purpose he was just kinda SCP-spacial-anomalied in there by chaos magic from several miles away while he was tryna take a walk poor guy. Bro needed a lot of therapy after risking his life to break a curse. But he did (kinda) make a friend during that whole fiasco and he has a wonderful girlfriend who was glad to see him alive after he went missing so ✨yippie✨ happy ending

Anchihiro.ExE: Was a human until Sonic.ExE/Xenophae killed them and now it’s a disembodied soul trapped in a Sonic ROM hack they shouldn’t have clicked on that’s floating around the internet. Idk how it would get therapy at this point since it’s yaknow… DEAD. (I still have the Gacha edit thing I made of their death for a video last summer. There is so much blood.) Pretty sure I did Anchihiro the most dirty out of everyone since they’re the only one who actually dies. Not to mention they are somehow trapped with the fucker who killed it in the first place (who is trying to gather human souls so they can become powerful enough to leave the video game realm) so yeah imagine being stuck with your sworn enemy in a video game for all eternity #skillissue At least it’s befriended Fleetway and Tails Doll so they’re not entirely alone????

Cyroblast: Was an elven soldier sent to the Frozen Wastelands of Vesh to find a treasure, got badly wounded and JUST ABOUT froze to death until King Pen found him and managed to revive him with Mind Magic. Now he’s half Undead and often wondering if he should even be alive. Also he’s realizing the king he worked for is actually an a-hole and wouldn’t have cared if the entire squadron died, he just wanted the treasure that probs don’t even exist. And did I mention his nose and mouth are just g o n e? (the head I used in Imaginators didn’t have em and it worked it’s way into his drawn design :P) But hey, he’s great with a blizzard bazooka and made plenty of awesome friends at the Academy who are there to help him, so I’d say he’s alright.

Raystrike: Hers isn’t even as bad as these other three she just had a strict/kinda mean family and now she has really low self esteem because of that. She did meet a bisexual fire spirt (Spellfire) who’s just as confused about the world as she is and they’re gay now along with Mysticat being like the genuinely supportive parent she never got so ✨yayyyy✨ she’s healing we love that

Tier Two: you had like one or two milder things happen you’ll be alright

Foreclash: Bro just got teleported into a cave while trying to get the vortex at Shellmont Shores under control, and was stuck there for I think a week before Starcast found them. Other than maybe some mild claustrophobia/homesickness he’s fine.

Shield Shocker: just daddy issues lol. He just hates the fact his father (a very powerful tornado dragon) is evil and wants to spite him. The dad also plays a role with Cool Factor but we’ll get to that in a moment.

Shade Ace: found a weird spell in a book and it cursed them/turned them into an undead lizardy thingy don’t do necromancy kids

Mecha Quad: His workshop was attacked by Greeble air barons and he lost his legs. He should’ve died but he was like PEACE WAS NEVER AN OPTION and he built himself a new set of cyborg legs, tracked down the baron base and beat all their asses. Bro death/giving up could’ve been a one-way street but you somehow did a u-turn you go dude✨✨✨

Tier Three: no trauma, you’re good👍

I’m just gonna stick Cool Factor’s summary here cause something did happen to him but it wasn’t necessarily bad for him or anything. The curse Shield Shocker’s dad put on him just caused him to be part dragon and have his dry ice powers/magic and he was like “oh hey this is cool :D” Cool Factor and Shield Shocker did have a V E R Y awkward conversation about it (cause none of Factor’s family really told him about it) so other than MAYBE a mini epiphany he’s completely fine.

And uh everyone else didn’t really have anything major happen: Spellfire’s just glad to have a physical form (and an awesome girlfriend), Trick Black bamboozled Count Moneybone cause they didn’t wanna join him, Heat Stroke helped Freeze Blade and Doom Stone destroy some Evilizers, Spring Bloom was accidentally created after Hoot Loop zapped a tree, and Ground Pound has barely even been brainstormed yet. But yeah that’s everybody, I love them all✨✨✨✨✨

OH AND ONE MORE THING SHIELD SHOCKER AND SHADE ACE ARE GAY

[cricketrocker]

The Banshees of this Moment in Time

Last night I was unwinding from an all day Saturday classes in both Systematic Inquiry (dissertation writing time) and in Higher Education Organizational Theory. So, like I do when I'm "unwinding" these days, I decided to watch something, anything, and that turned out being The Banshees of Inisherin. After all, it was nominated for best pictures.

I'd been avoiding this movie because it looked boring, and because I've never been a fan of Colin Ferrell. Probably because I get him confused with Colin Firth, who was ok in the King's Speech--and Will Ferrell, who was really great in Elf, even if you hate Elf, you monster. It also looked like one of those period-pieces. I used to like those, but since about 1995, I haven't. Weird that I liked those UNTIL the year I graduated from college, but I guess the real world left me with intolerance of the period-piece, with the exception of Downton Abbey and even that only lasted (spoiler alert!) until Sybill and Cousin Matthew died, respectively.

Anyway, I kind of like mythology and I like the "banshee" thing. First movie I remember with "banshee" in the title. A banshee (/ˈbænʃiː/ BAN-shee; Modern Irish bean sí, from Old Irish: ben síde [bʲen ˈʃiːðʲe], "woman of the fairy mound" or "fairy woman") is a female spirit in Irish folklore who heralds the death of a family member, usually by screaming, wailing, shrieking, or keening. Her name is connected to the mythologically important tumuli or "mounds" that dot the Irish countryside, which are known as síde (singular síd) in Old Irish.

Basically, a female spirit who heralds a death by screaming, wailing, shrieking, or keening. You have me at keening, really.

Here's a representation:

And another:

And hardly safe for work:

It's weird that banshees are represented by all white women, and I'm only calling attention to this because the field could really use a lot more diversity. I think that mythology is a field that is fairly homogenous and that means that not enough people are aware of the legends, stories, and tropes of the world that maybe could better join us together. A little Joseph Campbell here, but I'd wager that many cultures have a banshee variant, and we'd be a lot better off if we started overlaying our myths to find out that we're not as different as we think we are.

Anyway. I watched this movie because of the promise of banshee, and because it was a best picture nominee, and also because a friend of mine at work said, "Good lord, I watched The Banshees of Inisherin last night and I have no idea what to think."

Now that I've seen it, I agree, I don't know what to think. My initial reaction was to get up from my chair and take my dog for a walk. He was happy, I was annoyed. Banshees for the sake of banshees, I guess. Or its just a movie about gratituous finger violence. Or about Jenny, who I adored. But I dreamed about this movie last night as well. When I woke up today (and now as I am sitting in my "Leading Public Affairs" class) I remembered a quote from poet Archibald MacLeish: "A poem should not mean but be."

I'm impatient with what that freaking movie means, I really am. But perhaps it just is, and that is ok, I guess. I still don't like Colin Ferrell, but he's fine in this film. Still fixated on the concept of banshees and on how mythology could serve as a unifying axis around which DEI initiatives might turn. Another dissertation for another day, I suppose, and probably already been written by ChatGPT:

CricketRocker: ChatGPT, what's really great about banshees

Banshees are a fascinating part of Irish mythology and have captured the imaginations of many people throughout history. Here are a few things that are often considered great about banshees:

Banshees are often seen as a symbol of Irish culture and heritage, and have been an important part of Irish folklore for centuries.

They are associated with the supernatural and are often described as otherworldly beings with the power to foretell death and other significant events.

Banshees are known for their distinctive wailing cry, which is said to be hauntingly beautiful and can be heard from miles away.

The wail of a banshee is often seen as a warning of impending death, and is said to be a sign that a loved one is about to pass away.

Banshees are often depicted as powerful, mysterious and enigmatic creatures, which adds to their allure and appeal.

They are also considered to be protectors of their family and descendants, and are said to be fiercely loyal to those they care about.

Overall, the mythology and folklore surrounding banshees is what makes them really great and continues to captivate people's imaginations to this day.

Holy moly.

[legends-of-time]

The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 49: August 1925

Masterlist

TW: depictions and discussions of suicide. In no way am I an expert in this matter. I tried to write it the best I could.

——

Emma quietly hums as she rocks and pats the baby in her arms after the early morning feed. Her son gurgles up at Emma as she cradles him in her arms. Emma beams at him, unable to take her eyes off him, eager to watch every action of the month-old baby.

Thankfully Patrick Owen Branson's birth had gone smoothly. After recovering from the shock of labour starting, Tom had quickly snapped into action and called for help to assist Emma up the stairs from the servant area. Thomas had swiftly appeared and the two of them got Emma up the stairs and into the car that still sat outside. After that, the birth happened quickly with Emma having the urge to push soon after they arrived at the Hospital.

Sybbie had turned 5 just over a few weeks later and happily carried around her Auntie Emma and Uncle Tom's new baby with her father anxiously following her, worried about her dropping him. Ivy has taken the role of older sister very seriously when it comes to Patrick while Michael has very little interest in his little sibling as he can't play with him so he happily runs after Teo, Robert's new puppy from Violet.

Mary is still down after what had happened at the races and with Henry. Despite her insistence that she is fine, Emma can see that she has withdrawn slightly and is not laughing as much though holding baby Patrick does bring out warm smiles from her.

Edith is also feeling a mixture of emotions. She had quietly confessed to Emma that Bertie had proposed when they had been up in London but she has not said yes yet as she hasn't confessed to him who Marigold really is. Emma hopes she'll tell him soon as she really doesn't want another Mary and Matthew situation when Matthew proposed the first time.

Rosamund has also come to stay, apparently because of a cold though Emma has her suspicions that she's hear because of Edith. Not that Emma would complain, she likes Rosamund and Edith is quite close with her aunt so it only makes sense she would have her support.

Not everyone is down in the dumps. Mr Molesley had done well in his exam and has been offered a teaching position at the local School where he'll be doing a couple of lessons a week. Whereas Mrs Patmore's new house in Houghton-Le-Skerne, a little to the north of Downton, on the border with County Durham, has already received its first guests in its function as a bed and breakfast.

——

"A house of ill repute." Emma splutters, trying not to laugh but horrendously failing.

Mary sniggers. "That's what Anna said. Of course we all feel sorry for her."

The two look at each other, trying to keep a straight face before they both splutter with laughter again as they cross the Great Hall to enter the Drawing room.

Mary had told her what Anna had told her. Sargent Willis had come round (again) to inform Mrs Patmore that her first guest had not been as respectable as she first thought. A Mr Ian McKidd and a Mrs Dorris had decided to use Mrs Patmore's bed and breakfast as a little hideaway as they ran from Mrs Dorrit's husband who's suing Mr. McKidd for damages related to adultery leading to Mrs Patmore's bed and breakfast gaining the label of a site of a house of ill repute.

Emma sniggers out a laugh as she recalls Anna's hilarious description of a shocked Mrs Patmore. Oh dear, of all the people it should happen to, it had to be the naïve and innocent cook.

Emma stops Mary at the door to the Drawing room. "Now, I know you can't help yourself, but we need to be sombre for Edith's sake, alright?"

Bertie's cousin, Peter Pelham, 6th Marquess of Hexham, had died from malaria while travelling in Tangiers late last month. This only just puts another level of strain on Bertie's proposal to Edith no doubt.

Mary rolls her eyes and huffs, "Who cares? He probably won't have a job now, my romance might not be the only one to come to an untimely end."

"Exactly what I mean, keep your gleefulness to yourself." Emma retorts as they enter the room.

——

They all have assembled ahead of dinner with the addition of Isobel. The only one missing is Edith. The mood is rather subdued.

"Poor Mr Pelham. First that terrible day at the race track, and then to hear his cousin's died." Cora says.

"It does seem very hard." Isobel agrees.

Edith walks in. Robert and Billy rise to stand next to Tom who already stands next to the settee that Emma sits on along with Cora and Mary.

"Did you get hold of him?" Emma asks her, concerned.

"Yes. He's coming tomorrow, on the first leg of his trip to Tangiers. I've asked him here." Edith replies as she moves to stand in front of them all.

"Good." Cora agrees.

"How is he?" Billy asks, concerned.

"Sad." Edith sighs. "He loved his cousin, and it was all so quick. The trouble is they've already buried him. Bertie's not sure what to do."

"Well, that's ordinary in hot countries. It won't mean any disrespect." Isobel reassures her.

"No. But should they leave him there?"

"Surely that decision is down to the new Marquess, not to Bertie?" Mary asks, her tone isn't kind, more irritated.

"Well, that's the thing. He is the new Marquess. Bertie."

There's an astonished silence after Edith's announcement as they take in the news. Emma watches in concern as Mary's face morphs from smugness to annoyed disbelief.

"Bertie Pelham is now the Marquess of Hexham?" Robert asks in a tone of utter disbelief though not out of unkindness, more shock.

"Yes."

"Nonsense. He's having you on. He'd have told you if he was the heir." Mary remarks, almost ready to laugh at the whole situation.

But Edith remains serious and cool. "He did tell me. But his cousin was in his thirties, and they all knew the girl he was going to marry."

"But that's absurd! If Bertie's a marquess, then Edith–"

"Edith would outrank us all. Yes. That's right." Robert says, interrupting Mary and starting to laugh at the whole situation.

Rosamund and Isobel join in his laugh, but Cora and Mary, like Emma, don't, though she knows Cora's reasons are more like Emma's than Mary's.

"Was he a close relation?" Emma cuts in, still surprised as well as concerned. If Edith was unsure about accepting Bertie because of Marigold, what'll this do to the situation?

"Second cousin, once removed. Nobody thought it was possible he would ever inherit. Least of all Bertie." Edith replies.

"Well, he seemed like a nice young man to me." Isobel remarks.

"And getting nicer by the minute." Rosamund quips mischievously causing her and Isobel to let out another giggle. They're having such fun over this.

"With a real love of Brancaster." Tom adds.

"Golly gum drops! What a turn-up!" Robert says gleefully.

The door opens to emit Mr Carson.

Cora takes the cue. "That's dinner." She rises to her feet. "If we're not too distracted to eat."

Isobel, Rosamund, Billy, Robert and Edith walk out first. Cora, Emma, Tom and Mary hang back.

"So we'll all bow and curtsy to Edith. You'll enjoy that, Mary." Tom quips at the disgruntled sister.

"Hardly." Mary scoffs dismissively. "And if Bertie is Lord Hexham, which I still don't believe, he won't want to marry her now."

"Careful, or people will think you're jealous, dear. We don't want that." Cora says gravely as they all file out past Mr Carson.

Emma can't but feel this'll end badly.

——

They're at their after-dinner coffee in the drawing room. Only Robert has gone to bed early again. Cora, Rosamund, Isobel and Edith sit chatting together, laughing. Emma overhears mention of poor Mrs Patmore's situation but she is absorbed in her own private conversation with Tom, Billy and Mary.

"I had a call from Henry earlier." Tom remarks.

Mary looks startled but asks softly, "Henry? Why didn't you say?"

"He's saying it now." Emma says.

"How is he?" Mary asks anxiously.

"Mourning Charlie Rogers. Missing you." Tom answers.

"You're not to ask him to come here." Mary warns him sternly.

"Suppose he just turns up?" Billy remarks, trying and failing to be subtle about it. Emma narrows her eyes at her friend.

"Don't encourage him, Billy. None of you should. I mean it. We'd be wretched long term." Mary declares.

"And you're not wretched now?" Billy asks.

Mary sighs and moves away.

"She's right about one thing, you can't encourage him." Emma says to the two men next to her.

"But you see how sad she's been." Tom argues. "I think Henry needs to come."

"I don't know..."

"Oh, come on Emma." Billy scoffs. "She just needs to see him, to realise maybe she shouldn't have ended things with him."

Emma grimaces. "I just know it'll end badly."

"How?" Her husband questions.

"This is Mary we're talking about. She doesn't like her hand being forced and asking Henry to come will rile her up further than she is already with the Bertie situation." Emma explains her thinking. "She needs to come round to it in her own time."

"You don't know that." Billy says.

Emma rather thinks she does.

——

The next morning, Emma sits on one of the red settees across from Rosamund, who's flicking through a magazine, while Robert is writing at his desk, cradling Patrick in her arms as he has a quiet snooze.

They had received good news the day before, Daisy passed every paper she had taken with high marks. Emma remembers the little girl (one she had always found quite irritating) and is amazed to see her progress.

Cora comes in. "Where is everybody?"

"Mary and Tom are agenting, Billy's at work and Edith's gone to meet Bertie's train." Emma replies as Cora moves to sit next to her, reaching over to softly stroke Patrick's cheek. "I've just come back from being outside with the children. Apparently there was some important bug excavation needing to be done in the grounds."

