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fanon-elio · 6 months ago

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By your side.

Part 1

Summary: You are the CEO of a big company and hired Lycaon as your personal attendant, however it seems that your wolfish butler has developed a crush on you. So while you and him were on a business trip, both of you were forced to confront your growing feelings for eachother.

Tag: Green Letter (Sfw)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and is not canon. You are responsible for the content you consume, so if the following warnings trigger you, you may read at your own risk.

Warnings: Fluff, Slow burn'ish, long fic, mutual pining, reader is smaller than lycaon, lycaon is down bad horrendous, friends to lovers type stuff, slight suggestive themes at the end.

Angst, Sexism (Not by Lycaon), slight racism (Not by Lycaon), jealousy, reader is lowkey burned out.

Other warnings: lowkey my first fanfiction, pls go easy on me. (T^T)

Yes, this fanfiction WILL contain Nsfw in the future.

I added some throw-away characters to the story as plot devices, no they're not oc's and they hold no importance to the story other than providing character development.

This fic contains a lot of scenarios written in Lycaons pov cuz i eat this shit up for breakfast.

I did not intent for this fic to become so long, that i had to split it into different parts. But i'm lowkey kinda happy how it turned out. Sorry for any possible mistakes. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. also, don't mind me adding a drawing i made just for vibes. Enjoy!

Lycaon has been your personal attendant for over a year now, attending to your every wish and request dutifully while you were busy handling your business.

At first Lycaon thought this was just going to be a job like any other, only to be proven wrong rather quickly. To say that both of you hit it off right away would be a slight understatement, it was shocking how good you two got along and understood eachother.

You impressed him with your steadfastness and professionalism when it came to your business. Something that seemed to resonate with him, and not only because your company specializes in custom-made prosthetics for humans and thirens alike. Even though this was what originally caught his attention, since his own mechanical legs were quite difficult to overlook.

Said mechanical legs were also the reason what made him so invested to support you where he could. A wish to see you succeed because your work greatly benefited other people - people just like him.

When you one day asked him if he could accompany you for a business trip to meet potential new investors, he accepted immediately without a second thought.

So with your ever so attentive right hand always by your side, you got in your car and were on your way.

---~---

Lycaon wanted to make your trip as enjoyable and comfortable for you as he possibly could, this is what you hired Victoria housekeeping for after all. Making sure your every desire was satisfied, and your every wish fulfilled was his duty to you...

So now imagine his sheer discontent at the current situation as he was forced to watch you awkwardly eat, or at least tried to eat the food you had on your plate without it coming back up.

"Caviar, what a pretentious meal" he had thought, clearly he would have made something better for you instead of whatever your plate was currently punishing you with. But the awful food wasn't the only thing what made this meal so infuriating, but rather the person on the other side of the table. A rich business man who had invited you to dinner a day prior to the planned gala which was the main reason of your trip.

If it were him, he would have declined the invitation. However, you hoped to draw a benefit out of the invitation - wanting to win this new investor for your cause.

Yesterday he had respected, if not even praised you for your decision. But right now he hoped you would throw your plate at said investor's face, good manners be damned. The short man, who barely didn't reach to Lycaon's chest, was ranting on and on about his achievements, trying oh so desperately to impress you on a more private level instead of the professional setting his earlier sent, very formal invitation was supposed to set up. And what was even more painful was not this poor excuse of a meal, or the way that man's voice hurt in Lycaon's ears, it was the way how he treated you.

He has interrupted you at least 5 times now, shooting down any of your advances to steer the conversation into what you were originally here for, and he grew more frustrated by the second.

"Of course I'm aware of the common folk's suffering, I myself invested a pretty penny in the research of joint and hip replacements, even going as far as to pay for a dozen surgeries for people who couldn't afford it, out of my own pocket i might add" He bragged, clearly nothing more than empty words in an attempt to woe you.

"That's wonderful, I'm glad you see the importance of our cause, I'm thankful that you want to support us as an investor-" you once again tried to redirect the conversation... "naturally I couldn't say no to such a stunning young Lady such as yourself" ...but once again failed.

Lycaons ear flicked in annoyance as your host continued to shamelessly flirt with you, while he was forced to listen.

Even though it is shameful and rather scandalous for Lycaon to admit, he has indeed developed feelings for you.

Feelings that go far beyond that of those an attendant should have for their employer but he couldn't help himself but be in awe of you. Of how you're able to be so strong and yet so kind, so strict and yet so graceful, so serious and yet so playful, the later a side only he gets to see when you allow him to indulge in the trust and friendship you have built with him.

And yet, both of you were once again forced to listen to another audition of your host's self-indulgent rambling.

"I was honestly surprised when you showed up earlier" he said suddenly, "how so?" You replied, politely putting down your fork as you reached for your drink hoping to wash the awful taste off your tongue it seems "In all honesty, I would have expected a man to show up instead of a woman" the man across from you spoke, and you grimaced clearly not only because of your drinks taste that was ordered for you by your host, insisting you drink some expensive wine with him, but also because of the sheer rudeness of the others answer. "Is that so?" You put down your glass and Lycaon had to supress a growl that threatened to escape his throat.

"Don't take this the wrong way sweetheart, it's just surprising nowadays to see a woman running a succesful business that doesn't include fashion or make-up" you briefly closed your eyes and took in a silent breath while Lycaon clenched his fist behind his back. "Times have definitely changed, Mr. Goldman" you replied, trying to stay polite despite the sexism thrown your way.

Lycaon on the other hand, tried to come up with any sort of excuse to get you out of this awful situation, clenching his jaw so painfully hard he was surprised his teeth didn't crack under the pressure. Clearly this man didn't see eye to eye with you, treating you like a trophy he's trying to win, completely disregarding and undermining your achievements and reducing you to nothing more than a pretty face.

How disgusting he thought.

"Please allow me to invite you to a party tonight, a pretty little thing like you would fit in just right" he shot a wink your way and Lycaon swore he saw you shudder for a moment. "But you can't bring him" Mr. Goldman said, using his fork to point at Lycaon. "Why does it bother you so?" You asked, now having completely abandoned the polite smile you wore just a few seconds ago. "It's a party of class of course, my apologies miss, but he doesn't fit in with the rest" Lycaon shot him a quick glare "he'd have to stay outside with the other pets" he felt his blood boiling, he's just about had it with this pretentious, condescending and sexist piece of shit.

However, he straightened his posture, remaining polite and professional. He gave you a quick glance as a silent way of asking for permission to make a break for the exit with you, maybe kicking that wimp across the room on his way out.

But his swirling thoughts were interrupted by you gently pushing your chair back and standing up.

"My apologies but I'm afraid I won't be able to attend then..." you spoke firm but still polite "...Lycaon is to remain by my side" you spoke and Lycaons heart skipped a beat. "Surely you can find someone else to accompany you for tonight miss y/n" your host argued, "I'm afraid not Mr. Goldman" you spoke, giving Lycaon a quick glance and the permission he needed.

With a small flash of satisfaction thrumming through his veins, he swiftly moved towards the door, opening it for you, "this way please." He said, bowing politely.

You grabbed your purse and made your way towards the door, making sure to give your was-host another glare on your way out. "Furthermore, Lycaon is not a pet" you said, not even trying to hide your discontent at the other's comment towards your companion.

"We'll see each other tomorrow at the gala, have a pleasant day Mr. Goldman" you replied as the door fell shut behind you and Lycaon.

---~---

The ride back to the vacation home you were currently residing in was quiet. Lycaon noticed that you seemed to be absorbed in your thoughts, possibly reflecting on anything that had happened.

He wanted to say something to ease your nerves, but couldn't find the right words. So instead, he opted to let you have the time you needed to wrap your head around the situation and how to act from here, since Mr. Goldman definitely didn't seem like a reliable support for your company or any other situation for that matter.

You came to a stop at a red light, and he couldn't help but glance at you again, at the way the sun cast a gentle glow on the features of your face and the way it almost seemed to make your hair shine in response to it's gentle rays of light. He once again finds himself greatly impressed by you, with the way you stood firmly to your standards and morals, how you remained patient and professional even though that filth didn't deserve an ounce of your kindness. However, more so than anything, it is the words you spoke at that moment that still vividly swirl in his mind,

"Lycaon is to remain by my side."

He loved the way you said it, perfectly capturing his own desire.

It is quite apparent to him that he no longer views his current situation as a job, he enjoys it way too much for that, and yet a small piece of his consciousness still berated him for acting like a love drunk puppy for so openly and unabashedly admiring you. You seemed to notice his gaze lingering on you and turned your head to look at him - but he had looked away just at that moment so you wouldn't notice how starstruck he appeared, at least he hoped you didn't. And yet, a small smile still found a way onto his lips.

He pulled into the driveway of your current abode, he felt glad to be back so early, despite the given turn of events at your "dinner."

While he got out, walking over to your side of the car to open the door for you, he already thought about what he could do to get your mind off that incident to at least make your day end on a positive Note.

Both of you entered the spacious place you and him called home for the time being. You sighed in relieve as you kicked off your high heels, whining at your terribly sore feet. You were glad this day was finally over, even though you felt all the more anxious about tomorrow's gala.

With your meteoric rise to fame also came a lot of pressure. The demand for your services and products rose daily. So much so that you had to expand your production efforts, almost doubling your expenses in the process. Dispite that, your manufacturing department was still slowly starting to get overwhelmed. However, the need for new employees couldn't be met without the necessary funding.

You made your way towards the kitchen, watching Lycaon as he was already preparing a proper dinner for you both. "Do you need help by any chance" you asked, even though you already knew the answer "I appreciate your offer master, but there is no need" yup, thought so "why don't you sit down in the livingroom and relax master, you had a straining day, and deserve a break." He said, shifting his attention back to cooking, "I shall inform you once dinner is ready"

Lycaon has always been that way, ever since he'd started working for you. But the more time you two spend together, the closer you two became, forming quite the strong friendship with eachother. Even though you hoped it would be more than that.

If you're being fully honest, you had developed a crush on the wolfish gentleman for quite some time now.

Okay, it might be more than just a little crush with the way he makes your heart race when he looks at you, or your head all dizzy with euphoria when he speaks with you while his deep voice still sends pleasant shivers down your spine.

He was easy to talk to and always had an open ear. Even though you did feel guilty by the way he was constantly spoiling you, wanting absolutely nothing more in return than your smile. In return, you started to praise him where you could, swooning over the way his ears tend to flick or the way his tail would wag a little, subtly portraying his feelings to you dispite his efforts to stay professional. You enjoyed when he was happy, so much so that you would always have to fight the urge to ask him if he would allow you to pet him.

"Dinner is served master"

---~---

After dinner, you found yourself sitting at the small bar of your kitchen. A glass martini Lycaon prepared for you in your hand as you engaged in riveting conversation with him, gossiping about your shared experience with Mr. Goldman as he did the dishes.

"And that awful vest of his? Olive green with orange? I don't think" you laughed and Lycaon secretly preened at the sound. "I was terribly tempted to throw my drink at him let me tell you, a shot of red would have been nothing short of a favor" you replied, and he nodded fully agreeing "unfortunately it wouldn't have made his face any more tolerable" he responded "much less his nasty attitude." Lycaon was still very sour of the other man's behaviour towards you. However, he felt his heart soaring when he remembered how you had stood up for him. "Well, to be fair, it sure would have distracted from it at least." You said before chugging the rest of your drink "even if it would have enraged him?" He asked, putting a clean plate to the side as he grabbed the next. You chuckled, "And even so, I can always count on you to protect me, can I not?" His tail began to wag a little at your words, and you were satisfied with yourself at his reaction, "Absolutely, master."

"Still, I applaud you for staying as calm as you did" Lycaon admitted, and you let out a sigh, his ears immediately perking up at the sound. "My apologies if I'm prying master" he turned his head to look at you, your own resting in your hand, "are you nervous about tomorrow's gala?" He asked, slight concern shining through his oh so polished demeanor.

"A little bit, not gonna lie" you admitted, "I just hope there won't be more people like him at the gala tomorrow" you said. A silence coming over you, rage still bubbling in your gut when you remembered how Mr. Goldman had compared Lycaon to a pet. "Eh, and even so, I hope they have better food at least" you said "I mean, caviar? Really? That's way too cliché" he smiled, concerned at you spacing out but still glad to know you shared the same opinion as him.

He was aware of your worries.

Your financial situation being the topic at every meeting, and he worried greatly for your health as he watched you plunge yourself into your work, day after day without a break. He remembered the days when he had to force you to take a break, sleep or even eat something. He desperately wanted to save you from the burnout that slowly creeped up on you.

"I think I'll be hitting the hay" you said through a yawn, getting up from where you'd been sitting. Lycaon looked at you as he pondered how he could ease your worries, even if just for a little.

He dried off his hands and walked around the kitchen counter, "could you spare one more moment for me, master?" He asked, and you turned around, seeing him approaching. "Of course, what's up?" He didn't speak, instead he moved and gently pulled you into an embrace.

It wasn't restraining nor unpleasant, it was comforting and warm as you felt his arms wrap around you. "Don't worry master, I'm sure your hard work will pay off at tomorrow's gala" he spoke, low and gentle. You hugged him back, hearing faint rustling which you suspected to be his wagging tail.

Both of you pulled back, as this tender moment you and Lycaon shared slowly came to an end, even tho neither of you wanted it to. Both of you decided to retire for the night, tomorrow would be a straining day for the both of you after all.

Sleep would come quickly for you thanks to that bit of alcohol in your system, while Lycaon would lay awake for just a little longer, thinking about you as he tried to memorize the way you felt in his arms, letting this one certain sentence replay in his mind once again as he drifted off to sleep.

Lycaon is to remain by my side.

---~---

Everything was still dead silent as your eyes cracked open. You blinked a few times, wondering what time it was as you reached for your phone on the bedside table. Glancing at the display, as the discomfort from the sudden brightness slowly faded.

You sighed heavily as you looked at the daunting digits, solidifying your suspicion.

3:27 am

You tossed and turned, but couldn't find the comforting sleep you yearned for. Your stomache growled and you pondered going for a midnight snack.

With a sigh, you sat up and stretched, cringing at the cracking sound of your joints. Rubbing your eyes, you swung your legs out of bed and made your way towards the kitchen to make yourself a much-needed midnight snack.

You cussed out the sandman for once again having ghosted you as you rounded the corner, a flash of white catching your eye, and you stopped. Even though you knew that Lycaon was definitely an early bird type of person, you still didn't expected to find him standing in the kitchen at the same ungodly hour. The soft light of the opened refrigerator filling the room as you peaked around the corner, taking in his appearance.

It was surprising to see your wolfish butler, who was normally so professional and serious about how he presented himself to others, stumble shirtless and rather sleep dazed through the kitchen. His mechanical feet clacking on the ground and his tail swishing behind him as he moved around.

Never in the entire time he has worked for you have you ever seen him out of uniform, and the more you took in his disheveled appearance and his strong and muscular body, the less you seemed to care to admit that he was painfully handsome.

Ah hell, smocking hot would be a better fit. Naturally you assumed he was working out, but you had no idea your personal attendant was this ripped. You felt a bit embarrassed as you continued gawk at your friend and buttler's biceps and abs. You caught a glimpse of his teeth as he yawned, further noticing how different he looked without his muzzle and eye patch.

You let your gaze wander down to his prosthetics, slowly seeming to sober up, as you wondered what had happened to him that left him in such a state. From missing arms to missing legs, you had encountered your fair share of injuries since starting your business, but never had you asked what had happened before. Neither your clients and especially not Lycaon not wanting to pry into his past. Too afraid of accidentally offending him by reopening past wounds, and yet you couldn't help but wonder how he must feel. loosing one leg must be traumatizing enough, but both?

He closed the refrigerator and the sound of it ripped you out of your trance. You watched him as he scratched the back of his neck seemingly making his way back to bed, and you hoped that sleep still had enough of a grasp on him that he wouldn't notice your presence.

You decided to carefully make your way back to your bedroom as well, as not to embarrass him with a sudden entrance while he was so scarcely dressed. You hoped to actually find sleep again because you couldn't help the feeling that tomorrow would be an awfully difficult day.

---~---

Part 2 ->

Listen,

When i tell you that I absolutely did not mean to make this fanfiction this long.

At first it was supposed to be a oneshot, but as it so happens, i got absolutely carried away. And after +2k words i realized that i might wanna split this fanfiction up, cuz ain't nobody on tumblr wanna read an entire essay. Also, it's the way how anxious i am uploading this help. Let's hope it's gonna be a positive experience, otherwise i might admit myself to psychiatric care asap.

Anyways,

thank your for reading, i hope it was to your liking.

Part 2 will probably drop next Friday cuz i need time to make a new drawing.

Btw. Here is a quick doodle just for shitt's and giggles.

Aight bye~

-Elio

#von lycaon x reader #lycaon x reader #zzz x reader #zzz x you #I have no idea what i'm doing lmao #von lycaon #zzz von lycaon #fluff #angst #furry #x reader #werewolf x human #werewolf x reader

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stellar-constellations · 8 months ago

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Star Patient: Chapter 6 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 15,700+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

Hello, my stars. Before starting this, I wanted you all to know I've updated my warnings. I'm telling you this to warn my sensitive readers who might get triggered or uncomfortable.

Warnings: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bpd), religious comparisons, demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Please note, this series is NOT to romantize, glamorize, normalize, or encourage ANY of this behavior that we see throughout the story.

I also have playlists for you to listen to while reading this, or just to listen to in general if you're looking for new music!

Thank you for reading this section.

------------------------

“Alright Ms. (L/N), you’re free to be discharged. Do you have a ride home?” her doctor questioned, signing her discharge forms, consenting to the leave.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

She just planned on driving back home herself. Sure, it was dangerous, but she did come here with a bleeding leg, so she sure as hell can leave with a bandaged one.

“Alright… Good. And, just a little rundown on what you’ll need to do. Please keep your leg elevated with your heart whenever possible. I signed for you to get two weeks off work, that way you wouldn’t be applying any weight onto your leg. Please keep eating liquids or non-solid for at least a week; so like jellos and puddings and soups. You should know the procedure, we need the inner staples to heal and it'll be good not to tear the stitches.” The doctor explained to her.

“I also scheduled a appointment for you to visit me next week so we can hopefully check and remove your staples on your outer stomach if all is good, and if so, we’ll decide to give you the green light to eat solids or not. Please avoid wetting or poking the staples and stitches.” The doctor spoke, wrapping up his speech.

“Thank you, sir.” (Y/N) smiled, taking the discharge papers from the doctor’s hands.

“Do you need any help finding the exit?” the doctor questioned as her nurse removed the IV needle from (Y/N)’s veins, placing a piece of cotton on the bleeding hole and medical tape to hold the cotton in place.

“No, sir. I’ll be just fine… I have to make a quick visit anyways…” (Y/N) spoke.

The doctor left the room after (Y/N) took the papers from him, the nurse following after the doctor. (Y/N) stood up and resisted the urge to stretch, that would just strain and possibly snap any stitching or stapling.

She looked at the clothes the nurse left on her bedside. (Y/N) snatched the clothes and walked to the bathroom, locking the door. Because her clothes were ruined yesterday with blood and had to be cut in the emergency room, she was given paper scrubs from the hospital to wear. Sure, they sucked and were flimsy, but it was better than leaving naked. Hospitals can only do so much.

(Y/N) put on the fabric and her shoes (that were fortunately in one piece). She unlocked the bathroom, walking out and exiting the hospital room. She walked to the elevators, entering one and pressing the psychiatric floor.

She waited for the elevators doors to open, exiting them once they did. She walked down the hallways with a limp, ignoring it as she made her way to Andrew’s room. She knocked on the door to announce her presence, before opening the door.

Andrew was awake this morning, a bit unusual given how late he stayed up with her last night, but perhaps he couldn’t sleep much. Maybe he has a headache? That brain surgery was only a free days ago, so maybe he's experiencing some pain.

“Hey, are you okay?” (Y/N) questioned, disturbing him from looking out the window.

Andrew’s head snapped over to her once he heard her voice. He looked surprised, and his electric green eyes looked a little puffy and red, like he was about to cry; however there were no tears streaming down his face, as if he was refusing to cry.

“Andrew? Are you okay?” (Y/N) repeated, concerned as she limped over to him, taking a seat on the guest chair.

“Ahem, yeah. I’m fine…” he covered his mouth and coughed, turning his head away from her. “Do you need something?” he questioned.

“I’m getting discharged, so I won’t see you for at least two weeks, possibly even longer.” (Y/N) explained, her eyes subconsciously glancing over his figure and observing his state

His black hair was messy—as it usually was—and he still remained pale, with the exception of red rings around his eyes and a blush on his nose. His broken legs were elevated to his heart by keeping pillows under his legs. He didn’t have any bandages wrapped around his head anymore since his staples weren’t bleeding anymore after his brain surgery. His breathing patterns looked normal and he doesn’t appear to be sweating, so it’s safe to say the doctors got rid of the internal bleeding problem.

“Because I’m leaving, I need you to behave for the night nurses and day nurses.” She spoke, as if trying to communicate with a child.

“It won’t matter…” he muttered, his voice deep and gravely, sounding as if he was in pain.

“What, why? What’s wrong?” (Y/N) questioned, subconsciously leaning closer to him with a look of confusion on her face.

“They’re discharging me tonight.” Andrew spoke, his voice raising its volume so she could hear better.

“Why, that’s great s it not?” she questioned, mentally cringing as she tried her best to gauge a reaction out of him, hoping that he could explain more. “You won’t be stuck here anymore. You’re healing.”

“No… I-“ he paused, unsure if he should speak about the thoughts swirling in his head. “I-I can’t leave. I can’t.”

“Why not?” (Y/N) questioned.

Andrew stayed quiet, his eyes stuck staring at his hands that laid in his lap, seemingly ashamed to look up at her.

“Andrew, what’s wrong?” (Y/N) repeated, standing up from the chair and bringing herself closer to Andrew, sitting down at his bedside gently so she wouldn’t disturb his legs.

“Don’t you understand…?” he muttered, his tone going down a dark notch. “I can’t leave you…”

“Huh?” (Y/N) audibly spoke, voicing a noise of confusion as she looked at him, more so confused now rather than concerned.

Why can’t he leave? Is it because of Ashley? Oh god, does he know Ashley's dead? That I killed her? Can he not leave me because he wants revenge? (Y/N) questioned inside her head, her nerves eating her up.

“Andrew, I need you to tell me so I can help you. Surely we can—“ Andrew’s hands went up to her shoulders and gripped them tightly, his vibrant green eyes suddenly looking a little more of a toxic color, one to warn others that they’re dangerous.

“Don’t you understand, damn it?!” Andrew shouted, his nails unconsciously digging into her skin and the flimsy scrubs the hospital provided her with. “Are you an idiot or something? I can’t leave! I can’t do anything!”

(Y/N) looked surprised, her feet trying to take a step back but his hold on her wouldn’t allow that. She looked a bit scared, cowering despite him being the one bedridden.

Her previous thoughts of getting caught was instead replaced with being trapped. The room suddenly felt more smaller while Andrew yelled at her. The white walls suddenly looked like they were closing in, the pale color looking damn similar to an asylum instead.

“I should’ve at least taken up Ashley’s offer on escaping this damn place!” Andrew spoke, shaking her back and forth with a crazed look in his eyes.

Yes, terrifying. That’s why she decided not to work with adults and chose kids instead. Adult men are just scary for her. Having an erratic episode like this is a pain when you’re dealing with kids, but an adult man with a deep yelling voice towering you and shaking you like a rag doll is just plain terrifying. Especially knowing the fact they could definitely overpower you. Hospitals drug up their patients all the time to where patients think irrationally, and there's always the patients that believe they're the customer who is always right; giving them all a sense of authority or inability to understand their wrongdoings, whether they have a god complex or just drugged. It's always going to be dangerous.

It brings a shiver down her spine. If this is the effect Andrew has by just yelling at her and shaking her a bit, she’s scared to know what he could do with no broken limbs.

He seemed to go on an angry, mindless rant as he shook her back and forth. At this point, she might be the one getting internal bleeding in her brain because of this.

“If anything, I should’ve just died! But now I’m royally fucked because of you and these fucking doctors!” Andrew shouted.

A patient threatening suicide? Much less a patient on suicide watch? That’s not good, especially if he’s threatening suicide while almost being discharged. He could stay in this unit for mental health evaluation if he actually tries something. He’s lucky that she’s not on the clock, otherwise she would be forced to chart that.

