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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (18/22)

Chapter summary: You navigate your way through your first couple and individual therapy session; Wanda convinces Yelena to see you one last time

Chapter word count: 6.6k | Tags: Therapy, Healing, Comfort | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Welcome to the beginning of the end. P.S. I removed the warning section because there won't be too much angst for the rest of the story. Question is, will therapy be enough to repair R and her relationship with Wanda?

AO3 | Masterlist

Next part: Nineteen

Eighteen

Describing the situation as complex would barely scratch the surface.

Calliope has navigated her way through a myriad of couples' issues, from infidelity to lack of intimacy, to financial disagreements. Most couples she deals with fall into two categories: married and unmarried. Seldom does she come across a pair seeking couples therapy post-divorce, as most married individuals approach her with the intention of averting such an outcome.

Yet, you and Wanda defy convention.

Before the session began, Calliope handed you some forms to complete. The first one was pretty straightforward, requesting basic details like your name, birthday, address, and contact number. The second one was more challenging. It featured an array of questions, from your hobbies and life aspirations to your deepest fears. You spent nearly an hour wrestling with your responses while Wanda had her individual session in another room with Calliope.

Once Wanda emerged from her session, the evidence of her tears was plain to see on her cheeks. Swiftly, she attempted to erase the telltale tracks as you watched, and you instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulder, asking her if she was okay. Wanda assured you that she was, admitting that sessions like these sometimes stirred up unwanted emotions.

Calliope inquired if Wanda felt up to proceeding with the combined session, and Wanda nodded affirmatively, eager to start your journey together. Seeing Wanda's tear-streaked face made you anxious, but you mustered the courage to nod your agreement, informing Calliope that you were willing to give it a shot.

The therapist offered a soft smile, asking both of you to wait for ten minutes while she briefly reviewed the answers on the forms you’ve completed.

And that leads to the present moment, with you and Wanda perched at opposite ends of the sofa, while Calliope observes from a neutral point of view.

Calliope begins with a gentle inquiry, “From what I gather, and from what Wanda has told me in our previous sessions, it appears that trust is the core issue bringing both of you here today, correct?”

Wanda affirms with a nod, but when she looks your way, she finds your gaze fixed intently on Calliope. You lift your hand, prompting a gentle reminder from Calliope.

“There's no need to raise your hand here, Y/N. Feel free to voice your thoughts whenever you wish.” she says.

“Alright,” you say, and then you let your question fly. “How can we ensure this session remains unbiased?” It's a good point, but Wanda can't help but notice your deeper hesitance.

“Can you elaborate, Y/N?”

“You've been acquainted with Wanda for some time now,” you explain, “You've listened to her perspective on...on the issues we've had. How can I be confident that you'll be an impartial mediator in all this?”

“I see where you're coming from,” Calliope responds. “In all of Wanda's sessions, I've never taken sides with her or anyone else involved in her life. You can confirm this with her privately later if you wish. As a professional, I encourage you to question my credentials if at any point you feel your views are not being acknowledged or respected during these sessions.”

You look to Wanda to confirm Calliope’s claims and she offers you a small, reassuring smile.

“Fair enough,” you manage to say, giving Calliope a nod to proceed. The corner of her mouth lifts subtly, acknowledging your permission.

“Before we start, let me ask,” Calliope says, her eyes flicking between you and Wanda, “Where are you both exactly at? Have you officially entered into a relationship?”

You feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks, while Wanda shifts uncomfortably beside you. You’re taken aback by the directness of the question and glance at Wanda, hoping she might take the lead in answering.

Wanda clears her throat. “We've been... intimate,” she says, hesitating for a moment. “Uh, we… haven't put a label on whatever this is.”

“But we’re together,” you chime in, meeting Calliope’s gaze while sensing Wanda’s intense eyes on you. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a hint of a smile on Wanda’s face.

Calliope simply nods. “And living arrangements?”

You and Wanda exchange another look. “Well, we both still have our own apartments,” you say. “But we've been spending nights together, alternating between our places.”

Calliope purses her lips and nods again. She doesn’t comment on any of your answers and it sort of leaves you a little off-balance, wondering what she’s thinking.

“Alright,” Calliope claps her hands together and gets straight to the burning topic. “Going back to why we’re all here: trust. In relationships, trust forms the foundation. When it's damaged, it can feel like the ground beneath you has shifted. But with open, honest conversation and consistent efforts, it can be repaired.”

She looks between you and Wanda. “Let's explore this. How do you both perceive the trust issues in your relationship? There are no right or wrong answers here, just your feelings and experiences.”

Wanda looks at you nervously. She knows you’re the one who’s been grappling with the concept, and although it was poised for the both of you, it’s obviously a question for you.

“So, it's my problem, isn't it?” you start off, managing a dry chuckle. “Guess there's no sugarcoating that.”

You glance over at Wanda before continuing. “When Wanda...when she was unfaithful, suddenly, I was doubting everything—our past, our present, and especially our future.”

Calliope interjects gently, “Is that why you went ahead with the divorce proceedings immediately?”

Your gaze snaps to Calliope, taken aback by her knowledge about the swift divorce proceedings, before you quickly remember that Wanda must have divulged this information earlier.

“I was blinded by rage and hurt, and it was the only thing that would put me together at that time. I… I wanted to retaliate. If that makes sense?” you say. Wanda remains silent, her eyes downcast as your words fill the room.

Calliope observes this and then turns her attention to Wanda. “And how did you react, Wanda, when the divorce proceedings were initiated?” she prompts.

Wanda takes a deep breath, her fingers nervously fiddling with a thread on her sleeve. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally responds. “I...I felt lost," she admits, her voice shaky. "I knew I had hurt Y/N terribly, but the reality of divorce...it hit me hard.”

“And so hard that you promptly agreed to it, didn't you?” you retort with a touch of sarcasm that you’re unable to hide. Before this session, you had reached a truce of sorts with Wanda, and your feelings for her had found a serene lull. But dredging up the past in this setting had reignited unpleasant feelings, making it difficult for you to keep the lingering bitterness at bay when it comes to her cheating.

“I tried to reach out to you, begged for you to talk to me. But you had already left, we didn't get a chance to fully discuss everything. You wouldn't even respond to me unless it was about the divorce,” Wanda explains, her voice filled with regret. “I didn't want to make it even tougher for you when it seemed like all you wanted was to get away from me. You only seemed to relax around me a little when I agreed to the divorce.”

You bite your lower lip as you relive those tumultuous weeks. Those were the days when Wanda consistently tried to reach out, and you responded only when you were having a 'good' day.

A 'good' day was when you managed to get out of your room, shower, and eat an entire cup of oatmeal. The 'bad' days were characterized by either weeping yourself to sleep or drinking so heavily that you blacked out before dinner time.

Up to this day, you have no idea how you survived that.

“Is that true, Y/N?” Calliope asks.

You nod, acknowledging the truth of it. You were a hard one to handle, and you made sure to drive Wanda to give you what you desired back then.

An uncomfortable silence follows your wordless answer, stretching on until Wanda musters the courage to break it.

“And, I mean, I thought we were... okay. Not perfect, but okay enough that it wasn't as painful, that we weren't crying every single day, that we weren't hurting all the time. But it feels like we're still stuck. I still love you, you still love me, and... we're still in pain,” Wanda's words tumble out, caught in a choke.

Your heart clenches at her words, and you covertly look at Wanda from your peripheral vision. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is really a good idea. If maybe, digging into this would just mean digging both of your own graves in the end.

Calliope remains quiet and gives you both a moment before speaking again.

“What if we start from there? From the love that still remains?” she suggests gently. “Let's try to rebuild the trust from that foundation. Would that be agreeable to both of you?”

Your gaze shifts towards Wanda and you swallow, clearing the tightness in your throat.

“Like I said before,” you tell Wanda. “I can't guarantee that I won't lash out, or that I'll always be level-headed–”

“I understand, Y/N–”

“–And with that said, I want you to be yourself, Wanda. I don't want you to suppress anything because of me—out of some obligation to spare my feelings.” you say.

Wanda averts her gaze to the floor, understanding the point you're trying to make. Riddled with guilt, she's been prioritizing your feelings above all else.

“I promise I’ll be honest with my feelings.” Wanda promises. You smile in response and then turn to Calliope.

“Alright, I'm willing to try," you murmur, your voice slightly raspy.

Calliope gives you both an encouraging look, “I recommend we commit to an initial 8 sessions and we’ll begin from next week. I'll provide you with some materials and exercises that might help you to communicate your feelings more effectively in these sessions and with each other. Remember, this is a journey and it's perfectly fine to take small steps. And sometimes we may even have to take a couple of steps back. Are you okay with that?”

You sigh in relief at the mention that the real sessions won’t be happening until next week. You wanted to prepare and internalize things so that you can at least have some control over your emotions.

“Btw, Y/N, are you open to talk for a couple of minutes? I just want to go over some of your answers in the form.”

“Sure.”

Wanda gives you an apologetic look. “I have to return to the cafe. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you, uhm–I’ll call later, okay?”

With a swift movement, Wanda leans in to give you a peck on the cheek, which you reciprocate somewhat awkwardly. She then bids Calliope goodbye and departs from the room.

Once Wanda leaves, there's a moment of silence as Calliope collects her thoughts. You gulp nervously, attempting to recall what you’ve written in those forms, but surprisingly, your mind draws a blank.

“Y/N, I appreciate your honesty in today's session,” she begins, her voice gentle yet firm. “Now, I just want to go over some of your responses in the questionnaire. There were a few areas where you mentioned feeling constant anxiety and bouts of anger. Do you think this is connected to the issues with Wanda, or has it been something you've been dealing with for longer?”

You hesitate for a moment, thinking back on the past few months. “I'm not sure,” you confess. “Ever since the incident, I guess I've just been in a state of constant confusion and anger. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it.”

“I see, it can be challenging to sort through your thoughts and emotions to identify the precise triggers for these feelings, especially considering you've been grappling with them for a while now. That's perfectly fine. Let's start with something more straightforward. How are you feeling right now?”

“I feel...conflicted,” you say slowly, the words spilling out with a weight you can't ignore. “Before coming here, I thought I was 100% ready to tackle everything, because I'm hopeful for what this therapy can bring us, but the thought of reliving Wanda's betrayal...it scares me. I don't want to harbor resentment, but I can't deny that it's still there, lying dormant. I still can't understand how she could do that to us.”