This causes the adults to all chuckle.

Rosamund is the first to sober up. "Are we going to talk about it? Are we really going to sit by and let this young man's family and future be put at risk from a scandal we are hiding from him?"

"I don't think she has to tell everybody, but I agree. She must tell him. Then it's his choice." Cora answers.

"I agree." Emma declares. "This is the sort of thing you really should not keep secret from your spouse."

"Isn't it up to Edith?" Robert argues.

"From what I've learnt, we really shouldn't leave it up to your daughters." Emma retorts.

Robert looks affronted at this and goes to reply but Rosamund cuts him off, "Robert is scared of Edith loosing a marriage worthy of the name because after Tony Gillingham had gone, he thought none of his daughters would make a marriage worthy of the name. Now there's a chance of one, and he can't bring himself to give it up!"

"You haven't got children. You don't understand these things." Robert retorts dismissively.

"No. I haven't had children, Robert, as you so kindly remind me, but I hope I do have a sense of decency." Rosamund cries angrily.

"How long are you planning to stay? Your cold must have cleared by now." Robert counters. Christ, the two are like children.

"Don't fight. Nothing's going to get better by you two falling out." Cora says in a sharp whisper as the door to the Library opens emitting Edith and Bertie, who walk in through the Small Library. The others rise to greet them.

Cora approaches them first. "Hello, Mr Pelham. I mean..."

"I'm going to stay Mr Pelham until the service." Bertie says, saving her the embarrassment. "But I wish you'd call me Bertie, anyway."

"Of course, hello Bertie." Emma greets warmly. "I don't believe you've met Patrick?"

"Er no." He accepts the baby, rocking him slightly and looking softly down at Patrick, who's just woken, staring at the unknown person in wonder.

"What sort of service will it be?" Robert asks.

"Not a funeral. I've decided not to disturb him." Bertie says, sounding almost choked up. Emma smiles softly as her son reaches and clasps Bertie's finger in a tight grip as if to comfort him. "I'll fetch his things and settle his debts and have a service at home to say goodbye."

"That sounds like a very good plan." Cora says.

"I hope you'll allow me to come." Edith says.

"I want you to come." Bertie says simultaneously warm and desperate.

"You remember my sister?" Robert indicates to Rosamund.

Emma takes Patrick from him so he can greet Edith's aunt properly.

Bertie walks towards the woman. "Of course. Lady Rosamund."

"This must be a strange and unsettling time for you." Rosamund says sympathetically.

"I'll say. My mother's cock-a-hoop," Bertie remarks, "but she doesn't appreciate that I was devoted to Cousin Peter."

"I'm sure she does." Cora assures him.

"Not really. Most people didn't get the point of him. He was... so delicate. But he was as kind to me as any man has ever been."

"Then how pleased he'd be to know that you're his heir." Emma says softly.

"That's so nice of you." Bertie's voice cracks as he begins crying in earnest. Edith puts a comforting hand on his arm. "Goodness. I'm afraid you've made me blub."

"Let me take you upstairs to unpack. Luncheon's not for half an hour." Edith tells him. They walk past the others and out by the other door.

Rosamund, deeply moved, turns to Robert. "And that's the man you want to trick into marriage?"

Robert lets out a huff. "I'm going for a walk." He walks out the other way.

"I agree." Cora says. "But Robert thinks Edith's had so little luck in her life."

"He can't be serious!" Emma scoffs. "Doesn't he know that she'll never be happy with such a secret dangling over her?"

"Exactly. We all know she's making a mistake." Rosamund says.

——

Bertie is more together by the time they all sit down for luncheon, attended by Mr Carson, Thomas, Mr Molesley and Andy. Isobel has joined them and Mary and Tom have returned from their agenting while Billy is still at work though had called earlier to see how Bertie is to which Emma could only tell him that he's in a bad way over his cousin.

"What was it about Tangiers that your cousin enjoyed so much?" Isobel asks Bertie as he sits next to her.

"Who knows?" Bertie replies. "He used to talk of going down to the beach and watching the young fishermen bring in the nets. How the setting sun would make the scene magical until everything was suddenly plunged into darkness."

"Goodness. How... lyrical."

"He was lyrical. He was an artist. In his heart, anyway." Bertie says with a small soft smile.

Emma grins. "I like the sound of him."

"I don't think this family can boast much in the way of artists. Although we did have an aunt who was quite good at macramé." Robert quips. Everyone chuckles politely.

Mary, however, doesn't and speaks up, after having stared at Bertie the whole time with an odd look on her face that's been unnerving Emma, "So, are you here to settle things with Edith before you leave?"

This startles everyone. Everyone either gives shocked looks or frowns in Mary's direction for her being so indelicate. Emma is in the latter category.

"Mary, please." Cora reprimands, astonished.

This doesn't deter Bertie. "I hope so. I hope we can get things settled, but I mustn't jump the gun." He gives Edith a hopeful smile.

"So, Bertie, you mentioned your mother, but what other family do you have?" Emma asks, happy to deter the conversation.

"That's it. My father's dead, obviously, there are no siblings. It's just me and Mother." Bertie answers.

"You were joking when you said she was cock-a-hoop, but she must feel a certain pride." Cora says.

"I wasn't joking," Bertie dissuades, "but judge for yourselves when you meet her."

"You talk as if we should be scared of her." Tom remarks.

"She makes Mr Squeers look like Florence Nightingale." Bertie quips. Everyone chuckles a little awkwardly. Edith looks rather alarmed. Oh, dear.

——

Later in the day, they're all gathered in the Library for tea and a puppet show. Tom and Bertie sit behind the booth and operate the puppets, one of whom is a Punch character who is whacking another character, a Policeman, with a slapstick. Billy, Mary, Emma and Edith as well as Ivy, Michael, Sybbie, George and Marigold sit lined up on low stools in front of the booth to watch the show. Nanny Jean is in the background while the other Nanny, Margaret, is in the Nursery with Patrick as he naps. Robert, Cora and Rosamund are watching from the red settees.

"Take that! And that!" Tom as Punch, in a weird, high-pitched voice cries.

"Ow!" Bertie cries as the Policeman.

"Punch is terribly fierce. I don't think he's a good model for marriage in later life." Mary remarks.

"Or relations with the law." Robert says with a chuckle.

"Take that! And that! And that!" Tom says as Punch, still dealing out blows.

"Ouch, you rascal!" Bertie's Policeman retorts.

"And that's the way to do it!" Tom makes Punch bow, and the show is over. Everyone claps and laughs.

"Very good!" Billy compliments.

"Whoo, Daddy!" Ivy cheers.

Emma laughs. To think that she herself had watched a couple of Punch and Judy shows when she was a child, over 80 years in the future, and here her children are, in the past, watching a similar show. Funny how life works and things last.

Emma then hears Mr Carson clear his throat. "Er, Mr Talbot."

Wait what?

Emma turns around just as Mary does, both in surprise and alarm. There Henry Talbot is, trailing after the butler as they both come through the Small Library.

Cora rises to greet their guest. "Hello, Mr Talbot. Mary never told me you were coming."

"I didn't know he was." Comes Mary's reply.

Neither did Emma. She gives a sharp look to both Tom and Billy, who both avoid her gaze.

Henry stays near the exit, unsure of his welcome. Mary hasn't got up from her seat. "Well, the thing is, I was driving down from Durham and I suddenly realised I'd almost be passing the gates."

How convenient...

"What were you doing in Durham?" Rosamund asks, still seated and Robert walks up to Henry.

"Oh, I was doing various car things."

"We haven't seen you since that awful day at Brooklands. I hope you're coping with it all." Robert says.

"Well, one doesn't have much choice."

Mary approaches Tom and Billy with Emma trailing after her. "Did you two know about this?" She hisses in an accusing undertone.

"I might have said that if he was coming from Durham, then he'd be driving quite close." Tom says casually.

"Don't think I'm amused! I dislike my hand being forced." Mary retorts.

"Which is exactly what I told them." Emma quips.

"No one's forcing anything." Billy argues.

"Now you're here, I hope you'll stay the night at least." Cora says to Henry, drawing their attention back to the wider conversation.

"Mary?" Henry prompts hopefully.

"Perhaps Mr Talbot is in a hurry to get home?" Mary replies coolly.

"No, no I'm not."

"It's settled then. Carson, will you please tell Mrs Hughes? And ask someone to unpack for Mr Talbot." Cora instructs. Mr Carson sketches a bow and leaves.

Emma in the meantime helps Billy and Edith as they direct the children to Nanny. It's clearly best that they evacuate the area.

"I'm afraid you've missed tea." Robert says.

"Oh, don't worry about that." Henry dismisses.

"I won't." Mary retorts, forcing a cold smile. Mary sits down on one of the red settees, pretending to be interested in a magazine.

While Henry approaches Bertie, Emma turns to Tom. "Pretty sure you and Billy have allowed Henry to make a bad miscalculation." She says as she watches how Mary is still pretending to read her magazine, but she's so nervous and upset that she opens and closes her hands convulsively, which is something they rarely see.

"Don't say that." Tom murmurs.

——

Mary comes walking up the staircase, followed by Tom and Emma.

"This is so precisely not the way to win me over!" Mary snaps.

"Mary, will you just get off your high horse?" Tom retorts as they come to a stop on the landing.

Emma winces that. She'd made the executive decision not to say anything, not wanting Mary's anger to be misplaced towards her, Emma who hadn't done anything.

Mary turns back to him angrily. "Why are you interfering?"

"Because I love you and I want you to be happy."

"Well, you've got a bloody odd way of showing it!" Mary hisses.

"Well, I take it this is me you're fighting about?" Emma turns to see Henry catching up with them.

"Yes, it is. And you can dig yourself out. Because I've had enough." Emma huffs. "With all of you."

Mary scoffs as Emma and Tom walk away, leaving her and Henry alone.

"I told you this wouldn't work." Emma murmurs to her husband.

"You're not helping!" Tom huffs.

——

Robert stands chatting to Bertie near the fireplace in the Drawing room after dinner. "How are you getting to Tangiers? Is there a boat that sails direct?"

"Actually, I'm flying. For the first bit, anyway." Bertie tells him.

Emma perks up in interest at that from where she sits in one of the chairs next to them.

"What?" Robert exclaims incredulously.

Bertie chuckles. "I know. It does seem rather daring."

"And impressive." Emma grins. She knows travel by air in this time is still rather new compared to her time.

"I do not envy you." Rosamund comments from where she sits in an armchair opposite.

"I don't know. Now the commercial airlines are starting to operate, I dare say we'll all be flying hither and thither before too long." Robert remarks.

"I rather doubt that." Rosamund says with a laugh.

Emma watches this all amusedly. "Well, I do. It's quicker and more efficient. People will want that."

On the other side of the room, Billy and Mary are having a conversation of their own. It clearly doesn't end well as Mary's then marching to the door in a huff. Henry walks out after her. Emma watches after them, worried.

——

Emma is giving Patrick the morning feed in the Nursery the next morning. The children are out with the Nannies so Emma has the room to herself for a short while.

Emma is just burping him when the quiet is disrupted by Tom angrily storming in. "I can't believe her!"

Emma helps Patrick do one last belch before pleasing him back in his cot and turns to her husband, "Tom? What's happened?"

"It's Mary. She forced Edith to tell Bertie about Marigold and now he's stormed off." Tom explains, trying to calm down but still breathing heavily out of anger.

Emma's jaw drops. "What?! Why?!"

"Henry's gone. It's all my fault, I should've stopped them from announcing it."

"Announcing what?"

"Edith has said yes to Bertie." Tom explains.

Well, that explains it all.

Emma sighs, coming over to stroke his upper arms. "It's not your fault. This is Mary we're talking about. Edith is happy, she isn't, so she's decided to be horrible."

"I know but I knew, I knew she was suspicious of Marigold. And I invited Henry over. I should've handled it better." Tom grumbles.

Emma presses her lips together, knowing any comments right now will not be helpful.

——

It's gotten worse, Bertie has now asked to be taken to the station. At the front door, a car stands ready with Andy in attendance. Emma stands with Robert and Tom as they wait for Bertie to get in, but he's walked a little way off into the park with Edith.

Tom checks his wristwatch and sighs. "He'll miss his train."

"Let him miss it. He can catch the next one." Robert remarks. "What happened?"

"Apparently, Mary forced Edith to tell him about Marigold." Emma tells him.

"I wouldn't say forced." Tom argues.

Emma rolls her eyes. "It sounds like it to me."

"How did Mary find out?" Robert questions.

"Mary is not stupid." Tom replies.

"No. And she's not always kind, either. Was it really a mistake?"

"What difference does it make?"

They carry on watching Edith and Bertie. Emma wishes it was the opposite but she doesn't blame Bertie for being upset for not being told about Marigold. It isn't long before Bertie touches his hat and moves away, leaving Edith behind.

——

Mary sits in the Estate Agent's office, waiting for Tom to start their day's work. Emma walks in with a face like a thundercloud.

Mary frowns when she sees her. "Where's Tom?"

"Trying to clean up the mess you made, but don't worry, he's failed. Bertie has left for the train, and now Edith won't be the next Marchioness of Hexham." Emma replies hotly.

Mary shrugs calmly. "Well, that's not what I wanted."

Emma narrows her eyes and scoffs. "Isn't it?"

"I still can't believe she'd never told him. How was I to know that?" Mary responds, cool as a cucumber.

"Don't play the innocent with me." Emma warns her. "You should know better."

"I didn't mean it—"

"Don't lie!" Emma shouts at her. "Not to me! You can't stop ruining things! For Edith, for yourself! God, you're a literal child who sees their sibling has a shiny new toy. You'd pull in the sky if you could! Anything to make you feel less frightened and alone!"

"You saw Henry when he was here, high-handed, bullying, unapologetic. Am I expected to lower myself to his level and be grateful I'm allowed to do so? Tom and Billy brought him here. Why are you not yelling at them?" Mary retorts, no longer acting cool and working herself up into quite a passion now.

"Trust me, they've already had a telling off but only because they really should've known what you're like. I mean, just listen to yourself. 'Lower yourself to his level'. You're not a princess in The Prisoner of Zenda!" Emma cries in disbelief.

"I thought you of all people would understand me but you're just like the rest of them." Mary snaps.

"The amount of times I've stood by you, defended you but you've taken it too far!" Emma yells again. "You ruined Edith's life today! How many lives are you going to wreck just to smother your own misery?"

"I refuse to listen!" Mary says furiously, getting up from her chair.

She tries to leave but Emma doesn't move out of her way. Instead, she stares directly into Mary's eyes and calmly states, "You're a coward, Mary. Like all bullies, you're a coward." She marches out having hopefully given Mary a lot to think about.

——

"Christ, I can't– she– urggghhh!" Emma cries, unable to form proper sentences with how angry and frustrated she is. She paces her and Tom's room while her husband sits on the bench at the end of their bed.

"I'm glad you talked to her. I might've throttled her." Tom remarks.

"Don't put yourself down, I was quite close to it myself." Emma huffs. "What are we going to do?"

"I know a way we can sort this. At least partly." Tom tells her.

"How?"

"Violet."

Emma frowns. "Tom, she's somewhere in France. We have no way of contacting her."

"Well, actually. I do." Tom admits.

"Heh?"

He goes to the tallboy in the corner of their room, opens a drawer and pulls out a letter. "She wrote to me. I received it shortly after she'd gone."

He hands it to Emma and she takes it, reading it to see Violet genuinely had written to Tom, detailing where to contact her if need be. Emma grins.

"Why you're smiling?" Tom questions, slightly amused.

"It's funny. She clearly trusts you and to think how to her you were this odd foreigner to her once." Emma remarks.

"'Suppose. But we need to do this quickly." Tom says.

"The nannies usually take the children outside soon. What if we abscond ours and have a trip to the Village. What do you say Mr Branson?" Emma smirks at him.

Tom returns her smirk. "Why Mrs Branson, how clever you are."

——

Emma and Tom are walking through the Village, Emma walks next to Tom as he pushes along Patrick's pram with a letter in hand to drop off at the Post Office. Ivy and Michael are running about just ahead when Miss Baxter, who was rushing past, comes to a sudden stop.

The lady's maid is panting heavily with wide panicked eyes. "Mrs Branson, Emma, you need to come quickly."

"What's happened?" Emma questions, worried for the woman. Ivy and Michael have stopped up ahead, watching them curiously.

"It's Thomas."

That's all Emma needs to hear before her stomach drops to the centre of the Earth.