She mustered her nerves and grabbed his wrists, looking down at him and doing her best to keep a gentle facade.

“Hey Andrew, let’s calm down and figure this out…” she spoke. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help."

“I-I just—“ Andrew’s pissed-off expression changed, his grip on her shoulders loosening as he let out a sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

So he noticed…

“I’m scared…” he admitted, his hand going up and playing with her hair, twirling it around her fingers, ignoring that it hasn’t been washed in a couple days due to the accident. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to—“ he paused, stopping himself. “H-home. I can’t go back home because I don’t remember it.” He lied.

He can’t go back to his apartment complex and be locked up in that room again. He can’t. Hell, maybe the complex actually burnt down like the news has been saying. But he has no home now, and if he goes to a shelter they might ask for documents or for identification, both of which he doesn’t have.

He can’t go to his parents. With his face on the news and being indebted to them again? Please, anything but that. He’s already done enough for them. He purposely didn’t write his parents’ names and numbers down when the doctors made him file paperwork because he didn’t want to see them again.

And he might go insane if he has to live with Ashley again. The hospital has been boring, yes, but at least he could actually think with some quiet. No more killing people or cannibalizing people or worrying about future visions or any of that crap. He could actually enjoy some peace for once. He loves his sister, but it's about time for them to act like adults and have their own lives.

And god, the money to pay back the hospital. He doesn’t have that kind of money. His whole bill must well be 20,000 dollars, possibly even more. He doesn’t even have a job! He’s not entirely sure if he remembers his banking information, and he doubts he has health insurance he can remember!

“I-I just… don’t remember anything.” He spoke, a half truth and half lie. “I don’t have parents.” Another lie. “I don’t remember where I live.” Another lie. “I have no money to pay off all this debt I’ll be in.” A possible (?) lie. “I have no job.” True. “I-I don’t know what to do. I’m fucked.” Andrew spoke, tears filling up in his eyes as he chuckled in possible disbelief, his hands going to his face to cover it.

Yeah, that sounds like a shitty situation… (Y/N) thought, pushing down that fear he installed in her earlier as she hesitantly stayed next to him, uncertain what to do.

She’s never had to deal with this kind of situation. Her patients are kids, and they don’t usually worry about money or healthcare or such things an adult worries about. Fixing someone's IV needle and fixing their bank account is two very separate things.

Honestly, it’s pretty sad. Adults have it rough. Most people now in America hesitate to call an ambulance because of the bill for that alone, ranging from $400 to more than a thousand for the ride to a hospital alone.

She doesn’t blame him for being mad, she’d be pretty pissed in his situation too.

“And, are you absolutely positive?” (Y/N) questioned, her hand resting on his wrist and drawing small circles to soothe him. “Do you really have nowhere else to go once you leave? Or any money or such at all?”

“No…” he answered, a loss of hope in his voice as he resisted the urge to cry.

“Okay… it’s okay.” (Y/N) spoke as Andrew kept playing with her hair.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean to scare you…” he muttered. “Please don’t leave me. I-I don’t know what to do and I’m scared and…” he paused, uncertain of the next words about to come out of his mouth. “I-I just need you. I need your help.”

God, not the damn puppy eyes… (Y/N) though, nothing how his bright green eyes cleared of any malicious intent from earlier, now just glossy and filled with tears threatening to spill out.

He looked like he really didn’t want to leave her (or maybe it’s because he just really needs her help) and that just pulled her heartstrings.

Think, (Y/N). You’re a nurse. You gotta be quick on your feet and think of a solution… (Y/N) thought, wracking her brain for a solution.

“What if…” she paused, thinking.

Would that really be a good idea? He’s a male after all. The last guy she dealt with was a total psycho…

No, it’s probably not a good idea, considering he’s on the run and he’s a cannibal. But she doesn’t know his whole story, so she can’t judge so quickly…

Not to mention she’s a murderer herself now. Even if she killed a wrongdoer, she still killed someone.

But is it really a good comparison? Is it really so bad for her to kill just one life after saving many others?

Now that’s just sociopathic thinking…

“What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) suggested, doing her best to keep her tone confident.

“What?” Andrew questioned, unsure if he heard that correctly.

Did she actually just say that?

“What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) repeated, forcing herself to act like it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad. I have the space. It’d be good for you too, I can still help with your bandages and elevating your legs and such, make sure there’s nothing going wrong during your healing process and that you’re still sticking to the treatment plan. I can pay the medical bills and you’ll work it off for me over time, until you’re able to get back on your own two feet.”

Ha. Pun intended… (Y/N) thought, resisting the urge to chuckle.

“You’re really serious? You’re not pulling my leg or anything, right?” Andrew questioned, surprised as he sat up, wincing at the pain in his legs and head from the sudden movement.

“Hey, take it easy.” (Y/N) reminded, placing her hand on his shoulder to stop him (and to hide her shaky hands).

She decided it wasn’t the time to freeze up or think, thinking would just make her panic to what she just offered.

“And I’m serious. If you need a place to stay, you can come to mine.” (Y/N) spoke. "Nobody should have to pay to live, it’s just… sad.”

Even if it is sad that you have to pay to live, that’s just life. There’s a reason why. Not many people would do things for free. Currency was made to pay others for their labor, rewarding them for a job done right. The more money, the more luxurious your life is… sometimes…

There’s not many people in the world who would save a stranger’s life and expect nothing in return. Especially when you’re working hours to days at a time keeping people alive and healthy, it just wears you down overtime to where that paycheck is the only thing you’re looking forward to. Nurses work for money, and the ones that enjoy helping people instead start to despise them due to their ugly flaws revealing themselves in their states of venerability. Nurses and doctors see more ugly things in people than they do in infections.

Well, as long as you do your job, the paychecks won’t die; unlike the patients.

“So? What do you say?” (Y/N) questioned, looking down at Andrew with a forced smile.

Don’t think about the offer. If you don’t think, you wouldn’t contemplate about how absolutely idiotic that suggestion was. Seriously, allowing a cannibalistic serial killer into your home all alone? Let alone a man.

The thought was indeed distasteful, but her mouth was quicker than her brain, and she already offered it. It would be cruel to give him false hope and swipe that right under his nose.

Andrew wasn’t too sure if he wanted to take up that offer. Sure, it’d save his ass from the streets, but it’d also leave him indebted to her, which can give her an upper hand to take advantage of him. It’s also worth noting that his face is probably still in the news somewhere, which could be bad if she finds out and reports him to the police…

But maybe there’s the chance that she’s not well-informed or active in the community or news? Maybe the whole news will blow over soon and she’ll never know?

It’s better than nothing…

“If you’re really sure…” Andrew muttered. “Then I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll repay you.” He spoke.

Great. (Y/N) thought, fantastic and nervous.

“I’ll get an uber for you. I need to get some stuff settled at my house beforehand. What’s your discharge time?” (Y/N) questioned.

“One P.M.” Andrew answered.

“Okay, at one P.M. you’ll go to the front of the hospital and I’ll get an uber for you so they can drop you off at my place.” (Y/N) explained, clapping her hands together to avoid the awkwardness of parting ways. “Well… I’ll see you later.” She spoke, forcing a smile.

She didn’t give him time to speak or say goodbye, leaving the room before she could dwell longer. She needed to bury Ashley’s body before someone finds it, she needed to deep clean her apartment, and she needed to mentally prep herself for Andrew’s arrival.

She took her discharge papers and entered the elevator, pressing the lobby floor and waiting. The doors opened and she exited the box, walking out to the lobby and out the glass doors. She unlocked her car and entered, turning the key in the engine and taking a deep breath, preparing herself for the day traffic and using her injured leg to drive.

She turned on the radio to a random adults hit channel, before backing out of the parking lot and taking off. She made a quick pit stop at a hardware store, buying one of those stupid state merchandise shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair of gardening gloves, some hair ties, water bottles, and a shovel. She paid in cash (thank god the emergency gas money she kept in her car since she didn't have her purse) and drove an hour out to that forest she put Ashley in.

(Y/N) prayed to whatever god she believed in, or at least prayed to herself that luck would be on her side, and parked somewhere in the sticks. She fumbled around the backseat and changed out of the flimsy paper scrubs to that cheap state shirt and shorts she bought in the hardware store, tying up her hair with a cheap hair tie.

She grabbed her supplies and exited her car, locking it. It took at least twenty minutes before she was able to pick up the dead body smell, following the stench to Ashley’s body. The blankets she was wrapped in didn’t look tampered with, so maybe nobody found the body beforehand.

(Y/N) made quick work, putting on the gardener gloves and grabbing a shovel, finding a patch of loose dirt and started digging.

Six-foot grave my ass, if she buried that deep then she might not be able to get out of the hole. (Y/N) settled on a four foot grave, digging and making sure to take breaks so she wouldn’t snap any stitches or staples.

At least two or three hours later, she was able to roll Ashley’s body into the hole. Staring at the bloodied cloth was just so unsettling… a reminder of what she’s done.

She’s seen plenty of blood and gore before, but she’s never been the cause of it (or at least, she’s never punctured skin for anything other than the intent to help someone).

It felt right to say something, a little memoir or a speech or something.

She grabbed some big rocks and made an imaginary audience, setting them near the grave as (Y/N) stood before it.

“Today, we are here to celebrate life and remember the loss of it…” (Y/N) began.

Yep, killing someone who tried to kill you first, then proceeding to make a whole damn memoir of them… that’s totally normal and not something someone unhinged would do. Or maybe it’s just because she’s a really compassionate person and feels sorry for killing her. Maybe a bit of both.

“Ashley Graves was the younger sister of Andrew Graves. She was… passionate and determined.” (Y/N) spoke awkwardly, clasping her hands together, ignoring the dirt itching them inside the glove.

“We’re here to celebrate her life and youth. While she died young, she stayed golden. She was very pretty, and I’m sure she accomplished something in her life at one point…” (Y/N) rambled.

“I don’t know much about her, and I would’ve brought her brother here too if I wasn’t so concerned about him killing me too. I’m already digging one grave, I don’t need to dig my own too… or one for Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, hiding that last part from the rock audience with a cough.

“Too soon to joke? Yeah… that was a bit hard… like rock.” (Y/N) chuckled too herself. “I’m sorry, sorry! This is a rocky start…” (Y/N) giggled, before her smile dropped, reality coming back and hitting her.

“Fucking hell… I hate myself.” (Y/N) groaned, dropping down to her knees and covering her face with her hands, before coughing and spitting once the dirt on her gloves got in her mouth and eyes.

When she got the dirt out of her eyes and mouth, she settled for staring at the dead body. Ashley died young and she was pretty, surely there must've been something good Ashley could've done with her future.

It really didn’t have to be this way, perhaps an agreement could’ve been made. While Ashley threatened her first, (Y/N) attacked her first, provoking her by spraying perfume in Ashley’s eyes.

“Oh fuck…” (Y/N) groaned, pulling the strands of hair that has fell from her hair tie after her manual labor. “I’m really burying a body of a young woman. One I killed no less…” she muttered to herself, wishing that this all could’ve just been one big dream.

A dream that she met some fugitives on the run, that she stooped so low as to murder another so violently and decided to house another. That she had to witness her favorite patient die after spending three years with her.

Honestly, she wished everything in her life was a dream. She wished being neglected and locked into a room for hours upon a time, sleeping and crying and famished, was a dream. She wished the relentless bullying throughout her school years was a dream. She wished all the pressure and stress she set upon her, forcing herself to grow out of childhood early so she could focus on the future, was a dream. She wished that disgusting and obsessive man was a dream, that he never sent those letters or took her to court or even did anything he did.

No, she didn’t wish it was a dream; she wished it was a nightmare. Dreams are meant to be enjoyed, or at least allow yourself into a false sense of security to enjoy momentarily.

The constant harassment, the constant paranoia, the constant loneliness, the constant emptiness. She’d rather not torture herself in the dream world either.

Before Hailey died, she asked (Y/N) what she would like to be surrounded by, and (Y/N) said “beds” because she liked sleeping. She left it at that so she wouldn’t disturb the bittersweet moment as Hailey died. Perhaps if Hailey was older, or a friend rather than a patient, (Y/N) might have told her the truth.

Sure, beds are comfortable. A de-stressing spot for her and many others alike. Being bundled up in warmth and motherly affection she never experienced in her life, seeking comfort from an inanimate object to replace her own mother's nonexistent affection.

Beds are also comfortable when you die. Lots of people die in their beds. Most people imagine that they’ll die surrounded by their loved ones, peacefully succumbing to death. (Y/N)’s never bothered contemplating death, she knew if she was going to die it would be suicide—or, at least she thought so. After Ashley trying to kill her and possibly Andrew being her potential killer too in the future if he ever finds out what she did, she’s not too sure how she’ll die now.

She’ll probably die from another depressive episode like starving herself and staying in bed, or some other health cause in her sleep. Whatever it is, her death bed would be made of cotton and polyester, she hopes. Perhaps in her will she'll write down she wants a twin-sized mattress in her coffin, at least make her death bed comfortable.

Everyday just feels like a struggle to get out of bed now.

“Ashley…” she began.

Now thinking about it, is it even right to speak Ashley’s name after she’s the cause of her death?

“I’m sorry for killing you, and for causing you whatever pain or paranoia you experienced to where you felt the best course of action was to kill me. Things could’ve possibly been different if I had just talked to you, but I didn’t, and for that, you’re gone and I'm still here.” (Y/N) spoke.

She wondered if Ashley enjoyed her life, what she had before she died. (Y/N) couldn't even enjoy all that she has, yet she still selfishly fought for her pathetic life, killing a woman who could've done better than her. Who could've accomplished more if she just fixed up her ways, if she just gave herself a second chance at living a true life.

(Y/N)'s had her chances, maybe happiness just wasn't for her. Maybe life just wasn't for her. Yet she's the one standing over the grave she should be in instead.

Maybe she should've just let Ashley kill her. Make all this pain and loneliness and paranoia just disappear like she wants to.

There was a moment of silence to respect the dead, before (Y/N) picked up the shovel and got to covering the body with dirt. It was faster to fill the grave than dig it, and she was able to finish after an hour. (Y/N) felt bad about it, but she stomped on the dirt to try and make sure it was packed and wasn’t loose. She grabbed the rock audience and scattered the rocks back where she found them so the grave wouldn't be suspiciously marked.

Maybe I’ll reserve flowers for Ashley too… (Y/N) thought to herself, before allowing there to be another moment of silence to mourn the loss of life.

After the silence, she walked back to her car, throwing the dirty supplies into the backseat of her car and hopping into the passenger seat. She buckled her seatbelt and drove out of the forest. Usually she would’ve taken a minute to at least desensitize her emotions so she can drive safely—or at least ponder why the hell she had a rock funeral back there—but she needed to get home and get her apartment in order.

Once (Y/N) made it inside her apartment complex, she rushed to see if anything was out of place inside her apartment, swinging open her door and observing the crime scene in her bedroom. It smelt of potent citrusy perfume with the hint of metallic blood wafting throughout her home.

Before (Y/N) left, she did a quick wipe down of her walls and floors in case the police would investigate her apartment. Why? Well, there's no reason other than classic paranoia and the fear of being face to face with a judge inside of a courtroom once more.

Yeah, been there, done that.

Despite her quick clean, obviously it wouldn't be enough to get rid of the evidence if the police truly did a deep investigation (that is, if they even her connected to the crime). Well, even if the police doesn't piece out the murder, Andrew might. Andrew is Ashley's sister, surely he must know enough about her to know if she's capable of committing murder, especially because they were partners in crime.

Key word: were.

(Y/N) glanced at the clock, seeing the time was 12 P.M. (Y/N) pulled out her phone and paid for an uber to pick Andrew up at the hospital entrance. His ride will be about thirty minutes if the traffic is good, so (Y/N) can only assume she'll have two hours to clean if she's lucky.

Surprisingly—for a sorry excuse of a woman—her apartment isn't trashed or damaged; it's pretty clean. (Y/N) always worried if her parents one day stopped by and entered her apartment. She really didn't want to hear her mother's berating comments or her father's comments on how she should move back to the farm and be safe there.

She also worried about having her neighbors suddenly knock on her door to talk to her, or her landlord entering. She didn't want to give the impression that she's lazy, and she didn't want to give the impression that she's depressed either; she'd rather not have others pity her in such ways. She's an adult, she needs to learn how to take care of herself eventually, otherwise how will she expect to take care of the kids at work? Let alone Andrew who will now reside in her home?

Oh gosh. How is she going to take care of Andrew? Shit. What if the neighbors see him and recognize him from on the news? What if the uber driver recognizes him? She'll go to jail for knowing he's a murderer and still helping him. She'll lose her job if they find out she's keeping a former patient at her apartment.

Damn it... damn it... damn it...

She paced around her bedroom in circles, her hands shaking and her legs weak as she started overthinking.

Jesus, what if he becomes crazy? Well, more crazy than a cannibalistic murderer can possibly be. What if he becomes like him? She'll have to move away again. She'll have to hide away before he finds her and ruins her life once more.

The vision of torn sugar papers stained with special red ink. The sounds of either paper or her sanity ripping as she screamed and stopped on the scraps, before scooping up the pieces and burning them outside in her father's grill. Or maybe it was the constant feeling of dread and being watched, resorting to her superiors, her friends, her family; just anyone to help her and to listen to her. But they just laughed in her face, or scowled at her.

"Stop searching for attention."

"He wouldn't do that."

"Why are you spreading rumors?"

"Well, did you do something to provoke him?"

The sound of the crackling fire as the embers of paper burned in the daylight was replaced with shattered glass and her grunts of frustration. She snapped back, looking down at the mess on her bedroom floor.

Damn it.

She shattered her vase, throwing it on the floor as it scattered to dozens of small blue and white pieces, the wave-decorated vase now ruined. Her precious lilacs she worked hard to growing now destroyed and lying in wet soil, the petals smushed, having been stomped on in her fit of rage.

(Y/N) stared at the mess for a minute or two—maybe five—before squatting down and hiding her head in her legs.

"Damn..." she hissed to herself, her anger at him instead being temporarily aimed at her. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." (Y/N) muttered, picking up one of the larger shards of glass.

She turned her uninjured arm over, revealing the past scars from her previous self-harming episodes. They all have healed a bit, still a prominent shade of red, but at least they weren't fresh.

She didn't hesitate, not even daring to waste a breath or reconsider her decision as she cut her wrist, watching as scarlet milk immediately started spilling down in a rapid stream.

Well, they were fresh now.

One cut turned into two, and two turned into four as the blood continued to pour. A painful stinging sensation shot up her arm, burning as the blood dripped down her arm and onto the floor.

"Fuck!" (Y/N) hissed, realizing what she had just done.

She dropped the bloodied shard onto the floor, clutching the bloody mess with her other hand, another painful sting crawling up her arm from tensing her muscles in her stitched arm. She groaned, dragging her feet to her bathroom and scurrying for her first-aid.

She opened the kit up, grabbing cotton balls and rubbing alcohol, wiping down her arm with the alcohol. It didn't sting as much like it should when rubbing alcohol is applied to a wound, it's probably expired—if not already—so she'll need to go buy a new bottle. She kept applying pressure until the blood eventually stopped, then checked on the cuts.

Luckily, the cuts weren't near her wrists and they weren't deep either. It was a miracle she didn't cut a vein open, otherwise she'd have to go right back to the hospital. It seemed in her impulsive decision, she just cut without bothering to look where, slicing up the fat on her arm near her elbow.

(Y/N) hastily grabbed a large cotton patch, then wrapped gauze around it tightly, securing it with medical tape. There was blood on her clothes but she wasn't too worried about it, she was going to change out of the tacky merchandise clothing anyways, especially with the dirt on it.

She decided that while she was in the bathroom she might as well bathe quickly. She ignored the stinging spikes shooting throughout her arms as she peeled off her shirt and bra, kicking off her shoes and socks, taking off her shorts and panties. She threw the clothing on the ground and untied her hair (after some struggle, the hair tie came off with strands of hair attached), placing the hair tie down on the counter. She turned on the faucet and adjusted it to a bearable temperature, hopping into the bathtub.

She didn't sit down, standing up so she wouldn't soak her staples or stitches. She grabbed a washrag, dumping it in the water and wringing it of excess water, before carefully going over her surrounding wounds to clean the skin. Once she finished, she proceeded to wipe down her entire body, before applying soap to the rag and washing herself, making sure to avoid getting soap in her wounds. After finishing soaping down and rinsing her skin, she dipped her hair in the water, lathering and scrubbing and rinsing her hair with shampoo and conditioner.

After finishing her bath, she exited the tub and drained the water. She grabbed towel and carefully dried off, wrapping the towel around her body and walking out to her bedroom. She grabbed a random bra and a baggy, cotton sweater so she could cover her arms and hopefully not rub too much on her stitches and avoid irritating them. She grabbed a skirt and panties, putting them on, along with clean socks (ones that were not bloody).

After dressing herself and sorting out her hair, she exited the bathroom and walked to her supply closet in the hallway, grabbing supplies for mopping, a broom and dustpan, hydrogen peroxide, a scrubber, glass cleaner, duster, etc. She had an hour and a half to clean up the place, which isn't too bad for a simple clean. (Y/N) cleans her apartment weekly, while it's a pain, she didn't want any neighbors knocking on her door and seeing her place trashed. She didn't want to risk a sudden drop in from her parents or such (she'd rather not hear their complaints). She had a reputation to uphold outside of her home and she couldn't afford anymore damage to it. Even after moving across the country, her reputation is held together by cheap duct tape.

She stared at her ruined flowers that rested on the ground, kicked on the ground and smashed over like roadkill. Once more, a good thing ruined with no-one to blame but herself.

The uber ride was extremely uncomfortable. It felt almost suffocating to be trapped in such a small space with a stranger. Andrew worries if the driver will look in the rearview mirror and recognize him, drive him down to the police station and turn him in instead of arriving safely at (Y/N)'s home.

That's not the worst of his problems, he completely forgot to tell Ashley where he's going or what's happening (wherever she is, he hasn't seen her for a few days now...)!

He feels a bit excited to have a place to go to, especially knowing it's (Y/N) he's returning to, but there's also a nauseating feeling in his stomach, a dropping weight sinking his inner organs with doubt. That feeling was replaced with a sense of fear, wondering what happened to Ashley. He hasn't heard from her in days and she has absolutely no clue of his whereabouts. He doesn't even know where she's been staying at these past days, if she even had a roof under her head or food in her stomach—at least he ate food from the hospital, granted the quality wasn't great but it was still something.

The uber pulled up to the curb in front of an apartment complex. The concrete on the ground had cracks and plastic wrappers from nearby fast food places, and the bushes out front looked overgrown and had more twigs and branches than it did green leaves. The outside walls were painted a tan, looking sun-bleached with flakes of paint peeling from the walls.

He stepped out of the car with the aid of crutches, no luggage to carry as he muttered a thanks to the driver, shutting the car door. He wiped the imaginary dirt off his ripped jeans. He managed to get his clothes back from the hospital after his discharge (luckily, they didn't have any rips or bloodstains that made the clothes unwearable) thanks to the nurses washing them for him prior to his release.

The apartment complex had multiple different buildings with alphabetical letters on them, each building having two levels and at least eight different staircases, so there must've been about sixteen apartments in each building. He wasn't sure which apartment (Y/N) lived in, she never gave him a number, but luckily he didn't have to go knocking door to find it as she spotted (Y/N) climbing down a set of concrete stairs. (Y/N) rushed over to him with a friendly smile, wearing a baggy, muted pink sweater and a black skirt.

"Andrew!" (Y/N) greeted, rushing over to his side, smelling of lemon and cleaning bleach. "I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate, I should've helped you get out of the car. Your legs are still injured and need to heal up."

"Hey, it's fine..." Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.

Her hair was down just as it was when she was a patient in the hospital, except she looked so beautiful now without that damn paper gown—those gowns didn't do her any justice. Her hair looked brighter, even looking softer in the sunlight—or maybe that's because she had access to a shower. Her smile looked as bright as the burning star in the sky shining its UV rays down onto them, if not brighter. Her skin was a more healthy color in contrast to how pale it looked in the hospital's lighting—perhaps her skin was softer too. He wondered how her hands would feel now that she was free from the hospital's gloomy and depressing atmosphere, how it would feel under his own hands, before he forced those thoughts away for now.