“Understand or accept?”

You shoot Calliope a puzzled look. That's a new perspective for you. The idea that maybe trying to understand is a lost cause, and the real battle is with accepting it.

“I… I don’t know,” you say.

“That’s okay, we can tackle it some other time. Anything else?”

Your fingers drum against your knee, a nervous tick you've developed recently. “And then there's Yelena...I feel guilty about my own actions towards her. I know I betrayed her, and that only adds to the guilt of being with Wanda,... of choosing her.”

Your gaze shifts to Calliope as you continue, “Then there's this lingering thought of...timing. Are we rushing into this, trying to mend things so soon? I just... I don’t know.”

Taking in your words with a thoughtful expression, Calliope gently asks, “Given all these doubts and uncertainties you've just mentioned, Y/N, could you tell me why you agreed to attend these couple's counseling sessions with Wanda?”

You smile a little at the question. This is something you can easily answer.

“I’ve spent a year wrestling with my feelings for her, only to cause pain to someone else in the process because I was unable to face the reality that I’m still in love with Wanda. I believe I always will be,” you admit, rubbing at your temples. “I know she hurt me and what she did was terrible. I was angry and... and I still am, to a certain extent. But, underneath all that, I still care about her. I want us to be able to talk about everything, to deal with our issues together.”

“But more than anything,” you continue, staring at your hands, “I'm tired of trying to figure it all out by myself. So when Wanda suggested getting professional help, it felt like a new opportunity for me. A new way to... break out of this maze, this cage.”

Your words linger in the silence while Calliope takes a moment to digest them. Eventually, she nods and says, “Y/N, I think that's a great reason to be here. I’m glad to know you’re here because you want to and not out of some obligation to someone. We'll dig into these issues more in our upcoming sessions. I think we've covered enough for now.”

“How am I doing so far?” you ask.

“You’re doing great,” Calliope assures you with a smile.

The clock ticks loudly in the background as Calliope wraps up the session. As you rise from your seat, a wave of exhaustion washes over you. It's only the first day, and yet you already feel drained.

“I hope it wasn't too overwhelming for you, Y/N,” Calliope says. “I'm aware it's a lot to handle.”

“Overwhelming might be an understatement,” you joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

“The first step is always the hardest. I'll see you next week, okay?”

With that, you walk out of the office, a hint of new hope stirring within you. As you step into the dimming sunlight, you take a deep breath of fresh air. Pulling out your phone, you dial Wanda's number.

This journey's going to be a slog, but maybe, just maybe, it'll all pay off in the end.

***

Sunlight paints a warm tableau over the organized chaos of Yelena's workstation.

A simple wooden desk houses a practical computer, a pot of pens, and a few scattered notebooks. Personal knick-knacks—a journalist's badge, a group photo, and a tongue-in-cheek “World's Best Journalist” trophy from her colleagues—sit next to her actual recent award, the Sidney plaque. These items add a personal flavor to the otherwise no-nonsense setup.

Yelena leans back, letting her eyes wander over the space she's called her own for the past couple of years. The office buzzes quiet chatter, the quick tapping of keys, and the odd ring of a telephone. It's been like a second home to her. It's where she made sense of complicated narratives and pieced together shards of truth.

As her fingers trace the edges of the plaque, her mind drifts back to the day it became hers. A faint smile pulls at her lips, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She wishes she could have celebrated that victory with someone who once held a special place in her life, but now only resides in bittersweet memories.

Busy gathering her belongings and tucking away the sentimental reminders of her time here, Yelena is interrupted by a figure stepping into her cubicle. It's the last person she expected to see on her last day at work.

“Wanda?” Yelena questions, surprise quickly morphing into unease.

“Heard it was your last day,” Wanda says, her gaze unflinching.

“How did you track me down?”

“I have my ways, too,” Wanda answers with a sheepish smile.

“Sure,” Yelena shoots back, hastily stuffing her files into a box and crossing her arms in a defensive posture. “What brings you here, then?”

Wanda seems to falter for a second, then lets out a sigh. “I wanted to talk about Y/N.”

Yelena's heart tightens at the sound of your name. For weeks, she's tried to bury any memories of you—the good, the bad, the utterly heartbreaking. The absolute last thing she needs right now is a deep-dive into you, especially not with Wanda.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Yelena pushes back, her voice edged. You were always a mistake. She was just too bull-headed to admit it.

“I know it’s too much of a thing to ask, but I need your help.” she says. “The way you two left things broke her. It's affecting her more than you think, and I thought you would want to know that.”

“Whatever happened between me and Y/N... our breakup, it's none of your business, Wanda. And honestly, after she clearly picked you, I'm surprised you have the nerve to come ask me for help.”

“I didn't come here because I wanted to, Yelena. And I know I’m being selfish, but… she needs help. And as much as it pains me to say it, I can't do it on my own,” Wanda admits, her face open and sincere.

Yelena's torn between her recent heartache and the residual feelings she has for you. The Sidney Award on her desk seems to taunt her, reminding her of what she'd achieved even when her personal life was falling apart. It was a symbol of her resilience and her capacity to move forward, even when life was doing its best to push her back.

“Fine,” she finally relents, leveling her gaze at Wanda. “But let's get one thing straight. This is the last time we're having this discussion. The last time I’m talking to any one of you. After today, I don’t want to see you or her.”

Though a little relieved, Wanda nods sadly. “Understood.”

***

The city lights are a comforting blur as you make your way back to your apartment after a long day.

You’ve just hung up the phone with Wanda, who told you she'd be working late at the café tonight. They're revamping the menu, and she's eager to experiment with new recipes.

“That's great, Wands,” you’ve told her, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite the fatigue seeping into your bones. “Call me later when you get home, okay? Can't wait to sample those new dishes.”

Upon reaching your apartment and fitting the key into the lock, you notice the door is already unlatched. Warning bells sound off in your head, and you tentatively swing the door open, your senses heightened.

What greets you freezes you in your tracks. Perched on the couch, looking just as startled to see you as you are her, is Yelena.

Her appearance brings a rush of memories and emotions, making your heart pound in your chest. Of all places, the last spot you anticipated seeing her was in your apartment, particularly given how things ended between you two.

Your last memory of Yelena in your apartment includes her hurriedly collecting her things, desperate to get away from you as fast as she could. You felt like a monster she was fleeing.

Truth be told, you still feel that way.

“Yelena,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper as you shut the door behind you. You throw your keys onto the counter, not tearing your eyes away from her. You're apprehensive that one wrong move might scare her off before you have a chance to voice all the things you've been longing to tell her.

“Y/N,” Yelena echoes, her voice as tender as it was during those nights she used to comfort you. There's an intensity in her green eyes that you've always found captivating. Now, it just makes you feel more uneasy. She stands, smoothing her jeans, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Why are you here?” you ask, inhaling deeply to steady yourself. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, the material pressing into your skin, grounding you in the moment.

Yelena sighs, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. But I… I still have the keys so I just let myself in and waited for you to come home.”

“You still have the keys…” you repeat, your voice fading as you digest her words.

“Yes,” Yelena admits. Her tone is apologetic, but her gaze doesn't waver. “I've been meaning to return them, but I didn't know how to face you.” However, if Yelena were to be truly honest, there were plenty of opportunities for her to return the keys. Maybe she was holding onto them because it was the last string that tied her to you.

Silence engulfs the room as you both just study each other for a moment. You weren't quite sure what you'd expect to see the next time you saw her, but she seems to be doing alright, looking as stunning as she always does.

Finally, you find your voice. “What brings you here now, Yelena?” you ask, not unkindly–there’s only surprise, a potent shock from her sudden presence, a confrontation you're utterly unprepared for.

She draws in a deep breath, bracing herself. “I'm here because... because I spoke to Wanda," she starts, her words instantly triggering a wave of ice-cold shock coursing through your veins. “Well, she came to me.”

“I kinda see now why it’s so impossible for you to get over her.” she adds, punctuated by a faint laugh, which resonates more like a sorrowful sigh–one of the most desolate sounds you've ever heard.

You see the uncertainty in Yelena's eyes, and it makes your heart ache.

“I… I didn't send Wanda to you,” you clarify gently. “I wouldn’t–”

“I know, Y/N. I know you didn't,” she cuts you off, her eyes fixated on the wall behind you. “I was shocked when Wanda showed up. I wasn't sure... I'm still not sure if coming here was the right thing to do.”

Then she lifts her gaze, their depths, swirling with sadness, locked onto yours. You feel like you're being swallowed into a pit of despair. “After talking to Wanda, I realized I needed closure, Y/N,” she confesses. “And maybe you do too.”

Your chest tightens at the truth in her words. Yes, you both need closure, but knowing it and doing something about it are two different things, and you're not sure what to say.

The space around you suddenly feels smaller, each sound–your shallow breaths, the tick of the clock, the rustle of your clothes–seems louder in the silence that follows.

“I...I don't even know where to start,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “In all those weeks, when I was trying to contact you, I didn't really have a clear thought of what I wanted to say. But what I do know is that I owe you an apology for the rest of my life.”

Yelena’s face softens at that. It’s horrifying to imagine someone apologizing to her for all their days. It’s not what she wants at all.

Seeking something to anchor you, you head towards the kitchen and retrieve a bottle of wine from the cabinet. As you pour wine into two glasses, you feel the weight of Yelena's gaze on you. It's as if she's trying to read your every thought, every intention.

“I'm sorry, Yelena,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “I… honestly, I’ve got nothing better to say. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

You extend the wine glass towards Yelena, and she accepts it swiftly, taking a hearty sip. A sense of déjà vu envelops you as you watch her. How many nights had you spent like this in the past? Sharing a drink, talking until the wee hours of the morning, figuring out your thoughts, your emotions.

Now, they're just… gone.

“I don't need your apology,” she begins evenly, despite the pain that flashes in her eyes. “I know you're sorry. I can see it, I can hear it. But what I need, what I want to understand, is why... why you entered a relationship with me when you were still in love with Wanda. Why you lied straight to my face when you said you didn't love her anymore.”

The question hits home, and you’ve been asking it yourself since you kissed Wanda that night. It's a question that has haunted you through more sleepless nights than you can count.

“I... I was horrible to Wanda,” you sigh, finishing your wine on the second sip. “What I did, how I treated her... I thought that meant I didn't love her anymore. My actions told me I didn't love her. But the truth is, I was just angry. I was hurt, and I acted out in the worst possible way. I was, you could say, in denial.”