She looks to Tom, who nods. "Go."

Emma flashes him a thankful smile before turning and beginning to run back to the house with Miss Baxter.

"Mama?" She hears Ivy call.

Not wanting her daughter to panic, Emma smiles calmly over her shoulder, slowing slightly. "Mama just forgotten something sweetheart."

Ivy accepts this and begins tugging Michael along with her to carry on playing.

——

(A/N: This is the suicide part.)

Emma and Miss Baxter hurry through the empty downstairs passage, looking for Thomas. They look in the Servants' Hall, the Boot room – empty. Emma ignores all the odd looks they're getting from the other servants as she has only one thing in mind.

They move on to the stairs, barging past a surprised maid, Lucy, and enter the men's corridor. Andy is just exiting his room, pulling on his tailcoat, when they turn the corner.

"Does Mrs Hughes know you're on the men's side?" He says rather sternly to Miss Baxter before startling when seeing Emma. "Er, Mrs Branson—"

"Where is he?" Emma demands.

"Wha—"

"Mr Barrow. Where is he?"

"Er, he was going in for a bath."

Emma sees all colour leave Miss Baxter's face and she knows that her face has done the same thing.

"Oh, my God." Miss Baxter gasps. "Come with us!"

They rush past him, around a corner and to the door of the bathroom. Andy follows, alarmed.

"Hello!" Emma bangs on the door, Miss Baxter joins her. "Thomas! Are you in there?!" She tries the door handle, but the door is locked or bolted. She rattles it desperately. "Will you open this door?!"

"Get back!" Andy instructs.

Emma and Miss Baxter move back, the former has her hands in her hair, pulling in distress while the latter has her hands clapped to her mouth.

Andy aims a kick at the door, then another one. The second kick tears the bolt off the door frame, and the door bursts open. They rush in.

In the red-tiled room, Thomas has filled the bathtub with water and got into it, still wearing his undershirt and trousers. He's lying in it with his eyes closed, pale and lifeless. The water has a reddish tinge, and there's blood spatter on the sides of the tub, on his arms and on his chest.

"Oh, my God!" Andy gasps, horrified.

Emma goes into nursing mode, running towards him and surveying the damage before she starts tearing her underskirt into ribbons for makeshift bandages.

Miss Baxter turns to Andy. "Fetch Mrs Hughes. Send Anna for the doctor, but tell no one else what you've seen."

Andy runs out and Miss Baxter joins Emma by the bath.

——

Emma and Miss Baxter have lifted Thomas' arms out of the bathtub and bandaged his wrists as best they can with the materials they have and are now cleaning him up, softly dabbing his face and arms with wet towels. In the meantime, Thomas had moved his head slightly but very weakly, which is a relief to see.

Both of them look up in alarm when footsteps are heard and the door opens. But relax when they realise it's only Andy and Mrs Hughes.

Mrs Hughes stands in the doorway for a moment, shocked at the sight, but then recovers quickly, closing the door for privacy. "Anna's gone for Doctor Clarkson."

"Good, we've bandaged his arms for now but we need help in getting him out, changing him out of his wet clothes and get him into bed." Emma tells them.

"I hope he won't mind if we undress him." Miss Baxter says.

"He's past minding if we put him in a shy and threw coconuts." Mrs Hughes remarks. "Now, you two take his feet and Andy and I will take an arm each."

They move to do as she said. Mrs Hughes and Andy each take Thomas under one arm while Emma and Miss Baxter move to the end of the tub.

"Has anyone told Lord Grantham?" Emma asks.

"Mr Carson's seeing to that."

"Right. Here goes." Andy says.

They start pulling Thomas out of the tub. He opens his eyes a fraction and groans. Emma winces at that, her nurse façade falling slightly.

They pause before having a go again.

——

Thomas groans awake.

"Thomas? Thomas?" Emma calls worriedly. They'd been able to get Thomas into his room and change him before Dr Clarkson's arrival. The doctor had been able to treat him without needing to take him to Hospital.

Mr Carson had suggested the idea of telling everyone that Thomas is ill with influenza rather than what had happened. He doesn't want any more people than those who already do to know what happened. Emma agrees with it. As far as she is aware, suicide is a crime in England right now and will be until the latter half of the century. There's the worry that, because Thomas did not succeed, he risks being imprisoned or taken to the asylum. Though for Mr Carson, it's the additional huge scandal for the family.

Robert and Mr Carson have also oh so graciously allowed Thomas to stay for the time being, to take needing to find a job off his mind, which they should have done or something similar at least in the first place.

Emma watches from where she sits at the edge of the bed as Thomas slowly blinks his eyes open. He frowns when he sees Emma, looking slowly over Dr Clarkson, Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes, who stand behind her before it dawns on him. He suddenly pales.

"I—" His mouth is dry so Emma brings water to his lips to which he takes a sip.

"Mr Barrow, I was able to stitch you up, though Mrs Branson provided superb aid prior to my arrival, so you will not need to go to Hospital." Dr Clarkson kindly but professionally tells him.

"Thank you, Dr Clarkson." Thomas mournfully replies, refusing to look up at anyone.

"And now you're awake and there's nothing else, I will leave you in the diligent care of Mrs Branson and your colleagues." Dr Clarkson adds.

"I'll take you to the door, Dr Clarkson." Mrs Hughes says. The two of them leave.

Miss Baxter lingers for a bit longer, flashing a small, pitying smile in Thomas' direction. "I glad to you're looking better." She says softly before leaving.

As soon as she's left, Thomas pulls a face. "I don't want her pity." Normally that would come out as a grumble but instead, he says it faintly almost like a ghost.

"She's cares for you so you're going to get it whether you like it or not." Emma quips softly.

"Why did you stop me?" He suddenly asks. He fiddles with his bandages to which Emma gently slaps his hands away.

"What? Other than the fact you're my friend and I don't want you to die?" Emma retorts, trying to keep it light.

"Well, you haven't been acting like my friend recently." Thomas retorts.

Emma's face drops. "Yeah, I know I haven't and I'm sorry but I'm my defence, you can be a real bastard sometimes."

"Yeah, I know." Thomas mumbles but this time there's a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth which isn't much but it's something.

(A/N: End of the main part of TW)

——

Emma continues to stay with him for the rest of the day before Miss Baxter takes over and Emma goes to join the others for dinner, at which she learns they'd also been informed of what had happened.

Edith isn't there and has actually gone up to London. After Emma had left Tom, Edith had asked him if he could drive with her to the Station so he could take the car back to Downton. Apparently, the kids had a lot of fun in the spontaneous car ride.

The next day is largely the same though Anna and Miss Baxter take turns in relieving Emma and helping to look after Thomas. At one point in the day, Mary brings both Ivy and George up to visit with oranges to make him feel better. He's still weak and pale but a tad better on what he was yesterday, physically anyway.

Come Friday, Emma sits in the Library with Tom on her break from looking after Thomas/just generally keeping him company. They're on their own as Rosamund, Cora and Robert are getting ready for their tea at Mrs Pamtore's B & B. Rosamund had suggested it, to make a little news story out of it to help with Mrs Patmore regaining the bookings she lost due to the place being deemed a 'house if ill repute'. Emma's glad that's being sorted at least.

Emma is startled out of her musings when Andy comes striding into the room.

Tom looks up from his newspaper. "Andy?"

"The Dowager called, Sir. She's returned to the Dowager House and is now making her way to Downton." He hurriedly informs them, a tad out of breath.

Both Emma and Tom's heads snap towards each other at a speed that really should've snapped their heads off.

"That was quick." Emma remarks. "You should go go to the door, Andy. Don't want her in a mood if there's no footman to greet her."

Andy nods and darts out of the room.

Violet's car comes up the drive to the house and halts at the front door. Andy comes out to meet it and opens the rear door for Violet to get out. Tom and Emma come hurrying out of the house to greet her.

"I can't believe you came!" Tom remarks in greeting.

"You made it sound so urgent." Violet retorts.

"Even so, we really appreciate it. Thank you." Emma says. They start moving towards the entrance together. "Was everything all right when you got home?"

"Well no, not really. Spratt has gone away." Violet complains, pulling them to a stop.

Okay, odd.

"Did you tell him you were coming back?" Tom questions.

"A good butler should not need to be told." Emma almost laughs at that but decides not to interrupt Violet as she continues with, "Now, where are they? My broken-hearted granddaughters?"

"It's just Mary. Edith's gone up to London. We didn't know when we wrote." Emma tells her as they continue walking towards the house.

"All the better." Violet says. "Oh, and after that's been sorted, I would rather like to meet Patrick."

Emma smiles at that. "Of course."

——

Thankfully, Mary is not mad at Tom or Emma for summoning Violet though in doing so has appears to have worked as Mary is much happier, ready to make peace with Edith as well as having sent a telegram to Henry to come as soon as he can today. If Mary wants him then Emma's happy for her.

By the time of his arrival, Billy has arrived home from work and stands anxiously with Emma, Tom and Mary in the Library as Henry walks in through the Small Library. The atmosphere is not exactly pleasantly relaxed here. Mary is extremely nervous, Henry looks confused and reserved, Tom is cautiously optimistic but not overly optimistic while Billy is reserved but hopeful. To be honest, Emma just feels exhausted and is just wishing for the sweet release of this being over.

"Well. That's it. We'll leave you to it." Tom announces.

Emma and Billy begin to follow him just as Tom moves to leave, but Henry's voice stops them.

"You don't have to go."

"Believe me, we do." Emma remarks.

"Exactly. We've been part of this courtship for quite long enough. It's for you to manage from here." Billy adds.

And they walk out and close the door behind them. Billy and Tom begin walking towards the stairs, crossing the Great Hall but Emma doesn't, slowing down her steps.

Billy's the one who catches what she's doing first. "Emma?"

"Wouldn't be weird for me to impatiently wait outside the door until I find out whether there'll be a wedding or not?" Emma tries to say it conversationally but instead, it's awkward and she's cringing.

The two men share a grin and Tom turns to her and says, "Weird but we won't stop you." And they both leave, chuckling.

Emma rolls her eyes and plonks herself on the closest chair by the door.

A short time later Mr Carson emerges from the door that leads to the servants' quarters at the corner of the Hall and moves to the door leading to the Library. He startles but recovers quite efficiently when he spots Emma.

"Mrs Branson?"

"Er, don't mind me, Mr Carson. You just get on with your work." Emma says, trying to not act like she's just been caught red-handed spying. Well, not spying but something close to that.

The butler looks at her baffled but does just that. Emma doesn't see what happens but she can tell he's startled at what he sees and then very quietly and discreetly moves back out of the room and closes the door again.

"I take it by you're expression it's good news?" Emma asks, grinning at the almost scandalised look on the man's face. She lets out a few quiet sniggers.

Just then, Mr Molesley arrives with tea on a tray.

Mr Carson outs up a hand to stop the footman when he reaches them. "Uh, give it a moment, Mr Molesley. Better give it a moment."

He gives Mr Molesley a very significant look, which Mr Molesley answers with a soundless "Ooooh!" when the penny drops.

To be honest this sends Emma from quietly sniggering to full-out laughter.

——

"What is it with men Mary is marrying making both you and Billy their best men?" Emma remarks as Tom shrugs on his mourning coat while Emma does his tie.

It's Saturday 22nd of August 1925 and it's the day Lady Mary Crawley and Mr Henry Talbot get married. Apparently, the two aren't hanging about. The last time he was here, Henry had brought a marriage licence nod conveniently, his uncle is a bishop which means they're able to marry at the earliest convenience which is this Saturday.

They're a little late getting ready and are moving at double the speed than they would've done if they hadn't gotten, er um, busy this morning.

Tom laughs. "It is strange that both of us will have been the best man at both if her weddings."

"Funnier things have happened," Emma remarks as she steps away from him and turns to her dresser to slip on her earrings and pull on her gloves. "Did you know Mr Carson had Henry have breakfast in bed so that there would be no chance of either Henry or Mary catching a glimpse of one another?"

"This is Mr Carson we're talking about. He wouldn't take any chances with Mary's happiness." Tom chuckles, as he places the flowers in his lapel and Emma hands him his hat.

Emma steps back to look at him but not before stroking his lapels to make sure there are no creases. "There. You're all set and now you really must go."

Tom flashes her a grin and gives her a quick peck before he leaves the room to meet with Henry and Billy and make their way to the Church.

——

Emma had arrived in time to watch Anna do Mary's hair and put the finishing touches to Mary's wedding dress along with Cora and Rosamund. It's an altogether less romantic, more modern affair than at her wedding with Matthew, but still very elegant, because come on, it's Mary.

The door opens. Edith comes in, still in her travelling clothes. She looks unsure and reserved.

"What? I don't believe it! Why didn't you say to expect you?" Cora exclaims in surprise as she, Rosamund and Emma all rise from their seats.

"Because I wasn't sure until I got on the train." Edith replies.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Can you not ask me that for the rest of the day?"

Mary turns to Emma, Cora and Rosamund. "Could you leave us for a moment?"

"Of course." Her mother says.

Emma, Cora, Rosamund and Anna move towards the door. Anna opens it for the ladies. Cora pauses at Edith's side to stroke her arm encouragingly.

Emma gives her a warm smile. "I'll see to the children."

"We'll wait for you downstairs." Rosamund adds before they all finally leave. Hopefully, there'll be no blood to mop up or a body to hide.

——

Thankfully neither is true and they all arrive at the Church in one piece. The wedding goes swimmingly and they all soon find themselves emerging from the Church after the newly married Mr Henry Talbot and Lady Mary Talbot to applause and people showering the newly married couple with flower petals. They pause to kiss, to more cheering, then move on.

There's a horse-drawn carriage that Mary and Henry take their seat in before it moves off towards the Abbey.

"Better than ours do you think?" Tom asks after they finish waving it off.

"Nah, no wedding will beat ours, I'm certain." She flashes him a warm loving grin to which he kisses her. They pull apart and Emma adds, "Now, only one more Crawley sister to sought out."

Tom sighs. "Hopefully that won't take long."

Emma looks over to see Edith standing in the churchyard, watching Ivy, Marigold, Michael, Sybbie and George with a loving look on her face. The children are running and laughing and playing tag around Sybil's large stone tomb.

Emma rather thinks it'll all turn out fine in the end. With any luck.

——

A/N: Can't believe I started this story just over two years ago and now I'm here with only one more TV episode to go and then it'll be the movies!!! Where does the time go?

Some facts that I thought might be useful:

Tallboy = tall cabinet

'Punch and Judy' is a traditional British puppet show played from a booth, featuring Mr. Punch and his wife Judy as the main characters. Punch is a clownish creature, a jester and a trickster and most of the comedy comes from the other characters falling victim to Punch's slapstick. Punch speaks in a trademark squawky voice, which is traditionally achieved by the performer speaking through a squazzle, but with less discerning audiences like here, any silly voice alteration will do.

Although suicide itself is no longer a criminal act, under section 2 of the Suicide Act 1961 it remains a criminal offence for a third party to assist or encourage another to commit suicide.

Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[chinahatbeach]

Thoughts for Today

It’s Saturday and I love me some Saturday’s. Time to do chores, crafts, or whatever comes my way. Today, I’m going to a farm to buy goat milk. I’ve add goat milk to my dog’s diet as it helps with digestion and has good stuff in it. I want my fur babies to live a good life. I found a farm that will have fresh goat’s milk in a week or so but for now, they have frozen milk and that is fine too. I will thaw it out for the dogs and add that to their food.

Update on Winkie… she’s getting better from the terrible cough. It’s not as often and as long of a cough. A couple more days of medicine for her. I think I’ll add in a bit of Benadryl to see if it’s allergies to the spring pollen. She’s eating well and drinking plenty of water. I’ve cut back on her food amount to help with a bit of weight loss.

As you can tell, I try to do the best for my fur babies. Giving them a healthy diet and the proper care is my focus. I’ve prayed quite a bit for Winkie and want to see her live a few more years. And in praying for her, it’s opened my eyes to many a thought.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed. 53:5 NIV.

The very last part of that verse, and by his wounds we are healed. I have read that and thank Jesus for dying on the cross for my sins, taking on the punishment of our sins. It gives us peace but it also gives us healing. Not just spiritual healing but physical healing. Physical healing!

I see so many people getting cancer or dying of heart attacks. Many have medical mysteries the doctors can’t seem to explain. I get a righteous angry at the way Satan attacks us. If we are weakened by an illness, we do not see hope at times. We don’t have a focus on Jesus but on the malady that attacks our bodies. And that fires me up, makes me mad, and only inspires me to pray more. And yes, I pray for people but also our pets. Heck, a bit over a week ago, I prayed for one chicken that had a hurt leg. I hate to see any creature have problems.