"My apartment is B04." (Y/N) informed, waving bye to the uber before guiding Andrew to her apartment. "I'm sorry for the stairs. Hopefully in a few months you can walk up and down them without any issue."

She guided him to a set of stairs, walking behind him so she could catch him in case he fell. When they made it to the top, she walked ahead and opened a white door with very little dirt on it and only minimum paint peeling near the bottom of it. She twisted open the gold doorknob, pushing open the door and holding it for him, watching as he limped into the apartment.

Andrew took a moment to observe the clean wooden floors, now understanding why he caught the whiff of lemon and cleaning product on her. She had a small table near the entrance with a small white and blue vase (similar to the one she broke in her room earlier). The vase had forget-me-nots, a classic flower representing depression despite how tragically beautiful they are. How cliché.

The walls had no paintings or pictures, her walls painted a bright white that gave the apartment a modern and bright feeling. The living room had grey carpeting, a comfortable looking couch with some blankets and pillows to sleep or relax on, a table in front of the couch and a TV hanging on the wall.

"Here, here. Rest your legs." (Y/N) spoke, pressing her hand against Andrew's back, creating a sudden zap of lightning that spread throughout his body as she sat him down on her couch.

"You don't have to worry about me." Andrew chuckled, a small smile resting on his lips.

He looked far more comfortable here than he was at the hospital, seeming to smile easier. His skin even looked a bit healthier, though that could've just been the hospital lighting and blood loss. His charcoal hair looked shiny, but not because it looked healthy, more so it was greasy. Who knew the last time he showered.

"Do you want to go shower?" (Y/N) questioned, before mentally hitting herself at how weird that sounded.

Judging by the look on his face, he thought it was a little random too.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out so weird..." she laughed, flustered. "I meant, would you like to shower? Not to be mean, but your hair looks a little greasy, and I don't know when you last showered. It'd be bad to have your wounds dirty and get infected."

"Oh." Andrew audibly voiced, resisting the urge to cover his hair at the realization.

The last time he showered must've been back at his old apartment complex, at least almost a week ago. He hasn't been worrying much about his appearance since the discovery of cultists, demons, and hitmen chasing after him has appeared.

"Right, that's a good idea..." He smiled bashfully, almost embarrassed to be seen this way.

He knew he was at least decently attractive, never putting too much thought in his clothes or appearance so long as he was clean (which he wasn't at the moment).

"Yeah, no worries..." She smiled, placing her hands on his waist as she helped him up from the couch, guiding him to her bathroom.

She opened the door and flipped the light switch, enveloping the room in bright light. The tiles were a shiny white, and the walls were a baby blue, a white tub with a silver shower head hanging from the wall. Her bathroom counter was clean, nothing cluttered on other than some hairdressing machines such as a hairdryer, straightener, curling iron, hair products, etc. She had some cabinets and drawers he'll peek into later, and an empty trashcan by the toilet. There was a laundry basket pushed up to the wall, and hooks to hang towels on the door.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any men shampoo or body wash..." (Y/N) apologized, picking up one of her soap bottles that sat on the bathtub's edge. "I hope you don't mind smelling like... Niacinamide and apple extract." She spoke, reading the front label.

"Better than nothing." He smiled.

"That's the spirit." She smiled, patting his shoulder. "Here, I'll rundown the process with you."

She sat down inside the tub, her feet hanging off the side in a semi-uncomfortable looking position. "I don't want you standing on your feet, so please sit down like this. It'll also help you from getting your stitches wet. Remember, don't get your stitches wet."

He would've paid more attention to what she was saying, but he was a bit distracted, his hearing a little muffled as he took in the sight of her. It's not very lady-like to sit in a tub (fully clothed, he hated) with your legs hanging off the side in a way that made your skirt ride up your thighs. He tried his best to keep his attention on her face, but it was hard to as his eyes kept subconsciously drifting down.

"So, the staples on your head is fine to get wet, just please be careful when you scrub so you don't tug on them, and make sure to rinse your hair really good. Be really careful when you brush your hair too so you don't tug on the staples. For your legs, you're going to need to wash them using a rag so you don't wet your stitches. Make sure not to get any soap in them either." She explained to him in depth, unaware how her words were going in one eat and out the other. "When you're done, pat your hair and body dry so the towel doesn't pull any stitches or staples."

(Y/N) stood up from the tub (with a little struggle due to her position), breaking Andrew from his thoughts.

"Do you got all that?" she questioned, smoothing down her skirt.

"Y-yeah." He muttered, avoiding her eyes in shame.

"Good." She smiled innocently. "Do you need any clothes?" she questioned, bending down to her cabinets and grabbing a clean towel and washrag.

"No. These clothes are fine... The nurses washed them before giving them to me." He explained, watching as she bend down, rising up and handing him the two items.

"You can put your towel on the hook, and put the washrag in my laundry basket." She directed. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you." He spoke, sparing her a small thankful smile.

"You don't have allergies or anything, right?" (Y/N) questioned, leaning on the door frame.

"No, I don't." He answered.

"So, anything you want for dinner? Do you have any dislikes?" she questioned.

"Anything's better than hospital food." He chuckled, leaning back on the toilet tank.

"Ha, you can say that again." She smiled. "I feel sorry for the patients that have to eat it, it's heated up in the back. I've had to eat it a few times because I've forgotten lunch and I didn't want to drive to some fast food joint." She hummed, moving off the door frame.

Yeah, he could definitely see that. He wouldn't want to go driving in the middle of the night around this crappy city, especially to some burger joint. It already sucks driving at night, but having to drive at night in a city is just worse thanks to people ignoring the crosswalks and jaywalking, or the random drunks popping out of nowhere on the road after a night with their friends in the club. You honk your horn at them to get off the road and they think it's a fun game to scream louder than your car horn and zigzag the streets in a game of chicken.

"But, I'll let you get to bathing. I just wanted your input for dinner." (Y/N) smiled. "Oh, also I'm on a soft food diet for a few weeks, but I won't have you suffering with me for it. I'll make sure to hook you up."

"Thank you." He chuckled, leaning his crutches on the wall next to the bathtub, placing his towel on the bathroom counter and the washrag on the bathtub's edge.

"Call me if you need anything." (Y/N) spoke, sending him a smile, before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her, leaving Andrew to his own devices.

Andrew let out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding. It was hard to look at her and pay attention to what she was saying after that eye candy, but somehow he managed. Luckily, he retained enough of what she said to where he can properly wash himself without damaging his stitches. He took off his black sweater and ripped jeans, observing his ankles.

He didn't need to wear casting anymore, but he still wore tight bandages to protect the stitch work and give a bit of support for the bone to heal itself. They had wired the small fractured bones together so the bones would stay in place. The thought of metal inside him made him a little squirmish, so he tried not to think much about it.

Andrew folded up his clothes, placing them down on the bathroom counter next to his towel. He glanced at the wooden laundry basket manufactured to look like a wicker basket in the corner, the cute little lid hiding her worn clothes that probably still smelled like her too.

He wondered if they'd share a laundry basket once he starts getting more situated around here. He wondered if they'd do their laundry together. If they'd cook meals together. If they'd decorate the house for the holidays together. If they'd wake up together in the same bed. Mundane and domestic little things like that he's unconsciously longed after for who knows how long.

He'll investigate her laundry along with her bathroom cabinets later. Right now, he doesn't want to take too long with this bath.

While Andrew cleaned himself up, (Y/N) browsed through her fridge, contemplating what to have for dinner. If she actually went to the grocery store, she’d have more food; however feeding herself hasn’t been much of a priority nowadays. Now that Andrew’s around, she’ll have to cook more to make sure he’s healthy and being cared for.

(Y/N) grabbed a package of Italian sausage that’s been in her fridge for a few days now. She unwrapped it, placing it on a frying pan over medium, before grabbing a pot and turning on the heat to low.

She grabbed some canned crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and Italian stewed tomatoes, throwing a can of each into the pot. Italian seasoning, basil, pepper, salt, oregano, minced garlic, and bay leaves all thrown into the pot. She would start a cooking stream if she wasn’t so insecure of herself.

She figured she’d just do an easy Italian goulash, it’s basically just spaghetti sauce with elbow noodles instead of angel hair.

After the meat finished cooking, she drained the grease and mixed the meat into the sauce. She grabbed another pot and filled it with water and some dashes of salt, waiting for it to boil. While she waited for that to boil, she started washing the dishes she dirtied and no longer needed.

(Y/N) absentmindedly spaced out while she washed the dishes. It’s weird how every time you wash the dishes, you’re either thinking of everything or nothing, nowhere in between. Perhaps you just disassociate to avoid the feeling of responsibility, or perhaps just to hurry up this annoying daily routine you have to do. It’s better to do the dishes than be featured in a before and after comparison picture for a housecleaning service on the newspaper (if anyone still reads those).

(Y/N) subconsciously peeked at the window, turning her attention to it. Normally she’d keep her curtains closed, but she wanted the room to be a bit brighter so she opened the curtains while cleaning.

A feeling of dread formed in her stomach like a whirlpool the longer she stared at the exposed window, causing (Y/N) turned off the faucet, drying off her hands. She quickly added some elbow noodles into the now boiling pot, then walked to the window in the dining room.

She closely observed the window’s lock, giving the window a tug to make sure the lock stayed in place. She grabbed a screwdriver from a small basket she kept on her kitchen counter, making sure to tighten up all the screws till they wouldn’t budge. She closely observed the screen protector, looking for any mild holes, cuts in the screen, or any fingertip smudges on the glass, before deeming it safe. You can never be too safe in the city—or anywhere for that matter.

She closed the curtains and pushed a small table back to the window wall, showcasing the innocent vase and flowers that rested in front of the window. The table was there in case any intruders broke in, that way there’d at least be a noise that would alert her if someone knocked down the table or vase.

(Y/N) went around the living room, observing the condition of every window and making minor adjustments to anything that needed to be done to ensure her safety was kept.

Andrew hobbled into the living room, fresh out of the bath as he stared at (Y/N), confused on what the hell she was doing running around the windows like a lunatic.

“Are you good?” Andrew questioned, causing (Y/N) to yelp and jump at least five feet in the air.

“Oh! Andrew!” (Y/N) gasped, holding her chest with her free hand. “You scared me. You’re very quiet.”

“Are you alright?” he repeated, hopping over to her side with the assistance of his crutches.

“I’m fine.” She smiled. “Just checking up on the windows. "You can never be too safe in the city, you know? Burglaries and murderers and all that!”

“Uh… Yeah… Yeah, that makes sense…” Andrew nodded, his thoughts drifting off.

She’s trying to keep herself safe from murderers like myself, Andrew thought, a bitter taste in his mouth at the idea of her not wanting him around (despite his belief that she doesn't know he's a murderer).

“Hungry?” (Y/N) questioned, an innocent smile from her face as she walked back into the kitchen.

“I might as well be starving.” He chuckled, even though he knew damn well what that felt like; famished and starving are two very distinct things.

“Well, dinner’s cooking and it won’t be any longer till it’s ready.” She hummed, watching as he followed her. “You like goulash, right? The Italian version?” she questioned, placing her screwdriver back into her counter’s basket.

“Basically spaghetti…” he smiled. “Yeah, I don’t mind it.”

“Good, good!” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing a spoon and stirring the noodles as they boiled. “I’m glad to hear. I just decided to play it safe tonight and do something easy. We both could use the rest.”

“Rest would be amazing.” Andrew spoke, hopping over to one of her kitchen stools and sitting down with a quiet groan.

“Speaking of rest... How is your legs?” (Y/N) questioned, turning her body to face Andrew, moving away from the stove, leaning her back on the kitchen counter as she crossed her arms.

“Oh, you know, they sting.” He hummed. “My ankles feel sore and there’s a dull throb every now and then, but hey, at least I’m still alive.”

Unfortunately. He thought to himself.

“Well, after dinner we can settle down and watch a movie.” She suggested. “Unless, you meant ‘rest’ as in you’re actually tired and want to sleep.”

“We’ll see after dinner…” He spoke. “I’m up for anything.”

“Sounds good.” She smiled. “And now that we mention dinner, it’s done.”

She grabbed a strainer and placed it in the sink, pouring the noodles in it to drain out the excess water. Once the noodles were drained, she mixed them in with the sauce, creating goulash.

She grabbed two bowls and scooped the pasta into the bowls, stabbing forks into the bowls before handing one to Andrew.

“There’s parmesan cheese in the fridge if you want some with it.” She spoke, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Water?” she questioned, looking at him.

“Yeah.” He answered with a nod, opening the fridge and scanning the shelves, before picking up the cheese and sprinkling it onto his pasta. “Thank you for cooking.”

“No worries.” She hummed, grabbing another glass and pouring water in it for him, handing him the glass.

Andrew accepted the water, giving her an appreciative nod as he followed her to the dining table, sitting down with her.

She had four chairs around her dining table, despite seeming to live alone (as far as he can see). Perhaps the chairs are for guests or just so the table wouldn’t look weird with one chair.

Andrew stabbed his fork into the pasta, taking a bite, allowing himself a moment to chew and process the flavors.

“Not bad.” He spoke, glancing over at her. “It tastes like spaghetti.”

“Thanks. It was basically the goal.” She chuckled, smiling.

“Are you normally a good cook? Or is pasta just all you make?” Andrew questioned, taking another bite as his eyes stayed focused on her.

“Oh, I just taught myself.” (Y/N) shrugged. "Cookbooks and the trial and errors."

“You’re good.” He hummed, taking a sip of his water.

“No, I’m not.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m pretty mediocre. I mean, cooking is a life skill so really I’m not good at it compared to others..."

He noticed her deflect the compliment and even shut it down, raising his eyes at her suspiciously. If he could kick her without hurting himself, he’d do it.

“Hey, I’m serious.” Andrew spoke, meeting her eyes. “You’re better than me, at least.”

(Y/N) adverted her eyes nervously, looking down at her food. Some butterflies flew around her stomach at the praise, or maybe her food was really just that bad.

It felt weird to talk during dinner. When she was a child having dinner at her parents, usually it was spent in either silence or her father usually talking up a storm while her mother ignored him. On the very rare occasion—when her mother did decide to acknowledge her—it was her sending passive-aggressive comments (Y/N)’s way and questioning her life goals and motives.

“So… clothes.” (Y/N) spoke up, picking up some goulash with her fork. “Unless you’re hiding a suitcase somewhere around here with clothes in it, we need to get you some clothes and other essentials. We can go shopping tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Andrew questioned, looking over at her surprised. “I mean, I can just keep wearing this until I get a job or something.”

“Gross.” (Y/N) spoke, making a face at the thought of him wearing the same attire for weeks to months on end.

“Hey, laundry exists, you know.” Andrew smiled, playfully pointing his fork at (Y/N).

“Yeah, no. You need more outfits, otherwise you’ll start looking boring.” She chuckled.

“Oh? Is my face not interesting enough?” Andrew questioned, teasing her as he sent her a wink.

“Oh please.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she felt her face heat up against her better wishes.

Oh god, I’m flirting with a murderer right now. (Y/N) thought, an almost nauseous feeling taking ahold of the butterflies in her stomach, causing them to burn in acid.

She wasn’t sure if being a murderer herself eased that nausea or worsened it.

Her doorbell rang, causing them both to shoot their heads up at the door.

Oh God, please don’t let it be him. (Y/N) thought, nervous. How did he even find me?

Ashley? Andrew thought, staring at the door. Please, don’t cause a scene. Please don’t scare (Y/N) off.

“I’ll get it.” (Y/N) spoke, forcing a smile as she stood up, her shoes tapping softly against the wooden planks.

(Y/N) walked to the front door, taking a deep breath before she opened the door, looking at who was in front of her abode.

Immediately, she slammed it back shut, panic creeping into her as a new wave of nausea hit her. She quickly rushed back to Andrew, ignoring the sting of her injured leg protesting at the rough movement, slamming her hands on the dining table.

“You and me are dating now.” (Y/N) spoke, seemingly breathless.

“W-wait, what?” Andrew blurted out, his eyes as wide as saucers and he looked at her, shocked.

“Just leave the talking to me.” (Y/N) spoke, before quickly rushing back to the front door, taking a second to smooth down her skirt and brush down her hair with her fingers.

She took a second to take a breath, then opened the door.

“Hi Papa! Hi Mama!” (Y/N) forced a smile, moving out of the doorway to let them in.

“Hey there, sport!” (Y/N)’s father spoke, ruffling her hair with his hand as he stepped into the hallway.

“About time you opened the door.” (Y/N)’s mother sighed, following her husband as she walked into the hallway, looking around at the empty walls. “You still haven’t hung anything up? It looks so gloomy in here.”

“I just haven’t found any decoration I like.” (Y/N) sighed, shutting the door behind her.

Mama? Papa? Andrew thought, shocked as he stared at the family.

He’s meeting her parents already? They just started dating a few seconds ago!

“Something’s smelling good! Are you cooking dinner?” her father questioned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked around at her simple apartment, before his eyes met Andrew.

Andrew and (Y/N)’s father shared a silent staring contest, before her father rushed over to where Andrew was sitting, slamming his hands on the table.

“Who the hell do you think you are in my daughter’s home?!” he shouted, the table shaking from the impact of his hands.

“Was he a one night stand?” her mother questioned, gliding over to the dining table, staring down at Andrew judgmentally.

“Hey, it’s okay!” (Y/N) spoke, rushing to her father’s side and doing her best to pull him back from Andrew. “He’s good!”

“Who is he?” her father questioned, his hands scrunching up table cloth with white knuckles.

“This is… my boyfriend, Andrew.” (Y/N) spoke, a embarrassed blush creeping up on her cheeks at her words as she managed to make some space between her father and Andrew.

“Boyfriend?” her mother questioned, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Shocking.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” her father questioned, before laughing. “Sorry about that son, I didn’t mean to scare you. My daughter just got some bad experiences with boys. But you’re a man, right? You wouldn’t hurt her?” he questioned, forcing Andrew’s hand in his own and squeezing the life out of Andrew’s hand.

“N-nice to meet you, sir…” Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, a forced smile on his face. “And no, sir... I don’t wish to hurt your daughter.”

“I’m Frank.” (Y/N)’s father, Frank, introduced himself as he shook Andrew’s hand, dropping the hand back to Andrew’s side.

“And I’m Rose.” (Y/N)’s mother spoke up.

Andrew offered a handshake to her, but she just looked at his hands with disgust. “I don’t do handshakes.”

“Right…” Andrew spoke awkwardly, dropping his hand back to his side.

“So… Ma, Pa, what brings your sudden visit?” (Y/N) questioned, holding her hands together in a service-like gesture.

“We had a call from the hospital saying you were in the ER getting surgery, so your mother and I hopped in the car and drove across the country.” Frank explained.

“Oh… that’s nice…” (Y/N) smiled, unsure what to say. “Um… thank you for checking up on me, Papa.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, roughing up her hair once more. “I’m sorry I wasn’t answering your calls, we drove through a lot of dead spots.”

Well, that at least explains why she couldn’t reach her father while she was in the hospital. She felt pretty lonely not hearing there voices during her time of need, but at least Andrew was there looking out for her.

Pathetic really, having to rely on a man she barely knows, let alone a killer.

“You look fine.” Rose spoke up. “Are you sure you weren’t just overreacting?” she questioned, her tone accusing as she look in (Y/N)’s appearance.

“Thanks for your concern, Ma.” (Y/N) forced a smile, unsurprised of her mother’s words while Andrew had to fight to keep his mouth closed.

“So what happened?” Rose questioned, taking a seat at the dining table.

“Well, I took a walk after one of my shifts, and I got attacked by some man.” (Y/N) explained, by now she was well-rehearsed in saying the same lie over and over. “And they kept stabbing me, but I was able to fight them off and run away. I drove myself to the hospital after the attack.”

“Whose boyfriend did you sleep with?” Rose questioned with a blank face.

“Rose!” Frank snapped, sending a glare at Rose.

“What?” she questioned. “Well, obviously she must’ve did something to get targeted. Things like that don’t happen just because.”

“I didn’t do anything…” (Y/N) spoke, a bit annoyed.

How dare she even accuse her daughter of sleeping around? Does she really think she got attacked by a vengeful girlfriend? Does she really think (Y/N) would stoop down that low? To sleep with a taken man?

(Y/N) doesn’t accept leftovers—so to hear her mother accuse her of being the catalyst of someone’s adultery really upset her. She had to bite back her tongue to the point she tasted some blood.

I mean, yeah, she got attacked by a jealous and vengeful sister if that counts? But those are two completely different things! (Y/N) didn’t mean to steal Andrew away from Ashley, nor did she mean to kill her! And she didn’t even sleep with Andrew to begin with!

Andrew looked shocked, doing his best to keep his face neutral and not stare at Rose with disgust. I mean, who the hell tries to justify their daughter’s attempted murderer?

Andrew wasn’t sure if he should continue eating, watch the interaction, or pretend like he’s hearing nothing.

“Well, what were you wearing? Did you provoke him?” Rose questioned, tapping her fingers impatiently.

(Y/N) walked to the kitchen, holding up her middle finger her mother’s way as she grabbed two bowls from her cupboard, putting pasta in them.

“I just wore my nurse uniform.” She explained. “I stopped by my apartment, dropped off my phone to charge and left purse home. Then I went on a short walk around the park.”

“Perhaps it was a hate crime if you weren’t screwing someone’s boyfriend.” Rose hummed, accepting the bowl of goulash her daughter gave her. “You know how rowdy people are getting nowadays. Absolutely disgraceful some of them are. I mean, we nurses save their lives and they hate us for not being able to save anyone. What am I? God?”

Fuck, I hope not. (Y/N) and Andrew thought at the same time.

“Well, sometimes people just have bad medical experience. Things happen.” (Y/N) spoke. “For all I know, he could’ve been experiencing a mental breakdown or perhaps an episode.”

“You should stop involving yourself with men in general. Remember that last one?” Rose questioned. “Or, are you finally admitting that he was innocent and you’re a liar? Do you know how much we went through even after you left? All that money lost and—”

“Rose. That’s enough.” Frank spoke sternly, pointing his fork at Rose as (Y/N) placed his bowl down in front of him. “We talked about this on the way here. You need to be nicer to (Y/N). She doesn’t need your bitching after what just happened to her. We should be grateful she’s even alive.”

Rose looked at her husband agitated, her expression saying she was anything but grateful, but she decided to keep her mouth shut for now.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I guess the roadtrip has been a bit tiring for Rose. She’s a bit cranky, menopause and all.” Frank chuckled, doing his best to make light of the situation.

Rose shot him a nasty glare for that comment, one Frank ignored as he continued speaking.

“So, Andrew, was it? How did you and (Y/N) meet?” Frank questioned, taking a bite of his food. “You didn’t meet her along the road and needed to stalk her home for her number or something, right?”

“Papa…” (Y/N) groaned, not appreciating the hostile vibes he was shooting Andrew’s way.

“Right… um… How I met your daughter.” Andrew chuckled nervously, his eyes trailing over to (Y/N) in a ‘get me the fuck out of this conversation’ stare.

Oh God, the question (Y/N) was dreading. She can’t tell her parents that Andrew is her former patient! That’s so unprofessional of her to take him in and house him! Especially after she lied about them dating too! Not only that, but her mother would never let her live it down. Rose would judge her for the rest of her life!

“I approached him.” (Y/N) spoke up. “At the library when I transferred colleges. I thought he was cute, so I asked for his number.”

“Did you ask if he was single at the time?” Rose questioned, earning an annoyed stare from Frank and Andrew too.

Does this lady ever shut up? Andrew thought to himself.

“Yeah. She was studying… college things. There were some books on her table, and she was reading one about nursing.” Andrew spoke, forcing himself to make eye contact with Frank to try and be sincere despite the utter bullshit and lies he was spewing out his mouth.

“What did you think of first about my daughter?” Frank questioned.

What the hell was Andrew supposed to say to that? That’s a death trap for any man. He might as well be a fly sitting on a Venus flytrap, any wrong move (answer) and he’s dead!

His first thoughts of her while sitting on that hospital bed? ‘Fuck, a girl. Hopefully Ashley won’t bitch too much.’ Followed by ‘She’s pretty. Prettier than the girl in the apartment I murdered.’

But he can’t just tell Frank that.

“I was attracted to your daughter’s eyes.” Andrew spoke, mentally slapping himself in the head.