Your eyes flicker to Yelena, catching the flash of hurt that crosses her face. You press on, your heart heavy. “It took me some time, but I realized that underneath all the anger and the hurt, my love for Wanda never died. It was there, just... buried. I'm so sorry, Yelena, for dragging you into my mess. You didn't deserve any of it.”

“Did you ever love me?” Yelena asks, a tear slipping from the corner of her eyes. “Because it felt like you did. Maybe it wasn’t intentional, but it was there. We were happy… at least I thought we were.”

“I did love you, Yelena. I mean, I still do,” you confess, your voice low but firm. “But perhaps not in the way you deserved, not in the way I loved you before you left for the UK and–and before I met Wanda.”

Your hands fumble with the empty wine glass. “I was so confused, so hurt. You were there for me, and I... I took advantage of that. And I'm sorry.”

Yelena makes a futile attempt to swipe away another tear that trickles down her cheek. But the tears are relentless, persistently rolling down one after the other, soon overwhelming her attempts to keep them at bay.

“We were happy,” you confirm softly as you look away. “And I will always cherish those moments with you. They’re the only silver lining in the fucking hell I went through the past year. I… I never meant to hurt you, Yelena. I wanted–”

I wanted it to be you, the words almost escape you. And it would’ve been the worst thing you’ll ever say to her.

“But I wasn't, was it?” Yelena cuts in, as if reading your mind, her voice a choked whisper. She stands abruptly, pushing her chair back. “I was just... I was a placeholder, wasn't I? A distraction from your feelings for Wanda.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. You're silent for a moment, struggling to find words.

“I...I didn't intend for it to be like that, Yelena. I didn't,” you finally manage to say. “I wasn't fair to you and I am so sorry for that.”

Yelena nods, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. She moves to her purse and pulls out a familiar keychain, placing it on the table in front of you. The keys to this apartment you once shared, this home you had together.

“When I came here, I thought it wouldn't hurt as much, but it does,” she says, her voice strained. “I'm sorry it didn't work out, Y/N.”

“Me too,” you respond, your eyes fixed on the keys. You can feel a lump forming in your throat, making it harder to swallow.

Before she steps towards the door, you find your voice once more. “Yelena?”

She pauses, turning to look at you.

“Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me?” you ask.

She gazes at you for a moment, her green eyes filled with a world of sadness. Then, she simply shrugs and turns to the door. “I don't know, Y/N. I just... I don't know.”

With that, she leaves, the apartment door closing behind her with a soft click that echoes painfully through the room.

***

“Hey, sis,” Pietro's tired face appears on her phone screen. It's been a while since Wanda last spoke to him. They decided to take a break from each other amicably, canceling their plans for the past week and the week before.

He was upset about Wanda seeing you again, and she had a feeling he was the one who told you about her hospitalization—the one thing she made him promise never to reveal.

“Piet,” Wanda's voice is softer than she intended, the sight of her brother filling her with a mix of relief and apprehension. “It's been a while.”

“Yeah,” Pietro agrees, running a hand through his hair which is surprisingly back to its natural chestnut hue. “Sorry about that, by the way. I was a bit... heated.”

“That's one way to put it,” Wanda replies, her laugh forced and hollow. She studies her brother, his features softened by the faint glow from his screen. Despite their recent falling out, there's a comfort in seeing him again, a balm to a part of her she hadn't even realized was hurting.

Pietro huffs out a breath, scratching at his scruffy chin. “So… How are you doing, Wands?”

“Doing well, actually,” Wanda replies, her voice holding a certain calmness she didn't feel. “Though I think before anything, there’s something I need to ask you.”

A wary look flashes across Pietro's face, but he gives her a nod to proceed.

“Did you send that picture of me in the hospital to Y/N?”

For a moment, Pietro is quiet, the playfulness that usually shines in his eyes replaced by a kind of grave understanding. He sighs heavily before speaking.

“Yes. Look, I'm sorry, Wanda. Maybe it wasn't my place to send it,” Pietro says, the lines on his forehead deepening with unease. “But Y/N needed to understand the consequences of her actions, her effect on you.”

“She didn’t force me to do anything, Piet. I chose to take the pills–”

“But she took advantage of you. She knew how far you would go for her forgiveness. She’s not blameless,” Pietro interrupts, firm in his convictions. “And she needed to face the reality of her actions. It could be for her own good too–have you considered that?”

Processing his words, Wanda remains silent for a beat. When she finally speaks, her voice is laced with resignation. “I suppose you have a point.”

“How did Y/N react?” Pietro asks, his voice careful but insistent, as if treading on fragile ground. He's still not sure if what he did was right, but the fact that his sister hasn’t gone ballistic on him proves to be a good sign.

“She was... horrified, to say the least,” Wanda reveals, a tremble creeping into her voice. "She felt guilty, and she took some responsibility. But we... we also decided that we're not going to let our past control our future."

Pietro raises his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.

“We're giving our relationship another shot. But this time, we're going about it differently,” she explains. “We're attending therapy. Together.”

“Really? And how's that working out?” Pietro questions, his features softening.

“It's...tricky,” Wanda admits, her fingers idly twirling a loose thread on her blanket. “But it's a step forward.”

“I suppose... that's all I can hope for,” he concedes. “But Wanda, you need to make a promise to me.”

“What is it?” she stumbles over her words a bit, her heartbeat quickening.

“You have to promise me that if things don't work out, you won't let it drag you down,” he implores, his eyes betraying his vulnerability. "You've made so much progress, Wanda. And I... I can't stand to see you get hurt again."

“I promise,” she whispers. “I'm not the same person I was before. Whatever happens, it won’t erase the growth I've experienced over these months.”

“Good,” Pietro finally breathes out, visibly relaxing at her assurance.

There's a pause before his eyes regain their usual playful glint. “Alright, sis, we're still on for Christmas in LA, aren't we?”

She chuckles softly, the sound still a bit watery from their talk.

“Yes, Piet, I am still coming to LA for Christmas,” Wanda confirms, before hesitating a second later. “And, um, I was wondering if… if Y/N could come with me?"

Pietro is silent for a moment, and Wanda finds herself holding her breath. She can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“You're serious about this, aren't you?” His voice finally cuts through the silence, but it's devoid of any hints towards his own thoughts.

“I am,” Wanda affirms. It was important for her that Pietro understood this, even if he wasn't fully on board. She knew her brother had his reservations, but this was something she needed.

Pietro exhales, a small chuckle slipping out. “Okay, counter-proposal,” he begins, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If you're dragging Y/N to LA, then I get to bring mom.”

At that, Wanda goes still. She had been estranged from their mother for a while now, her relationship with her complicated at best. But she knew how important family was to Pietro, and if she was asking him to accept you into their tight-knit circle, it was only fair that she did the same.

Now that she's making meaningful strides with you, she can start to tackle other parts of her life that have been quietly burdening her for years. Perhaps it's time to revisit those letters her mother has been sending. Maybe even write her back if she’s brave enough.

After a moment, Wanda finally speaks. “Okay,” she whispers, nodding to herself more than him. “Okay, we've got a deal.”

Pietro's laugh is loud and full of relief. “Awesome,” he grins. “It's a Christmas of reconciliation, then.”

With a few more parting words and a promise to see him soon, Wanda ends the call.

It feels like she’s just crossed one hurdle. The rest, she'd take one step at a time.

***

Dear Mom,

It's been a long time since we last spoke. And, well, a lot has happened.

I've been doing a lot of work on myself lately. I've been seeing a therapist and I've been trying to sort through all these emotions that I've kept locked away for so long. The loss of dad, the hurt when you left Pietro and me... it's been tough, but I'm getting through it. I hope you've found peace wherever you are too.

Pietro and I are planning a quiet little Christmas get-together in LA, and he suggested we invite you. After some thought, I agree.

This letter isn't going to fix all the hurt or mend the broken bridges between us. Some days it feels like our relationship is just a distant memory.

But maybe it’s a start.

I'm ready to try, if you are.

Sincerely,

Wanda

Wanda's eyes lingers over the letter she just finished drafting, a silent war waging within her over whether to send it or not. But before she can talk herself out of it, she briskly folds the paper into neat thirds and slips it into an envelope. She pens her mother's address on the front with a surprising calmness.

Just as she’s sealing the envelope, a sudden knock on the door snaps her out of her reverie.

She rises from her seat, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as she moves to answer the door. Her breath catches as she finds you standing on her doorstep, looking thoroughly disheveled under the soft, dim hallway lighting. Before she can utter a word, you close the distance between you, pulling her into a desperate hug.

“Y/N...” Wanda breathes out, frozen in surprise for a moment. But then, her arms automatically wrap around your form, pulling you closer.

She can feel your body shaking slightly, a sign that something is terribly wrong. Concerned, she pulls away just enough to look at you, cupping your face gently with her hands.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks, worry etched into her features. “Talk to me.”

With a soft murmur, you say a single name: “Yelena.” Instinctively, Wanda’s hold around you tightens. She hadn’t anticipated that Yelena would approach you so soon after their conversation earlier in the day, considering Yelena's initial reluctance to Wanda's request.

“Can I stay here tonight?” you ask, your voice barely more than a muffled whisper against the fabric of Wanda's shirt, which is slowly growing damp from your unrestrained tears.

“Absolutely,” Wanda replies softly, “Stay as long as you need.”

Wanda gently guides you through the apartment, leading you into the quiet comfort of her bedroom. The familiar softness of the bed and the comforting scent of the sheets, still perfumed with her, feels like the safest place on earth—exactly where you need to be.

Tenderly, she tucks you into the bed, pulling the comforter all the way to your chin. Your heavy-lidded eyes, burdened by the day's challenges, gaze at her while she lovingly brushes away stray strands of hair from your face.

Your response is to merely nuzzle closer to her, comforted by the soft strokes of her hand along your face.

Wanda begins to withdraw, intending to give you space, but she halts, looking down at you. “I... I'm sorry. About Yelena, I–”

“Don't, Wanda.” you interrupt gently, your fingers curling around hers.

She pauses, her eyes searching yours, her mouth opening as though to argue, but your words come before she has a chance. “Thank you,” you express, tears pooling in your eyes.

Your voice softens as you struggle with the next request, your gaze on her becoming almost pleading. “Can you… can you just... stay with me?”