Most importantly, the Bible shows us that there can be healing for anyone. We are confident that healing is for everyone as Exodus 15:26 tells us that God is ‘the Lord who heals us’. Isaiah 53:4-5, Matthew 8:17 and 1 Peter 2:24 tell us that Jesus, on the Cross, bore our sicknesses and carried our pains, in order to remove them from us and ‘by His stripes we have been healed’. We are to have abundant life……The term “abundant life” comes from the Bible verse John 10:10b, “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” “More abundantly” means to have a superabundance of a thing. “Abundant life” refers to life in its abounding fullness of joy and strength for spirit, soul and body.

With Easter tomorrow, people understand that Jesus died on a cross. He died for our sins and so much more according to the scriptures. And with that, I’ve been claiming healing on my own body. Yeah, Satan works overtime causing my hip to hurt, but I won’t accept it. Now, it’s my foot waking me up to a shooting pain and I just stand up and say, “nope, not today Satan”. I do a little walk like I’m walking on his head and tell him to shut up.

For anyone with pains in your body or illness trying to take hold, repeat a scripture, memorize a scripture, find a positive thought.  Psalm 103:3 tell us this: “who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” Healing wasn’t just for the time Jesus was with us on earth or just after His death. It’s here for us now. He forgives all sins and heals all diseases. ALL.

So, I stand on the promises of the Word of God. I pray for my friends and family to be restored, healed, and for them to have abundant life. And yes, I pray for my critters. And I pray for other people’s critters.

Today, if you have the need for healing, confess your sins, problems, issues, and give all of it to Jesus. After cleaning up the dirty floor of your soul after confessing the dirt, come to Jesus for healing, both spiritually and physically. Claim the scriptures. Live the scriptures.

Well, time to feed the chickens and the Grumpy Cat then make the bacon and eggs and get going on chores. Have a marvelous Saturday.

And that’s the way it is……

[ninjastormhawkkat]

Matthew stared in stunned disbelief at what Carl had said. "You don't hate me?" Tears began to stream more down Matthew's face. Carl shook his head, his own tears now falling. "Either I'm a hopeless romantic, or maybe you were too good to me and the kids, I don't know the reason, but no. I hated what you did, but I could never bring myself to directly hate you." Carl responded. 'Gene was right in a way, even though he didn't mean to say it in a hurtful manner, he was still right.' Carl realized with a sudden amusement at the hindsight. The old men slowly bent their heads towards each other until the skin of their foreheads touched. This caused Maddrix to weep openly while Carl still held onto him in a comforting manner, weeping silently. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Matthew apologized profusely. "I know it doesn't change anything. I wish I could, so badly I wish I could. I'm so sorry for hurting you, for hurting Gene, for hurting our kids, for hurting Rebecca...I wasn't thinking...I just wanted the fear and hate I was feeling to go way...I just wanted the pain to go way." Matthew choked back a sob, trying to compose himself. "The max security prison I was in, it really didn't hold up to its name. I saw other prisoners bribe guards, get into brawls with each other without the guards interfering until there was a massive amount of blood. I could have easily broke out of there at any time. But I didn't. I didn't have a reason to break out. I knew there was nothing left for me in the outside world, my anger was spent, my fury and drive for revenge had died down." Matthew gritted his teeth. "When I was transferred to that awful place. When I saw you there with Steven, When I saw glimpses of the horrible ways you were treated by them. My drive and motivation for escape came to me. I wanted to bust out of there, I wanted to free you and Steven from that horrible place. My anger and fury returned now directed towards your oppressors. I wanted to make them pay for hurting you. I didn't want to loose you again. I missed you so much as well Carl." The heartfelt moment was soon broken when Matthew felt a tug against his pants. The two men looked up and saw Becky there holding a stuffed unicorn plush toy. She was looking at Matthew with concern and worry. She gave a few chatters as if asking him if he was okay? Matthew composed himself a bit as he realized she must have heard him crying and had made her upset and worried over him. Carl followed suit. "I'm sorry about that Becky. I'm fine now. I didn't mean to worry you." Matthew apologized to the young girl. Becky still had a worried look. She then held out the stuffed toy towards Matthew's direction. "She wants you to have Pawni so you would feel better." A voice spoke out. Carl and Matthew turned their heads and saw Tristan standing near the entrance of the living room. Matthew turned back to Becky and grabbed the toy, thanking her. Becky gave a happy squeak and proceeded to sit down with Matthew as she nuzzled her head against his shoulders. Matthew turned back to Tristan with a slightly annoyed look. "I guess eavesdropping is a common practice around here." Maddrix quipped. Tristan shrugged. "Not really. I try not to make a habit of it, put having super powered hearing doesn't really help me avoid it." Matthew could see Tristan had a faint sympathetic look. He knew Tristan had heard their entire conversation as well. Carl decided to try and change topics, to help Matthew calm down after that emotional breakdown/emergency therapy session. "So Tristan, I am curious, how did you come to Earth and end up meeting our son Gene?" The bell dinged as the door to Victor's toy shop opened up. "I'll be with you in a moment!" Victor yelled from the supply room. He was finding a button he needed to repair the eye of a girl's Raggedy Ann doll. Victor was also waiting for his laptop to finish downloading the data he needed on the warden who ran the max security prison Matthew was recently at before his transfer. @dualnaturedscientist

Everyone was exhausted from the eventful day. Dr.Two-Brains had put the mice pups on a makeshift little bed for them to sleep on. They seemed to have grown attached to both Becky and the mad scientist in the short amount of time they were taking care of them. When they put the mice pups down they squeaked to be picked up again. When they finally fell asleep, full from their dinner, Becky and Dr.Two-Brains quietly left. Though Becky didn't want to leave the pinkies alone. The villain spoke softly. "They will be okay there. I promise. Let's be quiet and let them sleep." Becky stared at her father for a moment. She had a thoughtful expression, following after him. Dr.Two-Brains had put his kid to bed. Once she was tucked in. Bob too. He kissed her forehead goodnight. "Goodnight my little ray of hope. Rest well. I'll never let anyone hurt you anymore. I promise. You'll be safe from now on. I'll never let you out of my sight again." He mumbled this, his eyelids feeling so heavy now. He drifted off to sleep, head on the bed. Becky untucked herself and made herself comfortable near her dad. Bob made himself comfortable as well on the opposite side. Both of them curled up next to him. The others had already left for their own home. Leaving Carl, Steven and Matthew with them. Carl and Steven had been taken to the spare rooms while Matthew had only the couch to sleep on. If he was going to be honest it was still much better than the poor excuse of a bed they forced him to sleep on during his time in Maximum prison. The facility where he was transferred was so much worse. He was going to take what they gave. As his son in law wished, he was on his best behavior. It would stay that way until they didn't need him anymore. The truth was, he wants his kids to be happy. Just like any other parent would. Once he was of no use anymore, he will make sure they never see him again. He'll be far away. Just like they wanted. Despite what happened, Gene was still his favorite. He was so proud that his son turned out to be so brilliant, kind from what he saw. He was still all that despite the mouse brain. His son was strong. Maybe even more than him. He gave in, Dr.Two-Brains didn't give into it for the sake of his daughter. Matthew finally allowed himself to drift to sleep.

The next morning, Matthew was woken up by his son cooking breakfast for everyone. Well everyone but him. He assumed that Gene would want to feed the man he hates. Matthew felt guilt. Over hurting his son like that. Everyone else woke up soon, gathering around the table. Once it was set up, everyone helped themself to the delicious and cheesy meal. Matthew stayed in the living room though. Becky glanced over at him, puzzled why he wasn't joining them. Dr.Two-Brains felt his insides twist. As much as he hates Matthew he couldn't let his little girl panic like that. If he's staying here, he must eat as well. He spoke in a less than enthused tone. "You want your plate over there or are you going to join us?" Matthew blinked owlishly. He saw that the table seemed a bit crowded and he doubted they wanted him to sit with them. "I'll fix up my plate and eat on the couch. Thank you." There was no sarcasm in his tone. He was genuinely thanking his son. After they ate, Matthew and Dr.Two-Brains were alone in the living room. It was tense. Matthew wasn't looking at his son, not wanting to make the situation worse. He didn't see the expression Dr.Two-Brains was wearing. Grim. He wanted answers. He was finally able to ask this question he had been dying to ask for years. "Why did you do it? Why did you massacre all those heroes? Rebecca?" Two-Brains found himself even more emotional, bringing up his late best friend. There was anger in his eyes. Sadness. Hurt. Matthew only felt guilty when it came to his family. He hated seeing them hurt. A thought he always had. If he hadn't massacred the heroes, maybe he could've done something to prevent Carl and Steven from being kidnapped. Prevent Gene from going through all that. "You wish to know? I'll tell you. Just a heads up. I'm telling you why and it's not an excuse for what I did. I'm simply telling you what happened." Matthew paused for a second, frowning at the memory. "A good man died so many years ago. Not one hero shed a tear for someone whose intentions were good. Despite his less than legal ways of achieving his goals, he was on their side. They never saw it that way. It didn't affect him in the least. He still fought for what was good. They said horrible things about him. Yet he never retaliated. Never spoke against them in anger. My uncle. He hated this vigilante just as much. Hated that he was teaching me just as much. I didn't realize it at the time but this vigilante was more of a hero than the others were. Not one of them, including my uncle, mourned for him. They never even mentioned his passing once. The one who killed him, he wasn't going to stop. I had to make him stop. The anger I felt. I wiped him out. With his goons. They didn't care how many lives were lost. That added so much fuel to my hatred of heroes. So much so. It blinded me. Making me no better. I became the malicious monster that my uncle said I was. The rage grew in me. He disowned me. So did my mother. When the rage grew, I only had one thought. One goal. I was unfortunately blinded by this. Not seeing the damage I've done after I executed my plan. All of my rage was released. I don't remember killing most of them. But I know I did. I truly love you and your siblings. Your father, I never stopped loving him. Yet my hatred was stronger. I gave into it. I know this is the consequence of my actions and I accept it. If you wish to get revenge, I won't fight back. Do as you please. I'm truly sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything to you since it's from me. But my apology is genuine. I am sorry. I don't expect forgiveness. But I thought you deserved an apology."

Dr. Two Brains sat stunned at Maddrix's explanation. He had no idea Matthew used to be a hero. None of them did. He didn't know how to react to his apology either. It was a little too late to say sorry. Yet on the other hand, Two Brains could tell he was being serious and genuine. Maddrix's explanation though, it opened up more questions for him as he reflected on his past before the massacre, analyzing Matthew's actions and comparing it to what he knows now. "Is that why you raised me to be a villain? So I wouldn't end up like the heroes you hated so much?" Two Brains asked. Matthew shook his head. "I had that hatred festering, but it wasn't the main reason I raised you to be a villain. I genuinely saw the natural spark and flare you had for villainy at an early age. When you acted sweet and innocent as a cover to get what you want or to get away with biting people that made you mad." Matthew paused a bit as he chuckled a little at the memories. "I honestly lost count of how many people you bit." Two Brains couldn't help but smirk at that. "It was the only way I could get back at those who made me upset. Neither you nor dad would let me gain access to tech until I was 13." Two Brains quipped. Matthew nodded with a bittersweet smile. "True. We were both slightly afraid what you mind would do if we gave you access to tools and tech before you were mature enough to use them." Matthew then frowned. "The true reason was I didn't want you to end up like me. I had a lot of anger and aggression issues when I was growing up. I don't exactly know where they came from. I just know that my uncle nor my mother never gave me the help I needed. My uncle saw me nothing more than a weapon that made him look good until I didn't. My mother was a spineless fool who went along with anything my uncle told her. I wanted to help channel your villainous impulses into something productive. I wanted to give you the helping guidance I never got. Even after you got me arrested. I was miffed yeah but I was never truly mad at you. I'm proud of the person you grown up into. Not because of the villain part. It's because you have a lot more control over your priorities and better restraints over your impulses than I ever did." "So that's why you told dad you were an orphan." Two Brains muttered as he processed what Matthew told him. Maddrix just shrugged. "Well your biological grandfather walked out when I was a toddler and the only true parental figure I had died when I was teenager. It was easier to say I was an orphan than to go into the nitty gritty." Dr. Two Brains leveled Matthew a hardened look. "You kept a lot of secrets from dad, including the part about you and me being villains. I remember you said it was best that no one else in our family knew the truth about our villain work. Even though they wouldn't be bothered about it, you still didn't want them to know. Why was that? Were you afraid of them getting hurt if they knew?" Dr. Two Brains interrogated. Matthew's expression became pale before he turned his gaze away Dr. Two Brains looked at the man with annoyance and confusion for not answering his question in a rude manner. A thought then struck his head. That evasive and somewhat rude reaction. He knew it all too well. "You were afraid dad would hate your for being a villain and kick you out like your mom and uncle did. That was why?" Two Brains muttered quietly. Maddrix didn't reply. He didn't have too. Dr. Two Brains could see clear as day the prickling tears the villain was trying to blink away. Two Brains gave a bitter chuckle. "I guess I did take more after you than I realized." Two Brains mumbled. Both he and Matthew never wanted their loved ones to see the true them, consumed by their fear of being hated and alone by those they cared the most. The difference here, while Two Brains found a better way to cope with his fears and learn to be more open to others, Matthew didn't. @dualnaturedscientist

[coffeeandbatboys]

And It All Goes Downhill. (Matt Murdock x Reader)

This one is for @omega-ish hope you get some good Matt comfort out of this one :)

After learning Matt's secret, things go wrong very quickly.

Warnings: kidnapping, lots of injuries.

You stared him down, disbelief crossing your features.

"So you're telling me that you jump around on rooftops at night punching people to death?? You're. Blind. Matthew."

"Y/N please-"

"No. Either you've been lying to me this whole time about the bruises and scars, or you're just saying this to impress me. Even then you'd still be lying."

You were seething with anger now, at the fact he didn't trust you enough to tell you.

"I can't do this right now, Matt."

"I'm sorry. I'm so, incredibly sorry."

"And I," you grabbed your coat, opening the door. "Don't want to hear another word from you."

~~~

"Alright, easy buddy. Take my money." You held it out for the thug, who was jittery and almost frightened.

"Necklace."

The one that Matt had given you. Why should you care? You were mad at him right now. But you always fixed it somehow.

"No, you asked for the money, you got-"

A gunshot rang out, and the thug sprinted away in fear. You looked around, trying to determine the source. That's when you saw two men exit a warehouse building to your right. They caught sight of you and pursued you. No doubt they just killed someone. Before you could get away, though, they overtook you and the world went black.

~~~

When you awoke, you felt the bonds around your wrists. Around you seemed to be another warehouse of sorts. It seemed empty, cold and damp, leaving you shivering against the harsh conditions. Then you realized that you were on the second floor. An industrial bridge spanned underneath you, from one end of the room to the other. You tasted the dried blood from your lips, and the first thought in your mind was "Oh my God. I'm going to die."

Before you could shut it down, a large, broad-shouldered figure entered your line of vision. It was Wilson Fisk. Oh I'm definitely going to die.

"Miss Y/L/N. I suppose you know why you're here."

"I witnessed the getaway of a murder?"

"All the same, I can't have you traipsing around after that. However, you may still be of some use."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"Tell me everything you know about Daredevil."

The air felt impossibly colder and you suddenly felt sick. Matt wasn't lying.

You decided to tell white lies, in order to make it seem as if he wasn't your boyfriend. As if that worked, though.

"I see him in the newspaper. Quite a guy huh? Doin' parkour on rooftops?"

"Don't play games with me L/N."

"Look, I've never interacted with the devil of Hell's Kitchen. Only seen him from a distance." It wasn't a complete lie. You'd never actually seen Matt as the Devil. At least, not in action.

Just then, you heard a commotion outside, and your heart skipped a beat. Could it be him?

Sure enough, he burst into the second floor of the warehouse with Fisk's men hot on his tail.

Fisk made his own getaway and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was left to fight his men. One by one they were struck down. He could hear your stifled cries to him, pleading for safety.

Then the last of the goons who was closest to you, fell off the bridge. His Neck twisted as he landed, making an awful cracking sound.

All of the sudden Matt stopped, horrified. You tried to call out for him, but he stood completely still in shock. It was like his senses were muddled, and he couldn't find you. Even this close he couldn't lock onto your heartbeat. He feared that the crack was of your neck, and not the goon's.