Stupid! Every guy says that corny shit!

“Really now?” Frank questioned, looking at Andrew’s suspiciously.

Just accept it, Papa. (Y/N) thought to herself, practically sweating bullets on her side of the table. It’s better than saying he liked my chest! Just roll with it!

“Good. Good answer…” Frank spoke, slowly nodding his head as if Andrew passed a test. “That’s a real good answer, boy. I mean, your looks will change all the time as you grow old, but your eyes stay the same for the most part. Unless you carve them out or something. Carve them out like pumpkin guts.” He spoke morbidly, a chuckle spreading throughout his lips. “But good answer.”

“Don’t talk about eyeballs like it’s pumpkin seeds, Pa.” (Y/N) groaned.

Stop trying to scare Andrew away from me. (Y/N) mentally pleaded, begging for who knows why. I’m craving pumpkin pie now though…

“Aha… yeah. Pumpkin guts.” Andrew laughed awkwardly, unsure if Frank was even speaking of a joke right now.

“You know, speaking of good. This is some good food! Gourmet stuff right here! You should’ve been America’s master chef instead.” Frank complimented as he looked over at his daughter, pointing his fork to the bowl.

“Thank you.” (Y/N) forced a smile, not wanting to accept the compliment. “But it could be better…”

“You’re right.” Rose nodded, taking a bite of her food and chewing it. “It’s too bland for my taste.”

It wasn’t made for you. (Y/N) quickly retorted, looking at Rose blankly as she imagined lasers shooting out of her eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I make this…” (Y/N) spoke, her plastered smile wavering.

The heavy tension between these two ladies is enough to break a knife cutting through, Andrew has decided.

“I think it’s just perfect.” Andrew spoke up, avoiding Rose’s glare.

That’s two against one; (Y/N) food wins against Rose’s tastebuds.

“So, Andrew. How long have you known (Y/N) for?” Frank intervened, sending a wary glance Rose’s way.

Andrew looked at (Y/N) nervously, unsure what to say to that.

“A year now.” (Y/N) spoke up. “I met him not long after I moved here.”

“Really? And we’re just now knowing about him?” Frank questioned, surprised.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” (Y/N) shrugged, finishing her food. “Besides… I wanted to get to know him better before introducing you to him.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring this one into court for stalking you.” Rose spoke, crossing her arms as she glanced at (Y/N).

“Mama…” (Y/N) hissed through her teeth, finally breaking down as she sent Rose a hateful glare back. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Then don’t.” Rose shrugged. “I want to. Andes or Drew or something like that. Did you know—“

(Y/N) stood up from her seat, tightly holding her fork in one hand as if it was a weapon. “I said no, Ma.”

Rose looked up and down at (Y/N), unamused with (Y/N)’s act.

“Rose, stop.” Frank spoke, reaching to his side and holding his wife’s forearm. “Let’s not trigger her.”

“When you’re done eating, bring your dishes to me. I’ll clean them.” (Y/N) stated, before walking out of the dining table to the kitchen in almost a robotic fashion.

Andrew was pretty curious of what (Y/N) didn't want him to know about, but he didn't want to ask Rose and risk talking to her more, and Frank might just kill him for even wondering.

There was a pause in the dining room, nobody wanting to eat despite how good the food was, their appetites ruined by the tension. Andrew still ate every bite though, forcing it down despite feeling ill from Rose’s attitude.

Andrew grabbed his crutches resting on the wall, standing up and taking his bowl and fork with him. Rose’s eyes sparkled, seeming to make a connection.

“That’s why she’s with you!” Rose gasped. “She can’t settle for anyone else but a cripple!”

“Rose!” Frank hissed, his grip tightening on Rose’s forearm.

“Oh please, you know I’m right.” Rose huffed, before looking back at Andrew. “You had to settle for her.”

“What’s your deal?” Andrew questioned, his voice low so (Y/N) couldn’t hear their conversation. “Why are you such a bitch?”

Rose’s eyes sharpened, but her lack of reaction could only assume she’s heard that insult before. “You don’t know how much money we lost because of that attention-whore. She should’ve died that night…” Rose muttered lowly, her voice unwavering as she meant every word she said.

Frank shook his head, but his expression said he was anything but happy. “Stop it. You’re going too far.” Frank hissed.

Rose sent him a smug smirk, seemingly proud of what she just said.

“Hag…” Andrew spat her way, his hands balled up into fists as he tried not to do anything too drastic to turn this family reunion into a murder.

Andrew hopped out of the kitchen, ignoring the small whispers Frank and Rose spoke as they bickered with one another.

(Y/N) stood at the sink with the faucet running, her hands scrubbing her clean bowl with a lost gaze. Who knows how long she’s been scrubbing that singular dish.

“(Y/N)…” Andrew whispered, his hand reaching out and touching her shoulder.

“Huh?” (Y/N) jolted, almost dropping the bowl as she turned her head to him. “Andrew? Did you need something?”

“Just wanted to give you this like you told me to.” Andrew spoke, placing his dishes in the sink.

His hands snaked around her waist, a shiver wracking through (Y/N)’s body, reacting to the intimate touch.

“What are you doing?” she questioned lowly, a nervous feeling appearing in her chest.

“I’m just playing the part.” He muttered. “We’re dating now, yeah?” he smiled, almost cocky to throw her words back at her.

“Uh… yeah…” she muttered, doing her best to relax her body, her back pressed against his chest as her body leaned into him without her consent.

God, this is so wrong for me to be doing with my patient. Former patient? Roommate? Fuck, who knows at this point! (Y/N) thought, nervous as she avoided his eyes.

Andrew leaned against her, whether it was to get closer or to support himself without his crutches, who knows. He rested his head on her shoulder, watching her shaky hands tend to the dirty dishes.

“You know, I’m really not liking your mother.” Andrew admitted, letting out a sigh.

His breath hit her ear, making her shiver at the reminder that he’s so close to her.

“Well… it’s not like I chose her.” (Y/N) sighed.

“Heh, wouldn’t that be great?” Andrew chuckled. “Choosing your own parents. That would be awesome…”

“Sorry for her behavior…” (Y/N) muttered. “She’s just… not really empathetic. Or sympathetic. Really, she doesn’t do well in the emotions department in general.”

“And I thought my parents were bad…” Andrew commented, shaking his head as he smiled.

The movement just made her more aware of how close he was to her, pressing his body against her. She didn’t know if she wanted to hit him with a dish and run, or freeze and accept the once-in-a-lifetime affection she’ll probably ever have.

He smelt just like her shampoo, making her understand that this might just be a norm. That he might actually live with her longer than she expected. They’ll share the same roof, food, shower, and who knows what else.

A wave of confidence washed over him, giving him the boldness of a drunk frat holding a pool cue. His hands moved from her waist to her sweater, fiddling with the muted pink cotton, far too close to her bare skin for her comfort as her bandages peeked out from underneath.

“Watch your hands.” (Y/N) gritted under her teeth, shooting Andrew a warning glare.

“Yes, ma’am…” he chuckled, his hands retreating, deciding to rest them on her hips.

He watched over her shoulder as she hurriedly finished the rest of the dishes, before stepping away from Andrew, no longer supporting his weight. Luckily, he had his crutches to catch him when she abandoned his side, creating a cushion of space between the two.

Frank and Rose both entered the kitchen, Frank’s bowl licked clean and Rose’s bowl half-eaten. (Y/N) took care of the dishes, her hands scrubbing them before she spoke up.

“So how long are you guys going to be staying in town?” (Y/N) questioned, finishing a dish.

“We only planned to make sure you’re okay.” Frank spoke. “Are you doin' anythin' tomorrow?”

Great, the question every child dreads when their parents are in town. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang with her father, but she doesn’t want to hang with her mother.

“I’ll be busy.” (Y/N) hummed. “Me and Andrew wanna go shopping together. We’ll probably go get lunch too.”

“A lunch date, I see.” Frank nodded, his eyes trailing to Rose. “Well then, we’ll head out tomorrow mornin' and be out of your hair.”

“Do you have a place to stay tonight?” (Y/N) questioned, turning off the tap as she finished the dishes, drying her hands with a towel.

“Hotels in the city are so expensive.” Rose grimaced, crossing her arms. “We figured we’d just stay the night here.”

“I’ll set up the sleeper sofa for you.” (Y/N) smiled.

If my parents get the couch, then that means Andrew will have no place to sleep tonight. (Y/N) thought.

(Y/N) looked at Andrew from across the room, not all that surprised to see him staring back. Their eyes came to the silent conclusion and agreement.

They were sleeping together tonight.

“I’ll go get some blankets and pillows for you both.” (Y/N) spoke.

She walked past her parents and Andrew, placing her hand on his shoulder in a silent command for him to follow her. He did so without question.

He hopped down the hallway, following her to her bedroom.

(Y/N) opened the door for him, before softly closing the door behind her.

“Okay… so, my parents are taking the sleeper, which is originally where I planned on having you sleep.” (Y/N) explained. “So… this means we’re going to be sharing a bed tonight.”

“Yeah, I figured that much…” Andrew sighed, resting his crutches against the wall as he sat down on the bed, crossing his arms.

“That… that’s it?” she questioned, a bit perplexed. “No protests or complaints?”

“No, why?” he questioned, looking up at her. “You nervous?”

“No, I’m not.” She scoffed, a smile appearing on her lips, almost laughing at the idea of herself being nervous to sleep with him for one night.

Because in truth, she was.

“I’ll go get them their blankets. You can stay here.” (Y/N) spoke. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit tired. I’d rather not sit in the living room and talk with them… would you?”

“No.” Andrew spoke all too quickly.

Her mother was a bitch, plain and simple. And her father was a bit intimidating, despite his attempts to get to know Andrew, Andrew couldn’t help but feel her father is waiting for just one word he doesn’t like slip out of his mouth before all hell could break loose.

“Good…” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling. “So, I’ll give them their stuff… then you and me camp out in here and watch some movies together?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Andrew nodded, kicking off his shoes and leaning back on her bed, his arms resting on her pillows lazily.

"Hey, elevate your legs." (Y/N) ordered, throwing two pillows his way.

Andrew groaned in a small protest, but listened as he placed the pillows underneath his calves.

(Y/N) left the room, walking into her supply closet and grabbing some blankets and pillows; she always kept extras so she can rotate her bedding while doing laundry.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you guys, and I’m sorry for worrying you two to where you had to come out here…” (Y/N) apologized, handing her parents their bedding for the night.

“Hey, it’s no trouble.” Frank smiled. “Really, we wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

“Thank you.” (Y/N) nodded, going to the couch and taking off the cushions, grabbing a handle that tugged the mattress out from underneath. “I appreciate your concern. I’m feeling just dandy; it doesn’t even hurt much.”

Despite her words, there was indeed a hiss of pain that shot through her stomach when she bent over to grab the mattress, but she just ignored it.

(Y/N) made the bed for her parents, tucking in the blankets and fluffing the pillows.

“I’m sorry, I’m still pretty tired. I just got out of the hospital this morning so I think I’ll be going to bed early tonight. Is there anything I can get you guys beforehand?” (Y/N) questioned.

“We’re fine.” Rose sighed. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow mornin', so don’t be surprised if you see us gone when you wake up.”

“Are you going to be fine with that man?” Frank questioned.

“That man is my boyfriend, Papa.” (Y/N) chuckled, albeit faked. “I’ll be just fine.”

“If you say so.” Frank sighed. “But just holler if he causes any trouble to you.”

“Got it.” (Y/N) nodded. “I’m going to go hit the hay. Goodnight, Papa. Goodnight, Mama.”

(Y/N) exited the living room, quickly rushing to her kitchen and retrieving some chips, packaged popcorn, and Hawaiian sweet bread she found lying around in her pantry. She grabbed a few water bottles before rushing to her bedroom so her parents couldn’t see the snacks.

(Y/N) quickly shut the door behind her, locking eyes with Andrew as he stayed in the same spot she left him in.

“Here. I couldn’t grab much since they’re camping out in the living room.” (Y/N) spoke, placing the food on the bed. “Just try not to get any crumbs on the bed.”

Andrew nodded, his eyes trailing around the room, making a few notes of the minimal decorations and how bare it really looked. He knows now that she moved here about a year ago, but damn does she not have any personality?

“I’m going to go change into some pajamas…” (Y/N) spoke up. “I’ll find something for you too.”

“Thanks.” Andrew smiled.

“Here. You can choose a movie while I search. I’m a fan of all genres.” (Y/N) spoke, grabbing her TV remote from her bedside and hanging it to Andrew.

She walked to a door that led to her closet, opening it and moving stuff around, before finding herself a simple long-sleeved nightgown to wear. She tossed that onto her shoulder, then looked around for something Andrew could wear.

Luckily, she was a fan of baggy clothes, whether it was because she was feeling like wearing something oversized and comfortable, or she would wear it on cleaning days. She grabbed a shirt and sweatpants for Andrew, handing it over to him before retreating to her bathroom to change.

She changed into her nightgown, deciding to save Andrew some extra time to change. She took her day clothes and threw it in her laundry basket, hiding the dirty and tacky state merchandise clothes she wore earlier while burying Ashley. She also removed the bloody bandages off her arm, revealing the fresh cuts she made this morning using the broken shards from the vase earlier.

The cuts burned at the exposure to oxygen, a throbbing sensation going up her arm. She grabbed rubbing alcohol from under her sink and some toilet paper, pouring the disinfectant onto the cloth and dabbing it on her cuts to prevent any infections. She wrapped her arm with new bandages, calling it a day as she shoved the supplies back under her sink cabinet.

She brushed her hair in her mirror, washing her face with water and drying it off, before deciding she’s given Andrew enough time to change into his sleepwear. She unlocked her bathroom door, opening it and walking out, closing the door behind her.

Andrew was back to laying in her bed, but at least he was dressed appropriately for sleep. The remote was in his hand as he scrolled through the movies, uninterested in it all.

“Do you have a favorite genre?” (Y/N) inquired, crawling into bed.

She kept her distance from him, cresting a invisible barrier between the two. He was still a man after all, two broken ankles or not.

“Uh… not really…” Andrew shrugged.

It’s not like he could remember much anyways, just what happened at his old apartment complex. He was just glued to the couch watching the news all the time, waiting for an update on when the damn quarantine will be done so he can get some food.

“Well, are you in a laughing mood? Crying mood? Family-friendly mood?” (Y/N) questioned.

“Yeah, I’m not one to get emotional over movies…” Andrew sighed. “Why? Is that something you do?”

“Hey, dogs and kids dying in movies are really sad.” (Y/N) huffed playfully, taking the remote from his hand.

(Y/N) scrolled through the movies, both sharing bored and disinterested look on their face as they scrolled through the channels together. She threw a bag of chips his way, watching from the corner of her eye as she caught it.

He opened the bag, shoving some in his mouth before holding a chip in his hand, bringing it to (Y/N)’s mouth. She accepted the chip, opening her mouth as he placed it on her tongue, watching as she closed her mouth and chewed.

Andrew glanced back at the TV, watching as (Y/N) scrolled through the movies, before his eye caught something.

“Wait, stop.” Andrew spoke, causing her to stop her aimless scrolling and look over at him. “Scroll back up.”

She listened, slowly scrolling up, before he made her stop on one movie.

“Seriously?” (Y/N) groaned, looking at Andrew with a half-hearted glare.

“Yeah.” He smirked, looking at her with a smug expression. “Why? You scared?”

“Ugh, please.” She scoffed, selecting the movie, pressing play. “Like I’d be scared of this. It’s just some ghosts haunting a house.”

“Hey, shush! Don’t spoil it!” Andrew hushed, shoving some more chips into her mouth.

She playfully rolled her eyes, yet smiled as she relaxed back into her pillows.

Andrew chose The Conjuring to watch, which means (Y/N) won’t be walking down any basement stairs or looking in any mirrors tonight (or for the next few days, possibly weeks). If the bed starts rattling from a ghost or demon, may any God have mercy on that poor undead fellow because she won’t.

Maybe Andrew was a fan of horror movies before losing his memory? Perhaps he remembers liking horror movies? Or perhaps it was just the only semi-interesting thing to watch.

It wasn’t long before the two actually got intrigued with the movie, focusing their attention on the dark screen—(Y/N) had even turned off the lights for this.

It’s unknown who moved closer (most likely Andrew), but by the time she registered their close proximity, he had placed his arm behind her shoulders, pulling her closer to him to where she rested in his side.

She opened her mouth to speak, before inevitably staying quiet. Maybe it was because she was focusing on the movie, or maybe it was because she kind of liked the affection. Whatever it was, she decided it wasn’t worth mentioning. Maybe if they both just stayed quiet about it, it wouldn’t ever be brought up or thought about again.

The warmth of his body was a foreign sensation she’s never felt. Her chest almost hurt at this newfound intimacy, and she wondered if she was expecting heart palpitations for a second. She’s never held or cuddled someone, and there was absolutely no desire to after what’s happened in the past, but maybe she’ll enjoy it for once and hopefully it won’t backfire in her face like everything else has in life.

Andrew lazily fed himself chips with one hand, his arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders as he subconsciously rubbed her shoulder relaxingly with his free hand. The position felt almost natural to him, something that didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable or forced.

(Y/N) stared at the TV in a daze, a wave of tiredness hitting her. Her whole body felt warm and in a trance as she leaned more into Andrew’s side, before finally resting her head onto his chest.

Andrew glanced down at her, a soft smile spreading on his lips as his eyes drooped in fondness and adoration, one he wouldn’t let her see so soon of knowing her. His hand that was originally rubbing her shoulder instead moved and started playing with her hair, gently scratching her scalp and weaving his fingers through her hair.

(Y/N) let the last bit of her restraint go, closing her eyes as her ears ignored the TV’s spooky music playing. She let out a small appreciative sigh as Andrew pulled the blankets higher up to cover her better. It felt so damn good being taken care of for once, that if she wasn’t so tired, she’d be bawling her eyes out right now.

But he was a murderer; and so was she. Why are they capable of such gentleness and hospitality despite committing such horrendous things?

Maybe it’s because murderers are humans too. They were just like us before they were labeled murderers. If there’s a way (Y/N) can redeem herself of such a negative title, she’d take it. Maybe even Andrew could redeem too.

But if bad things happen to good people, then does good things happen to bad people? It makes her wonder how long this good thing will last, after all, nothing good ever happens to (Y/N), or at least it doesn’t stay long.

Ah, who gives a damn… (Y/N) thought, her arms wrapping around Andrew’s waist as she relaxed in his arms, enjoying the feeling of his hands running through her hair.

Hopefully, now she’s done a bad thing and is arguably a bad person depending on who you ask, maybe she’ll finally start getting good things.

She knows one thing now. If Andrew could make her feel this damn good despite not even being here for 24 hours, then she can’t let him leave her. She’ll keep this affection and warmth all to herself.

It’s time for (Y/N) to take what she wants now.

Chapter 6 is done! I actually have chapter 7 all pieced out and what I want to do for that chapter, so the next chapter we're having tons more drama, a new and important character introduction (just a little spoiler for you, they're a yandere). Patience is always appreciated.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

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silverskye13 · 11 months ago

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how did you get the confidence to write fanfiction? i always worry that i won't portray the characters properly so any ideas or wants to write fanfics that i have go away or i talk myself out of it :(

Well! First and foremost: Most people don't start writing,,,, anything with confidence. Let alone fanfic, where you know other people are going to be looking at it, with their own ideas of how the characters are supposed to act and feel influencing what they're coming to the story with. My first fanfic I was very insecure, which I feel like was evident, reading through the author's notes now. Apologies whenever something that required a lot of suspension of disbelief happened, a poll so readers could decide the ending so I wouldn't disappoint anybody, only to end in me writing and posting three different endings. Long justifications for why I chose certain things in the author's notes. The fic nowadays reads to me like a very rough apology.

"Hi I'm sorry I tried. Be kind I'm very scared."

But the thing about writing that fic was, it was the writerly equivalent of jumping into the deep end of the pool for the first time. After I bobbed back to the surface and realized a shark hadn't like, taken my legs off while I was down there, jumping in again got easier. And kept getting easier. And now I just write and post things.

There's kind of two schools of thought that I've seen people subscribe to, when it comes to taking the first leap. The one that's really popular around here on Tumblr is: Do it scared. It is simple and straightforward. You are scared. You will be scared. You probably never won't be scared. So do it scared. Write your thing, close your eyes and hit send [either to post it or to share it with one or two friends, or even just hitting the "save" button and not deleting it]. Get scared, do it, close your eyes, finish. When you open your eyes again and nothing terrible has happened, you can breathe a sigh of relief and do it scared again. It's a little nerve-wracking at first, but the idea is giving your mind the association of jumping and not falling. I did it and I didn't fail, therefore it is safe to do it again.

The other school of thought [the one I specifically subscribe to] is: Do it once. What you think or feel about it doesn't matter. What matters is you did it once. Maybe it will be hell, or it'll suck terribly. Maybe you're really excited! And it turns out great! Maybe its a wild ride of ups and downs, and by the end you need a few months to catch your breath and decide if it was worth it. Regardless: you did it once. Now you know, if you want to, you can do it again. Now you can decide if its worth doing again. For me, the euphoria of finishing a project always far outweighs the trouble getting there, so the step forward of "Do it once" is powerful for me. And that can be broken down too. "Write one chapter." "Draw one drawing." "Clean one room in the house." There is no pressure to continue if its really that terrible, but you at least get to decide if one was worth it [and a solid 9 times out of 10, one was worth it enough to do it more.]

Now, all that said, if what you're worried about is writing the characters right and nothing else -- don't worry too much. Most people care less about how true to life the characters are, and care a lot more about consistency in the story. An example from RnS: In canon, Helsknight is a cartoonish villain with one motivation, and that motivation is taking over hermitcraft Doofenschmirtz style. To date, no one has come into my inbox demanding I change him, because he's so OOC he's basically an OC at this point. What people have come into my inbox about though, is "Hey, you established X in this chapter, but he said Y in this chapter. Was there a reason for that?" which is them saying, "Why didn't you keep your character consistent?" If you tell your audience what the expectations are for the story and you stick with them, they will stop caring about OOC moments and characterizations, and will trust you're going somewhere with your writing. Suspension of disbelief, your powerful friend! They put the world on their shoulders and carry and everybody watches and claps.

If you're also worried about consistency, then start out with one shots! There's a lot less room for error, no large, sweeping character arcs to keep track of. And stringing a bunch of one-shots together can give you practice with character consistency and progression without committing to something massive and overarching. If you're truly worried about making the characters exactly like Canon [or the Canon in your head], I recommend making little lists of character traits, or important things you want to keep in mind. At that point you're scared of your own consistency, and you just need a framework to keep yourself consistent enough for yourself, if that makes sense?

Hopefully! This helps! Sorry I'm a little scattered today :'D

#answering asks #caramelcoatednightmares #writing advice #fanfic advice #longpost #the barking writer #im very sleepy and still thinking about soup #i think maybe i'm just very thirsty

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loustica-lucia · 1 month ago

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DATV — Some thoughts about Illario Dellamorte

It's so funny to me how some people wonder how we can like a character like Illario Dellamorte… as if Loghain, Anders, Solas, Blackwall and SO many other characters who did mistakes and hurt people they loved didn't have fans, too 🤔

Grey characters, my misunderstood beloveds😔

To me, all he did wasn't for greed or power. At least not only. He wanted the attention. The recognition of his peers. All the things he never got from Caterina.

It doesn't excuse what he did to Lucanis, but it explains how he got there. He's just an idiot who wanted to be loved. He wanted to be admired. To see what it felt like to be the first choice and not the "forever second", for once.

When you grow up with nothing else but rivalry in your life, you learn how to survive and fight for it.

He just went too far. But that's how he's always been taught… 😔

In Lucanis' questline, you can see how much he loves his cousin — his brother — and how the love Illario so desperately wanted from Caterina existed, but from Lucanis.

Now that his ego is crushed and the other Crows will remember him as a traitor, he might realise it.

Some OC x Canon specific thoughts:

With Dolores Balazar — my original character who'll soon be his wife — I like to explore the hurt/comfort themes around this man.

The way he's fought his entire life and doesn't know how to properly love. With Zara, it was a toxic bond for power.

He wanted to be the First Talon, to fit Caterina's expectation and receive the attention he seeked his entire life.