Wanda catches the full weight of your request—it's not just her presence you're seeking, not just for this night. It's a plea she also yearns to make to you, but she understands that it's not the time for that yet.

She simply nods in response, slipping under the covers next to you. Her arm encircles you, drawing you closer into her warm embrace.

And so, you hold onto her throughout the night, never letting go.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #pietro maximoff

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 9 months ago

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Midnight Espresso [Podfic Version]

Happiest of birthdays to SPN FanFic Pond member @zepskies (Zeppelin_Skies on AO3)! I’m honored she enjoyed my take on her story “Smoke Eater” (Chapter 1) enough to pick another narration for her birthday gift prize! This go-round, I’m tackling “Midnight Espresso.” I apologize in advance for my Spanish! Dean would not be impressed. But, all that aside, it’s a great hunters-to-lovers fic. Have a listen!

Visit the story on tumblr or AO3 and don’t forget to give it some love!

Learn more about SPN FanFic Pond and become a part of this amazing community of fanfic writers and readers: https://spnfanficpond.tumblr.com

~ Sandra

~~~~~

Supernatural Fandom

Rated Mature (NSFW)

Dean Winchester/Reader

Summary:

You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

[Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader]

~~~~~

Subject Matter Disclaimer: This podfic contains adult material of a sexual and graphic nature. Listener discretion is advised, and be mindful of the tags. Feel free to hop out of the backseat if that’s not your thing. Dean won’t hold it against you. More than likely, he or Sam or some other SPN character or any number of character combinations will be too busy holding other things against others to give it a second thought. If you’ve buckled up and are ready for the drive, please check your Bluetooth connections and/or plug in those headphones before the engine starts.

By proceeding, you understand that @idlingintheimpalapodcast is not responsible for any embarrassment, cringe, or adverse consequences that may occur as a result of the listener failing to conduct these checks.

#spn fanfic #podfic #dean winchester x reader #spnfanficpond #idling in the impala #podcast

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faejilly · 10 months ago

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20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @shadoedseptmbr ages and ages ago

tagging uh... i have no fucking clue. anyone who writes! no pressure! please blame me! @fancytrinkets @la-muerta @leahazel @jadesabre301 & ?!?!?

1: How many works do you have on AO3?

178 fics, since this is a fic writer meme.

2: What's your total AO3 wordcount?

1,193,590, with the caveat that that includes a collab fic of 190,409 words of which I was primarily writing only one of three POV characters. (And also one other shorter collab and the minimal amount of words required to describe the podfic/fanmixes.)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Shadowhunters (TV) atm, a lot of BioWare Games (especially Dragon Age 2) and then a truly random smattering of smaller games and tiny!fandom prompts back when askbox games were more common here plus Yuletide/Fic Exchange Matches On Unexpected Things. (I think I've broken 20 fandoms on AO3, depending on how one counts the various DA sub-fandoms.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

These are all Shadowhunters and Malec fics. The first three are complete, the last two are WIPs.

two are halves of one

My only posted 5+1 fic, a series of outsider perspectives on Alec & Magnus & their very long day of denied cuddles/alone time. 😅

i cannot touch because they are too near

Parabatai Feels & Magic Lore! I wrote this for a Season 3B countdown event, and it's Magnus Being A Nerd and trying to figure out how this parabatai thing works. I snuck Jace and Michael Wayland feels in there kind of sideways too. I do think it's one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written (epistolary! melancholy comfort! No Plot!) with many thanks to @rutherinahobbit because she helped me land the ending.

with an if in its soul

So I killed Alec off-screen right before the fic starts, and proceeded to keep poor Magnus very upset about it for the following 22k words. (It gets better! I promise! No one stays dead!) I got many angry and wailing comments, I have never been so proud. (This one suffered from very dramatic scope creep while I was trying to write it, which amused tumblr a lot, and this time I have to thank @poemsfromthealley for helping to make it work. And also the blurb, because I just could not figure out how to post it for ages.)

i am for you

Epistolary!Fluff Fic that was supposed to be a bit of a missed connection thing for @pameluke but Alec instead proposed to Magnus on first sight and I just kind of went with that instead. /I am not in charge of the voices in my head

It is the first fic I ever had really break containment and get a lot of engagement/comments/subs/etc. It has been out-kudosed now, obviously as it's #4 on this list, but that's only because I killed the momentum and never finished it. 😅😅😅 ISTFG I am going to finish it some day though!

if broken hearts were whole

From a soulmates/massage combined prompt meme thing ALSO for @pameluke. I got stuck on this one largely because I had three different prequel/s1 retellings in my head at the same time and I kind of tangled them all up too much to get any of them done. I will eventually figure this one out too, but I may have to finish one of the other things to sort of clean my brain out, and I haven't managed that either.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

In theory? I got hung up on a comment from an FTH bidder the year I failed to finish my FTH fic, and didn't want to reply to their comment 'til I wrote their fic?

which doesn't make much sense, but brains are weird, so there we are

someday I'll answer the backlong. it's only like two or three years at this point? 😅😭🤣

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

so about uh... five years ago? there was a really popular gifset format from an Elizabeth Hewer poem called in one timeline and I haven't the faintest idea how to gifset so I wrote a fic for Malec instead. [ao3]

I have written other things which Have Angst, but for me I tend to ease the ending... this is one of the few where I didn't.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Everything Else! (Almost)

I think, as an exercise in the true form of Happily Ever After, I'd have to go with Fine Feathers, which is an epilogue to a Georgette Heyer Regency Romance novel I did for Yuletide 2016.

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Not usually. I don't even get people yelling at me to update on my WIPs, which may be hateful but isn't the same thing 😅

/and I'm certainly not complaining about either of these things, but I wish I knew how I avoided The Discourse™️so I could do it on purpose

9. Do you write smut?

I used to pretty regularly. I was even known as a smut!fic writer when Dragon Age Fandom and I were mutually more active together. Not so much (on either the writing quantity or the requests for more smut) for Shadowhunters.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Mostly no? I did two very short ficlets for Bingo Squares. I do still believe that Leverage is the Fix-It Fandom that fits everywhere and thus only kind-of counts as a crossover, plus I wrote a Shadowhunters / Inception bit with Ariadne as a Warlock.

I do also enjoy a good fusion fic, aka using a different canon as an AU setting, rather than combining characters from two settings.

For example: Shadowhunters Characters as BAU Agents from Criminal Minds!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of? I've seen it happen to co-authors though, and other friends

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I am still stunned and amazed and delighted by this!

Batty_Blue translated several of my Shadowhunters fics into Russian:

a flower of always i cannot touch because they are too near trust your heart ashes of angels / ashes of roses

And Pomyluna translated 'First Choice' into Polish

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes!

Only once successfully (aka one and done and finished and posted), and that was entirely thanks to my co-author Raph. 😅 (Against All Odds for @galedekarios back when I knew her as Chignon on an actual forum prior to tumblr. She's who got me onto tumblr, so if you met me here? That's her fault. 🥰)

I have started things with people a few times that never got posted, and there's a massive Mass Effect retelling on potentially permanent hiatus, though all three of us do hold out hope that someday our lives will align again. (Persephone Rising)

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

Me & Sleep

(Sorry, can't do it, can't choose. Beware My Armada. With a couple ancient ship leviathans which can raise themselves from the deep with the slightest provocation.)

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Every thing I have ever posted (except for 12 Moons) is something that I do in fact hold out hope I will eventually finish.

Things I have not started posting are too numerous to count and/or list. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they are fertilizer for other things that will be written later.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

Dialogue and hopeful melancholy? I get a lot of compliments on emotion/mood, and I do feel like I am usually pleased with the, idk, vibes of most of what I write.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Plot & structure! What is? How do? What do you mean I have to have things happen rather than just reacting all the time?!?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have done it with mixed success and there are definitely ways to do it more accessibly than I did. It can add a lot, but you do have to think about the execution.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Uh. I think Lois & Clark back when I was a teen!jilly. Either that or Sailormoon when I was a slightly older teen!jilly?

In terms of posting in public, it was Bioware something, either Mass Effect or Dragon Age: Origins back around when Thing 2 was born. And he's 14 now, so... 😅

Orion's Belt, I think? I didn't originally post it on AO3, and then I deleted myself off the internet for awhile, and then I re-uploaded everything, and I'm bad at time in the best of circumstances, which that clearly was not, so it might not have been that one specifically but it was close.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I CAN'T CHOSE JUST ONE WTF

As a formative event/process, I have a certain enduring fondness for Lost for Words, which was like the first fic I really wrote while in fandom... I was social about it and posted while I was writing and finished (eventually) and it is still the longest single story I have ever written. (Tho I am for you will beat it out when I finish that.)

It's not particuarly good from the perspective of who I am as a writer some dozen years later, but it's sincerely meant cotton candy, at least. 🤣

#jilly spam #on writing #writing memery

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cirqosmos · 1 year ago

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As of 12 Jan, 2024 — I won't be exhaustively tagging everything in my works to avoid possible spoilers (except for certain warnings that I do not see as a spoiler, or major warnings in the masterlist) that may ruin the element of surprise, but a further rating method I created will be implemented for reader discretion. My expectation is that you, as the reader, will use your best judgement regarding your reading experience after reading this post.

[ content. ]

Explanation, things I write about.

My usage of disclaimer/content warning/reader discretion.

My rating method ; the four suits.

— explanation, things I write about.

I'm mainly a dark author, and partly experimenting other genres/stuffs like fluff, as my navigation post suggests. But the dominant part of my project blog consists of dark unsettling tones. So I assume my readers know by default that I depict dark stories in graphic detail. It's a big part of my work. Part of my writing style includes descriptive imagery when I see fit.

If reading about any of these makes you uncomfortable, then my work will not be to your taste.

; yandere × noncon; toxicity; mental health issues/disorders (depression, dissociative identity disorder, psychopathic, sociopath, narcissistic, etc), self harming, depression; abuse (human/animal, pet) ; incest; sexual themes surrounding minors; pedophilia (only for my mcs and ocs); gore; cannibalism; suicide/murder (self immolation, strangling, varieties usage of weapons including knives, etc.); heavy blood/gore.

— my usage of disclaimer/content warning/reader discretion.

In my masterlist or oneshots, you will see a disclaimer along the lines of the following:

“By proceeding to read my works after checking the dictionary of suits, you've accepted and agreed that you may see anything listed respectively under the four suits.”