"Matt!!" You screamed. That brought him back to reality. Nearly breaking down, he rushed over to you, cradling your face in his hands.

"Oh my-I thought you died...are you hurt?" He asked as he undid the ropes on your wrists.

"Matt I'm fine. I just want to go home."

"Are you sure? Aren't you still mad at me?"

Your heart broke. "No, no, honey. You just saved me. And I believe you now."

"I'm sorry for not telling you..."

"Matt. Its OK. I just want to go home with you and clean up. I'm not angry with you anymore. I love you." Reaching up, you caressed his chin, before placing a soft kiss on his lips. He whispered a soft "I love you, I'm sorry" against them.

"Now let's go home."

[raspberryfingers]

Kept Awake - Hosea Matthews x Reader (NSFW)

Happy Hosea Fucks Friday y’all🤗

————————

A small group of us sat around the campfire, talking lightly and eating our dinner, which was watered down stew just like always. 

And while I was never ungrateful, after such a long day it felt hard to force down. 

It felt hard to do nearly anything after scouring all of Saint Denis for a lead and simultaneously pickpocketing its higher class citizens.

But I’d come back with quite a bit of cash for the gang, and a few possibilities to look into, so I couldn’t say it had been useless. 

Still, my head was throbbing and I was desperate to drift off right there and then, seated on the log as I was. 

It seemed that I didn’t need to wish too hard, because I could feel my eyes slowly shutting as my head fell forward. 

There was a moment of pure bliss as I allowed myself to bathe in the sleep, but just like most moments of joy that I experienced, it had to be ruined by Micah Bell. 

“Aw, there she goes, falling asleep on us after a long day of nothing,” he teased, instantly making my head snap up at the disturbance.

I scowled at him, which only made him tease further. 

“Tell me, sweetheart, did you stand up for too long today? Was it too hard on your soft little legs?” He prodded, still grinning and licking his lips.

Arthur walked by us and seemed to overhear, because he instantly spoke in my defense. 

“Leave her alone, Micah. Don’t you have something better to do? Go sharpen your knife or make yourself useful for god's sake,” Arthur chided, suggesting in the most neutral way that Micah should fuck off. 

“Oh I will, Morgan. I will do just that, once I get my answer from the lady,” he continued, gesturing his hands towards me.

Arthur scoffed and shook his head, wandering off to finish whatever task he had in mind. 

Javier and John glanced at me as if to ask whether or not I needed help.

I set my focus back on Micah, letting them know that I didn’t. 

“I’m just tired, Micah, let it be,” I told him, shoving another spoonful down my throat.

“See now, that’s where I don’t believe you. It’s only a little after seven, nobody is ‘just tired,’ a little after seven,” he challenged, seeming to want some sort of theatrical and dramatic response.

I shrugged, not dignifying his taunts with a reply.

“Was the shopping too strenuous, sweetheart?” He asked, laughing now. John sighed, rolling his eyes. It seemed we were all tired of his bullshit and ‘jokes’.

He was obviously referring to the dress I’d gotten for myself, though he had no idea it was so I could attend the mayor’s party. Nor did he have any idea that finding big leads required big connections, which I most assuredly would only make if I didn’t look like a wild woman. 

I simply quirked my head at Micah, wondering what went through his head every time he opened his mouth. 

“No, no it wasn’t that,” I replied dryly, again forcing down more of the stew. He simply grinned, and I prepared myself for whatever stupid comment he would make next.

“Ohhh-hoho. I see, I see it now. It was the old man, wasn’t it?”

Now that, that made my eyes shoot up at him.

He began to laugh.

“Leave Hosea alone, Micah,” I warned, ready to defend him if need be. 

“No, I don’t think so, sweetheart. I don’t know why you’re with him anyways, the old fool. You oughta be with someone like me, don’t ya think? Someone who can still fire their gun, and not just literally, if you know what I mean,” Micah taunted, still laughing as he made suggestive comments towards me.

I clenched my jaw, but said nothing. Micah wasn’t going to see my anger, I was damn sure of that. He went quiet for a moment, observing me. 

“The old man kept you awake didn’t he? With all his coughing and wheezing, huh? What a miracle that he hasn’t just gone and died.”

I’d miraculously remained calm the whole time, but as his words fell from his rotten mouth, I could feel the anger boiling inside me.

His teasing, his plain rudeness had been fine until now. 

Now, it was certainly not fine.

I could accept his teasing on my behalf, but what I would most assuredly not accept was his teasing of Hosea. 

Especially what he had just dared to say.

In mere seconds, I flung my bowl to the ground, lunging for Micah and grabbing his shirt.

I practically jumped him, tackling him down and shouting as I landed three solid blows on his face.

“You fucking asshole. You keep anything about my husband out of your mouth or so help me god I will slit your throat in your sleep, you useless piece of shit!” I spat, venom laced on every word. I could feel myself shake with anger and downright fury as I hit him once more, trying to break free from the grasp John and Javier had on my arms. 

As they pulled me back, I let my boot kick Micah in the stomach and send him backwards, still fuming at his words. 

A crowd had instantly gathered at the yelling, and though I could see Hosea moving towards me, I ignored him and continued my assault on Micah verbally. 

“You have no fucking idea what it’s like to be a real man, and you’ve got no fucking idea what it’s like draining every ounce of energy after robbing people all day and looking for good leads, because you’re a fucking lazy piece of shit that hasn’t done any decent work since you first joined us!” I continued, practically screaming at him now.

He was no longer smiling, instead coughing as blood streamed down his face, most prominently from his nose. 

“In fact, you’re so fucking useless that you can’t even find a single lead without taking credit for someone else’s! Not only that, but I can’t remember the last goddamn time you came with us someplace and it didn’t end with a higher bounty and a town full of dead folks!” 

I was so angry I could feel my throat drying up, but I didn’t care. Watching him coughing and wheezing as he sat in the grass was the only satisfaction I needed after what he said to me. 

“Look who’s coughing and wheezing now, you fucking snake. What a goddamn miracle that you haven’t died, and that I haven’t slit your throat, you worthless asshole,” I scowled, and it was only then that I processed Hosea’s hands on me, along with Arthur’s. There were four men trying to drag me away from Micah, and to no avail. 

I finally let my muscles relax, and they quickly took me away from the fire. 

I watched someone try and help Micah up, but all he did was snap at them and tell everyone to mind their own business. 

I rolled my eyes, and I felt all but one pair of hands come off me, which I knew to be Hosea’s.

“You alright?” Arthur asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

I swallowed, still breathing heavily. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little pissed off,” I answered, which seemed to amuse the men around me.

“You sure?” John reaffirmed, wanting to make sure.

“I’m sure. You guys can leave, you know. There’s only a 20% chance I’ll jump him again,” I said, and they gazed at Hosea, who was standing behind me. I could see him nod at them in my peripheral vision.

They dispersed, but Javier leaned in for a moment.

“You know, I bet that felt good,” he said with a grin, and I smiled back with a nod.

“It sure did.”

He left me alone with Hosea, and I began to feel an emotion close to regret. It wasn’t quite regret, because I didn’t regret what I’d done, however the confrontation with the man behind me did make me nervous.

“(Y/N).”

I turned to look at him, swallowing and quickly averting my eyes as I reached his intense gaze.

Gently, his hand came to my chin, and he lifted my face.

His eyes were softer than I expected them to be, especially knowing how much he disliked physical force. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asked, and though I couldn’t push my head down, I could look away. 

“Not particularly,” I admitted, knowing he’d probably be more upset if he knew the only reason I’d gotten mad at all was because Micah had said something about him.

“Come on, my dear, let’s go inside. Your knuckles are bleeding,” he noted, and I was surprised to look down and find that they were. It was only then I noticed the faint burn coming from them. I guessed they’d been the last of my concern when I lashed out. 

Hosea led me into the main house of Shady Belle, and we reached the destination of our bedroom, which was essentially a storage closet underneath the stairs. 

I didn’t mind, though, because the space smelled like him, and I was glad not to have him sleeping out in the thick, swampy air. 

He sat me down on our cot, finding some bandages from one of the shelves and then joining me.

He reached out, and I wordlessly let him fix me up.

“If you don’t want to tell me right now, then that’s fine, but I do hope you will tell me eventually,” he said after a moment, gently dabbing alcohol against my knuckles. I winced and then gazed at him.

“I will tell you, but I just- I don’t want you to be upset,” I explained, and he stopped for a moment to look me in the eyes.

“I’m not upset, and I hope you don’t think I am. Guess I’m just a little confused is all, you’ve never really been one to resort to punching,” he clarified, which made me sigh.

Of course he wasn’t upset, this angel of a man was hardly ever upset with me, which perhaps made me more worried that it would be a rare occasion in which he was when I confessed.

“I know, and I probably shouldn’t have, but Micah had it coming,” I defended, which made Hosea raise an eyebrow.

“Probably shouldn’t have?”

“I said what I said, Hosea. I know you don’t like violence, especially within camp, but I don’t regret what I did and I’m not sorry.”

He sighed as he began to wrap one hand, keeping it firm but not too tight. 

“I at least appreciate your honesty, even if I don’t agree with your actions,” he said nobly, which gave me the odd desire to lean in and kiss his cheek.

“I hope you can also understand that Micah has said a lot of other things to me and I’ve never jumped him before,” I added on to my case, and my partner nodded.

“I do understand, and that is why I’m wondering what he said this time,” he said, finishing one hand and moving on to the next. 

“I’ll tell you if you promise not to get mad,” I prefaced, making him raise both eyebrows with something close to surprise.

“Have you ever known me to get mad?” 

“With Sean and Bill, I’ve seen you get mad plenty of times.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Well, with Sean it was mostly disappointment because I knew he could do better. With Bill… well, that’s different. But with you? How could I ever be angry with a positively beautiful lady such as yourself?” He asked, charming as ever while he kissed both freshly bandaged knuckles. I laughed softly, hanging my head in defeat.

“Fine, I’ll tell you, but I reserve the right to stop talking if I sense even a fleck of anger or disappointment in your eyes,” I said, and he raised his hands in defense and nodded.

“The right is yours.”

I sighed, trying to figure out where to start my tale.

“I’ve been out all day, Hosea, since early this morning, and I’ve done nothing but look for information and rob people. Mentally it’s- well it’s draining, and the city is so big somehow, and I could’ve sworn I went in at least three circles. Either way, I’m fucking stressed and I’m goddamn exhausted, because I want so badly to prove that I’m not dead weight. I know I’ve found good leads before, but I want to keep finding good leads, especially now because we’re so deep in shit that I want so much to get us out, at least a little bit,” I rambled, letting all of my inner thoughts out. 

Tenderly, Hosea rubbed my back and nodded sympathetically.

“I understand, my dear. It’s a lot, but it’s not your responsibility to uphold the entire gang. Nobody could ask that of you, and you’ve got plenty to show for it,” he assured me, though it was essentially useless.

“I just- I need to help everyone. It is my job, it’s what I signed up for when I joined back in ‘96, and I need- I have to get us safe, Hosea. Not just us, but everyone,” I confided, knowing he’d understand what I was feeling.

“I know, (Y/N), I know, I’ve been there plenty of times and I’m still there. Whether we like it or not, I reckon this gang can’t go on too much longer. Not with the law like this and Dutch’s fancy ideas about foreign countries, but you’ve got to remember that it’s not your responsibility. I don’t want you stressed out over it, especially if it gets you into fights,” he said, and I leaned into him.

“It’s just hard not to worry about everyone. But, that’s not what got me into the fight anyhow. Essentially what happened was that I fell asleep while eating my stew, and Micah kept giving me shit for it, asking why I was so tired, because apparently that’s amusing to him for some godforsaken reason, and well…” I paused, trying to figure out the best way to word what I was about to say.

“Well?”

I sighed.

“Well, he made a comment something along the lines of ‘you should be with a man who can still fire his gun’ and, ‘did he keep you up all night with his coughing and wheezing?’ and needless to say I did not appreciate that comment,” I confessed, almost immediately regretting it when I felt Hosea stiffen and sit up straight beside me. 

“You punched him because of me?”

I instantly turned to look at him, and where I was expecting disappointment I instead found a distinct sadness.

“No! I punched him because he was being a fucking asshole and you had nothing to do with it. I’m tired of him talking about you that way. I’m tired of everything,” I said, sighing and taking Hosea’s hands in mine. I leaned my head into his shoulder, raising it again when he began to speak.

“You shouldn’t have done that just to defend me. He was trying to upset you,” he said softly.

“I know he was, but that wasn’t the only thing he said about you, Hosea,” I explained, tears brimming in my eyes.

“What else did he say?”

I paused and felt my chin quiver. I desperately tried to hold back tears, but they fell anyways.

My voice cracked as I spoke, pain evident in each word.

“He essentially said you weren’t far off from dying and he was surprised you hadn’t already. He didn’t say it like that, but that’s how he meant it,” I whispered, unable to contain a soft sob. 

“Oh dove, come here.”

Hosea wrapped me in his sturdy, loving arms and kissed my forehead.

“I hate when he says things like that, Hosea,” I cried, feeling more secure as he pulled me into his lap.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and buried my face in his neck, trying to control my emotions.

“I may be sick and old, my dear, and I most assuredly will die someday, but I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon. You’ve put some youth in these aging bones,” he assured me, stroking my hair gently.

“You better not, or else I’ll be really goddamn pissed off. You’ll end up like Micah,” I teased, laughing even though I was still blubbering.

I felt Hosea smile, glad that I was at least pulled out from the gloomy thoughts. 

“What an unfortunate day that would be for me, I’m glad it’s not coming anytime soon,” he chuckled, slowly pulling back to look at me.

He gave me a sweet kiss, and wiped my cheeks with his thumbs.

“Let’s get you to bed, dove. You need some rest,” he suggested, standing and holding me in his arms still.

It was times like these that reminded me he still had strength in him yet, even all these years later. 

He laid me down on the cot, pulling back the blankets since it was admittedly a fairly warm night. 

He helped me undress like he was fond of doing, and he neatly folded my clothes before placing them on a crate nearby.

Left in my undergarments, I wondered if he would join me. I opened my mouth to inquire, but he seemed to already know.

“I’ll lay down too. I’m afraid we both don’t sleep nearly as much as we should.”

I smiled, sitting up to help him just as he had helped me.

I unbuttoned his vest with rapt attention, as if it was something entirely new and exciting to me. 

His neckerchief and shirt followed, and I watched his chest and back as he reached for his night shirt. 

“You’re so handsome,” I whispered, laying back and admiring him.

He smiled, letting me gaze for a few moments before he pulled on his shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he shot back, slipping into the cot beside me. 

I let my head rest on his chest with a sigh, deciding to undo another button of his union suit. He raised his eyebrows at me as I let my hand run over the thin, silver hairs on his chest. 

“Everything alright there?” He teased, arm wrapping around me.

“Perfectly. Simply enjoying my husband,” I replied, nuzzling into him and closing my eyes.

His lips gently pressed against my hair, and I smiled.

“Goodnight, my dear. Get some rest,” he said softly, making me sigh and nod.

I was able to drift off with relative peace, even if in the back of my head the growing pressures of our situation loomed large.

I had no idea how to get us out of the hole we’d dug, and I was so worried it was only a matter of time before the Pinkertons covered it up with more dirt. 

—————

I woke up to a distinct sound, one that immediately sent me into a protective mood.

I looked at the space beside me in the bed and found Hosea leaning over as he coughed.

I instantly sat up, placing one hand on his back and another on his chest to help him sit up straighter, and to provide some reassurance.

“You’re alright, it’s okay,” I whispered, eyebrows furrowed with concern as his coughing raged on. 

He tried to say something, but was quickly cut off by his lungs once more.

“Shhh, get it out, you’re alright,” I continued, placing a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Slowly, the fit turned to a more subtle cough, which was more like a distinct shake of his body.

Finally, he cleared his throat and sighed.

“I’m sorry to have woken you,” he apologized as I handed him some water.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Hosea Matthews. I feel better when I can help you through it, I don’t like it when you’re in pain,” I informed, gently running a hand through his hair.

“Well, then I thank you, Mrs. Matthews,” he replied softly, turning back to kiss me. I accepted eagerly, placing my hands against his cheeks.

He began to smile.

“What?”

“You know, perhaps Micah was right. I do keep you up with my coughing and wheezing,” he joked, laughing as I hit his shoulder.

“Stop it with that nonsense. You should know better Hosea,” I claimed, to which he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“The only thing keeping me up at night is this.”

My hand drifted down against his thigh, and I watched his eyes spark with lust as he realized what I was doing.