Dolores Balazar is Dante Balazar — the former Second Talon —'s younger sister. She refused to take over his role, since she was very young when he got killed in "Eight Little Talons" (Tevinter Nights), afraid more Crows would try to kill her for it, since so many Talons died from intestine wars.

The duality of his story with hers, yet both seeking attention through different means, is so interesting to me.

She's a "fashion designer", making the uniforms and outfits for the Crows, designing hidden pockets for their poisons and knifes, making them as practical as fashionable. Dress to impress kind of thing. That's how she seeks attention.

They knew each other for a while before DATV, since Teia was in a relationship with her older brother, and they got along well. And Teia is very close to Caterina.

But she only ever saw him like a greedy and pitiful man, not looking past that "bad boy flirting with everyone" façade the whole time.

Seeing him at the Villa Dellamorte, kneeling in front of every Houses, defeated by his own ego, changed her vision of him. That's how she managed to see more to him than what others gave him credits for.

He's still an asshole, he's still problematic. But he's more human than just that.

He's been hurt by the way the Crows are raised the same way she did.

They both have wrongs to repay, both have struggles to fight, inner battles to win and things to prove to the world

But now, they're not alone. They're loved.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #illario dellamorte #caterina dellamorte #lucanis dellamorte #dolores balazar #dolores dellamorte #oc x canon

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dolls-self-ships · 13 days ago

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I just wanted to ask if you ever feel bad (idk if that’s the right phrase) with shipping yourself with a character who is widely accepted to be aroace (ford)

I mean sometimes I feel awful for having oc x canon/self ships with characters who are headcanoned as aroace because I feel like I’m being selfish or something (even though I feel like I could be on the aroace spec myself)

Do you ever feel like that or do you have a different perspective on it?

I know you headcanon him as aroace AND biromantic (i think correct me if im wrong)

I’m just worried I’m being harmful because I’m not “letting them be aroace” because most aroace characters get shipped with others

I just wanna know what it’s like doing self shipping when you yourself have stated to at least be on the aroace spectrum

(Sorry for the long ask)

Hey! Sorry for taking so long to answer this. I kept going back to look at it to try and craft the perfect response but then kept forgetting g and ah you know how it goes.

I do not at all feel bad for self shipping with Ford. As an aroace person myself I think I should be allowed to play dress up with my favorite fictional man. I would actually argue that it's more widely headcanoned in the fandom that Ford is gay (which, I don't agree with lmao) and I STILL don't feel bad because there is no real canon orientation for any of the characters in gravity falls. It's not important to the plot, their stories, or anything, so the creator never felt the need to explicitly state anything (unlike say Vivziepop with hazbin hotel).

Also like, no, I don't think that it's selfish at all. He is fictional. He is not real. He cannot bleed. He cannot hear you. And he cannot defend himself. He's an idea. And I'd even argue that if anyone has the authority to hc Ford as aroace and still ship with him, its aroace people (us).

#also stupidlittleslirit has a really good perspective on this sort of thing #basically that theres different versions of ford that can exist #theres a ford that I think in canon is aroace. then theres the ford that i self ship with. then theres the ford i read x readers of. and so #on and so forth. you see what i mean?#idk i hope that makes sense lol #ask

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artisticwizard · 5 months ago

Note

Morgott for the ask meme

Favorite thing about them

I'm gonna try and keep rehashing of what has already been said about him to a minimum so I'll get it out of the way here. I love that he's big and soft and I love that he's a mean as shit crotchety old bastard with both a self-hating attitude and an ego. I did not get into elden ring intending to like him. He was a surprise blorbo for me. I love how Morgott is a proud creature and a scorned one all in the same time. To be honest, look around at any of the posts I've reblogged from people for this ask and I probably agree with 90% of their points. I think my favorite thing is the art people make around him. Every time someone draws him being soft and tender....He's so large next to their small tarnished and yet he holds them like glass....I'm gonna DIE

Least favorite thing about them

Hard to draw :( Also hard to roleplay :( Also I wish he was utilized more. hunting us in game alongside the nights cavalry. Wish his fight was a bit tougher too.

Favorite line

"Have it writ upon thy meagre grave:

"'Felled by King Morgott! Last of all kings." ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT LINE IS THE COOLEST FUCKING THING EVER. In one sentence he disparages you as insignificant and elevates him as king. Not just King THE LAST. This lineage will die with him, this he states. And I think he's actually giving you credit here. This lineage will die with him, whether you are the one to kill him or you fail.

brOTP

I gotta go with his actual bro. I like the dichotomy between him and Mohg so much it makes me ill. I love how Mohg went full self love and Morgott went the other direction. This is one of the instances where I think fandom rather than canon has elevated their relationship so much for me. Especially fic writers. Elden ring fic writers write these two so goddamn well.

OTP

Morgott and the Tarnished. Everyone's Tarnished. People write and draw and create so many wonderful things around this old man. I also have a soft spot from him and Oleg. My Tarnished Wulfwyn and him is my brainrot OC x Canon ship that I think about CONSTANTLY.

nOTP

Him and Mohg. Even in a setting like this where incest is more normalized, it's just never gonna be my thing. No hate.

Random headcanon

You also get a Mohg headcanon built in. I've always loved the idea that Omen can take on traits of different animals, not just the horns. In my head Morgott took on more mammalian traits like ram-like horns, a long tail, and fur. Though I will not deny him his tiny baby wings. Mohg on the other hand took in more reptilian and avian traits like pebbled skin or scales and feathers and wings.

Unpopular opinion

Some people have this kind of....kicked puppy attitude about him that I don't agree with. He's soooo shitty and bitter as a character and he enjoys hunting Tarnished like he does. I'm not saying he's the cruelest demigod in the story, because he isn't by far, but I wish people didn't ignore his mean streak as much because it's soooo interesting.

Favorite picture of them Oh Dude So Many. This one by bora-in-tamriel makes me laugh whenever I see it, though.

#morgott #elden ring #i absolutely did not get all of my thoughts out here #but as i have said in the past #i suck at writing meta thoughts like this #there are people out there much better at this #BUT I LOVE HIM

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greattigerssimp · 4 months ago

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~I'm opening up Punch Out roleplays!!~

---

Yep, y'all heard me. As someone who loves writing and roleplays, I will officially be opening up roleplays! You can play as your OCs, self inserts, etc. alongside any roleplay starter I list below (or your very own!) Ofc I'm going to be using my AU of the characters (as seen pinned to my profile) in order to play as said characters (mainly from the Wii version of PO).

Rules:

- No racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.

- Please engage! Write at least 2 sentences per response so I'm not just role-playing by myself ;-;

- I will do nsfw/f*tish roleplays (I'm an adult after all) buuuut you need to NOT be a minor + you need my permission

- OC/self insert x canon roleplays are allowed!

- Please let me know if anything I write makes you feel uncomfortable (I'm autistic lmao idk when I cross boundaries)

- Have fun!!

I tend to use a variety of different roleplay styles, typically script-style and standard, but you can use any style you'd like! ^^ Anyways, with all that said and done, let's go over some roleplay starters!

Starters:

Starter 1: The new boxer in town!

"You/OC has recently moved to NYC in order to participate in the rising boxing league, the World Video Boxing Association! You came from *insert country/state here* and are excited to meet your new co-workers. The first night of your job sees you invited to a small welcoming party held at the WVBA gym near where you live."

Starter 2: The mysterious anomaly!

"You and the other boxers find each other stuck inside the WVBA gym during a thunderstorm. The power is out, and everyone is stuck hanging around the locker rooms. After Bear Hugger tells everyone a spooky story about "The anomaly" (see AU for details), everyone is placed on edge for the night, as everyone quickly realized that all the exits of the WVBA have been blocked off. What will you do?"

Starter 3: WVBA Anniversary vacation!

"Tomorrow morning is the 30th anniversary of the WVBA, and the network higher-ups have offered to take the boxers on a little fun trip to commemorate the occasion. But the boxers have to vote on what to do... should they cruise to an exotic island? Go to a fun theme park for a day? The choice is anyone's suggestion... perhaps yours!"

Starter 4: Uncovering Dreamland!

"After overcoming Lil Mac and Mr. Sandman and becoming the pound for pound champion of the WVBA, you get a special invitation to have dinner with the CEO of the WVBA (and the network)... Mr. Dream! Will you uncover something nefarious about the millionaire CEO? Who's to say..."

Starter 5: Box-con!

"Box-con is an annual event where the WVBA brings all of its boxers together at a special event (similar to comic con, but for boxers). All the boxers ever featured on the WVBA (which means the SPO boxers) are attending. Who knows what may transpire?"

Starter 6 (oc/self insert x headcanon only): The secret admirer!

*insert love interest here* has been on your mind the moment you two have met... after a difficult match, your love interest is exhausted and beaten down. You decide to help them... and possibly ask them out or such. Either of you could take the helm! (NSFW is allowed)."

Starter 7: WVBA World Tour!

"The WVBA is airing a brand new special, involving matches taking place in each boxers home country! From Paris, France to California, you join the boxers as they each reconnect with their roots and family's, all filled with drama and heart before the tour brings your OC/self insert to their native country."

Starter 8: The new trainer!

"You've been employed by Mr. Dream himself to become a personal, dotting trainer for all the boxers. Your goal as a trainer is to support and help each boxer prepare for their fights against one another, and to just look after their wellbeing in general. You'll learn about each boxers, their past, their fighting style, etc. You may even fall for one of them, hehe~"

(I might post more starters in the future!)

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peacheises · 15 days ago

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TW: SUPER LONG AU IDEA INVOLVING MY FRIENDS??? IDK OCS AND OC X CANON, CRAZY MEANIE KAPOO-POO HEADS STAY OUT‼️‼️‼️

★ Okay so I had an idea for an AU of Soul Eater. It would essentially run as a mix of the Anime!Universe and the Manga!Universe but exclusively cherry picking aspects that I and my friends like because we're all self indulgent.

★ For example: Mifune and Lord Death don't die, but Marie and Stein still wind up expecting by the end of it.

★ I think I'd wanna expand on and bend aspects that weren't explored as well as I feel they could have been in the story. Namely, the witches. I don't like how they use the name witch for such bad people mainly. So either change the name or change how their society works. And I'm gonna go with the ladder and expand on Kim being a witch and such, adding in more benevolent witch characters as well. Of course Angela would also be heavily involved.

★ Perhaps the biggest difference that'll get me the most hate is the inclusion of a lot of OCs with complex lore. Not all of them are mine, but the biggest player in this would be Esu. My pride and joy. She has an entire post about her already, so I won't reiterate what has already been said.

★ Other characters I'd hope to include would be Phantasmagoria and Mothra from @yourlocalsimp11111 !! I actually designed Phaz, and her concept was something I came up with but gifted to her a while back so if she has that Merynette design energy that's why. Both would be very important to this universe as one of them shakes up the roles of the gods and the other would be heavily involved with the whole witches thing.

★ Another OC I'd love to include would be Amaera Gorgon from @nerudebil !! She's a beautifully crafted and designed character that I'd be honoured to include as she's very important to Esu's story and would also be a huge player in the witch's recontextualization.

★ As for how I'd format this AU- I was thinking of making a series of posts or a full fanfic on AO3 with art in between and such? I don't know if I could make a full comic, and I definitely couldn't make an animated version. I'm still trying to figure it out! This is just an idea after all:)

★ I don't think I'd change much of the characters already existing dynamics with the exception of the Gorgon sisters. I'll just be adding in characters that severely shake things up by adding more in rather than replacing what's already there.

★ Over all, most of the characters I'd be adding in have actual years worth of effort poured into them, at least on my end. So none of them are half-baked or feel shoddy. At least to me of course maybe I'm egotistical. So don't go throwing any Mary Sue accusations at characters you probably don't know anything about aside from their designs. Also this is Soul Eater we're talking about, most of the characters look strange and wacky that's part of the charm. If your only qualification for a Mary Sue is powerful/powerful woman then maybe you shouldn't be watching/reading Soul Eater at all. 💀💀💀

★ Now that I've gotten the obligatory don't be an asshole thing out of the way, that should be about it? My bestie @yourlocalsimp11111 will hopefully be immediately adding onto this via reblog soon so yeah:)

#soul eater #soul eater oc #soul eater au

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elaez · 30 days ago

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Yo! Never thought I'll drop an, uhm, essay about Tank Grunt on my main blog. But I got kinda tired, and now you'll have to read my thoughts on him.

WARNING: yeah, I'll mention my OC x canon stuff somewhere in the end, but it's not crucial, it's just my way of dealing with the main problem.

Tank Grunt: can you fix him and does he want you to?

First things first. Tank is an asshole. I love Tank. I hadn't play DS or GBA games yet, so I'm judging from the perspective of my own experience, observations and PC & PSP games.

Gotta say, I like the thought that Buzz resembles a default conservative american man from Texas who votes for Trump. I think it suits him pretty much. But why am I starting to talk about Buzz now?

Though I'm not american, I'm still from a very conservative country myself, and I see people like this pretty often. Yeah, they're supporting everything we don't like and everything we call toxic, but they don't really care and they're succeeding in it often. Of course, sometimes you can escape their influence, when you're growing up in this "culture", but usually it takes some, y'know, friends from the other side. The problem is that Tank doesn't have any friends at all.

Yes, I don't think Tank can just go and start questioning his life suddenly just by himself. He never had a different life, and people around him, living not like him, weren't approved by his (father's) worldview and some are his personal enemies. His ego is extremely fragile, and the only person to support it is Buzz. Even if Tank had some thoughts about try living differently, these were suppressed long ago.

So if he knows only one way to live and is taught to basically hate people, who don't fit in, can he just suddenly deny his only (unmutual) friend just because? Especially when it's your own dad. Y'know, judging from my own experience, it's hard to hate your parents. Even if they hurt you, deep inside you still hope they only want the best wishes for you. Or you're clinging to some nice memories, because it's hard to just admit that your own PARENTS can be just bad and abusive, because admitting it feels kinda desperate. And so I can't imagine Tank just denying his father by himself. But got to admit, I LOVED personally one headcanon (?), where Tank tried to rebel against Buzz in university, but ended up craving his approval and came back after graduating. Sad but true, I often see people like this in reality.

Okay, so we bleached Tank once more, because he's poor little flower, who broke down under the pressure of his upbringing, ego and abusive daddy. But the problem is that he isn't actually.

Yeah, he didn't choose his dad and people around him, but he chose how to act in this situation. At least punching Ripp from time to time is HIS OWN decision. Yeah, Ripp is a loser, a slacker and a disgrace. But what about just ignoring him or trying to make a worthy Grunt of him (what if it'll impress daddy even more?)? No, Tank is just beating the weaker one just because... because what?

Not sure if it fits into the term of "discipline", so I think it's just a common story, when people just take out their frustration on others. Especially the ones who can't fight back. ESPECIALLY when even your dad doesn't care about you hurting your own brother, so you don't have to hold responsibility for it. Yeah, not cute at all, not apologizable, it's just what real assholes do. Sad but true again, in some families it's just a common thing to punch the weaker because you had a bad day. And yeah, I'll repeat that word for a fourth time: ESPECIALLY when you're growing up in a culture of toxic masculinity, where the law of brute power is supreme.

To sum up another thesis: even if you have sad background, you still can choose to be or not to be an asshole. At least sometimes. And I HATE seeing fandom bleaching Tank (and it's actually the reason why I'm writing that, uhm, essay). But I'm not sure if "bleaching a character" means what I want to say actually, so let me put some definition in it. "Bleaching" in that context means apologizing and justifying a character with obvious flaws to make a lovable and non-problematic poor flower out of them.

And maybe "bleaching" is a pretty strong word for it, but often I see something like people kinda understanding the problematic of Tank's background, like, "yeah, toxic masculinity & family abuse is very bad", but then just making Tank a sad poor victim of his upbringing who did nothing wrong and is actually a cutie, who knows actually just what he is and dreams of being free of his daddy. So the main question comes.

Can you fix him and does he want you to?

To sum up what comes next: you probably can’t fix the PSP one, but you can give it a try with the PC one.

What do we have here? A kid, who’ve grown up in a military and toxic masculinity culture and got kinda brainwashed already. Conservative, xenophobic and conformist, but with a slightest touch of questioning “if anyone really knows who he is” somewhere very deep inside. When he is still a teenager (like he is in PC TS2), it’s… not too late yet, but very soon it will be. It’s no joke, when you’re living like this for many years already. First of all, he definitely needs a friend or two, I’ve already told why. But I think it’s… not really easy to just get along with him. Especially when he’s taught to dislike people who don’t fit in his worldview. And yeah, sometimes people get along even though their insights don’t match, but I’m not sure someone that someone like Tank would compromise that easily (or compromise at all – especially when it may lead to Buzz’s disapproval, which Tank is definitely afraid of). I think it’s a tough quest to 1) appear like fitting in; 2) actually have some “nice” insights to influence Tank with; 3) succeed in influencing; 4) survive talking to him for a pretty much time.

But does Tank want to be saved? I think he’d be extremely stubborn about it. At least because toxic masculinity isn’t about gladly admitting you would use some help.

And does Tank think his lifestyle is bad? Yeah, his childhood dreams and some creativity might have been suppressed by his father long ago, but he has a beaten path in life – a career he was preparing for, some helpful connections in military (not just a person, but his beloved father) and APPROVAL that is crucial for his ego. Maybe you can offer him something that would appear to be more worthy for him, but it takes too much hard work on it. Hard and very intricate work – to not trigger his stubbornness.

Got to say, there’s also an option of trying some kind of shock treatment on Tank. Of showing him something that would just shatter his ideals, his idol. But if he still loves and admires his father, how bad should that “something” be? Will he actually deny Buzz even after it? Or he’ll still crave someone to approve him and order him? And probably the same ambiguous situation if Buzz will die, I think.

And now, if you suddenly appear to know me or my sideblog, you might remember that I have an OC x Tank MLM ship. It might sound pretty funny after me saying that I see Tank as a conservative (that also means “homophobic”, of course) and kinda insufferable in interacting with. How is it possible? Well, meet Danny – he is our lab rat now. Hi there, Danny!

I won’t dig deep in the plots and other stuff of mine. I’ll just tell the basics.

So, Danny got along with Tank for some reasons beside just being neighbors with him: 1) interests (yeah, you can call Danny a jock) 2) dislike towards other Strangetown inhabitants (especially aliens – Danny can’t help but kinda fear them because of their, uhm, way of reproducing and the very fact they are a mysterious futuristic civilization from far away, so yeah, they’re both xenophobic towards them) 3) Danny being not “strange” and resembling a default tough guy pretty much 4) competitive dynamic in their interactions. Yeah, Danny is better with words, he can and he WILL tell Tank that he’s awesome and he'll succeed and be appreciated by his dad (because Danny honestly thinks so), but he can also punch Tank’s face into the sand in another spontaneous sparring. A little ego boost mixed with a good punch to not let Tank relax.

But even if that kid of mine is such a good friend to Tank, can he fix him? I’m not sure, maybe if he didn’t disappear traceless after three years of friendship (to come back seven years later, but it doesn’t matter now). But he just left Tank with some new things to think about, and it’s enough for me. Let’s be real: if the person doesn’t want to be saved, you can’t really help them. But you can give them something to think about and maybe they’ll change their mind… someday.

About PSP Tank… y’know, he’s already an adult now and a colonel. I think it’s too late for fixing him already.

And to finish this spontaneous “essay”, I want to ask: do we actually need to fix Tank, to bleach him once more? I’ll say it again: that’s the reason why I’m writing all of this stuff. I’ve seen many stuff under Tank’s tag, but I think it’s kinda too safe, soft and apologizing for me. Yeah, Tank is an asshole. It doesn’t stop me from loving him. I even think that’s why I do love him, actually, think that’s what makes him himself. We don’t need to make characters apologizable and cute to love them.

#tank grunt #sims 2 premades #sims 2 strangetown #buzz grunt mentioned #ripp grunt mentioned too #strangetown #sims 2 oc mentioned #danny duster mentioned #sorry for this

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gorbo-longstocking · 6 days ago

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Omg hi I’m the anon about having a dream about chapter 9!!! Thank you so much,I’m looking forward to this absolutely work are art. THIS ISNT ME TELLING YOU WHAT TO DO but it would be cool if you could do more works like it! Loving the vibes of it a lot of maybe if you feel up to using similar media to write different stories would be so epic if you have thought of it! I just love how you write things and incorporate it all together it’s beautiful!!! Thank you so much again -🍒

GOD THIS IS SO SWEET. man, i think this about all of my projects when im working on them, but dare i day that i think dnbts is my most coherent and well put together one yet. i have a bad habit of not planning ahead and just going with the flow, and while im still doing that with dnbts, i have at the VERY LEAST and ending in mind for it! which is honestly more than i can say for my other fics.

speaking of which! if you ever wanted to read any of my other fics, while i dont think theyre as good as dnbts, a few have similar themes to the “i can fix them”isms, and a sweet but somewhat toxic relationships. and also they can be read fandom blind, I THINK???? along with some other future projects that i have planned. ill put all that information under the cut, and if you ever want the vibes for any of my fics, just check out the playlist for it! theyre all on my pinned post. itll tell you all you need to know

okay for fics im working on and have already published, if you like “do not blame the sea,” check out:

wolf, made for slaughter - an oc x canon polyamory endgame about a weirdo freak main character who used to be a mercenary under the tutelage of their abusive creator who they are a clone of moves to gotham and desperately tries not to be discovered as a criminal by batman while entering the most toxic yaoi imaginable with two rogues (scarecrow and riddler)

nemesis & nike - an undertale fanfiction, that… okay, to the uninvolved of the undertale fandom, lowkey needs some explaining. but basically, the first arc — which im still working on — is a survival horror where the main character (who is an autistic dog coded transmasc, i love those if you couldn’t tell) has to try not to be killed by vengeful alternate universe variants of sans and papyrus. and they all fall in gay love the end.

displeasures of the flesh - this is my transformers fanfiction that’s a romance featuring two background characters from the comics being forced into human bodies after their deaths. yn is a weirdo freak who finds one of them and they go on a journey to find his original giant robot body, falling in toxic love along the way. also his boyfriend shows up and a throuple happens. this one, while no where NEAR well written, has some of my favorite scenes and themes of anything ive ever written.

all three of these fics feature a trans main character, freaky/damaged love interests, and half toxic / half sweet romances. id say nemesis & nike are the least toxic and half of the love interests are all trying to kill the mc.

and as for future projects

out of sight, out of time - my book that i’m trying to publish, so i likely won’t post it anywhere online. however, if you want to read or stay updated with the draft, you can always dm me! i dont mind! it’s a time travel romantic comedy about an uptight roman centurion waking up in modern day kentucky and having a nuisances to lovers arc with a lazy but kind farmer

balm for the soul - sister fic to displeasures of the flesh featuring the other three members of the decepticon justice division x scientist reader. i have to finish displeasures of the flesh to start this one and that’ll take a WHILE.

metameric hearts - another original work that i don’t really know what to do with because it’s basically just monster porn. the plot is a human astronaut is shot into space in a one way trip to search for intelligent life. they are knocked off course and, coincidentally, picked up by an alien vessel in orbit of a small planet studying the microscopic lifeforms on the surface. its first contact for both species, three giant centipede scientists and one little human. there was supposed to be some humor there where the aliens are trying to hide the human from their superiors so the human doesn’t get carted away to be dissected. so darkly humorous.

commodus modern au x reader - no title for this one yet, but we were talking about it in the server and i MUST write it one day. basically yn works at a restaurant as a waiter, and their coworkers is maximus, who is a bartender. commodus shows up to deliver maximus a message from lucilla, but winds up sitting down to eat during the slow hours and you are his waiter. in short, you are nice to him and accidentally validate him during his bad day with your stellar customer service and he becomes pathetically hyperfixated on you. love fails!

oneshot modern au caracalla x alga - i just listened to lost kitten by metric once and saw visions of modern caralga. if i need a palate cleanser from writing dnbts ill cook this up

possible assassins creed odyssey longfic featuring stentor x reader - this would be the most similar one to dnbts as its set in ancient greece and it’d be a time travel romance because i LOVE those. this is my favorite game btw chat.

possible star wars isekai x reader fic - i had this plotted out in my head last summer but i didnt write anything down except in my qpps discord dms so. we shall see if this ever comes to fruition but i really really like the idea. it’d be clone centric because i FUCKING LOOOOOVE the clones

possible doctor who doctor x time lord!reader - featuring themes of identity, trauma, and toxic yaoi. no clue when ill get around to this as i genuinely don’t remember anything about doctor who but TRUST this is a yaoi so toxic. sad miserable sweaty yn shaking like a chihuahua while this fucking alien projects all of his hopes onto them

#asks #dude im sorry if this is not what you meant but. here r some of my current fics and future projects u may like #thank you so much for ur ask though its really sweet your interested in my writing #its still just so genuinely crazy to me #like idk it will never not astound me that people like my writing even thoigh its been like three years of posting #also if u read any of these ur legally obligated to tell me what you think /lh #but i think these are the three that have similar themes and vibes to dnbts #i havent re read them in AGES

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biblicallyaccuratefour · 4 months ago

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Welcome to...