“This work/project has incorporated elements/scenes that some readers may found extremely distressing & upsetting. But the author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.”

“See respective installments for relevant warnings where applicable — Stories published on this blog are not exhaustively tagged for their entire content to prevent spoilers. See here and proceed at your own risk.”

Major warnings are always included in the masterlist of a particular work, and I do not repeatedly warn for them in the chapters. It spoils the entire thing: As I've said before, my intention is not to blindside anybody, and my main concern always has to do with spoiling and ruining potential twists.

I will be tagging accordingly but not exhaustively which then brings us to the rating method I've created.

— my rating method of content/reader discretion.

a method I've carefully thought of to tackle down the troubles of addressing specific tags for the events/scenes in a episodic format and/or oneshot. guidelines;

[ method ; cards of suits. 「♤♡♧♢」 ]

♤♡♧♢ : each suit corresponds to their respective warnings.

a single suit could appear in episodes that has the following warnings;events;elements—a combination of them is pretty explanatory—it gives you a slight clue/heads-up on what a story may contain/what you can expect.

the amount of a particular suit in a rating determines the fatality; ( ♤ ) indicates a low-tier warning, but a (♤♤) is a high-tier. ⇆ 「♡♡♧♢♢」 indicates that a particular scene has grown into a volume of an extremely upsetting, triggering, and disturbing events, which may not be suitable for some readers.

for example, classic lovesick episode 8's rating may contain 「♡♤♢」 ; you may check the dictionary of a particular/combination of suits. To sum it up, the suits will provide you a slight heads-up/clue on what may appear but not exactly what, and so the element of surprise are still preserved. I believe this still creates a reader discretion all while creating an air of suspense and shock. Subjectively, it's the same as playing a survival death game, but by knowing through a tall board across from you listed with a "what may happen;cause/method of your death" if you ever fail rather than being given an exact list/or knowing nothing about it and/or, which increases the suspense, fear, and danger.

Of course, not everyone shares the same opinion! But it was through this belief that I resorted to this rating method. After reading all that, please proceed to the dictionary.

Mainly inspired by @/cb97percent since i share the same perspective as her regarding that, some of the sentences/paragraphs here belongs to her, i only revised most of it into my own words! The rating method are entirely mine, inspired by Alice in Borderland if you're curious.

Please use your best judgement regarding consuming my work. If you do not see my rating method as a sufficient method to guide your reading experience, then by all means, you are free not to read my work. I appreciate you respecting my choices as an author, and thank you very much for showing interest in my work.

signed on 12 jan 2024! ✒️

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8-8itartistries · 2 years ago

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🌸 8-8it Artistries Newspost - (4/18/23) 🌸

Previous Newsposts; 🌸 (11/15/23) (November Newspost/Last of 2022) https://www.tumblr.com/8-8itartistries/701041565071769600/8-8it-artistries-newspost-111522?source=share

🌸 (3/19/23) (Initial Tweet Announcing Hiatus) https://twitter.com/8_8itArtistries/status/1637622747315720193?s=20 If you haven’t already, I recommend reading the above posts. Below I will be going into further detail regarding my further business plans and haitus. TWs may be applicable for the post below, as I will be discussing some sensitive subjects. Specific tags will be in the tags.

As far as 8-8itArtistries go, I will be holding off on reopening commissions until I finish a large portion of the ones I already have. Work will NOT be resumed until I have moved into my own apartment and returned from the psychiatric hospital, this means that your commission will take an undefinable amount of time to complete. You are able to request cancellations at this point, but I unfortunately will be unable to issue any refunds. As it stands, my fursuit commissions have cost me more money than I was paid for them, and while i still intend on delivering the lot of them, this will take a long time with my current financial situation. Again, no commissions (Not even illustrations) will be able to be worked on while I am in hospital/recovery. If you have questions or concerns please send them my way. As far as my hiatus goes, I will be leaving for hospital any day now, most likely after the 20th.. I will be potentially cut off from all forms of technology for 5 weeks to several months, depending on the state of care that I need. Since I have been in the emergency room about four times since the beginning of the year, for self-harm and anorexia, me and my care team have decided that inpatient treatment is currently the best option for me. I will either be staying in a generalized longer term psychiatric hospital or transferred to a specialty clinic for my now severe eating disorder. The first hospital doesn't allow technology, and I’m unsure about the second. No one will be monitoring my accounts while I’m gone, I’m hopeful you understand the necessity of this hiatus. I’ve been in awful condition mentally for as long as i can remember, but since september its become out of my control. We are lucky that I manage to remain alive after everything, and I’d like to keep that up, however I can’t do that without intensive professional help. My anorexia has proceeded to the point where I am unable to digest most solid foods, and i’ve most likely got anorexia gastroparesis, which means I most likely will be tube fed for the indefinite future. My suicidality and self-harm issues have become chronic and all of these combined are incredibly dangerous for my mortality. I will be informing when I am entering hospital and when I am leaving, again my accounts will not be monitored while I am gone. Thank you for understanding.

#TW psychiatric hospitalization #TW hospitalization #TW self harm #TW emergency room #TW eating disorders #8-8it Artistries #8-8it #8-8itarts #news post #blog #furry artist #fursuit maker

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tealeves · 2 years ago

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15 Questions/Get to Know Me ask game tagged by @elizabethrobertajones

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not anyone real. I’m named after both an anime character and a star wars EU character.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Today. Lol. Things are rough.

3. Do you have kids?

Oh god no, I’m too young. Someday I’d like them though, maybe, if I get through my own trauma and find a partner who wants them too. If not then I’ll just have two cats.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

oh, not at all.

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

Mostly solo stuff - I did track and field for a year and discovered that my knees are fucked, and I did archery for I think two years after that, which ruled.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

Probably what they’re wearing! I love looking for cool outfits. Adidas slides make me cringe though (sorry)

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

False binary. I like both at different times and in different contexts.

8. Any special talents?

Ahahahaha...uh... probably writing, both fic and academic. I get a weird amount of compliments and accolades. A shocking amount of people say my fic reads like poetry, hence the username...

9. Where were you born?

Utah. Ew.

10. What are your hobbies?

Bookbinding, writing, cooking, knitting, reading.

11. Do you have any pets?

Yes! I have a cat named Clio, though my parents have kind of stolen him from me. :(

12. How tall are you?

6ft

13. Fave subject in school?

English and History. I then proceeded to get a degree in History, and now I’m sick to death of it.

14. Dream job?

I’m studying to be a librarian, which I’m very happy about. It’s an excellent combination of teaching/literature/community service.

15. Eye color?

Boring brown.

I don’t really feel comfortable tagging anyone....sorry....

#cyborg rambles

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psycheetamore · 1 month ago

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Choosing to follow destiny

Chapter 23 - It is my birthday and I will cry if I want to

Pre notes with this chapter: please mind the tags, as Feyd-Rautha is ANGRY. First published on AO3

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, the typical Feyd tags (smut, violance, non-con/rape etc), imaginary suicide, see for full tags: chapter 1 - the author regrets nothing

Word count: 2.3k

Link to previous chapter

+++

By the end of the evening, Yaina escorted Shadi to his rooms. Upon opening the door, the crown-prince said: “I very much enjoyed your company and our conversation this evening, lady Yaina. You brought me many new insights. But you must be dead tired. I know I in any case am, for which I have our delightful exchanges to blame” as he smiled benevolently. “I have no use for a guard or a companion in this state. Please, I wish you go to bed. I will see you tomorrow, all fresh and with new ideas. I am already looking forward to it” as he kissed her hand to bid her goodnight.

Yaina made a bow, instructed the guards to keep the perimeter secure and left for her own chambers.

Walking down the stairs to her own room, she could not help but reflect on the evening that had passed. She had met the crown-prince, who despite all rumours had appeared to be a reasonable and agreeable person. She had seen proof that Paul and Bakyi were still alive, and received a message from the latter she was still to read in the safety of her own quarters. She had noticed Feyd-Rautha’s anger radiating from every part of his body, for nobody to see but her, directed at nobody but her, to be received by nobody but her. Inside Yaina an unfruitful combination of happiness, hope and fear started to interact.

While she proceeded to her chambers, her mind went back to Paul. She had only seen a glimpse of him, so there was not much to go on. He looked unharmed, tired and surprised. It must have been a shock for him, to learn that his fellow Fremen warrior was a woman all this time. Surely, he would have heard the stories by now of what she had done with Rabban. She hoped the rumours did her justice, and made him proud rather than cause him to despise her. Bakyi looked his same old self. Not fazed by anything, expressing a fatherly warmth that she had so dearly missed. How she longed to hug both of them. Speak with them about their friends in Arrakis, tell them what happened here. How she had tried to improve an understanding within the na-Baron on what Fremen needed. How she was offered safe passage back home, and wanted to discuss new plans. How she longed to be back home again, in the waterless deserts of Arrakis.

One thing was sure, her life would take a completely different turn by the end of the festivities. It was up to her to decide which turn. She would use these days to determine her future.

With these thoughts she closed the door to her dark and silent chambers behind her, to start her evening ritual.

Trying to get some rest before the upcoming day that would sure be no less eventful than this day.

She turned around to find her mouth and nose covered by a hand, in the process also securing her arm closely to her body, with the assailants other arm reaching over her midriff fixing her other arm. She was hoisted up. Her instinctive wiggling, bucking and kicking did not help to get her out of this position. The hold was too strong, and the person anticipated her every move.

Adrenaline rushed through her body. Whatever this person wanted to do, they would at a certain moment need to release her, allowing her room to recoup and defend. She was still armed. The only thing she needed to ensure was that she would conserve her breath and energy for long enough to reach that moment.

Her breathing needed to be controlled. Fear was not allowed to overwhelm her. The best thing to do now is to become dead weight. That would take as little fuel from her as possible, while making it more difficult to hold her.

She was carried deeper into her room. This meant she would either stay here or be brought to the balcony. She tried to look around to see whether other people were in her chambers, or to find any other clues of what was going on.

With a steady pace they entered her bedroom. Her mind started running with what was to happen. Although the Harkonnen guards could be incompetent at times, the level of security had been increased drastically with all the foreigners coming to the castle. Chances were that this was someone who knew her and who could get access to these rooms. This was no accident.

She had closed the door of the crown-prince’s place of rest herself, so it was unlikely that he was here. It would also have meant he would have found a quicker way to get here. On the other hand: he was known for his unholy likings, and given that the Baron as much as had gifted her to him, he could see her as fair game. It did not even need to be him himself, it could also be one of his guards.