He let out a soft sigh as my hand brushed in between his legs, pressing against him.

“(Y/N)…”

I simply smiled at him, kissing him with a soft laugh. 

“That’s the only thing keeping me up, old man,” I teased endearingly. Calling him old man was a small jest I’d reserved for only myself. I was quick to tell off anybody else who referred to him as such, perhaps besides Arthur and Dutch. 

Hosea pressed his lips to my neck as I slowly palmed him, and I could hear his shaky breathing. 

He wasn’t fully aroused just yet, but I knew that if I left my hand there any longer he would be.

“You know, dove, I bet I could help you get some of the stress out,” he offered, tone low and suggestive. 

“Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?” I replied with feigned confidence, trying to ignore the excitement already filling my stomach. 

“I can’t be certain,” he mumbled, his hand now moving between my legs. 

I licked my lips, looking over at him and sighing out as he slowly began to rub my clit through my undergarments.

I was beginning to feel him growing hard under my hand, and I smirked.

“You know, Arthur’s probably asleep upstairs,” I pointed out, wondering what snarky reply he’d have to that.

“Well, he can complain to Miss Grimshaw for putting him there when he gets up,” he said, grinning brightly as I reached for his shirt with my free hand.

We detached from each other for just a moment as I removed his shirt, and then pushed off his pants.

I always had to take initiative when we undressed each other, because if I didn’t then I’d end up completely naked while Hosea was still fully dressed. It became evident to me early in our relationship that he enjoyed looking at me. 

When we were both equally undressed, it suddenly became a competition to see who could get the other person out of their underwear first.

I tried to lunge for him, but Hosea was too quick, knowing my every move from all of our previous ‘run-ins’.

His hands wrapped around my wrists, pushing me against the cot with a snarl.

He pinned my legs down by pushing his knees onto my thighs and holding them there, simultaneously capturing both wrists with one hand.

When he had me sufficiently subdued, he got to work undressing me, and of course I fought him every step of the way.

“Hosea this isn’t fair!” I complained, squirming and trying to break free of his grip. 

“What’s not fair? That I won’t let you have your way?” He questioned, laughing and kissing down my chest as more and more clothing was removed. 

Though I tried to fight him, the situation was unbelievably arousing and I found I needed him more than ever.

“Hosea please, If you don’t hurry up and fuck me,” I gasped, feeling the last of my clothes being discarded. 

I watched him slip off the rest of his clothes too, and I couldn’t hold in a sharp inhale, the result of seeing him so hard.

“You don’t want to be teased relentlessly tonight?” He asked with a grin, grabbing my hips and pulling me up against his thighs. 

“I can’t, Hosea, not tonight,” I replied, practically whining because I was so desperate for him.

“Let me taste you, please. And I promise I will, I won’t just kiss your thighs,” he swore, letting one hand skim across my stomach and between my breasts.

The sensation made me shiver and breathe heavily.

“Yes, please,” I whined softly, which was apparently the only encouragement my husband needed as he sank to his knees.

Ever the caretaker, I reached for a blanket.

“Put it under your knees, the floor is too hard,” I suggested to him, diverting for just a moment to make sure he was just as comfortable as I was.

“Thank you, dove,” he said, pressing loving, sensual kisses to my thighs. 

I looked down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You said you wouldn’t do that.”

“I said I wouldn’t just do that,” he grinned, holding eye contact with me as he licked between my legs.

I sighed out in contentment, muscles going tense with pleasure.

He immediately stopped, and I looked at him once more to see what the problem was.

“Don’t do that, don’t get all tense. Relax, my dear, lay on the bed and don’t do anything else,” he instructed, hands rubbing up and down my thighs.

“It’s too overwhelming if I don’t,” I told him, knowing it was hard to stay relaxed for too long without practically going insane.

“I’ll be gentle with you, dove, work up into it. Trust me, hm?” He assured me, waiting for some sort of confirmation.

I swallowed and nodded, letting my head go back again. I physically released all my muscles, going limp as his tongue returned to my clit with long, slow movements.

I had to drill it into my brain to stay calm, to stay relaxed, and I couldn’t deny that it certainly felt wonderful.

��That’s so good, Hosea. So- so good,” I mumbled, hardly coherent as the pleasure flooded my brain.

He simply continued as he had been, testing me every once and awhile to see how I’d respond to more and more immense attentions. 

I let my hand drift to his hair, trying desperately not to clamp onto it, instead just letting my hand rest there. 

It was torture, trying to keep myself from going rigid, but at the same time it was pure bliss to just relax as he gave me such enthusiastic pleasure. 

His tongue met my clit more passionately than before, and I had to cry out.

It was either I went tense and held in my sounds or I relaxed and became vocal, it was practically impossible to be both.

“Good girl, let me hear your pretty noises,” Hosea mumbled, continuing his passions between my legs. 

It became so overstimulating I tried to push his head away, but he simply gripped my thighs and pulled them apart, continuing with even more force than he previously had.

“Hosea!” I gasped, reaching for something, anything around me. 

I was a writhing, moaning mess under his tongue, and I couldn’t prevent my back from lifting off the bed. 

His hand gently slid up my stomach, easing me back down. 

“Relax, dove.”

I trembled, making a conscious effort to relax my muscles. Tears were pricking at my eyes because the pleasure burned throughout my body. It was so hard not to tense up, but all in the same it felt like such a soothing reward. 

As he continued to eat me out, I felt his fingers gently massaging my skin, working my thighs so wonderfully. 

My legs felt so limp, so ready to be touched by him. I wondered whether tonight was a tongue night or if he’d decide to add his fingers like he was often fond of doing. 

For a moment, I felt his tongue slip inside of me, and I had to whine. 

“Oh god, Hosea,” I moaned, unable to keep myself from clamping his hair between my fingers. 

I needed more, I needed him to ruin me and leave me distraught.

“You’re alright, my dear. You taste so good,” he whispered, again pushing his tongue deep inside me. 

A choked out sob came from my throat, and I wondered how he’d even managed to draw it from me, but I wasn’t surprised. Hosea made it a sport to see which embarrassing and extremely lewd noises he could force out. 

He simply chucked, and I pushed my hips up against his face, eager. For once, he said nothing, and I was surprised he didn’t demand that I behave as he normally would’ve. 

I supposed that in his mind tonight was about making me feel satisfied and relaxed, and so whatever that entailed for me was pleasant for him. 

Though, I couldn’t let him miss out on the fun either, and I was most assuredly going to pay him back later. 

Drawn from my thoughts, I felt his tongue slowly swipe up through my folds and to my clit. 

That act seemed to make my sanity crumble, because I couldn’t help my volume as I cried his name. 

“Hosea! F-Fuck!” 

The sound of it made him moan, and it produced an arousing effect on me mentally and physically. 

I looked down between my legs, and the sight of him seemed too much, eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed together with such devotion, like he truly needed to taste every last drop of my slick. 

“You’re so… oh Hosea, I love you,” I gasped softly, which made his eyes open. Accordingly, we made eye contact, which made me shiver. 

A true, genuine smile appeared on his face, and he as a result used his thumbs to spread me apart further and directly lick my clit.

That elicited another interesting sound, something like a squeal, that caught both of us off guard. 

More smug chuckling from him. 

I moaned again, letting him hear it from me just like I knew he enjoyed. 

An idea sprung into my head.

“Hosea… Hosea, get up on the bed,” I managed to say, even though it took my brain a moment to process.

He removed his mouth from me and raised a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

“No, just get up here,” I demanded, reaching for him.

He complied eagerly, seemingly excited to know what I had in store for him now.

He was sitting on the bed, and I pushed him back to lay down, adjusting everything so he’d be comfortable. 

Promptly, I kneeled above his face, and he had that sly grin on as he reached to pull my thighs closer to his face. 

“Ah-ah, not so fast, Mr. Matthews,” I said, stopping him. He frowned, seemingly upset that I wasn’t going to ride his face.

I simply smiled and turned around, still above him, but leaning down towards his erection.

It was then he understood what was happening.

“Dove- dove wait a moment,” he rasped out, hands gently gripping my ass. 

I turned to face him, puzzled and wondering what he was about to say.

“Hosea?”

“I don’t want all that attention, I want to make you feel good tonight,” he expressed, gazing tenderly at me. I knew he meant it, because he often had nights like these where all he wanted to do was eat me out and finger me until I physically couldn’t take it anymore.

There was such a soft expression on his face, and so I gave him a reassuring smile.

“You know, for such a smart man, Hosea, you’ve always had such a hard time figuring out that making you feel good makes me feel good,” I assured him, letting one hand reach for his penis. 

He inhaled, and I saw the foggy arousal in his eyes, but he wasn’t convinced just yet. 

“I just know you’ve been stressed, (Y/N). I don’t want you thinking about anything else besides the pleasure,” he said, giving my behind a small squeeze. 

“Hosea, my love, you’ve got absolutely no idea how fucking good it feels to look at you when you’re in pleasure, or to listen to you when you moan. It makes me feel good, because I get to know that I’m making you feel good. It’ll make it better for me this way, I promise,” I continued, gently stroking him. 

His lips parted, and he sucked in a breath. 

“If you- if you’re sure, then alright,” he nodded, groaning softly as I squeezed his tip a bit harder. 

With his consent, I lowered my head, holding him as I took him in my mouth. 

He let out a gasp, something throaty and raw, which filled my insides with excitement. 

It was an adjustment, because just like the rest of him, his cock was long and thin, which meant it take much to feel him at the back of my throat.

What I couldn’t take in my mouth I took with my hand, applying as much stimulation to him as I could.

Of course, I was so focused on giving him pleasure that it shocked me to feel his hands push my ass down towards his face. 

I moaned around him as his tongue once again met my clit, devoting sweet attention to it. 

I pushed him deeper into my mouth, not feeling an urge to gag yet. It was always finicky, sometimes I could take him farther down my throat than others. 

But either way, he always showered me with praises and appreciations. 

“Oh sweet girl… oh that feels so.. so ah- o-oh,” he was gasping and groaning under my mouth, hands still massaging my ass as he buried his face back between my legs. 

I whined, feeling him push his tongue inside me.

“Fuck! Hosea…” I cried, lifting my mouth off of him for just a moment. 

He hit a spot that made my legs shake, and he was satisfied with himself, continuing there with more vigor. 

I let out another moan and then continued to devote myself to his erection. 

Once again, I pushed him into my throat, making a sucking motion that, much to my satisfaction, released a primal cry from his throat. 

There was such a feeling of accomplishment whenever I heard him moan, because to me, making Hosea feel good was one of the best things a sinner such as myself could do. 

Hosea deserved the world, and if I couldn’t give him that, I’d at least make him see stars this way. 

The new technique I applied seemed to encourage him, because he lapped fervently at my sweet spot as his thumb came under me to rub my clit. 

Again, my legs began to shake and I cried out around him, gripping his hips so I wouldn’t float away. 

I continued to try and pleasure him, but with the pleasure being so overwhelming I had to lift my mouth off of him, hardly coherent and needing to breathe.

“Hosea… Hosea I’m gonna- I’m gonna…” I moaned again, trying to convey to him that what he was doing worked wonders.

He gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze to let me know he’d heard me, and continued just as he was.

The pleasure began to build in my core, and practically my whole body, signaling to me that it was only a few more seconds before I was sent over the edge. 

And like clockwork, it was.

I cried out, legs shaking and insides clenching around his tongue as I came. Pleasure made everything hazy as I dug my nails into his hips and tucked my head in towards my body. 

Somewhere, I could still process that Hosea’s mouth hadn’t stopped. He was gentler now, trying to comfortably ease me through the orgasm. 

Slowly, my muscles began to relax, and I let my hands loosen and simply hold his hips. The rest of my body fell limp, and I simply laid on top of him for a minute as I came back to consciousness.

I sighed out, slowly sitting up and swinging my leg over his body so I could lay next to him. 

He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. 

“That was so good… Hosea,” I mumbled, letting my head rest on his chest. He simply chuckled and rubbed my back.

“You want to keep going? Or are you done for tonight?” He asked softly, petting my hair as he did. 

“Let’s keep going. I just needed a moment after that,” I said as I kissed him. He couldn’t hold back a smile as he slid down the bed, mischief in his movements. 

Hosea was unpredictable in the sense that I could never figure out what he was going to next, and this was especially true when It came to sex with him. 

I had no idea whether he was about to push his face between my legs again, push inside me, or finger me. 

This time, it ended up being the last. 

Spreading my legs, I watched as he moved between them, comfortably sitting there. 

Hosea’s hands moved up and down my legs, slowly teasing every inch of skin. 

I felt my body hair rise and my skin cover with goosebumps as he did, so tempted and thrilled by his touch.

“Hosea stop trying to seduce me and get to it already,” I gasped out, overwhelmed by my excitement. 

“Seduce you? Now, how you could insinuate such a thing. I am a gentleman, madam,” he jested with a grin, still not doing what I wanted and simply giving my thighs a squeeze. 

I gave a small snarl, reaching for his arms and pulling myself up so my face was inches from him.

“Hosea, I swear to god,” I muttered, ghosting my lips over his. 

His thumb and pointer finger came to my chin, and he simply quirked his head with that stupid smirk he loved to give me. 

“Is my dove getting impatient? C’mon, be a good girl for me, (Y/N), lay back down,” he instructed, denying me a kiss as he backed his head away. 

I wouldn’t stand for that though, and immediately gripped his hair to pull him in for the kiss I deserved. 

He seemed caught off guard by the rough action, but nonetheless he kissed back passionately, almost seeming turned on by my unusual boldness. 

It was then that I felt his thumb against my clit, making me gasp. Further, his middle finger pushed inside me. 

“Hosea…” I whined quietly, body shivering as his free hand went to the back of my head and pulled me forward so he could kiss my neck.

The sensation of his warm breath on my skin made me exhale shakily, reaching out to hold his shoulders as he curled his finger inside me.

I felt him add in his ring finger, and I let out a muffled moan, held back by his mouth temporarily leaving my neck to give my lips some love. 

I pushed my tongue inside his mouth, whining as he pumped his fingers inside me.

“F-Fuck… Hosea,” I whimpered, grinding against his fingers, which knew which motions to make and just where to brush up against.

“You want another one?” He asked, panting as he kissed me sloppily.

“Yes.. oh god, ahum..” I told him, noises slipping from my throat at the thought of another finger inside me.

I felt his pointer finger around my entrance, teasing as he slowly but surely pushed it inside, filling me with three fingers. 

I gasped out, unable to contain my noises as he worked my g-spot and clit simultaneously, waves of pleasure running through every inch of my body.

My legs switched around him, and I leaned my head forward onto his shoulder, rocking my hips against him and whining.

“That feels so- so good,” I gasped, letting out small moans and cries as he pumped his fingers with more passion. 

“Relax, dove. Let me take care of my girl,” he whispered, pecking my cheek sweetly. 

In return, I raised my head to kiss him once more. The sweet taste of his lips could drive me insane just in themselves, let alone the way he was working my body. 

I wrapped an arm around his neck, shivering as my back arched against his hand. I could feel the pressure building, and I knew that if he continued much longer I’d be falling apart. 

“Hosea.. I’m getting… I’m getting close,” I whispered, clenching around his fingers as he just ever so slightly increased the pressure of his movements.

I cried out, grappling his hair in my free hand and pulling myself up slightly, trying my hardest to get away from the overwhelming sensations, but he wouldn’t let me.

Even as I lifted myself away, his hand followed with my body, continuing with his motions and not allowing me an escape. 

“Hosea! Oh.. oh fuck!” I cried, not able to break away from all the euphoria of it. He was so skilled, so talented when it came to making me feel this way. I’d never been with a man who was so capable of making me lose my mind in such a manner, and who was capable of stimulating me so perfectly in so many different ways. 

“You’re alright, my dear. Such a good girl, taking it so well, aren’t you? So good for me,” he muttered against my neck, placing kisses there. 

Still overwhelmed, I raised myself onto my knees, but to no avail. Hosea’s hand seemed to follow wherever I did, and as a result my legs began to shake. 

“Hosea! I can’t- oh I’m so- so close,” I gasped, hands digging into his shoulders as I pressed my body against him, overwhelmed and having a hard time controlling my movements. 

His mouth found my breasts quickly, hungrily kissing and licking as I moaned and whined.

“Come on, Dove. Come for me,” Hosea encouraged, which was really all I needed now. 

There was a moment of silence as my climax built, and then a loud, throaty moan as I finally came. 