YURI'S SHITTY SHIPPING HOT TAKES!

Where I discuss my opinions on ships on fandoms I'm in and go on a whole ass tangent on them!

~•°☆°•~

Today's shitty shipping hot take I have on is in the hyperfix that has a chokehold on me right now:

POKÉMON!!!

Now, we're gonna go off strong, so fair warning for spoilers, age gaps and all that nasty stuff.

The ship I have opinions on is Ferriswheelshipping (Hilda x N) and Isshushipping (Hilbert x N), and boy, do I have opinions on them!

Now, to discuss the Copperajah in the room, there's one MAJOR problem I have with these two ships, that's right: there's a huge-ass age gap!

"What's the age gap," you ask? Well, only 6 years. What makes it worse is that N is canonically 20 (stated by one of the devs in an interview) and Hilda/Hilbert are 14.

Now, I get it if the protags are age ambiguous, but the problem I have here is that most, if not all of the pokémon protags are MINORS, ranging from young tween and late teens. (The Kalosian protags look like young adults and are age ambiguous, so their ages are up for interpratation.) This problem comes up whenever a pokémon protag is shipped with someone who's literally an adult (again, age ambiguous, but my point still stands.)

The shipping archetype, to my knowledge is a rival-to-friends-to-lovers trope. Now, Rivals-to-Lovers isn't a bad shipping trope, but it should only be OK when A) the characters are both consenting adults and B) if not, are the same age at least.

N, in this case is the 'rival' to Hilda/Hilbert, the protagonists. N is an interesting case: he was an orphan, raised by pokémon and taken in by Ghetsis (asparagus man) to be indoctrinated and conditioned to be Team Plasma's King, being taught that humans are bad and they abuse pokémon.

The protags and N first meet early on in the game, and they meet several times in-game and they battle (in true rival fashion.) However, when they reach Nimbasa City, N invites the protags to ride the ferris wheel with him. The dialogue differs depending on the protag's gender, but the moment they had was intimate (not the dirty kind, get your mind out of the gutter), despite N inviting them there as a diversion for the Team Plasma grunts to escape.

Throughout the story, their bond gets stronger as friends and rivals, and it comes to a climax at the final battle. Post-battle, N realises how much he fucked up and how Ghetsis manipulated and pratically abused him for his own gain. N basically apologises and leaves with Reshiram/Zekrom to 'atone' and we never see him again until BW2, but Hilda/Hilbert are just gone by then.

So, in canon, essentially, N had trauma dumped the kids. They only have a rivals-to-friends dynamic, and to the fans, they ate it up and went apeshit. (N is hot, so I could sense a bit of self-projecting with the shipping with the protags, but I could be wrong-)

I get it that N has had an unorthodox upbringing and is autism-coded, but it doesn't excuse the fact that N is a grown-ass man. The only solutions I got to make it less worse is to either age Hilda/Hilbert up to adults (and not the bullshit "they're 18 on paper, but is still the same in everything else", like actually age them up), or shipping a self-insert or OC with N (Yumeshipping is cool, and there's nothing wrong with shipping an OC with a canon character as long as it's not problematic.)

I can only see them as close friends, as N sees Hilbert/Hilda as a 'special friend', considering that they had helped him realise his mistakes and how much of a shitty person Ghetsis actually is. (N should actually go see a fucking therapist, smh)

So, to sum it up, please pay attention to the character's ages if they're mentioned in canon, I'd rather not have my blorbo/husbando having to deal with the 'allegations' (/nsrs).

I'mma rate this ship a 1/10.

~•°☆°•~

(Please don't harass me because I'm only stating my opinion on this. I have no beef with those who ship this, OK? Everyone has an opinion, just like how everyone has an asshole.)

Sources of the ages:

#yuri's shitty shipping hot takes #yuri's mumbling #antiferriswheelshipping #antiisshushipping #pokémon #pokemon #pkmn

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elwenyere · 1 month ago

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love ❤

Thank you very much for this ask, Anon!!! My answer to this question changes regularly, so I'm happy to have a fresh chance to share my five faves at the moment. <3 Here they are in order of composition:

No Survivors (Andor, Melshian, 14.3k)

The fic was born of me trying to imagine the most dramatic ways Cassian and Melshi could possibly reconnect in season two, and it became a way for me to explore what it means to love something you know you'll lose. I'm happy with how the arc of the story turned out, and it has some individual lines that crystallized crucial parts of the Melshian vibe for me. It's also one of the fics where I've registered my hunch about the Pre-Mor Chekhov's blaster.

Separation (Top Gun, Icemav, 7k)

This felt so different from anything else I'd written at the time, I think in part because it was the first story for which I'd tried putting canon characters in a situation of which the canon deliberately doesn't conceive: i.e. what would it look like to lean into the cognitive dissonance of a gay Jewish man joining the Navy amid the structural homophobic abandonment of the 80s instead of bracketing the AIDS crisis? I have a particular, sacred kind of spot in my heart for the result.

Rope's End (The Clone Wars, Codywan, 17.8k)

The Pirate AU. This fic turned out very different in tone and texture than I imagined when I started it, and I think that's absolutely for the better. It has some lines and images I really love, a version of Jango & Cody toward which I feel very tender, and one of my very favorites among my own smut scenes. I learned a lot about wooden ships.

More Like Misery (The Old Guard, Booker x Andy x Quynh, 1.4k)

What can I say? I love this dense, sad little story. It was conceived when I realized that Booker and Quynh have presumably been dreaming each other for almost 200 years. It's the shortest fic on this list, and it's also one that resisted becoming any longer: I wanted to capture the sense that this is a sharp gasp of synthesis and clarity in a long wash of time, which is the experience Booker is having. He's so fucked up (affectionate and derogatory).

Hypnagogia (Inception, Arthur x Eames, 15.9k)

The sleep-paralysis-demon fic. This is possibly the most fun I've ever had writing a story. It has meditations on forging, the grief of losing your self-concept, some OCs I fell in love with, and a healthy dose of unacknowledged pining for the man you're fucking through the mattress. I don't always enjoy going back to a fic after I've finished it, but this one still brings me a lot of joy.

#thank you anon!!!#ask meme #five favorite fics

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corvuserpens · 24 days ago

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A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - Ch. 6

Fandom: Black Sails Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: None Characters: Billy Bones, Hal Gates, James Flint, Jean DuBois, Mr. Logan, Mr. Muldoon, protagonist OC, supporting OCs Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Jean duBois/OC (bffs) Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, kinda alternative prequel to canon, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence Series: Part One of Six of A Girl, An Ocean Chapters: 6/13 Summary: At last, the crew arrives in Nassau and Constance gets to see it for the very first time. However, the experience is somewhat spoiled when the crew is called for one of the most dangerous and tedious labors a pirate must endure: careening.

Author's note: Originally, I had a particularly dramatic scene in this chapter written in a completely different way, and then I realized it was completely bonkers because of physics and had to change it 😅No matter. I ended up enjoying this version far better.

Chapter vi.

About a week later, we finally made landfall.

It was a foggy morning, as so often seemed to be the case. The sun had just begun its traverse through the sky, struggling to peek through the thick veil of mist, which rendered the sky a milky tone of white. The sea was calm, with small peaks of foam dotting her vast expanse here and there, whilst the Walrus' keel cut through them like scissors on silk.

At the helm, Mr. de Groot informed me that the island should be within sight any time, now. He gave me leave of my lessons to go climb the shrouds and search for it, even lent his spyglass so I could scan the horizon.

My heart pounded with anticipation. Despite the chilly breeze propelling us forward, my blood ran hot in my veins. Many were the stories I had heard of New Providence Island, each more terrifying than the last, so embellished and impregnated with legend that it became blanketed with an aura of myth. From England, it seemed so distant, so far away from my own perception that one could almost be forgiven for believing it didn't even exist.

But now... Now, I was about to see it with my own eyes.

As the hours passed, the mist dispersed. Sunlight forced its way through the wisps of cloud in bright beams, making the water glitter like jewels. Sea birds followed our sails with great cries, our very own welcoming committee. I noted that the usual smells of the sea were beginning to mingle with something else – wood smoke, tar, spices. Smells from land. I swerved the spyglass around more avidly, searching... searching...

And then... I saw it.

Nassau.

With a gasp, I scurried down the shrouds and ran along the railings, toward the bow. I gave poor Mr. Folsom a scare; he nearly choked on the apple he was eating.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He yelled. “What's the damn rush??”

But I didn't stop to reply. My whole body was crackling with energy. Using my recently developed agility, I hopped onto the forecastle, past the rails and crawled along the bowsprit on all fours until I could grab onto the ropes connecting the sails to the foremast. I was risking a fall that would most certainly get me trampled by the ship's unstoppable hull, all so I could take a closer look.

Behind me, I heard dispersed laughter from the morning watch, no doubt amused at my childish excitement. It would be at least one more hour until we entered the bay and dropped anchor, but I didn't want to miss a single detail of that moment. I sat and straddled the bowsprit the whole while it took for the Walrus to approach.

Slowly, the featureless line of brown and green became more discernible. The first thing I noticed was the fort: a stone structure sitting on top of a tall hill, the sentry that would protect the town and its denizens from invasion by sea. Those smells I'd sensed so faintly, earlier, became stronger. At last, the settlement itself came into full view.

Nassau Town was unlike any place I had ever seen before. Here, there were no grand monuments of granite and marble - instead, tents and rickety wood structures dotted the white sand beaches. From a distance, the people were no more than ants scurrying about, and although I couldn't distinguish any of them individually, I could hear them. The racket coming from land was a constant droning of countless voices mixed with music played from de-tuned, old instruments.

And the smells... Spices and tar, but also roasting meats and drying fish, cracked and stale wood, freshly pressed sails, obnoxious perfumes, human bodies, all of them combined into a single odor that belonged only to Nassau. In the years that followed, and after countless adventures lived, I found that there was nowhere else in the world that smelled the same. It smelled like decadence and depravity. It smelled like home.

I could hardly wait to get on a launch and explore it.

However, my plans of running around town and soak it all in were about to get cut short. The anchors had barely gotten wet when Mr. Gates' voice thundered across the deck: "Listen up, you band of lubbers! Before you rush off toward the brothel, let it be known that you are all to report for the careening by eight bells to beach the old girl." A wave of groans followed these words. Since I had no idea what careening was, I turned to Logan with a furrowed brow. "He means bring the ship ashore to clear the hull of marine growth," he explained dejectedly. "Takes a long fucking time and it's rough work."

"Now, I know that's not what you want to hear," Gates conceded. "But you know as well as I that a proper and regular cleaning makes all the difference when we're on the hunt. It means a swifter, faster ship, which leads to better hauls and more gold lining your pockets that you can then piss away in a day or two with women and booze." That got a roiling cackle out of the men. Once again, just like that, Mr. Gates was able to shift the mood from a resisting force into something constructive. Whether the credit for it lied with the quartermaster's talent to mold people's minds at will, or the prospect of even more gold, prostitutes and rum, was hard to say.

The crew went out by order of seniority, which meant that, as the most recent recruit, I was stuck at the very back of the line. I paced around the deck like a woman possessed, pestering everyone with questions, crawling up and down the masts, making sure I had everything I needed to bring with me to land (which wasn't much, anyway). It was only half an hour, no more than that, that I had to wait, but it felt like an eternity.

Either way, before long I was in the water with the other newbies, including Jean, and we rowed together to shore. The closer we got, the more my senses were overwhelmed by the chaos of it all. Wherever I looked, there was something happening, something worth paying attention to, something disgusting that made me gag, something that filled me with wonder. I must have looked like a child in Christmas, surrounded by all that novelty, incapable of choosing a single thing to unravel and inspect furthest.

Next to me, Jean sniggered. "Your head is like a banner in the wind. You best be careful not to snap your neck!" I smiled from ear to ear. "I know, it's just... There is just so... Everything is so much, you know? I've never seen anything like it."

"Oui, I know. You never forget your first time in Nassau." Jean let out a wistful sigh, recalling his own experience with a nostalgic smile. In a matter of minutes, our group was on the jetty and spread through town. The sheer amount of goings-on was dizzying; I scarcely knew where to turn! Thankfully, I had Jean there to ground me and keep me from getting lost. He led me through the confusion of bodies, tents and objects of every kind like a veteran.

Once we found ourselves right at the center of it all, he stopped and turned to me. "So. Where would you like to start?" "Oh, Jesus, I don't know..." I spun around slowly for a moment, overwhelmed and at a loss. Not a minute ago, the jetty was behind us, but now it was nowhere in sight. I was irreparably turned around. "Where do you normally go?"

Just then, Muldoon and Logan emerged from the confusion and stood by my side. They traded a cheeky look that immediately made me regret asking anything. "Of course," I sighed with a shrug. "Stupid question." "Yeah, you really set yourself up for that one, didn't ya?" Logan snorted. "THAT may be a little too much for your Ladyship's sensibilities," Muldoon joked. "Fuck you," I snapped back. God forgive me, I was getting far too comfortable with profanities.

He patted my shoulder and nodded for us to follow him. "Let's start with the tavern and we'll go from there. C'mon." The tavern, as it turned out, was like a microcosm of the street: loud, bustling, ever-shifting. The only difference was that it was much more cramped - we literally had to shove people out of the way to even get to the bar. And it was stuffy in there. The weather in and of itself was hot enough, in the Bahamas; couple that with the human heat and the smell of sweat in that room and suddenly one knew exactly what a pod corn felt like boiling in a pot.

Still, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. People laughed and drank and played cards, or told each other about their latest conquests or traded gossip. The wooden furniture and open windows with their hand knitted off-white curtains blowing in the lazy breeze made the space feel cozy, almost homey, especially as the servants passed through the narrow space with trays full of steaming food.

When we finally reached the bar, Logan ordered lunch for us while Muldoon, Jean and I found a table. We ended up having to share it with a group of four already occupying most of it, but from the way my shipmates greeted them loudly, it was evident they were already acquainted. Muldoon didn't even have to ask; they invited us to sit instantly, shuffling around to make room for our group.

At first, I felt somewhat like an intruder, but the man sitting at my right, a burly one with arms thrice the width of mine and a bushy greying beard, offered me a tankard of ale with a warm smile, like we knew each other for decades. In a matter of seconds, I felt myself relax, for something in my gut told me I could trust him, that he meant no harm. I accepted the ale and took a swig to quench my parched throat. Although bitter, it was cool and satisfying in that intense heat.

The man patted my back with a laugh, and even if I almost choked from how hard he hit me, I joined in on his contagious laugh. I had never felt so accepted among strangers, so welcomed.

"That there is Hammer," Muldoon told me. "So named because he's good at using a hammer, whether to build or to crack a skull open, but mostly because he likes nothing more than to get hammered." A burst of cackles rattled the table. Hammer, not one bit offended at the jab, offered me his meaty hand, which I was going to shake, until he leaned down and placed the gentlest kiss on my knuckles. "A pleasure, m'lady." It was such an honest gesture, genuinely sweet and unassuming, that I had to giggle through a blush. At least he had manners, unlike some other pirates I knew.

"Nice to meet you, Hammer. I'm Constance."

Jean tapped my arm. “Look, over there. Here comes the Pirate Queen.”

I stretched my neck to see whom he was pointing at.

From the back of the room, a petite blonde lady crossed the tavern with the haughty gait of nobility. What she lacked in stature, she made up for it in poise; while she passed by our table like we weren't even there, she struck me as much taller based on her confidence alone. Men twice her size hurried out of her path and greeted her with utmost respect.

Long skirts covered her legs and her hair was done up in complex coils, but from the waist up she wore a vest over her blouse and a cravat, like a man. I couldn't help to notice how beautiful she was.

“Who is that?” I inquired after she was gone.

“Eleanor Guthrie,” Logan answered. “She's the boss, around here. Her father used to be in charge, but after the Rosario raids, he fucked off to Harbour Island and she took his place. All trade on the island goes through her. It's thanks to her that we get to earn a living stealing off of rich merchant ships.”

“How does she do that?”

“We come in with our cargo, she stamps the Guthrie name on it and sells it to the colonies as if it were legitimately obtained.”

“It's the worst kept secret in the Bahamas, so I'm told,” Jean muttered. “But while Mr. Guthrie lines the pockets of the governors, the magistrates, the colonels and every other navy officer in on it, they won't lift a finger to accuse him. Everyone gets a piece of the cake, so to speak, and that's how we stay in business.”

I arched my eyebrows in incredulity. So that was the real issue with Nassau and her pirate scourge. It wasn't the pirates themselves; it was the corruption. And for as long as that corruption remained out of reach of the gavels in Whitehall... The problem would continue unresolved.

And now, I had become part of that problem.

I smirked to myself and drank some more ale. I once heard Folsom say something like, one man's trash is another man's treasure. In this case, one nation's problem was another woman's solution.

My solution.

I prayed that the corruption ran rampant in Nassau for many centuries to come.

*** After filling our bellies with roast pork, potatoes and a generous but not exaggerated amount of grog, our party returned to the beach to board the Walrus and steer her to a careenage - the steep beach we would use for the endeavor of beaching our ship. Normally, the maintenance of the hull and keel was made on a dry dock, but there wasn't one in Nassau, so we had to do it the hard way.

The way Logan explained the process of what we would be doing was something like this: during the high tide, our longboats would row in the Walrus until the keel touched the sand. Next, those on land would pull her further in. The ship would then be tilted at an angle on her side and the masts tied down to trees or whatever else was rooted firmly to the ground. Lastly, during the low tide, we could clear the hull of seaweed and barnacles with scoops. When one side was done, we would bring her back into the water, turn her around, and repeat the process. When both sides were done, she would be ready to sail again.

Careening could take anywhere between a few days to weeks. Everything that wasn't bolted down to the ship needed to be brought out, guns included (which we could use as anchor points in the absence of trees). What could be repaired would be brought to town; everything else was disposed of. The more Logan elaborated on the whole exercise, the least I looked forward to it.

When we arrived at the careenage, the longboats were already taking advantage of the tides to bring in the Walrus and a small crowd waited in the shade, while others bathed themselves in the sea to cool off.

Somewhere to the side, a tent was being erected. I noticed a small flock of scantly clad women sat near it, fanning themselves and fluttering their long lashes at any sailor who passed by. As we dropped on the cold sand beneath a palm tree, I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my stomach.

"Muldoon?” I said. “Who are those women?" He twisted around to look over his shoulder and gave me a shark-like grin. "Never you mind that. You probably wouldn't be interested, anyway."

I arched an inquisitive brow at him. "Interested...?" "You don't know that." Logan gave the other a playful shove. "Maybe she is into it and just doesn't know it yet. Don't knock it 'till you've tried it." "Oh, so you admit you've tried it with a bloke before?" Muldoon chortled. "I knew you were secretly queer, you bastard!" "No, I didn't say that!" Another shove, this one harsher than before, though it only made Muldoon laugh louder. "You know I only have eyes for Charlotte. In my case, I don't need to try it to know I won't enjoy it. A man knows these things." I turned to Jean while those two bickered. His face was flushed red, but I assumed it was from the heat, nothing more. Still, he was unusually quiet. "What the fuck are they talking about? And who's Charlotte?" He cleared his throat and refused to look at me whilst he scratched the back of his head. "Um... Well, you see, those women? They were hired from the brothel. Charlotte is... well..."

"A prostitute." Muldoon stated, plain and simple. "That there, is what we in the industry call a fuck tent." Now I was the one with a burning face. My mouth hung open in shock as I stared first at him, then at Logan (who winked and wagged his brows suggestively) and finally at Jean, who could do no more than glance sideways in my direction.

I had never heard of such a thing. It was scandalous! And yet... I was not at all surprised. Of course pirates would have something called a fuck tent.

"Oh." I huffed.

To their credit, Logan and Muldoon stifled back the need to laugh at my ignorance and lady-like mannerisms. "I suppose we don't need to explain what it's for, do we?" I shook my head. "No, thank you."

An hour latter, the Walrus was ready to be hauled ashore. Billy Bones divided us into lines across the beach so we were ready to receive the cables tossed to us from the ship. I was placed along the foremast, somewhere in the middle, between Logan, behind me, and Jean, at the front.

After verifying that everyone was in position, Billy joined the line at my left and wrapped his hands around the tether. "Aright, everyone ready?" He shouted.

In response, the crew gave a loud and unison 'Aye!'

"That's what I like to hear. On my mark!... Two, six--" "Heave!"

As one, we pulled on the cables. The sand shifted beneath my feet and I almost stumbled, but managed to remain firmly on them while tugging. Although the effort was great, since it was well distributed I found no difficulty to it. Not at first, at least. In a steady, continuous rhythm, Billy barked: "Two, six--!" "Heave!" Another strong tug. "Two, six--" "Heave!!" I screamed as loud as my voice and lungs permitted. Surprisingly, it did help make the exercise easier.

"Steady!" Billy adjusted his grip. His arms bulged with each pull, making the rolled up sleeves of his shirt strain under the stress.

Quickly, I turned my attention back to my task.

"Slow and steady!” He repeated. “Don't tire yourselves out!"

"C'mon boys, put your backs into it!" From the mizzen mast lines, Mr. de Groot's roughen voice reached my ears, encouraging the men.

For every pull and every step, the Walrus crept up the beach, a hulking beast that towered over the crew, ready to devour us. As I looked up at her massive hull and far-reaching masts, I felt tiny and insignificant before such a marvel of wood and rigging. "Oh, wow..." I swooned, awestruck. "Constance!" Billy called. "Get back to work!"

With a startle, I realized my grip had gone slack with my distraction.

"Sorry!" I scrambled to get back into the rhythm.

For God knew how long, we persisted on this almost Sisyphean task until the Walrus could go no further up the beach and our bodies could take no more. The job in itself wasn't so bad - it was the unrelenting sun and the heat. Swear dripped down my chest, my forehead, my back... everywhere, really! It got in my eyes and made them sting. My skin was so hot, I was about ready to rip it out with my own fingernails.

"Hold!" Billy commanded.

We pinned the balls of our feet into the sand and held the ropes in place.

I gripped my share with both hands close together, which strained my shoulders and back to the breaking point. With gritted teeth, I prayed the riggers would be quick with the lashes so I could finally let go.

"Psst! Constance!"

I looked back to Logan, who held on in a completely different posture. So did everyone else, in fact.

"Like this." He twisted his body to the side, just enough for me to see what he was doing. His feet were spread evenly apart, one in front, the other back. Likewise, he maintained his right hand in front of him, but the left was tucked close to his side, to keep the rope over his hip in a subtle angle.

As fast as I dared, I adjusted my pose to match his. Immediately, my muscles sighed in relief, while the cable remained secure. "Like this?"

"Just like that." He grinned with approval. "Feels better, doesn't it?"

"Much," I agreed, smiling back. "Thanks."

Fortunately, the riggers worked the ropes fast and swift, so we didn't have to wait much longer. Billy oversaw their task from his position while practically hanging off the cable like my uncle Charles' pet Capuchin, using his sheer weight to keep it taunt.

He whistled to get their attention. "All good, there?"

“We're good!” I heard Folsom confirm.

"Everyone! Release her, slowly! Slowly..."

Little by little, we let the tethers loose and hoped the anchor points would hold. I felt the hemp coils gently slip from my grasp, chafing my skin, and then it stopped. Up on high, the masts groaned in protest for a few seconds, and finally went quiet.

Still, for safety, we kept our fingers wrapped on the cables for another minute. Apart from the wind on the palm fronds and the lull of the waves, an eerie silence hung heavy on the beach.

When nothing happened, we collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good job, lads." Billy said, signalling for us to let go and relax.