It could also be Paul or Bakyi. They already managed to wiggle their way into the palace, so perhaps they also managed to bribe themselves into her room. This would be an unexpected approach, unnecessary. Unless they felt betrayed by her. But when they glimpsed, that was not the feeling she got. By now they would have made themselves known to her.

The Baron could also have decided to have her overcome like this, to receive an update, to punish her for not being in Shadi’s room now, to show her who is in charge. She needed to come up with a good answer to that; how she was making progress, but needed to keep him on his toes to hold on to his interest. A man like that does not like an easy win, even if they don’t want to put in the truly required effort. Apart from that, there was not much else that she could do, if this scenario were to be the case.

There also was a fourth option. The man that had been agitated the entire evening, and even before. The man that had tried to kill her to prevent the mere prospect of what could happen this week. She had lost track of him earlier during the party, although she noticed every time that she found him his eyes were on her. And these eyes did not radiate love or other pleasant feelings. She had seen a side of him she should have known was there, but never expected to actually see or be victim to. Allowing himself to get attached to something or someone with so much force, it would make him vulnerable, as it turned out recently. He had promised her that he would not try to kill him again, while she had promised him that she would keep Shadi away from her physique. Knowing her promise was not a true oath, the revelation came flying into her head whether she could expect him to hold his promise. Her heartrate immediately went up even further. Of all scenario’s, this was by far the most dangerous one.

She would soon know which possibility was true, as she found herself thrown on her stomach on her bed. Before she could turn around or grab her daggers, her assailant had pushed their hand on her back: “lay still.”

A familiar voice. Who else could this have been than Feyd-Rautha.

“Feyd, why?” she started to say, as he laid his entire frame on her and said: “be still” while holding her still and biting her neck. “I need to know you are still mine. I need you to know that you will never be someone else’s.”

“Feyd” she said anxiously with the bit of air remaining in her lungs, as his weight prevented her from breathing easily, hoping to appease him. Her heart had jumped to her throat, she needed to breath, often and deep, to replenish the air she had missed. But she couldn’t. His response was to grab her throat and threateningly speak in her ears: “be quiet.” In his voice she heard violence, but also fear. She felt his heart pumping through his hands. He had been aggravated the entire day, and was now losing it. He needed to feel in control. He needed this.

He removed his hands as he pushed himself up, resulting in her regaining control over her arms and arms again, ways to defend herself and room to decide whether she would undergo whatever he had to give to her or would fight him. She thought of the odds. He was beside himself. There was no telling what would happen. She wanted to survive, and the question was whether opposing his urges would increase her odds or not. She decided to succumb, under two conditions: she would not die, and he would never find the note Bakyi gave her. The note was still tucked away in one of the holders of her daggers. For the time being safely.

“I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave” he breathed heavily. Speaking more to himself than to her.

Her dress was being torn from the bottom to present her behind to him. Beautifully crafted with precious materials, yet destroyed carelessly in seconds. His hands caressed the scar he had left on her bottom. He pinched it, pressed it, kissed it. He must by now have seen all the weapons she carried in her belt and around her legs. All remained untouched. He was clearly not scared of how she would respond. In the back of her mind a thought popped up that he may be trying to provoke her, to injure him. To injure him lethally. But that would be out of character for him.

Yaina did not yet know that would be the last tenderness she would get from the na-Baron that night.

She felt his hands shove her panties to the side to make room for him and heard him spit. Never before had she taken him, or rather - had he taken her, unprepared. “Feyd!” she screeched. He replied dryly: “it will fit” as he pushed her legs apart with his, pulled her folds apart to position himself and thrashed himself in her. It hurt like hell. It was too small, too dry. It did not fit, he just forced himself in her. Her walls were struggling to adapt, while he hit himself against her cervix painfully and repeatedly. Pangs of pain ran through her body, as if she was being touched by sandpaper. It felt like her insides were torn from her body and pushed back in again. She screamed his name again, multiple times, now in agony. He no longer prevented her from speaking and growled: “yes, say my name, scream my name, cry my name. I will teach you to never have another name leave your lips while you are being fucked” as he pounded in her relentlessly, with his arms holding her shoulders still.

After a few thrusts, he moaned, now with less anger in his voice: “you are still so tight, so raw. Nobody has touched you today. Good girl” as he continued to bite her, while also clawing and pinching her body. She could not imagine this did not hurt him as well, but then again, she knew he craved pain every now and then. And he clearly wanted to leave marks. How would she cover this up, how would she prevent this from deterring Shadi. He was doing this deliberately. Unknowingly messing up her plan of return. And she could not phantom going through this every night until the guests left.

He pulled her up on her hands and knees, and continued to thrust into her. With all her strength she managed to cope a bit better, and with her body starting to adapt way too slowly, she started to withstand this. This allowed her to gather her thoughts. He must have been waiting here for a while, naked or nearly unclothed, prepared to ambush her. What would he have done to her if she did not return to her chambers, but set out to do what the Baron had demanded? He was already so upset now, she could not even begin to imagine how distraught he would be then.

With one hand he held her hips and with the other he hit her buttocks as hard as he could, red, nearly tearing skin as he shouted: “you are mine. I will not share you. I am the only one who can fuck you. No-one else can come near you. I will fucking kill them. Only my seed will fill your belly. You will bear only my children. No-one’s else!”

As her body adapted to what he having her endure, he was allowed to go in deeper. The pain continued, although changing forms. While dropping her head in remorse, she wept his name, to which he responded by grabbing her hair, pushing her face in the matrass, and forcing himself even deeper in her. He panted in her ear: “once your belly is blossoming with my child, nobody will even think about touching you. My ultimate claim on you. This will protect you from any male gaze.”

For what it was worth, he was not set on killing her. In a weird way that was a relief. And progress given what happened a few days ago.

He withdrew his hand from her head and returned it to join his other hand at her hips. A few last shoves made him come. After he had rode out his wave, he leaned over her again to growl while squeezing her throat: “you will stay put like this until all my sperm is absorbed inside of you and found its new home”, vanishing in the shadows of the night, leaving Yaina fazed on what just happened.

+++

Link to next chapter

Post notes with this chapter: the man is psychotic, no way around it. Nudge to Labyrinth.

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feral for feyd #dune part 2 #ao3 fanfic #feyd rautha is physically imposing #feyd rautha smut

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jadegreensworld · 8 months ago

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Always keep your eyes open when you are yard saling or thrift shopping. You never know what you'll find.

I found that hematite necklace at a thrift shop for $4. $4! The entire necklace is hematite! I have many options ~ I can keep it as is and wear it. I can take it apart and make several things from it ~ a different necklace, multiple necklaces, keychains, earrings, bracelets, or any combination of these. Here's an idea! I could make my very own pendulum! Now, that's a thought!

I love making pendulums, they are so much fun!

The bracelet, I found at another thrift shop. This one I found a little differently. Before I entered the shop, I told my guides that I was looking for crystals and asked if they would help me find some. I proceeded to enter the thrift shop with my hubby, and as I was looking around, I glanced through the two towers of jewelry as I walked by.

Every time I walked by, I'd look through the towers, but it was pretty fast. I realized on one pass by the towers, that I was being 'directed' to the towers. This time I took my time to really look through every piece of jewelry. I became excited when I noticed this bracelet! The first thing I noticed was the beautiful amethyst. The second thing I noticed is that it had a total of six crystals in it. Six! I immediately thanked my guides and checked the price tag. $2, it was only $2! I was so excited!

The amethyst and turquoise are the only ones that I really recognize, so I'm going to do some research on the rest of them. If and when I find out what they are and you'd like to know, leave a comment, and I'll make another post about it.

NOTE: Always, always remember to cleanse your crystals before using them. Charging them would be great, too!

#crystals #thrifting #thrift shops #yard sales #amethyst #hematite

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archive-double-knots · 2 years ago

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@plasticsouled THE LAST TAG MADE ME SNORT YES OMG PLS AKJGNKEJAGN

April made the shirts. They are fully handmade. she wrote the letters, she sewed them together. She didn't ask if roland wanted one, she just shoved it in his arms.

Caroline's entire face darkened when she saw the shirt. Her mood was incredibly soured when she saw that april had roped roland into this. Caroline proceeded to try and negotiate with april to take it off. Apparently, attempting to indoctrinate people into the caroline fanclub was worth more than any potion that Caroline could have stolen from Sugar and Yew combined.

April has begun trying to get other people to wear the shirts too.

#you may think you're a unicorn; || caroline&april;#--; this is a serious hc #--; this is a serious blog #--; but also this is 100000% canon #--; a.pril has indeed given the shirts to the princesses #--; she has also passed them out to many critters of teh forest

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dextixer · 6 months ago

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Oh please, you dont want actual criticism, the fandom never did.

When i made full on criticism analysis threads my threads got screenshoted and posted here on tumblr, when i didnt even have a tumblr account. This resulted in people from tumblr insulting me, going into my reddit threads to try and start shit.

When i made analysis and criticism threads i was called a fascist, a homophobe and various other names, when a female critic decided to throw their hat into the ring, their names were combined with derogatory names like "bitches" and on reddit, literally nothing is done about that.

Hbomber is a widely respected and well researched critic of various media and politics, his work has been shat on by the fandom for YEARS now.

RWDE only exists because people in it were told they were not welcome in the main tag, and once it started existing anti-RWDE formed to try and harass RWDE posters INSTANTLY.

I could write tens of thousands of words to outline just how much the RWBY community has done to stifle criticism, mention the bans, how fans are allowed to be as insulting as they wish to critics while critics have to be as soft as possible to not get banned. But i wont, instead i will finish with this.

You do not want criticism, you never did. The RWBY Fandom has done all it could do destroy criticism. Critical Youtubers are treated as devils, insulted constantly, receive racist and misogynistic attacks. Any outsider that comes into the show and does not share the opinions that fandom does gets harassed away. The tumblr tag that was created to stay away from the RWBY tag has constantly been under attack by people like you. Any legitimate criticism has always been dismissed, maligned, and misrepresented by people like you.

This picture alone says a thousand words. The "worst takes" here are either things that critics NEVER said or are things that are completely decontextualized or intentionally misrepresented, there is no good faith here, no honesty.

So i will repeat. You do not want legitimate criticism. You never did. At best you want controled opposition that will give some light minor criticism that you could then excuse, nothing more.