The orgasm was earth shattering, my legs shaking and giving out as I collapsed into his lap, holding his head and burying my face into his neck as I cried out. 

My moans were so loud I was sure that Arthur must’ve been woken up by them, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was so prolonged and overwhelming that I couldn’t even stop moaning. 

“That’s it, there you are, my sweet girl,” Hosea praised, placing kisses on my shoulder as I shook in his arms. His hand still hadn’t let up, and I could feel my vaginal walls pulsing around his fingers. 

“Such a good girl for me, so beautiful,” he muttered, gently slowing his fingers to let me recover.

I could feel myself beginning to come down, and all I could do was mutter his name.

“Hosea… Hosea… oh Hosea,” I whispered, panting and trying to catch my breath. I’d fully come down by now, and I went limp against him, closing my eyes and soaking in the feel of his skin.

I felt his fingers slowly slip out from inside of me, and then I felt his arm move upwards. Wondering what he was doing, I removed my face from his shoulder and set my eyes on his hand. 

The sight made me blush.

The sight being, of course, his fingers covered in my cum and slick. I glanced at it and then back at him, and it was no shock to see him wearing a proud smirk. 

I watched him bring his hand closer to his face and lick his fingers clean, loving the taste. 

“You taste wonderful, dove,” he mumbled, nuzzling his head against mine.

“I’m jealous, I didn’t get the chance to taste you,” I said, smiling and kissing his cheek. 

“Well, it’s only in my nature to be selfish,” he teased, hands placing themselves on my hips.

It was then that I noticed his erection, and felt bad I hadn’t taken care of it yet. 

I moved my hand down, gently rubbing him and trying to gauge his reaction. 

His lips opened, and he let out a soft sigh. 

“(Y/N)…”

I couldn’t help but smile, feeling him throb under my touch. My other hand reached for his balls, fondling him there too. A gasp came from his throat, and he thrusted into my hand. 

“Oh… it hurts,” he mumbled, and thinking he was referring to me, I instantly stopped all motion and apologized.

“I’m sorry, Hosea. I didn’t mean to-“

His eyes shot open, and he instantly realized his mistake.

“No! No, dove, not you. You felt good, so, so good. My erection- well, I want you so bad it hurts, that’s what. I need you, dove,” he corrected, and I saw the lust in his eyes. I quickly realized that he must’ve been in pain because he was so hard, and I quickly made it my task to take care of that.

“Oh, Hosea. I’ll help you, hold on,” I whispered, kissing him and lifting myself up a bit. I tried to mount him, but he stopped me, hands holding my hips still. 

“Let’s do it this way,” he suggested, gently pushing my back onto the blankets. 

“But Hosea- you’re doing all the-“

“Shhh. It’s alright, dove. I’ve been saving my energy, rest assured. Plus, I get to see your pretty face, don’t I?” He smiled, kneeling in front of me and slowly spreading my legs apart. 

For once I decided to simply comply, because tonight wasn’t a night of teasing and fighting back. Tonight was just raw and loving sex, and with Hosea, sometimes that was my favorite. 

He glanced between my legs, sighing with contentment as he reached down for his penis and moved a bit closer. 

“You ready, my dear?” He asked, searching my eyes for any hint of nervousness.

“More than. I need you, Hosea,” I whimpered, hot with anticipation for him. His chuckle in response somehow managed to make me even more needy. 

His hands gripped my hips and thighs, holding me there and letting his erection rub against my clit.

“Fuck… that feels good,” I whispered, gripping the pillow and closing my eyes for a moment.

Hosea seemed to appreciate this, because he continued to grind against that sweet spot, and slowly dragged himself down through my wet folds. 

“You feel good, dove,” he quipped in response, letting out a soft groan. We both seemed happy here, grinding against each other with gentle moans and whines, but I needed to feel him in me and I needed it now.

“Hosea, please… I need you- I need you to-“

A gasp immediately lifted from my throat before I could finish, because he hadn’t taken any time to wait before pushing inside me. Of course, he hadn’t been able to go all the way in, because I needed some time to adjust, but the sensation had been wonderful all in the same. 

“Hold on, dove. Almost there,” he whispered, pulling out a bit and then pushing in a bit deeper. He did this once or twice more and whined as he pushed all the way inside me. 

“You feel so… so good, (Y/N),” he whispered, letting himself sink into me. 

I bit my lip, rocking my hips slowly to let him know I was ready.

Slowly, he began to thrust, placing a hand on my stomach to keep me steady.

“Hosea… god you’re so big,” I mumbled, hardly coherent. He was big, more so in length than girth, but he was able to hit every spot perfectly, and the feeling of him bumping against my cervix when we were rough was always welcomed. 

He chuckled, but quickly stopped as the pleasure coursed through him. 

“You’re so wet… so wet and warm for me,” he muttered, slowly leaning over me and thrusting a little faster, now at a nearly moderate pace.

I whined, pushing my thighs around his hips. I needed him to be as deep inside me as possible.

I bucked my hips against his, wanting more friction. He took the hint and picked up his pace a bit, but not without a few taunts.

“Easy there, girl. Woah now,” he teased, grinning down at me. I began to laugh, but it was cut off by a moan as he pounded into me with a little more force than usual. 

“Fuck… Hosea,” I gasped, reaching for him and pulling him down closer to me. 

His hands now came to press on the bed, holding himself up as he pushed harder and harder, making me moan relentlessly.

The cot shook intensely beneath us, and for a moment I was worried it might snap, but the thoughts were insignificant as Hosea continued to pound. 

“Fuck… oh fuck, fuck,” I moaned, feeling him begin to bump against my cervix. 

“You feel so good… my dear, so so good,” he whispered, moaning and then moving to kiss my neck. 

His hot breath, let alone his wet tongue, made even more pleasant nerves shake my body, and it was nearly impossible to focus on anything but the pleasure. 

“H-Hosea…”

“Relax, dove, I’ve got you.”

My heavy breathing continued as I leaned into his warmth, body pressed against mine as he filled me up. 

I couldn’t help the moans and gasps that emitted from my throat as he filled every nerve in my body with pleasure, mind foggy and unable to process anything besides him. 

“Y-(Y/N)… I’m getting close, we oughta… oughta switch positions,” Hosea gasped out, hands clenched in the blankets.

“No, I want you to finish,” I mumbled, keeping my legs firm on his hips and waist. It was true, I wanted him to come. Hosea always pleasured me orgasm after orgasm, and even if it would take us a bit to get back into it afterwards, I still wanted the same for him.

“(Y/N)- (Y/N), n-no… I’m not gonna be able to go again…” he said, trying to slow himself down to no avail as I rocked my hips against him. 

“Yes you will- t-trust me,” I breathed out, in so much pleasure and trying so hard to make him come. 

I heard a mangled groan emerge from his throat, and I could feel him twitch inside me as he tensed up and spilled his cum inside me. 

“(Y/N)… o-oh fuck… (Y/N).”

God, his face looked so perfect as he came, the sight itself felt like enough to arouse me further. I didn’t think there was anything I loved more than seeing his face contorted in such pleasure the way that it was. He was so beautiful.

Hosea’s legs shook as he slowly fell on top of me, head resting on my breasts as a wave of peace overcame him. 

I smiled, petting his hair as he caught his breath and bathed in the euphoria. 

“I love you, Hosea,” I whispered, kissing the top of his head.

He lifted his head as I said it, and pulled himself up a bit to kiss me. 

“I love you more, my dear,” he mumbled, still not fully with me. 

I felt him pull out, and I watched intently as he rolled beside me and began to go flacid.

“Y-You shouldn’t have done that, you didn’t finish off first,” he lamented, turning to look at me.

“I know, and that’s alright. When you’re ready I’m fairly confident I can get you hard again, and then we’ll keep going, hm?” I said, leaning over to kiss his neck. 

He instantly leaned into my lips, hand reaching for my waist so he could pull me closer.

“Well, I’m almost ready, dear. Just another moment,” he agreed, taking a big breath and relaxing. 

After a minute or two had passed, he rolled me over and began kissing my neck with more passion than I had displayed. 

I couldn’t hold in a moan, especially as he began to suck and lick my skin. 

Needing to take control for a moment, I pushed him back and straddled him, subconsciously letting the mixture of my slick and his cum drip onto his stomach. 

However, he certainly realized this, because his eyes went wide.

“(Y/N),” he said, motioning for me to wait a moment. I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was up to as he raised his knees and pushed me back up onto his thighs. 

He finally revealed himself as he spread my legs, inhaling at the sight. 

Looking down, I finally saw the cum littered across his stomach and waist, and I swallowed before meeting his eyes. 

“You’re drippin’ all over me, dove,” he remarked with a pleased grin, reaching out to thumb my clit. 

I bit my lip and gave out a gentle whine as he did, still observing the cum on his stomach and the cum that continued to fall from my insides. 

“It’s your fault, Mr. Matthews, I’ll have you know that,” I teased, feigning upset and looking away. 

He chuckled, but said nothing as he observed me. I looked back at him, and he had the fondest look in his eye as he continued to gently rub my clit. It wasn’t enough to make me cum, but it was enough to keep me stimulated, and that was his goal.

“(Y/N), you are so beautiful. You oughta be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, right next to my dear Bessie. And I- well I’ve always thought that of you but now- right now, with you sittin’ on my lap as my seed spills out from you… god, you’re beautiful.”

I felt myself soften, and we met halfway to kiss each other. 

“Oh Hosea… I love you,” I whispered, leaning my forehead against his. 

“I love you too, dearest. So much.”

I smiled and kissed him again, gently moving my hips forward and beginning to grind on his penis. 

Hosea jolted as he felt it, sighing out and reaching for my hips as I continued to rock my hips against him, pleasuring myself and helping him grow hard again. 

I was still leaning over him, and he used one hand to hold my hair back as I bucked on him. 

Slowly but surely, I could feel him twitching and growing harder beneath me. Still, I knew he could get harder, and I was determined.

Hosea began to grind against me in response, and the room filled with heavy breathing.

We rocked against each other in sync, and as the tip of his penis bumped my clit, I let out a feral moan, pressing down on him even harder and burying my face in his neck.

Hosea moaned in response and once more began to lap at my neck, making me shiver and moan even more. 

“Sweet girl… look at you, getting yourself off on me. So beautiful… such a good girl, huh?” He soothed, making me whimper and buck my hips faster. 

The friction of his cock against my clit was beginning to drive me wild, and I knew if I continued much longer I’d be finishing within seconds. 

“F-Fuck… Hosea I’m so close…” I whispered, slowly pushing myself up so I could sit up on him and go even faster. 

“I know, dove, I know. You’re doing such a good job,” he praised, hands reaching for my breasts. 

As he fondled, I sighed out in pleasure and reached for his waist to hold myself steady as I continued to grind on him, essentially going as fast as I could. 

“H-Hose-Hosea… I’m not- not hurting you, a-am I?” I got out, though with much struggle, as it occurred to me that such intense friction might actually hurt.

“No, dove, no, you feel wonderful. You’re so wet, so wet for me that it doesn’t hurt a single bit,” he assured, breathing heavily and smiling at me to let me know it truly was alright. 

I nodded, moaning as I continued to grind, and as he teased my nipples. No real sensation came from it, but the attention and the warmth of his hands made it pleasant for me. Not to mention, it provided much needed support as I bounced and bucked on him. 

But that aside, my building pleasure presented itself to me once more, and my moans began to get louder as I got closer. I knew it was only a few more seconds until I came, and so I shut my eyes to keep myself from being overwhelmed. Of course, Hosea protested this. 

“No, dove, look at me. C’mon, look at me. Good girl, there you are, so beautiful,” he gasped, holding his eyes on mine as my brows furrowed even more and my mouth fell open.

“H-Hosea I-I’m-“

“I know, dear. I know, you’re so close. Go on and come for me.”

His command was all I needed as my orgasm hit and I cried out his name with an immense volume, desperately trying to continue my erratic movements but struggling as the pleasure crashed down on me. 

“Hosea! F-Fuck.. Hosea! Fuck… oh fuck.. Hosea,” I cried out, followed by another loud yelp of his name as he picked up the pace of his own hips to prolong my orgasm and bring even more satisfaction.

A loud, desperate moan came from my throat as he continued, and as I came down against his chest I heard boots shuffling above us. 

Either we’d just woken Arthur up, or he’d been up and decided we’d been going for long enough that he needed to escape. 

I panted against Hosea’s chest, in that moment not caring an inch that we’d woken Arthur up, too overwhelmed and happy as I leaned into my husband. 

I was so tired and spent that I could feel my heart pound in my chest, and even more importantly, I could feel my clit pounding too, so sensitive from all the stimulation I’d put it through.

I sighed out, kissing Hosea and rolling over next to him. 

“You done for the night?” He asked, kissing my cheek. 

“No, no. I still need you inside, I just want a little bit before that,” I explained, catching my breath and reaching down to rub his penis as I came back to myself. Hosea moaned and nodded.

“Alright, dove, take your time. You’ve done a real good job for me thus far, I don’t know how you’ve still got any energy,” he chuckled softly, leaning his head into mine.

“I’ve just got determination, and plus, it’s hard to say no when it’s with you,” I said, smirking and kissing him. He laughed into my mouth, slipping his tongue inside and moaning as I did the same. 

Feeling ready, I broke away and observed his face.

“You’re so handsome, Mr. Matthews,” I muttered, kissing his jawline.

“As are you, Mrs. Matthews,” he shot back, grinning. I decided to stop the teasing and get straight to it.

“Where do you want me?”

He raised his eyebrows, still smiling softly and pondering the question. 

“Where would you like to be?”

“I- I don’t know, I’ve got a few ideas,” I said with a shrug. 

“Well, who said we had to stay in one place? What do you want to start with?” He asked, kissing me again. 

“Maybe I’ll get on top while you sit up, we can kiss that way,” I suggested, and he smiled.

“That sounds perfect, dove.”

Accordingly, Hosea sat up and crossed his legs as I climbed into his lap, reaching for his shoulders. 

“You ready?” He asked, hands moving to my hips. I nodded, giving him a sweet peck as I raised myself up, carefully waiting as he reached for himself and searched for a moment. 

As he found my entrance, he pushed in a little, and held himself as he waited for me to take the initiative. 

I slowly lowered myself, adjusting to him again as I sank all the way down with a sigh, slowly rocking my hips on him to stretch my insides out a bit.

“(Y/N)…” he gasped, kissing my shoulder as I wrapped my arms around his neck. 

Slowly, I began to bounce on him, aided by his hands which held me firm. 

“Such a good girl. You feel so good, dove,” he praised, lifting his head so he could capture my lips with his.

It was messy, and we were both panting, which somehow made the kiss even hotter and desperate. 

But we kept our pace slow, just intimately enjoying each other as we fucked. Nearly every inch of skin was pressed together this way, and it felt wonderful.

I began to kiss his neck, sucking there to get him back for the marks he’d most assuredly left. 

He chuckled as he moaned, knowing exactly what I was doing.

“Getting me back, aren’t you?” He mumbled, groaning again as I came down on him with a bit more force than before. 

“And I’m keeping your neckerchief,” I threatened, going back to leaving hickeys on his neck. 

He growled, gripping onto my hips and forcing me to go faster now. 

“Hosea.. fuck,” I muttered, feeling so good as he lifted and lowered my hips, practically doing all the hard work for me. 

His hips began to buck up into me, and I moaned as they did, because he’d begun to hit an entirely new spot, and god it felt wonderful. 

Again, I kissed him, and he wasted no time letting his tongue push into my mouth, making me moan and cry out due to all the stimulation. 

I took some initiative and bounced a bit faster on him, making him groan and snap his hips up against mine. 

We were both a moaning mess, and I moaned even louder as his hands found my ass.

He gave a gentle squeeze before gripping and continuing to take some of the burden off of me, which helped as my knees began to grow sore.

We’d have to switch positions soon, but I was enjoying it now, and that was all that mattered.

Soon kissing became too much, and we had to pull apart to breathe. 

Tension was building my stomach, but not quite enough to make me come, and I knew that.

Nevertheless, I continued to bounce on him, needing the sensations that came with it. 

“Y-You ready to switch yet?” He asked, moaning and giving my ass a small slap. 

I moaned, nodding my head.

“I was going to ask, my knees are getting a bit sore,” I admitted, slowing myself down so we could safely switch up. 

“Any ideas, ma’am?” He asked as I carefully lifted off of his dick, not wanting either of us to get hurt.

“Would you be willing to get behind me?” I asked, to which he smiled and nodded.