I massaged my back with a drawn out breath, then my thighs. I wasn't the only one; most of the crew complained from their arms and legs. Some simply let themselves flop on the sand like flounders. I myself felt tempted to do the same, but somehow managed to stay upright.

I'm gonna be so stiff, come morning, I groaned internally. And we still had to take care of the barnacles. Lord have mercy.

As I straightened up, I saw Billy walking among his mates to check if everyone was alright.

"Take a break while I divide the shifts," he said, just as he ducked under the cable at my left and passed our line by, one man at a time. When he reached me, he gave my shoulder a gentle touch and arched his eyebrows in a mute inquiry for my well-being. I nodded to let him know I was fine and he moved on. I turned to watch as he and Logan clasped their hands in a brotherly exchange and kept going, further and further away from me.

For some reason... I felt appreciated by that quick, yet meaningful pause to make sure I wasn't hurt. So did the others, I imagined. No wonder he was so loved by everyone. Frankly, he made it easy to like him.

"Thirty minutes, no more!” He warned once he reached the last man on our file. “Let's see..."

All around me, the crew began to dispose of their vests and shirts, unceremoniously. I could hardly blame them - their clothes were drenched with sweat and their faces were red from the effort, the heat and the booze they had likely consumed before presenting themselves for duty.

My borrowed shift was all humid as well. The way it stuck to my skin was so very uncomfortable, even as I pulled it away from my torso.

I followed Logan and Jean toward the water barrels for a much needed drink and saw they too had their backs bared to the sun.

"I wish I could do that," I hummed.

Logan snickered. "I mean, you could, if you really wanted to. No rules against it, here. It's not like none of us have never seen breasts before." The heavy layer of hope in his tone didn't go unnoticed.

"Dream on," I bit back while I poured a cup of fresh water. The feeling of it down my dry throat was like a balm on a burn, instantly relieving it. As soon as the cup was empty, I scooped up another.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, then moved off to go find some shade.

Jean smiled timidly at me, then cupped his hands in the barrel to drench his face and neck. Once he was cool and satisfied, he sighed and leaned with his hands on it.

“Want to go dip our feet in the sea?” He offered.

“Hmm, let's.”

We went down the beach and walked out until the waves lapped at our ankles, close to the knee. Just our luck, a drooping palm tree had taken root near the water line, the perfect shelter from the sun.

I closed my eyes as we stood beneath its wide fronds. I don't know how long we stood there, just listening to the ocean and drinking water, but honestly? I could have stayed there in silence with my friend until nightfall.

“Feels nice, doesn't it?” He murmured.

I peeked from one eye. He had his closed, too, plus his hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers. I shut both lids again and smiled. “It does. One of these days, we should come back during down time and just sit right here.”

“There's a great idea,” he chuckled. “We bring something to eat, some good ale, proper attire to go for a swim, if we want. Mon Dieu... I would want for nothing else.”

On that, I completely concurred. The soft breeze blew my hair to the side and brushed my neck deliciously. I pulled it out of my shoulders, pinned it down on top of my head and almost moaned. I could sense the excessive heat pour out of my body and it felt so fucking good.

Unfortunately, duty called. And it sounded just like Billy Bones.

"Gather 'round, you bunch of lazy bums! Gather 'round for the shifts.”

A chorus of groans followed his call.

“C'mon, you've had your rest, now get over here."

Sighing, I finished my water and prepared to go back to work.

However, when I turned around on my feet, I got my first good look at the ship's hull and felt my heart drop to the ground: it wasn't wood colored, like it was supposed to - it was white with barnacles!

How the fuck were we supposed to remove all that? It seemed impossible!

Jean, who was a couple of paces ahead of me, stopped, looked over his shoulder when he realized I had stayed behind and burst into laughter. My face of terror must have seemed hilarious to him.

“Considering making a run for it?” He jested.

In response, all I did was stare at him slack-jawed. He laughed some more and kept going.

Oh God, oh sweet baby Jesus, please let me have the second shift.

I stopped at the edge of the gathering crowd and crossed my fingers. Billy read aloud from the list he'd made.

"First shift: Abel. Bobby. Burns. Craig. Constance..."

Fuck. So much for my adoration for Billy.

With slumped shoulders and a resigned heart, I joined the growing line of unlucky bastards who would get to start scrapping barnacles until six bells.

*** "You're sure this is necessary?" I asked Folsom at around four bells.

For the better part of the afternoon, I had been breaking my nails and covering my hands in bloody gashes by prying the blasted barnacles from the port side of the keel. Half of our team worked on the ground or even under the hull, while the other was on scaffolds and hung from suspended planks to do the upper part of the ship.

We would take breaks once in a while for about thirty minutes each. Once again, being the newest addition, I was last to get my turn. Obviously.

When it finally came, I drank at least three cups of water before I flopped on my back under the extensive shade of the ship. It felt so nice, I almost fell asleep... Until someone tapped my leg.

Folsom was grinning down at me with his near-toothless mouth when I cracked my eyes open. Behind him stood Muldoon and Logan, both also smirking like they shared a secret. They were there to tell me my break was over and it was time to go back to work, except instead of leading me to the hull, they made me climb a net that hung from the rails, then the shroud, all the way to the mast. Folsom accompanied me and brought a coil of rope wrapped around his torso. The excuse they gave me to get up there was that the main sail footrope needed replacement, but it made no sense. Tilted at that steep angle, it seemed impossible. Still, given that they were all far more experienced than I and how eager I was to impress them, I followed along.

And so, there we were, hanging several hundred feet off the ground.

"Aye, quite necessary," he assured me. "You don't want the rope snapping while one of us is on it, do you?" "Sure, but why don't we do it when the ship is upright?" I questioned whilst crawling over the platform's aperture around the mast to get to the footrope in question. "This feels dangerous."

I went quiet to focus on not falling to my death. Folsom didn't reply. After I found a good position straddling the mast, I turned - and caught him shimmying down the rope he had brought along while stifling a snort. On the ground, far, far below me, the rest of my shift looked up with big smiles as they urged him down. "Oy!" I called. "Where the hell are you going?!" "Why, off for a quick fuck and a tankard of ale!" Folsom cackled. "Wait--" I looked around, suddenly realizing that I had no idea how to get out from my position without help. My heart burst into a mad rhythm. "How am I supposed to get down??"

"Oh, don't worry, love!" I heard Muldoon cackled. "We'll come back to get you in no time!... As soon as we're done, of course!" "Folsom!!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs, equal parts furious and scared out of my wits. "Folsom, you get back up here right now or so help me God!!!"

"Hazing's not over yet, newbie!" He laughed. When he reached firm ground, he gave the rope a tug and I watched in utter horror as the knot he'd tied broke up and the line fell at his feet. "Hang in there, Constance!" Logan joked. Then, they all turned around and walked away to our camp, leaving me trapped on the mast.

Oh, I was SO going to knock the rest of Folsom's teeth out. With an oar! And chase the rest of them out of town for a fortnight! Bloody... pirates!! Shit, I was so high up. I could see the town, a few miles from where we were. I could also see the fort and a good stretch of the jungles toward the interior. So, the view was nice.

But the heat... the heat was unbearable.

With my sleeve, I wiped the thick layer of sweat from my forehead and tried to ignore the feeling of boiling alive from the inside out. Summer was almost upon us, which meant the sun wouldn't go down for at least another three or four hours. And God only knew how long those bastards would take coming back. "Fuck..." I bent my body forward so I could rest my forehead on the mast. It was growing weak from the labor and the sweltering temperatures. How long had I been perching there...? A minute? Ten? An hour? Whatever water I had taken during my break was long gone, poured right out of my skin, and now a mad thirst gripped my throat. If I stayed up there much longer, I was sure to faint and drop. I would most certainly die.

Somehow, I had to find a way out of that mast.

I glanced behind me, at the platform. The shrouds were well within my reach. If I could shuffle backwards and crawl through again, I could climb down to safety. I just had to keep telling myself it wasn't so hard.

Besides... I could just imagine the look on those morons' faces when I found them and slapped them all across the face, one by one. The thought put a frail smile on my lips. They were going to pay dearly for this prank, oh yes, they were.

Slowly, I started pushing back along the mast, squeezing with my thighs to stay upright. I was so tired, I could barely breathe. My brain was sluggish, like it was about to melt out of my ears. Just another few centimeters... a few more... I reached the platform. As cautiously as I could, I swiped one leg over the mast, then the other, reached out to hold onto the edge of the passage that would lead to the shrouds-- A wave of dizziness robbed me of my balance. My bloodied fingers scrapped the wood and dropped into nothing. Then, my whole body slipped from the mast and suddenly there was nothing separating me from the ground. My heart stopped. I opened my mouth to scream. My hand hooked onto something -- the footrope.

Quickly, I snapped my free arm up and held on for dear life while I swung lazily back and forth.

"Oh dear..." I whispered to myself. Out of some stupid instinct, I took a peek down and immediately regretted it. I was too far high. If I fell, I would break every bone in my body. My flesh would become a gelatinous mess on the beach.

A wave of nausea punched my stomach at the thought.

"Help... Someone..." Fuck, I was scared, almost too scared to raise my voice. “Helloooo...? Help..."

This was it. I was going to die. My little adventure was over before it truly began and it was all over a stupid joke, I couldn't believe it...!

I shut my eyes tight and tried to calm my racing mind. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be how my story ended. I had to fight, just as I'd done with Cutthroat Fred. I kicked my feet to build momentum and try to find purchase on the platform, but my legs had gone numb and my arms were too used up from the day's work. There was no way I could pull myself up.

The crew was in the camp, very close by. I could hear them conversing and shouting at each other, singing shanties, playing music. If I could just scream, someone was bound to hear me. So I sucked in a shaky breath and cried: "Help! Help! Somebody! Heeeeelp!!!"

I could feel my sweaty hands starting to slip. My arms went into spasms, stretched to their limit. It was a matter of time before I fell. I tried to scream louder. "Somebody, please, help me!!" For a short moment, all chatter came to a stop. Then, someone shouted in alarm and a commotion followed, of men calling out for rope, for a net, telling me to hold on, that help was coming.

Above all others, I heard Billy's thunderous roar telling them to get out of the way. I risked another glance down. He hadn't wasted a second; he crawled up the net, ran over the railing on light feet, then up the shroud. In less than a minute, he was at the platform. “Hold on, Constance!" He urged me. "Hold on just a little longer! I'm coming to get you.” My palms chafed against the hemp. “Please, hurry!”

No sooner had the words left my mouth, one of my hands finally gave out. My panicked cry mingled with those of the men on the beach. My fingers trembled on the rope as they lost their strength.

“Fuck! Fuck, Billy, I'm slipping!”

“Almost there!” He passed through the platform, balanced his enormous body on the mast and snatched my wrist at the exact moment I lost my grip on the footrope with a scream. Time stood still. Wide eyed, I stared down at the ground, at the indiscernible faces of the Walrus' men while they held their breaths and brought their hands to their heads. But they stayed where they were. They didn't rush up to me.

Stunned, I slowly let my head fall back. Billy's hand gripped my arm so tight, my fingers had turned purple. He returned my look of shock with his own, like he could scarcely believe he had reached me in time.

“I got you," he puffed. "I got you."

With my breath caught in my lungs, I stared up at his face, red and drenched from his efforts. I could hardly believe I was still alive, too.

"Billy..." He took in a breath, gritted his teeth and heaved me up.

The second I was within reach, I hooked my arm onto the mast and clambered up with his help. He fell back on the platform and held me to him, breathing laboriously, while I buried my nose on the crease of his neck and clung onto his shirt like a child did to their parent after a nightmare.

“It's alright.” His voice was quiet and soothing, not at all judgemental, even as I trembled and sobbed into his skin. One of his hands smoothed down my hair in slow sweeps, over and over, which helped settle my nerves, if only a little. “It's alright. You're safe.”

My teeth chattered too much for me to respond, but I was so grateful for him. So grateful. To my shame, hot tears prickled my eyes and ran down my cheeks, staining his shirt. I hoped no one would notice – especially not him.

After a few minutes of this, I finally found my courage, dried my eyes and pulled away. Billy gave me a once over to assess my state and make sure I wasn't hurt. "You all right?" "Y-yes..."

Through the haze of panic, I realized we were much too close. I was practically on top of him. Yet, there was no room for me to put distance between us, so I remained where I was, though I at least moved my hands from his chest to the platform behind him.

"Good..." He cracked a smile and pushed a loose piece of hair behind my ear. "Feeling brave enough to go back down?"

I took a look over my shoulder, saw the thirty or so men below, as small as toy soldiers, and got this strange impression that the ground was rushing further away from me. With a gasp, I shut my eyes tight and shook my head. "That's fine, don't worry." He touched my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We can just sit here for a bit until you're ready, yeah?" I nodded, did my best to focus on my breathing so I could clear my head. How were we going to get out of that predicament? We were too far high, there was barely anything to grab onto, no space for maneuvering. It was impossible.

Against my best efforts, my breath became shallow. My throat clogged up with a new wave of sobs that tried to force their way out. Fuck me, I was going to start crying again, right in front of Billy. Pathetic. Girly. Weak.

"Do you have any siblings?" I snapped my eyes open. For an instant, I forgot all about our current situation. "... What?" I quipped. "I asked if you have any siblings," he repeated. Calmly. Casually. Like we were sitting down for tea instead of perched hundreds of yards in the air. "Brothers? Sisters?"

"I-I do." I shook my head to get it to focus on his question. "Sisters. Five sisters." "No brothers?" Had he perhaps gone mad from the heat? I continued to stare at him with my mouth hanging open. "You want to know about this now?"

"I'm trying to distract you from the fear," he explained with a chuckle.

How was he so tranquil about everything?? Why wasn't he scared out of his mind? It was absurd!

"No brothers, then. Six girls. Tell me about them. Are they older than you? Younger?" I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I'm the third youngest." "How old is the eldest?" My gaze wandered back down.

"Constance." I returned my stare to his. "Keep your eyes on me. How old is your eldest sister?"

His brow was so tense that the skin creased in deep furrows. His eyes were an bright blue color, almost electric, blinding. They demanded my full attention. I found that I couldn't look away, even if I wanted to. "Thirty-nine," I sighed. "She's thirty-nine years old." "And the second eldest, how old is she?" "Thirty-four."

"The third eldest?" His gaze softened and, to my surprise, I felt my body start to relax. "She's thirty-two," I told him. My voice was nearly back to normal. "What about you?" He offered me a warm smile that made my stomach do a flip. "How old are you?" I managed a snort. "It's very rude to ask a lady her age."

That got his smile to widen. "Well, I figured since a I already asked about the age of three other ladies, you wouldn't mind. Besides, I'm curious." He rested his head against the platform. "I want to know." If I didn't know better, I would say he was flirting with me. My gaze dropped to the strings adorning his neck.

"I'm twenty-eight," I murmured. “I will turn twenty-nine in August." He made a little hum. "I'm twenty-eight, too." I looked up again with a stupid wide grin. "You are?" "Just turned, three months ago." "Happy belated birthday," I chuckled.

"Thank you." There was a pause then, like he was waiting for something whilst searching my face. His smile faded away. "What about your two younger sisters? How old are they?" "Twenty-one and fifteen," I replied. "Do you miss them a lot...?" My heart did a plunge. I bit my lip to stop the sorrow from getting the best of me and nodded a couple of times.

"You will see them, again." He swore. "I'm going to get you out of this mess, and you will see them again, alright? I promise." A tremulous smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. "I don't know about the second part... but if you can get me out of this mess, I would consider myself satisfied." I saw a question flash in his eyes, but whatever it was, he didn't pronounce it. Instead, he gave my shoulder another squeeze.

"Ready to go back to solid ground?"

To resist the temptation to look down, I let my eyes shut one last time and pressed my mouth into a tense line. "Not really... but let's go." "Right. Um..." I opened my eyes slowly at his hesitation. He was studying our current position to formulate our exit strategy. It wouldn't be easy; the mast was tilted at a pretty steep angle, which pushed me onto him and offered us very little space to move. His cheeks, already rosy from the heat, turned a brighter shade of red. "Aye, right. Constance... I'm going to need you to pass your leg over me, plant both feet on the platform and... lie back."

Every inch of me went still, even my brain. Especially my brain.

"I... beg your pardon?" "I-I need space to get up and climb to the other side," he stammered, no longer able to look me in the eye. "Which means you have to lie flat on the mast so you won't fall while I do that."

If my face wasn't already burning up, it would have surely combusted. He was talking about my straddling him -- as in, having him between my legs. I might have slapped him, were it not for three things:

One, there were literally no better alternatives.

Two, I liked and respected him too much.

And three, he had just saved my life. "All due respect," Billy muttered as he peered at me with utter embarrassment. "If you really want to get out of here, I'm afraid you're going to have to discard your puritanical sensibilities for a few minutes." It would be the most scandalous thing I had ever done until that moment, but I could recognize it was necessary. So, after taking a shaky breath, I started to move.

Slowly, being extra careful not to touch him, I pulled my left leg up and over his hips. He stayed perfectly still, patiently waiting while I positioned both my feet on either side of him. My face was inches from his; I could feel his shallow breath on my cheek. I licked my dry lips and began to ease myself back, but then stopped, too afraid to drop abruptly and risk falling. I flicked a glance at him. "Would you mind...? Helping me lie back..." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Sure."

He took hold of my elbows and lowered me until I was lying fully on my back with him half on top of me.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I could feel it kicking against my ribs, heard it drum in my ears. However, as I looked up at him and he down at me, lips slightly parted over his perfect teeth, it wasn't dread that I felt. At my core, a simmering sensation of heat spread up my belly and down my thighs, filled my chest with an intense longing. Desire. I was feeling desire. "You good?" He hummed, so softly I half wondered if he had spoken at all.

"Aye..." The new wave of thirst filling my mouth had nothing to do with my need to take in water. "I think so..." "Good... In that case, I'm going to let go and get a move on. Do exactly as I do, yeah? I'll wait for you on the other side and we'll climb down the shroud together." "Uh-huh..." His hands slipped away from me so he could lean on the platform again. Next, he turned on his side, grabbed onto the edges of the aperture and slid his legs through it. After he had crossed to the other side, he poked his head out. "C'mon. Remember, don't look down. Keep your eyes on me."

I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself before I sat up and slid down the mast. I passed one leg first, then the other, going painfully slow compared to when I climbed up. I couldn't understand how I'd done it without a drop of fear, yet now struggled to hold it at bay so I could concentrate.

"That's it..." Billy encouraged me in hushed tones. "Take your time, find your footing. You're doing great, Constance."

He moved back to give me space while I passed the rest of my body through that narrow opening. Never once did I look down, nor let go of the platform. It was the only way I knew to stay calm and collected. "There you go." Billy dropped his feet onto the ratlines and grinned as he rested his arms on the mast. "See? Hard part is done. Now we just climb down, hand over foot."

Right...

I risked a brief glance down. We were still so far from the beach... That illusion of the ground sinking away from me returned, stronger this time. I immediately snapped my gaze back to Billy's, who watched me with some apprehension. "Do you need to stop?" He asked me in that casual tone, no pressure in his voice at all. I shook my head no. The sooner we reached the earth, the better. "Let's go, then. No rush, yeah? I'll match your pace."

Very carefully, I lowered myself onto the shrouds. Billy waited until I was by his side before he too started his descent, so we could go together. The whole while, he reminded me to take my time, to look at my hands, told me I was making good progress. I truly believe that, if it hadn't been for him, I never would have left that mast alive. Finally - finally! - we touched down on the rails. The crew shouted their own encouragement, urging me to keep going, that I was almost there, just a little more. I waved at them so they would know I was all right, but the truth was that, even as we were closer to the ground, it was still too high. I kept a tight grip on the ratlines and fought to contain the nausea rolling in my stomach.

About two and a half meters from me, Billy stopped and frowned. "What's wrong?" "I... I feel dizzy," I moaned. The nausea, I realized, was caused by the light-weight sensation my head was in, coupled with swimming vision and a feeling of being out of balance. I was certain that if I let go of the shrouds, I would faint and probably never wake again. Billy shuffled sideways to return to my side and held out his arm. "Take my hand. I'll help you." Struggling to control my breaths, I stared at his open palm for a second or two before taking it. However, as he started to move away, I gripped it tight and froze. When he realized I wasn't moving, he looked up and tilted his head. "What if I fall...?" I whispered. My bulging eyes clung to his desperately, but he only smiled and squeezed my fingers.

"You won't fall," he said. "I saw you sprint along the bowsprit on all fours like a damn cat. You can do this, Constance. I'm right here and I'm not leaving your side, alright? Even if this takes all night." I let his words envelop me and sighed in relief when my heart settled. We were so close to the end. The net was right there. I could make out the faces of each man below as they waved me over, promising to catch me if I slipped.

Jean was right at the front, pale as a sheet, hands cupped over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

All I had to do was let Billy guide me. Only a few dozen steps later, we reached the net. Billy didn't let go of my hand until the last moment. On wobbly legs, I descended, step by step, one hand over the other...

When I felt hands on my arms, shoulders and back, I knew it was over.

The crew – my crew – aided me down and settled me on the sand. Jean pushed his way through them to kneel at my side and lay a comforting hand on my back. Behind him, a sea of heads hovered over us, telling me to lie on my back and breathe, asking if I was injured, if I needed water, or perhaps some ale? They inquired each other as to what had happened, where was the rest of the watch, why I was up there all alone? I couldn't answer any of their questions. My head was still spinning wildly. Ironically, now that I was on the ground, safe and sound, the nausea was getting worse. I pressed my palms into my eyes and bent over. I was going to vomit any minute, could feel that tell-tale burn just under my jaw getting stronger and stronger. “Get back, you lot!" Billy commanded. "Give her room to breathe. Jean, move over.”

Callous fingers, gentle as the touch of grass, hooked around my wrists and tugged lightly on them. I resisted. "I think I'm going to be sick," I warned them.

"Put your head between your knees. It'll help."

I did so, keeping my eyes closed so the spinning would stop. My mouth watered repeatedly and at first that burn got worse, but with the passing seconds, it faded away. My stomach calmed and returned to normal. Jean rubbed gentle circles on my back while Billy held my hand in one of his. His thumb stroked my skin almost tenderly. "It's all right, Constance," he murmured. "It's over, now. Just breathe."

Jean huffed a laugh and said, in French: "You are, without a doubt, the luckiest girl I've ever met. Christ almighty." I managed a frail chuckle. "Or maybe I just have very good friends," I replied, also in his mother tongue.

At last, I was well enough to sit up straight and look at them. Billy was crouching in front of me. The sun shone bright behind him like a halo, giving him this almost angelical look. That, combined with his blue eyes, tinged with concern, his flushed tan skin and his golden hair, always cropped short, struck me in that moment as so beautiful that my breath caught in my throat. The dizziness and the fear washed away from me, replaced with a sense of peace, of... safety. I was safe. Not just from certain death, either; from everything. As long as Billy was there to watch out for me, I would always be safe. He smiled with relief as he saw I had recovered. “There we go. Good girl.”

Hesitantly, the rest of the crew closed in around us. They kept a safe distance for my sake, though they were worried and eager to take a look at me. No one spoke up above a whisper, like they were afraid to perturb me further or break the tranquility both Billy and Jean had instilled in me.

There were no words to describe what I felt for those men, all of them, as I took in each and every one of their faces. I tried many times since then, but they always fell short of how my chest sizzled, igniting with this warm feeling of belonging. More than my crew, this was my family. The one I had chosen and the one that had chosen me, in return.

One thing I do know for sure: after that day, I would have died for any one of them. No exceptions. No conditions.

“Constance!”

All heads turned inland to see who was coming. Billy's face, soft and kind while he took care of me, twisted into a frightening scowl of barely contained rage. He turned to Jean. “Stay with her?”

“Oui,” the other nodded.

Billy let go of my hand, stood to his full height and marched out through the men, who quickly parted to let him pass, spooked by that dark expression.

Mr. de Groot advanced from the crowd. In his hand, he carried a bucket. He took Billy's place and offered a ladle full of water. “How about something to drink, hmm?”

Having mastered my fear, I sat up straight and accepted the water, sipping slowly so I wouldn't choke. Not far from us, an argument exploded.

“Oh God, is she alright?” I heard Muldoon asking – followed by the dry sound of a fist landing on a jaw.

A chorus of “oh” rose and fell in a wave.