Dont pretend that you care about criticism or want it to exist. No one will fall for your obvious concern trolling, not when you are literally using a tag that only exists because people wanted to harass people in the RWDE tag, a tag that people like you could BLOCK but NEVER do.

Another example comes from you. When you made that whole "RWDE will now cry that the show is over because they have literally nothing else in their lives" post. Many people told you that they actually have multiple other hobbies besides talking about RWBY, since talking about RWBY doesnt even take a lot of time. You then proceeded to say that, no they have no other hobbies and must hate RWBY every second of their lives.

You yourself are an example of why the RWBY fandom does not want criticism. All you want is to attack people, to feel "morally righteous". Nothing more. But hey, let me guess, me making this reblog will make me "obsessed" or something.

I think the biggest mistake the rwby fandom made was not create a space for actual criticism for fans to discuss because the rwby critics and rwde are not it

Those spaces have only gotten worse as years have gone by and it’s gotten so bad that most posts these days are just daily bumbleby hate (like on the subreddit) and centered around stalking accounts, screenshotting posts and posting it to their Reddit or tumblr to make fun of fans and at times all gather to harass them. You barely see any posts of quality criticism on there and I feel like as fans we really lead people astray for only giving them those spaces to talk about their critiques when it’s not a good place at all to have a fair discussion when you don’t hate the show or think the writing overall is horribly written, but still acknowledge it has flaws

#rwby #rwde #anti rwde

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nazezdha321 · 5 years ago

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Okay so a lot of my friends are asking me about my fanfic writing tips and I thought someone else might want see them. Here, then, are my personal 9 tips for aspiring fanfic writers.

1. You always get better with time. The first thing I wrote? It sucked. One of my recent works? It’s legitimately one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. The more you learn about and practice writing, the better you are at it. It’s just that simple.

2. Your favorites are not going to be everyone else’s favorites. That does not mean you should not be proud of your works. Your successes are measured partially by kudos, sure, but mostly by what you think about your fics. Some of the fics I’ve written that I love are fics that haven’t been recognized with a lot of kudos and I’m fine with that because I’m proud of myself for writing them.

3. Comments. Oh god. Comments have the potential to ruin someone’s day and the potential to make it. That’s an enormous power. First of all, do not hesitate to delete plain negativity. However, you should accept concrit (constructive criticism). It can sometimes be hard to distinguish negativity and concrit, so my advice is always to respond politely. Most of the time, the person who wrote the comment will respond, and that will usually be a pretty clear indicator of whether it’s concrit or negativity. Explain your choices, if you feel you need to, and acknowledge them if they have a point. For commenters - please remember that authors are people too!! If it’s a kind comment, especially if it points out specific details, I like to respond something along the lines of ‘thank you for reading and commenting’ as well as specifically addressing parts of their comment, but you don’t need to.

4. Write what you want to read. Writers, fanfic or otherwise, have great power. Use it. Also, people often put prompts on Tumblr, so look around and see what you find!

5. Do your research! It helps with the Fandom Imposter Syndrome (as is referred to by Sanctuaria, one of the authors on Ao3), as well as making your characters less OOC. Also, including a scientific explanation is pretty cool because it adds a level of reality to your work - of course, if all else fails, we can always include a ‘space magic device.’ If you’re going to quote a movie/book/TV show/whatever, go back and rewatch/reread/whatever the scene to make absolutely sure you got the quote right!

6. Adding on to that, read a lot of other fics, and go back to the source material and read/watch/listen to it for inspiration. Also, think of critical plot points where a character has to make a tough decision. The ‘what if they made the other choice’ is both popular and entertaining to read, if done well. Inspiration for writing comes from everywhere - including real life.

7. Get a beta, or put your fic through Grammarly or proofread it yourself! Grammar and spelling mistakes make your fic less enjoyable. My beta is my sister, but I usually put my fic in Grammarly as well. Proofeading it yourself is not highly recommended because our brains suck at picking out our own mistakes. It’s fine if you have a few mistakes here and there - we’re all human - but it’s really distracting to have errors all. over. the. place. Lots of people find betas online, and lots of people have their IRL friends and family beta. It just depends on your preference. You can have multiple betas, if you like.

8. Get to know the site you’re on! This probably goes along with do your research, but this is incredibly important so it gets it’s own paragraph. For instance, on Ao3 (Archive Of Our Own) writers put tags for relationships on their work. The & symbol means it’s a platonic or otherwise non-romantic and non-sexual relationship. The / symbol mean it’s either a romantic and/or sexual relationship, not platonic. I cannot tell you how many times these get confused (and reasonably so!). People often filter out relationships based on the & and / symbols on Ao3, so make sure you get them right. You should always, always make sure you understand how to tag something before you post it. (This goes for all sites, of course, but I’ve never posted anything on another site so if you’re a ff.net or Wattpad user, feel free to add to this).

9. Have fun!

If I missed anything or you’d like to add your tips and tricks, I encourage anyone to reblog and add to this!

#tips and tricks #fanfic writing #fanfic tips #fanfic writing tips #any combination of the proceeding tags

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margowritesthings · 2 years ago

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The Greatest Gift A Cowboy Could Ask For

a @rdrevents winter gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x pregnant!f!reader word count: 3215 words warnings: teeth-rotting fluff, pregnant reader, labour, birth a/n: Bea! i cannot BELIEVE i got you for my winter exchange but i was SO HAPPY when the email came through! I tried to combine all three of your prompts and then proceeded to lie to you for a month about what i was writing for gift exchange whoops

anyway, merry christmas my love! this year i met you and im so glad i did! you're such a lovely soul and such a talented writer and i hope you enjoy this!! <3

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @reaveries @elifsukirdaghehe @musicallisto

It’s the smell that wakes you up, that sweet aroma you instantly recognise as drinking chocolate. For a moment, it disorients you, because Pearson never has drinking chocolate in, but your eyelashes soon flutter open and your mind registers that you’re right where you should be: yours and Arthur’s shared tent. You’re alone, the bed beside you cold enough to know that Arthur has been up for a while, so you reach over to the gold pocket watch you stole from that poker player with the shifty eyes in Blackwater all those months back, finding the time to be 37 minutes past 9.

“Shit…” You’ve slept in. Normally, you’d lurch up, throwing on your boots and clothes and rushing out to catch up on chores, but you physically can’t anymore. Your swollen belly restricts any and all quick movements, that usual ache waking up and settling right in your spine. It’ll stay there all day, it always does nowadays.

It’ll be worth it, you reassure yourself, imagining Arthur holding his child, the one you made with him, in those big strong arms, loving it unconditionally, and the ache somehow doesn’t seem so bad, after all. There’s a weird feeling that remains that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you can ignore it enough to get on with your day, you think.

Slowly, you sit up, wrapping a woollen blanket around your shoulders to protect you from the chill of the December air. When Ms. Grimshaw found out you were pregnant, she hounded Dutch until he set you and Arthur a proper tent up, which your eyes scan over now. The cup of chocolate is still steaming and when you wrap your hands around it, the heat radiates through your hands and settles in your core when you sip. It tastes so good, the rarity of such a treat only making it better. You smile to yourself, picturing Arthur leaving it there for you to wake up with and sneaking around as to not wake you, the big old brute.

It takes you far too long to get ready nowadays, but in time you do, pulling three pairs of socks over your swollen ankles to protect your feet from the cold. Your boots are tricky to get on thanks to your 8 month bump, but you eventually manage to do it and stand up all by yourself. What a morning of achievement. And all before 10AM… just about.

═══════☆═══════

The snow crunches under your feet as you pull your coat tighter around you and step outside onto Horseshoe Overlook. Your breath dances in the air whenever you exhale while surveying the camp and your brows knit together when you don’t spot Arthur. You can see his horse by the hitching posts, munching from the trough, but Diesel, your own steed, is nowhere to be seen. You’re not concerned, Arthur has started alternating between Diesel and his mare since you became too pregnant to ride him yourself, but that doesn’t stop you from missing the both of them.

“Auntie y/n!” As usual, you hear Jack before you see him and you just about jump out of your skin when you feel his little arms hug around your leg. You have no idea how he manages to sneak up on you every damn time, and by god does it make you nervous for when your own child can crawl out of sight, but you laugh nonetheless, ruffling his hair like you so often do when you see him.

“Y’alright there, Jack?” You look down to the boy, actually having to peer over your belly to see him beaming up at you.

“Yep! Santa’s coming tomorrow and mama said if I’m good and I put one of my socks outside tonight I’ll get presents.” He’s so excited he can hardly stay still, releasing his hold on you to shuffle from foot to foot restlessly. Looking at Jack, you can see your future. You see Arthur reading Christmas stories to your own son or daughter before bed and bribing them with presents every time they misbehave in the entire month of December. The magic of Christmas is alight in Jack’s innocent little eyes, unburdened by any of the shit the adult members of the Van der Linde gang have to worry about. And you just can’t wait to share that magic with your own little family.

“Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly at Jack, crossing your arms and resting them on your belly gently,

“Uh huh! She said we have to leave room at the hitchin’ post for his reindeer, too. I told Uncle Arthur so he leaves space when he gets back with Diesel.” Now he’s stepped back, you can see just how red the tip of Jack’s nose is, despite the four scarves Abigail seems to have wrapped him in.

“You saw Uncle Arthur this mornin’?” Your curiosity piques at the mention of your husband and his curious ongoings. Jack nods, but looks off to the side, much less eager to talk about this subject.

“Uh huh. But he made me promise not to tell you where he went.” He can’t seem to fight off the smile pulling at his near-blue lips and it's goddamn adorable, but it doesn’t stop you from at least attempting to corrupt this child’s promise, planting your hands on your hips.

“Oh, yeah? What about if I had a word with Santa for you, huh? Ask if he can bring ya’ an extra chocolate bar?”

So this is what it’s come to, huh?

Bribing a 10 year old…

Forshame, Mrs. Morgan.

═══════☆═══════

It’s another hour before you find out where Arthur is. Jack doesn’t break under interrogation and you make a mental note to let his Uncle Dutch know what an asset he is to the gang. Pearson makes you bacon and eggs even though you missed breakfast on orders from both Arthur and Grimshaw to never let you go hungry in your condition. The strange feeling from when you woke up doesn’t seem to budge even with a full stomach, but that thought is pushed out of your head when you see a dog, covered in snow, burst past Charles keeping watch and come barreling towards you. You don’t have time to react or figure out what the hell is going on before there are wet paws on your lap and a fluffy, panting smile only inches away from your face.