“Certainly. Set yourself up where you’d like and I’ll position myself accordingly,” he said, moving aside so I could do whatever I wanted. 

I decided to take up a more relaxing position, laying on my stomach and pushing my legs together as I rested my head on the pillows.

I felt Hosea move behind me, placing a leg on each side of me and lowering himself a bit. 

His hands came to my ass, massaging there as he moved forward a bit to mount me. 

His hands spread me apart, and he positioned himself as he slowly pushed in. There was less resistance this time now that he’d already been inside, and we both moaned out as he entered. 

He gripped my hips to hold himself steady, and he began thrusting, slowly at first, but he picked up quickly as he knew I needed him badly. 

“Fuck… Hosea…” I moaned, raising my head to look at his reflection in the window. 

His hair was messy, and his eyebrows were pushed together in immense pleasure as he fucked me. The sight might’ve been the most arousing thing I’d ever seen. 

Having my legs pressed together made things tighter, and I knew it felt better for both of us this way. 

“God… (Y/N)… you feel so- so good,” he groaned, pounding into me with more force now. 

All I could do in response was moan, gripping the pillow as I cried out. 

The way he was fucking me might’ve produced the most amount of sound yet, both from our mouths and from the cot, which was slamming against the crates as our bodies rocked against each other. 

Hosea suddenly decided to smack my ass, a behavior I’d noticed he’d take up whenever he wanted to get more sound out of me, and I eagerly complied.

“Hosea! O-Oh fuck, Hosea do that again,” I whined, trying to encourage him because I truly did want him to do it again. There was something strangely erotic about him singing praises while smacking me that way, so rough and unhinged. 

Never one to deny me, Hosea eagerly smacked it again, moaning as he did and then instantly massaging it to soothe the aggravated skin. 

I cried out as I felt it, the sound filling my ears and making me even more desperate. 

“Such a good girl, (Y/N). Takin’ me so well as I fuck you and spank you, hm? So good for me, sweet thing,” he murmured, moaning as he finished his praise. 

I whined, nodding and spreading my legs just a little bit to let him go deeper.

He pulled my hips back onto his, and I cried out as he hit my cervix. 

“Fuck! H-Hosea…” I called out, having to bury my face in the pillow for a moment. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asked quickly, slowing his thrusts and getting more gentle. He’d clearly misinterpreted my cry, and I felt bad, immediately reassuring him he’d done something good.

“No! No, you went so deep it knocked that out of me. It felt good, I promise, keep going,” I explained, backing up onto him to encourage him. 

He nodded, leaning down to kiss me and then picking his pace back up. 

Again, I was moaning and gasping as he continued with his relentless pace, making me see stars. 

“So good… so good, Hosea,” I muttered, eyes watering because the pleasure was so intense. He could hear my voice cracking, and he moaned in response, lifting my legs up and placing my hips on his thighs.

The added angle made me gasp, because he’d begun to hit the perfect spot, and my moans had suddenly become two times as loud. 

“Fuck! Hosea- Hosea right there,” I moaned, tears dripping onto my cheeks because it was so overwhelming. 

The unfortunate part was, as good as he felt, I didn’t imagine I’d be able to come without him rubbing my clit, and the position made it difficult for me to do it myself. 

Either way, I’d take this for a while longer because god it felt good when he pounded into me like this. 

His hand came up my back, and I made eye contact with him in the window, legs shaking as he continued to pound into my g-spot. 

He seemed to notice the tears, because he moaned and somehow managed to go even harder, which made more of them fall from my eyes as I cried out.

“Look at you, dove, crying and f-falling apart for me. You’re takin’ me so well, so well, Y-(Y/N),” he managed to choke out, pleasure evident in each word. 

I moaned again, his words washing over me and making me feel so special somehow. Because god, I was falling apart and it was his doing. 

As he continued to pound, I suddenly became nervous he was going to overexert himself as he sometimes did.

I tried to tell myself it was nothing, but I felt his thrusts falter, and I heard a choked wheeze come from his throat, like he was trying to hold it back. 

“Hosea-“

Just as I said his name, he began to cough, and I moved forward so he’d slip out before turning around to face him and help him through it. 

I took him in my arms, petting his head and rubbing his back as he coughed and wheezed. I gave his back a few pats to help it out, and when the coughing passed I felt relieved. He was still wheezing, but the worst of it was when he coughed, because it was always so violent.

“Oh Hosea,” I whispered, burying my face in his neck. 

“I can’t even- can’t even make love to you without wheezing and coughing,” he criticized, catching his breath. 

“You overexerted yourself, that’s all. It’s alright, Hosea,” I tried to assure him, pressing my lips to his cheek.

“Still, I should be able to do that without such troubles. I used to- I mean a few years ago when we-“

“A few years ago we weren’t stuck in a hot, humid swamp. Your lungs are worse here, and either way, you went a little too hard and that’s alright,” I continued, placing my hands on his face so he’d look me in the eyes.

He looked so sad, and it broke my heart. He was right, the cough had gotten worse, but the last thing I was going to do was acknowledge that. 

“(Y/N)-“

“Hosea, you owe me something, don’t you?” I said quickly, changing the subject. He paused for a moment, but forced himself to cheer up and nodded.

“I believe I do. Perhaps we oughta change positions?” He suggested. I nodded, thinking for a moment before pulling him down next to me on the bed and facing away from him. 

He understood instantly, adjusting himself a bit so everything was in the correct place. He reached to lift my leg a little before lining up at my entrance, kissing my shoulder as he did.

He pushed in slowly, and his mouth moved closer to my ear.

“I know I like to pity myself a good deal, and I know you get worried, but when I say things it’s more because I get annoyed- not because I’m- well, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, (Y/N). You know that,” he whispered tenderly, and I swallowed to keep myself from crying. 

“I try to tell myself it’s not a big deal but I- I get so worried sometimes, Hosea. And then I feel guilty for being worried, because I know you don’t want me to be,” I admitted, turning my head to face him. 

He propped himself up on his arm so we were face to face, and his free hand cupped my cheek. 

“I know, dear. I’ll be alright, though. I’ve got something to hold on for, and most of the time you make me feel healthier than I’ve felt in years,” he said, kissing me sweetly and tucking some hair behind my ear.

“I love you, Hosea,” I mumbled, sighing and reaching back for his head. 

“I love you more, dearest.”

He kissed me once more, and he slowly began to thrust, movements sensual and loving as he held me close. 

Our position was intimate, and I felt so cherished pressed up against him the way that I was. 

“So beautiful.. so beautiful, (Y/N),” he muttered, hand reaching for my breasts before coming down to cup my stomach. Hosea had always loved the soft skin there, always loved the intimacy of it and the warmth. Sometimes I let myself wonder how much more he’d love my tummy if I were to ever end up pregnant.

And on the subject of pregnancy, the thought of his cum spilling into me made me more than a bit desperate for him. 

“Hosea… faster,” I whispered after a moment, and he complied as he kissed my neck. 

Hosea moved his hand even further down, and I inhaled sharply as he found my now oversensitive clit. 

“H-Hosea, c-can you be a little gentler? I’m still sensitive,” I said softly, feeling a bit too overstimulated by the direct attention. 

“Sorry, dove.Tell me how this feels,” he whispered, switching from his thumb to his pointer and middle finger so the contact wouldn’t be as direct. 

As he switched, I moaned out, now feeling the perfect amount of sensation. 

“That’s perfect, god, just like that.”

He chuckled, continuing his motions and leaning his head on my shoulder. 

I reached back for his hip, not sure where else to grab as he rocked my body. 

“You want me to go faster?” He asked after a moment, always trying to make me feel as good as he possibly could. 

“Y-Yes, please. I need you,” I gasped, crying out when he eagerly complied and began thrusting at a punishing pace. 

“I love you, (Y/N),” he moaned out, unoccupied hand pushing underneath me and wrapping around so he could hold my breasts. 

“Hosea… I- I love you too,” I managed to choke out, turning my head back to kiss him. 

The kiss was sweet, but there was passion, and it made butterflies fill my stomach all these years later.

Sex with Hosea was no mundane task, it wasn’t just pleasure or fun, it was loving and enriching. There was always the realization that the man inside of me was the man who’d held me during my darkest hours, who’d taken care of me when I was sick, who’d protected me from gunfire and all sorts of animals. I shared so much with Hosea and I felt it so strongly when we made love. 

It was more important to me than anything else, and I’d never forget that. 

When we broke apart he kissed my cheek, and I leaned into him, free hand reaching for the back of his head.

I whined as he gave my clit a bit more attention, and he was careful to watch my reaction. When nothing seemed wrong, he continued with that, and did so with encouragement when I moaned. 

“Hosea- Hosea can you- just a little harder,” I requested, fingers grabbing his silver hair as he granted the request. 

He was pounding so passionately, and his hand was rubbing my clit so purposefully that it was hard not to feel my climax beginning to build. 

This was even more heightened as his leg came between mine, lifting it a little to get a new angle.

That being said, the new angle had him pounding into my g-spot once more, and the noise that escaped my throat let him know that.

“Right there, hm? Such a good girl, you like that, don’t you?” He cooed, unable to hold back a moan as he continued.

“So wet… so wet for me, dove,” he continued with his sweet nothings, making me whimper and whine in response. 

“Hosea- Hosea I want- I want to hear you,” I said, breathing heavily and trying to contain myself for a moment. 

“H-Hear me?”

“Like this.”

I pushed back against him as he thrusted in, and I clenched my vaginal walls tight around him. A long, low moan came from his throat, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I- I see. I’ll be loud for you, dove,” he murmured, thrusting harder as he regained control. 

As we continued, the room filled with moans, cries, and each other’s names. 

I sincerely hoped Arthur was no longer in his room, and I also hoped that the Marston’s were far enough away. 

If they weren’t, I feared Jack would need a talking to. 

“(Y/N)… oh (Y/N),” Hosea gasped, moaning loudly and leaning his head into my neck. 

“Hosea- Hosea I’m getting close,” I cried, orgasm beginning to build.

“So good- so… so good,” he whispered, fingers still working my clit with more than enough experience. 

We moaned in unison, and I leaned back to kiss him. Sloppily, our mouths met, and then they quickly broke apart because neither of us had enough breath for anything more. 

Still hitting my g-spot, Hosea was bringing me more pleasure than I’d ever imagined was possible. I could only recall a few times we’d had such intense sex, which wasn’t even a critique of our other sex, more a praise of the sex we were currently having. 

Though, all forms of intercourse with Hosea were wonderful in their own ways. 

Pulled from my thoughts, I heard another moan, and I wasn’t entirely sure who it came from.

Either way, I also became extremely aware of the fact that the way Hosea was pounding me was extremely loud. My ears seemed to have become used to the loud clapping coming from between us, along with the shaking of the crates. It was truly amazing how loud sex managed to be sometimes.

And of course, the moan from my throat as Hosea increased pressure on my clit made that excruciatingly evident. 

“Fuck! Hosea… oh Hosea.. fuck,” I gasped out, as close to an orgasm as I was to seeing god. 

“You getting c-close? Or s-should we switch up?” He asked, panting and groaning loudly.

“Yes! I’m so- so close, don’t- don’t change a thing,” I told him, shutting my eyes closed because I was so overwhelmed. 

His warm breath was suddenly on my neck, panting and beginning to kiss there, because Hosea knew it was all that I needed to come.

“You’re alright, dove… be a good girl, come for me, hm?” 

My orgasm washed over me, and I was incapable of anything but letting out the loudest moan I’d released all evening. Of course, there were also a slew of cusses and my husband's name. 

“Hosea! F-Fuck! Hosea!” I cried out, gripping his hair and his hip harder than was probably safe, but there was no protest. Instead, he continued to pound into me, moaning and whispering things that I could barely hear.

“So good- such a good girl for me, that’s it… that’s it, good, you’re doing so good,” he praised, thrusts getting slower and sloppier as my vaginal walls clenched and pulsed around him. 

“(Y/N)! O-Oh.. oh, (Y/N)… my sweet thing,” he gasped, collapsing beside me and leaning into my neck. He was no longer thrusting, and his hand was no longer moving. 

I felt his balls twitch, and then the rest of his penis as his cum spilled inside of me. 

We were both panting and trying to regain consciousness, still overwhelmed by the orgasm that we’d both experienced.

“Hosea… oh… Hosea,” I whispered, simply laying there and enjoying the warmth of him. I felt him press a kiss to my neck, sighing contently. 

“You did so good, dove,” he murmured, snuggling close to me. 

“You took such good care of me,” I whispered back, glad we were on top of the blankets because it had become so hot inside. I was fairly certain we’d fogged up the window. 

“Had to prove Micah wrong, the bastard.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“No talking about Micah after sex, I feel too good to think about him,” I sighed, leaning back to kiss Hosea.

“Well said, my love.”

I could feel him beginning to go soft, and he pulled himself out after a moment. 

Reaching over, he grabbed a cloth, and after a moment I felt the soft fabric between my legs and along my thighs, cleaning me up. 

“If it wasn’t so uncomfortable I’d leave it be, I find it so beautiful when my cum’s all over your thighs. Makes ‘em glisten,” he said, and I could hear that he was smiling. 

“I know. I like seeing my slick on you,” I confessed, looking back to see him raise an eyebrow. It also seemed that he’d cleaned himself up in the process. 

“Well, don’t worry yourself, dove. You can think about it next time you see me wear this.”

He raised the cloth that I’d felt, and my eyes went wide to see it was his neckerchief. He’d done this a few times before, mostly because he’d smirk at me whenever I glanced at it hanging around his neck the next day. 

That being said, he’d obviously wash it after that. 

“You’re so incredibly ridiculous, Hosea.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, putting the rag aside and moving to open our window a little. 

I wasn’t surprised that it was cooler outside than it was in our room. 

I turned over onto my other side, facing him and smiling. 

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to close it?”

“No, you’re just so handsome.”

His face went red, and I giggled as I leaned forward to kiss him. He smiled as I did, pulling me close. He’d rolled onto his back now, and I let my head rest on his chest. 

“I love you very much, dove. I hope you know that,” he muttered, closing his eyes as we both began to grow tired.

“I know. I cherish it more than anything. I love you just as much, and I hope you know that,” I replied, also closing my eyes.

“I do. It’s what keeps me going.”

I felt him kiss the top of my head, and I smiled to myself.

“Goodnight, Hosea.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

—————

When I woke up, it was brighter in the room than usual, and I wasn’t surprised to see that I was alone in bed. 

Hosea always had a hard time staying in bed past 6:30, something about it made him restless. In his place I found a note, and I smiled to myself as I read it. 

Goodmorning, dove.

Go ahead and sleep in, I’ll punch Micah myself if he gives you any crap about it. Whenever you want I can make some coffee, but like I said sleep as long as you need, god knows you need it.

Your husband, 

-Hosea

I smiled and began to sit up, but footsteps and voices outside distracted me. Hosea had left the window open, and I naturally got a bit curious.

“Goodmorning, Arthur.”

“Morning, Hosea. Glad it’s a good one for you.”

“Oh come on, what’s so bad about this morning?” Hosea asked, and I could hear it clear in his voice that he was teasing. It seemed we’d both heard Arthur get up last night. 

“Don’t play stupid with me, old man. You know perfectly well what you two did, loud as shit goin’ on for at least an hour. I thought you two would shut up and you never did, had to get up and leave because I couldn’t take it anymore.”

I heard Hosea laugh, and quite loudly too. 

“It’s not funny!”

“Oh Arthur, don’t let me hear you say it made you uncomfortable,” Hosea jested, still laughing to himself.

“You know me, Hosea, I’ve had my share of women and I know you’ve had yours, but Jesus I never wanted to hear it. You two couldn’t have been any quieter?”

More chuckling.

“I’m afraid not, Arthur. Take up all complaints with Miss Grimshaw.”

“I most certainly will!”

Now they both laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself. 

As practically the only steady relationship in camp, it wasn’t the first time we’d been overheard, but Hosea had never made a scene of it. To him, why should he be ashamed? No, to him our sounds were those of affection and it wasn’t something to be ashamed of. 

“Jesus, she gave you those?”

“I gave her two for every one she gave me.”

They were quiet for a moment, and I thought perhaps Arthur had waved him off, but they spoke up again.

“Bet you wish she’d fight Micah more often now, don’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

“What’d he even say to her?”

“Said I kept her up all night with my coughing and wheezing, and that she should ‘be with a man that can still fire his gun’. Maybe you can go and tell him it’s not the coughing and wheezing keeping her up, and that my gun still fires perfectly fine.”

“Will do, Hosea. Will do.”