“MOOSE! Get back here, Moose!” Arthur’s voice bellows through the camp and you can hear Diesel's gallop, but you can’t seem to see anything but dog as the hound in front of you grabs the last piece of bacon from your plate and begins licking your face.

Somehow, Arthur runs over to you and grabs who you assume to be Moose, picking him up with an ease that only his strong arms could take. You seem to be frozen in shock, your mind working triple speed to catch up with your surroundings.

Okay, what can you feel?

My face is wet.

What can you see?

My husband, holding a 50lb dog like it’s a baby.

What about smell?

Not sure, but it definitely isn’t my last piece of bacon.

“God, darlin’, are you alright? Did he hurt’cha?” Arthur’s concern is evident, wrinkling his forehead with worry as he puts the dog back on the floor, who has considerably calmed now that there is no more bacon. Arthur takes a few strides before he’s in front of you, kneeling beside you to take your face in his huge gloved hands and wildly scan his eyes over your features.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. The only casualty was my breakfast.” At 8 months pregnant, it’s hard not to find that completely and utterly tragic, but at least your baby is safe.

“That damn dog… I should’a listened when the guy told me he’s got a mind of his own.” Satisfied of a lack of wounds to your person, Arthur stands, holding out both hands to help you up too. You fall into his embrace perfectly, finally feeling the relief of the first contact with your beloved for the day. It makes everything feel that much better, that much safer in his arms that you hum contentedly.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers into your hair, placing a kiss right atop your head, “Good morning…” you sigh out, basking in the bubble that’s forming around the two of you, as if you’re the only ones in the world. “Thanks for the chocolate this morning.”

“My pleasure.”

You both stay there for a while, swaying in your embrace, until you eye what’s going on around you and have to break the moment.

“...Arthur?” “Yeah?” “Why is there a dog eatin’ one of Dutch’s books?” “Ah shit… Moose! NO.” Arthur all but barks, his arms slipping from your waist to retrieve Moose. He slips a rope around Moose’s collar, which seems to calm him quite a bit, enough to be able to lead him back over to you. Now the excitement has died down, Moose sits beside Arthur, doting up at you with the epitome of ‘puppy dog eyes’.

Alright… it’s pretty damn cute.

And when Arthur sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, you know he’s yours. You can read your husband like a book.

“I, uh… The other month y’said you’ve always wanted a dog, and I figured it'd be easier to get a dog then a baby rather than the other way around and… and well you’re giving me so much this year, more than I can ever repay and… well, merry christmas, Mrs. Morgan.” His nervous ramblings that only you seem to have the ability to enable are a pleasure to watch. They grow your grin by the second, as does the goofiest dog you’ve ever seen smiling up at you. You’re so happy you could burst, though you certainly wouldn’t want to in your state. You’re completely speechless for a second.

“You’re… you’re not mad, are ya?” “I mean, I ain’t never heard’a somethin’ so bold as gettin’ a new dog a month before givin’ birth, but no. I… I love him. Thank you, Arthur.” You reach onto your tiptoes to throw your arms around his neck as best you can with a baby between you, kissing Arthur with enough force for him to drop the makeshift leash in complete distraction. Moose feels his release happen and runs off again, this time finding and chasing Jack around in circles while he laughs madly. Arthur snakes an arm around your waist and you feel your head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck while you watch the chaos.

“How’re y’feelin’ today? Still achin’?” “Uh huh… But I’m okay. Feel a little weird, but I think that’s normal at this stage.” You reply honestly, feeling the smallest bit of relief from the thumb circling your lower back.

“Well, take it easy, alright? I’ve done chores enough for the both of us.”

“Alright… Thank you.” You sigh, actually rather missing the hustle. You’re a ranch girl at heart who isn’t used to just sitting around, your decreasing list of things you can actually do nowadays getting more frustrating by the day.

“Not long to go now till we meet her now, angel.” “We don’t know for sure it’s a girl, cowpoke.”

“I know… I just gotta feelin’.”

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Later that evening, everyone in camp is sitting around the fire breathing like dragons as they sing christmas carols to Javier’s guitar and you’re tucked under Arthur’s arm, cuddling into him to keep warm. You’re pretty sure Moose hasn’t left Jack’s side all day. Not since he slipped him an entire bowl of stew at dinner, at least.

The strange feeling of pressure that has been building in your abdomen all day hasn’t yet relented, but you haven’t yet found good enough cause to worry anyone about it. You’re 8 months along, surely you’re supposed to feel weird?

You’re the only one close enough to Arthur to know that he has absolutely no idea what the words to this song are. He’s mumbling along to the general tune, sounding a lot like Uncle’s slurs after a few too many whiskies. It takes everything in you to not snicker at his poor attempt to guess how many of which kind of bird or performer or… maid(?) this songwriter got for Christmas, especially when you’re pretty sure you hear the words ‘seven fish-a-shittin’ leave his lips.

Everything is one fat man in a red suit away from being the perfect picturesque Christmas Eve, which you’re about to point out to Arthur when the sharpest stabbing pain rips a strangled cry from deep within your throat. Your hands shoot to your belly helplessly, wanting to grip at it to ease the pain but knowing you can’t. The carols are too loud for anyone but Arthur to notice, who instantly crouches in front of you.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He’s panicked, grasping at your arms and attempting to capture your attention away from the considerable pain you’re clearly in. Your face is scrunched up, teeth clenched down in some poor attempt to brace the pain.

“I… I don’t know. It hurts. Feels like pressure.. Right- argh!”

This time, your cry is loud enough to gain the attention of those around the fire. Javier stops playing and most everybody looks over at you. Ms. Grimshaw and Dutch both stand, concern evidently written in their expression.

“Is she alright?” Dutch asks,

“What’s happenin’, honey?” Grimshaw kneels beside Arthur in front of you. You try to breathe through the smallest hole your lips can make, focusing on the sensation as much as you can rather than whatever is happening to you. You’re trying your hardest not to worry about the baby, but it’s hard, especially with so many people now worrying about you out loud.

“I… dunno. Hurts.” You manage to get out, finding Arthur’s hand and gripping on it with a downright bruising force.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside and out of the cold, alright?” You nod, feeling Arthur holding onto one arm and who you assume is Dutch on the other helping you to your feet. You lean on them as much as possible and somehow you make it into your tent. You’re laid down on your cot just as the pain begins to subside and your lungs feel like they can open back up again. When your eyelids soften again, you see Arthur’s worried face right beside you, Grimshaw pottering around with towels and Dutch waiting by the entrance to the tent with Dr. Strauss.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” The sheer intensity of the panic in his voice is almost more than you can bear and you know he’s being plagued by the same nightmare you are right now, just hoping to god or whoever the hell might be listening that your baby is okay.

“Mhm. S’easing now… It just came on real quick, that’s all…” Your breaths are struggled but ever so slightly more stable than before. Arthur’s thumb runs over your knuckles soothingly.

Over by the entrance to the tent, you see Dutch and Strauss in a hushed conversation that frays your nerves something awful. “What’s happening, Arthur?”

“I… I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Enter Dr. Strauss, carrying his medical bag. Arthur stays right by your side as the Doctor sits in front of your cot, mumbling his apologies as he lifts up your skirts and pulls a blanket over your legs.

You’re panicking, not knowing how you know exactly, but knowing that the pressure is going to come back soon. An awful anticipation clamps your hand onto Arthur’s tighter, but Strauss’ head pops up from under the blanket before it happens. Arthur’s head whips around.

“What’s happening, doc? Is she okay? Is… is the baby gonna be okay?”

The second between Arthur’s question and Strauss’ answer lasts a lifetime. It’s an agony worse than anything this pregnancy has thrown at you in all its 8 months in existence.

“I believe you’re in labour, Mrs. Morgan.”

═══════☆═══════

It’s a long, hard labour but Arthur never leaves your side once. Not when your waters break, or when he can barely keep his eyes open. Not even when you almost break his hand the first time you try to push. He stays with you.

He’s right beside you when you start to panic between contractions, tears falling down your reddened cheeks. “It can’t be here yet- we just got a dog and it’s only been eight months and I-I don’t know if I’m ready…”

But he knows just what to say. Of course he does. He even brings Moose in to say hello and prove he has relaxed a lot since his first arrival.

He’s with you when you break, sobbing that you can’t push anymore, your forehead falling against his in pure exhaustion. “Shut up, stupid.” He scolds gently, earning a confused look from you. “You know damn well you’re the strongest woman alive and you can do goddamn anything. It’s one of the many reasons I fell for ya’. Now push, before I name this baby Hoagy after it’s Godfather.”

He’s there when she’s born, such a tiny little thing, a month early but just as healthy as if she were overdue. He’s got that smug look on his face when Strauss announces her arrival, the loudest silent ‘I told you so’ you’ve ever seen.

Arthur holds his daughter in his arms for the first time on Christmas Day, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.

“She’s… She’s perfect. She’s so perfect…”

Your energy is depleted, truly, after so many hours of labour, but you manage to sit up against the makeshift crate headboard to watch your husband and daughter meet each other.

Her tiny hands reach out for Arthur, holding onto his cheek and if you could freeze time forever and live in this moment, you would.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Arthur whispers, shifting to kiss her palm, “Isn’t she?”

“I mean… she is, but I was talkin’ to you.” He looks up at you and you decide not to mention the tear tracks you spot on his skin.

“Oh, hush…” There’s an attempt to wave him off, but your shaky limbs don’t quite manage.

“No, I mean it. You… You’ve given me everything. I never knew I wanted to be a dad, but now she’s here and I’m holdin’ her I…” He’s choking up in a way you’ve never seen before. The great outlaw Arthur Morgan, who has killed and robbed and beaten, breaking in front of you in the most beautiful, vulnerable way imaginable. “It’s everything. I can never thank you enough. This is the best gift I could ever get, my beautiful, amazing wife.”

His words radiate through you, relaxing your spine and calming each ache bringing life to the world has given you. You can feel your eyelids get heavier by the second and it gets harder and harder to fight the sleep you so desperately need.

“Arthur?” You’re barely audible, but Arthur is sat close enough to hear you,

“Uh huh?”

“We don’t have to name her Hoagy, do we?”

“We’ll talk about it later, angel.”

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