“Where the fuck were you?!” Billy bellowed. “You left her up there alone without aid! She almost died!”

Logan's voice: “We were only gone for a minute to get something to eat! It was just a joke, I swear!”

“Well your fucking joke could have cost her life! It's like I'm dealing with a bunch of amateurs instead of seasoned seamen! Are you all amateurs?! What am I always telling you? Stick together and watch each other's backs! And what did you do? The exact fucking opposite! What is wrong with you?!”

No answer.

I couldn't see much, but from a tight breach in the crowd I managed to spot Muldoon on the sand, bleeding from a burst lip. Despite the humiliation, he didn't dare get back on his feet. The mood among the crew was of intense interest mixed with resentment. For me. Against them. If it weren't for Billy standing between them and my watch, they probably would have torn my watch apart for abandoning one of their own in such a precarious, dangerous situation.

De Groot tried to give me more water. “Never you mind that. Have another sip.”

Gently, I turned the ladle down, anxious to see what would happen next. On the one hand, I was angry at them for what they had done; a joke is only a joke while all parties are perfectly safe. This had gone too far. Billy was right, I could have died.

On the other... I couldn't help to pity them. This was grave indeed and the punishment would have to match the trespass.

“Unbelievable.” Billy said. “You really have nothing to say for yourselves?”

“What's going on here?”

Mr. Gates.

Again, all heads whipped around as the crowd parted. And it wasn't just Gates – Captain Flint followed close behind.

His presence alone blanketed us all with a sense of unease.

Captain and quartermaster surveyed the scene: Muldoon bleeding on the sand; my shift mates tweedling their thumbs, chins tilted down in shame; Billy towering over them, arms crossed over his chest; and me, still trembling from the aftershock as Mr. de Groot and Jean tended to me.

Flint's stare hopped from my sheet-white face to the careened ship and back, stopping at my hands. Suddenly, I became very aware of the dried blood that covered them, from scrapping barnacles all afternoon.

Billy gave them the account of what had happened, from the moment they first heard my cries for help to the scolding he was delivering Logan and the rest. Gates' expression turned darker and darker with each word, going red, then purple, then red again. On the other hand, Flint remained impassive, his hands tucked behind his back as he listened.

When Billy finished the report, Gates turned on my friends, fists shaking at him sides.

“These are some serious allegations. I ought to pin you down to that sandbar until high tide! Captain--” He turned to Flint. “I believe a trial is in order. We can't let this one slide. Someone could have died.”

Murmurs of agreement spread about, faces grim as they looked between me and my neglectful companions. And to think, only a few hours ago, we were at the tavern eating and laughing together. Now, I could hardly look at them.

From my left side, I felt a persistent tingle on my cheek and turned my head to look: Captain Flint stared at me from across the crowd, examining me.

I don't know what he divinated from my eyes, but after almost a minute, he broke contact and addressed the crew. “I agree. Let's take a moment to collect ourselves and get the story straight. I will hear the account of all parties involved... And then we go to votes.”

The crowd split up. Muldoon, Logan and the others were taken away and made to sit on the sand under some shade, with a ring of men standing guard over them. Mr. de Goot and Jean helped me to my feet and took me to the aft of the Walrus, where they sat me on a rustic wooden chair. They insisted I had some more water and biscuits, to recover my strength; they tasted like sawdust on my tongue and felt just as rough. One month in this crew and this would be the second trial I was at the center of. How unlucky could I be?

Not long after, Captain Flint and Mr. Gates came to me to hear my version of the story. I told them everything, swearing to the truth of my words. After they left to go talk to the others, I bent over my knees and held my head in my hands, worried about what was going to happen to them. No matter how I had wanted to shove my fist into all their kissers, I didn't want them to get too hurt. Or worse, expelled from of the crew.

Yet, with a sinking feeling, I was certain that was the most likely outcome.

Out of nowhere, a heavy hand clamped on my shoulder, nearly startling me out of my seat.

“Sorry,” Billy said in response to my gasp. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's fine,” I sighed while massaging my heart. “Guess I'm still a little out of it.”

He crouched in front of me, same as before. With a quiet snort, I realized that, even low to the ground and while I was on a chair, he still towered over me.

“Something funny?” He asked.

“No, it's just...” I tilted my head back just a smidge to look him in the eyes. “I was thinking that even when you're crouched, I still have to look up to you. How did you get to be so damn tall?”

A shy, adorable smile graced his features and he brought a hand up to scratch at his nose. I decided then and there that a bashful Billy Bones was my favorite Billy Bones.

“Would you be surprised to find out I was once tiny and skinny?”

“Noooo... Really?” I arched my eyebrows at him, trying to imagine him as a short, lanky child (I couldn't).

He nodded a couple of times whilst that smile widened into a relaxed chuckle. “Really. Until my sixteenth birthday, I was a spit of a kid. Then I had a growth spurt and just... Never stopped stretching.”

I pointed to his broad shoulders and large arms. “Upwards or sideways,” I jested.

“No, that part came from hard work and dedication. It takes effort to get this big, y'know?”

I laughed, delighted that he played along instead of chiding me. He was still the boatswain, after all, and I a subordinate. My adoration from earlier returned in full force, especially as I recalled how he saved me from falling to my death. I was indebted to him for that and had no way to repay him. Or so I thought, then.

Sighing through my nose, I chipped off the flakes of dried blood from my forearms. “Thank you, by the way... For saving my life. It was very brave of you.”

He half shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “What else was I supposed to do? Let you fall?”

Now it was my turn to be bashful. I let my head turn to the side so he wouldn't see my flushed cheeks or my big, stupid smile.

“Listen, uh...” A pause, during which his tone shifted to something more serious. “I wanted to talk to you about what's going to happen next. With the trial.”

My smile crumbled right out of my face. Slowly, reluctantly, I faced toward him once more. He wasn't smiling anymore, either. In fact, there was something fierce behind that calm demeanor, something violent – a caged animal fighting to be let out.

“Things aren't looking good for those dumbasses. You and I both know that expulsion from this crew is going to be the inevitable result in all this mess. However...”

He let out a heavy breath and rubbed his palms together. “As angry as I am about the whole thing, that's not what I want. Apart from my friends, those men are good sailors and it would be a waste to have a handful of our best leave suddenly, all at once.”

He scrutinized my features carefully. When he saw the way I pouted, gaze on the sand at my feet, his sneer softened up. “And I get the feeling that's not what you want, either.”

I shook my head side to side. “No. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm pissed beyond belief, and it's gonna take me a long while to forget about all this. But I don't want to see them banished. They're my friends, too, and they didn't mean any harm by it. They were just... inconsiderate.”

“And as you know, there are some in the crew that would much rather see you gone than they,” he pointed out.

Like Mr. Singleton. Mr. Turk. Cutthroat Fred... Indeed, it was no secret that a not-insignificant number of the men didn't like me, never had and probably never would. They only tolerated me because Mr. Gates willed it so, and Flint ordered it so, and Billy and a handful of others enforced it so.

“I think--” He continued. “You would go a long way to gain their favor if you were to publicly declare you held no grudge against them for their antics and voted in favor of them staying.”

I leaned back on the chair and searched his eyes. “Do you think it would be the right thing to do?”

He made a face of 'I dunno'. “Doesn't matter what I think. I'm just laying out the cards for you. You're the wronged party here. What do you think?”

I chewed on my bottom lip for a bit, torn between resentment and love for my friends. I would forgive them... One day. And they would have to remain a part of the crew in order for that to happen.

“I think it would be for the best, for everyone. Including me. I want to forgive them. I want them to have a chance to earn that forgiveness.”

A half smile crossed his lips. He reached out to give my forearm an encouraging touch. “Very well, then. I'll let the captain know you're ready.” He stood to his feet and walked away.

Where his hand had been, I suddenly felt very cold. I liked his touch. It reminded me of the feeling of honey on my fingertips, silky and supple, or how the waves licked at my ankles, like earlier that afternoon. Inadvertently, the thought that he was certain to give great hugs tugged at my gut.

Then it struck me that, in a way, I already knew how good his hugs were. He had held me against him so strongly, up on the mast, yet so carefully, at the same time. His hand was so gentle as it stroked my hair, and his skin...

God, his skin. Smooth, sun-kissed, feverish. He smelled of sweat, but not the kind that burned your nose and made you want to hurl. It had the kind of natural musk that was strong, but not unpleasant, a smell so delicious it made my mouth water. If I could of have it lathered on my own skin, I would bask in that scent for eternity.

Alarmed, I realized that my chest was hurting from the way my heart pounded. With wide eyes, I covered my mouth with my fingertips, horrified at my own carnal thoughts. The same thing had happened up there, when I'd had him between my thighs and...

Heat crept up my neck and cheeks and forehead, until even my hair roots seemed to be catching fire. Oh, this wasn't good. This was not good, at all.

*** The sky was beginning to turn a lovely shade of pink when the crew gathered around in a wide circle on the beach.

Mr. Gates, my friends and myself were at the center of it. Captain Flint stood to the side, on the front row of this circus. Though he presided over the crew, he was also an equal among them, for during trials, the captain's vote held no more sway than the lowest ranking deckhand.

Torches had been lit as the cloak of night crept on us, so we wouldn't be stumbling in the dark by the time this was finished. I pulled Jean's borrowed frock tighter around my shoulders to fight off the cold that gained strength as the day died out. "So," Gates began. "We all know why we're here, but to recapitulate, I will give you a quick account of the events that led to this trial.”

He cleared his throat. “This afternoon, at four bells, the defendants before you were selected to form the first shift chucking and tarring the hull of the Walrus. Sometime after six bells, they saw fit to leave their colleague, Miss Constance Tilly, alone on the mast while they went to get food and drinks, as a poorly conceived method of hazing. Under the sweltering heat, she feared for her life and saw fit to try to come down by herself. As a result, she slipped and hung several hundred yards in the air. As she does not yet possess the brute strength spending months at see bestows upon a sailor, and after the better part of the day working practically without reprieve, she was unable to climb up to safety. She called out for help and our boatswain, Billy Bones, courageously went up the shrouds to rescue her. It is solely thanks to him that Constance is still drawing breath." I had to smile hearing the little note of pride in that last sentence. Billy tried not to show, but his chest puffed visibly as he held himself tall, with a small smile on his lips. "As such, we are now here gathered to vote on whether to oust the defendants from this crew, definitely and irreversibly."

Gates addressed my companions, who each held a mixture of regret, fear and trepidation on their faces. "Gentlemen, this is your opportunity to defend your honor before your shipmates. Who among you do you choose to represent you?" Mr. Folsom came forward. "I will represent our party."

"Very well." Gates stepped back with an outstretched hand, inviting him to take the stage. Folsom started by taking in the silent men, eyes lingering on those I knew were personal friends of his. He spoke to them first.

"What we did today was unforgivable. Of this, we are aware. By our own recklessness, Constance could have lost her life over a moronic prank. She might be new in our midst, but she has proven her worth time and time again. She's a quick study, hard-working and serviceable. Never denied lending a hand and never complains. Well... for the most part. But whom among us never complained at least once?"

A wave of uneasy laughter rolled through the men. Even I had to smile, a little.

Next, he turned his attention to me and I saw the furrow of his brow deepen in honest guilt. "You may have joined less than a month ago, but we already consider you a part of the crew. That makes you a sister to us, which should cover us all the more in shame. Please know we bore no ill will toward you. We never meant to put you in real danger, yet that's exactly what we did. Can you find it in your heart to forgive us?" Though he spoke for everyone to hear, and this apology was just as much for their benefit as it was for mine, somehow I knew it was directed first and foremost to me. I searched the faces of the other accused and saw nothing but regret and the need for absolution.

If it had been Logan, I might have forgiven them before bed. If it had been Muldoon, I would have made good on my thread by giving him an extra bruise on the jaw to pair up with Billy's and forgiven them the following day.

But it was Folsom who apologized for them all. Folsom, with whom I'd had my first altercation and for whom I'd developed deep respect. I had learned so much from him, once we'd found some common ground.

He looked so humble before me, before us, as he begged forgiveness. "Constance?" Mr. Gates called. "Would you care to say a few words before we vote?"

I tilted my chin up and sighed through my nose. Without taking my eyes away from Mr. Folsom, I declared: "I won't lie and say I'm not angry with you. I am. You shouldn't have left me alone up there. Today... was the scariest day of my life and I won't forget that so soon." Folsom's fists balled up. Logan, Muldoon and the others gawked at me, fearful, no doubt already counting the minutes before they found themselves out of a job. I was making them squirm, sure, but could I be blamed? Honestly? Then I glanced at Billy, who observed me with a knowing smirk. He nodded ever so slightly in approval. I returned my attention to Folsom and the others.

"Even so, I believe your sentiment of guilt. And yes, I know you had no bad intentions when you left. This doesn't change how I feel about you all, and I will still call you friends and brothers whole-heartedly. I forgive you. All of you."

Folsom and the others deflated in relief. I could have sworn I saw Logan wipe a runaway tear, though I would never tell my suspicions to his face.

Around us, the men hummed their approval. I even felt a few hands touch my shoulder and back, accompanied by soft comments like a wise attitude and you're a noble woman, Constance.

Mr. Gates stepped forward to address us all one more time. "If no one else has anything to add?"

No one professed themselves.

"Then let us go to votes. All those in favor of letting the defendants remain with us?" Several hands shot up. Most of them, from what I could tell. They included Billy, Flint, de Groot, Jean, Gates and my own.

My shoulders slumped and my heart was at peace. They were staying. "All those against?" Hardly a dozen hands went up.

"That settles it then." Mr. Gates clapped. "Gentlemen, you may stay with us for a while longer." There was a tentative applause for the close call. But, it became apparent I wasn't the only wronged party here, after all. A betrayal of your crew, no matter how slight, was a serious offense. They were going to have to work hard to make up for this incident.

"Now, as for punishment," Mr. Gates proclaimed once the clapping stopped. "The captain, the boatswain and I spoke on this matter and have reached a consensus: for abandoning your stations and putting your companion in peril from your negligence, you will be working double shift cleaning the hull and you will be scrubbing the decks while we're at sea for the next three months."

The group groaned and grimaced (Muldoon buried his face in his hands in despair), but no one dared contesting. They knew they deserved worse, so this, they would endure. "With that said, I declare this trial officially concluded. Thank you all for your participation. Now, how about some roast pork on the spit for supper, to end the day on a high note?"

We all whooped in agreement, energized by the thought of some food and rum. But, while the others dispersed, I stayed where I was.

My regretful friends slumped forward . Truth be told, after Mr. Folsom's speech, plus the thought of their imminent expulsion, my anger had somewhat cooled down. I was ready to put this whole ordeal behind us. Muldoon was the first to speak, eyes as watery as a puppy's. "Are you all right?"

"I am," I muttered. "Billy got to me before I could fall. I wasn't hurt." "We're really sorry, Constance." Logan rubbed a hand down his neck, incapable of meeting my gaze. "We never meant to put you in harm's way, honest." "I know, Logan." I offered him a compassionate frown. "Sorry you won't get to see Charlotte much." He shrugged with an unconcerned grin. "She'll still be there waiting for me when we're done. It's fine." "Besides, we were asking for it, weren't we?" Muldoon added, to which the rest agreed. "And Constance? Thanks for vouching for us. We owe you a lot for this." "Damn right, you do. But for now..." I smirked and punched his arm. Hard. "Let's get some booze and dinner. I'm starving." They bellowed in agreement, though Muldoon was massaging the spot where I'd hit him. I did say I would get him one day, didn't I?

As a unit, we marched up the dark beach towards the fire pit where our food would cook. One day, I would collect this favor, with interests. But not tonight. Not tonight.

#black sails #black sails fanfic #billy bones #hal gates #james flint #alternative prequel #oc centric #slow burn #mutual pinning #canon character x original character romance #found family #friends to lovers #stories by Crow #a girl an ocean fanfic

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autistook · 1 year ago

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DAISIES - pt 2

Merry Brandybuck x fem!hobbit!reader/soft oc

Previous chapter

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Merry drags you and Pippin on an adventure as an apology for the panic attack their dare caused you days before. Halfway there, Pippin decides to turn back, leaving you and Merry alone. After smoking some pipe-weed, the conversation turns a little bit deeper, when you discuss things you have never talked about before, and getting more close to each other.

I want to say something before you start reading the second chapter of this fanfic. I hope you can still feel like you're a part of the story, even thought it is a soft oc. I prefer giving characters some qualities (reader's height, fears and personality traits for example) and backstories when writing, and personally I prefer when I can escape to a story, where I am a little bit different from my usual self.

I also want to point out that this story obviously has and will have some differences to canon events, and I will be mixing up some things from the books and movies, and other stuff from my own head.

That being said, I hope you enjoy this next part of 'daisies'!

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For the few days following the incident at the river, you mostly stayed in your own bedroom, every now and then getting something to eat from the kitchen. Frodo showed some concern, but knowing your need for space, he decided to let it slide. You were still shaken up by the panic attack, trying to avoid anything that could trigger one again.

Pippin and Merry did not take long to realize that you had been distancing yourself at home for more than a day. Normally you would already be at least on a walk, where one of them would run into you. They decided to visit Bag End to drag you out of the bed by force.

"No! You're not allowed to stay indoors any longer!" Pippin exclaimed and started to pull you out of bed. Merry was biting his nails. You groaned and made your body limp, so it would be harder to pull you away from under the comfort of your blanket. "You have been indoors for over a day already, and we all know how easily you distance yourself. Get up, Baggins!"

"We promised you some pipe-weed, didn't we?" Merry says, his arms crossed, looking at you. His eyes revealed just how guilty he was feeling about pushing your boundaries at the river. Pippin tended to feel more guilty, but never showed it to anyone but Merry.

"Is there any way you would just let me have some space for one more day?" you asked, already knowing their answer. Merry shook his head and bluntly declined your request. Finally, the two managed to pull you out of bed, and you rushed them out of your bedroom for some privacy.

You went through your closet for quite some time, trying to decide between a few different dresses, your fingers gently rubbing the different kinds of fabrics to see if any of them would make you feel slightly more comfortable in your skin. You settled on a sage green dress, made of a material so soft and light that you could barely feel it on. You slipped the dress on, and unlike usual, decided to skip a corset, just to make sure no piece of clothing made you feel any more uncomfortable.

You made your way down the hall, where Merry and Pippin had made themselves at home and were chatting up with your brother, laughing about some private joke of their own. You passed the small mirror that was hanging on the wall in the hallway, glancing at it and smiling to yourself. You thought about the small gesture of comfort Merry had provided you by putting your favorite flower sneakily behind your ear.

You entered the kitchen, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, nervous about leaving the house, while knowing it was the best decision for you.

"Glad to see you up on your feet again!" Frodo said cheerfully, his smile gentle and wide. Merry put his arm around you, squeezing you firmly.

"We couldn't let her stay in any longer. Who knows how long she would've stayed indoors!" Merry said. "It was the pipe-weed that finally got her out of the bed. I fear our friend has an addiction," he continued teasingly. You gave Merry a soft, playful smack on his shoulder, making him chuckle.

"We actually got something better for you, as an apology," Pippin said and handed you a small leather pouch. "It's Old Toby. We know you prefer it."

Smiling, you accepted the apology, immediately inhaling some of the sweet smell of the leaves through the leather. Frodo shook his head at this sight, taking a sip of his tea.

"So, do you want to smoke it now?" Merry said, hoping you would share some of it with him and Pippin. You gave him a nod, trying not to act too enthusiastic about getting to taste some of the sweetness of the pipe-weed soon. You then saw Merry's eyes shift slightly to the left from your eyes. One corner of his mouth curled up a little, making you turn around to see what he was grinning at. There seemed to be nothing amusing behind you, so you figured he had to be happy about your agreement to go have a smoke.

It was a cold day in the Shire. You were wrapped up in your long coat, arms crossed, slightly shivering. Merry seemed to be in his element, enjoying the cold spring breeze. Pippin on the other hand, was shaking and whimpering, not wearing enough layers. You were walking on the damp ground, wet grass getting between your toes. Merry was leading the way to a place, that in his words, was 'something very special indeed.'

"How much further?" you asked, wrapping your coat more firmly around your figure. Pippin lifted his head up, lips quivering as he looked at his best friend, hoping for an answer that would be no less than ten minutes.

"An hour," Merry said calmly, looking over his shoulder at the two of you. Pippin stopped in his tracks, shaking his head.

"No, I will not," Pippin said determined, his voice trembling from the cold. He turned around and lifted his hand up to wave goodbye, without even looking back. "Too far. No. I need to get something warm around me. Maybe ten thousand blankets. Enjoy your trip to whatever he thinks this suffering is worth!" Pippin cried, and as he walked he kept muttering to himself, long after he was no longer in the hearing distance.

"Well, more Old Toby for us," you smirked, slightly shaking from the wind. Merry smiled softly at your comment, turning his face back forward to where you two were walking. "I do feel cold though, Merry."

"Trust me, it's going to be worth it," Merry reassured you, giving you a confident look. Your eyes narrowed slightly, trying to decide whether to believe him or not. Merry took notice of your analyzing look. "I am not lying, and you're going to thank me when we arrive there, I assure you."

It took you and Merry less than an hour of walking, when he suddenly came to a halt. There was a cornfield opening in front of you. The stalks of them were a faint green, their length tall, forcing you to tilt your head all the way back if you wanted to see their highest points. Their growth was dense, making it seem like a too narrow path to pass. You lifted your eyebrow at Merry, your arms crossed as you were trying to wrap the thick coat tighter around you. Your coat covered you almost all the way to your ankles, as you were shorter than an average hobbit.

"Merry, why are we standing in front of a cornfield?" you asked. Merry looked at you, amused at your puzzled expression. His answer was a simple nod towards the cornfield. He started making his way through the first rows of the green stalks, his right side first and arms spread wide. With a loud exhale, you followed him.

It was so densely grown, you could not move without at least one cornstalk touching your clothes, or messing up your hair. Every now and then Merry would tell you to duck, as there were some badly grown stalks bending downward. You followed his path for five minutes without saying anything out loud. Then Merry stopped walking, and you followed his example, stopping immediately.

"Just a few rows forward," he said, smiling confidently, clearly trying to act all mysterious. He took one step, before you grabbed his shoulder to stop him from going any further.

"Would you just please explain to me why we are in the middle of a cornfield?" you asked, feeling slightly frustrated from the cold, your feet irritated by the dirt you were standing on.

"Look, just trust me," Merry said and gestured to you to walk first. "M'lady," he snickered in a teasing tone. You decided to oblige, making your way through the last few thick rows of corn.

The bright daylight hit your face the second you had gone through where Merry guided you, making you squint your eyes. Your eyes had gotten used to the dimness of the field and the sudden exposure startled you. When you got used to the sudden flash of light, you could see that you were standing in a small opening. There was a large rock in the middle. It was rough and firm on the ground, and it was even taller than the corns were at their highest. The grey sky was solid behind it, as you gazed up, trying so hard to see the top of the large stone.

"Now we climb," Merry said as he appeared from behind you. He went up to the rock, placing his grassy feet on some of the rough edges of it. His hands gripped confidently on the solid stone under him, as he turned his gaze to you, questioning why you were not following him yet. "Well, come on!" he rushed.

"I don't think I can climb, Merry," you responded, still shivering under your coat. "My hands are so cold. I can't feel a thing."

Merry hopped back down on the ground, walking towards you. He took your freezing, pale and delicate hands in his. He placed them firmly between the palms of his hands, rubbing them to provide some warmth. He lifted them to the same level as his face, placing his lips close to your skin, breathing some warm air from his lungs on your hands. Soon the feeling started to return to your hands, but Merry kept going, wanting to make sure they would not freeze back up.

"Is that better, my lady?" Merry said teasingly, still some tenderness in his tone.

You chuckled softly, giving him a thankful smile. "Yes, thank you."

"Now, are you ready to climb?" he asked, already walking towards the rock.

You followed his every step, trusting he knew his way up there better than you ever could. You truly did not want to slip down, even though a part of you was even suspicious it might have been a part of a long term prank that Merry had planned. The rock was cold beneath the bottom of your feet, and the air was more chilly the higher you got.

It was a fast climb, and Merry soon offered his hand to pull you up. You took his hand, and he pulled you up with a firm grip. And the second you got to the top of the rock, you realized why Merry had wanted to come to this spot for a smoke.

The field opened up all around you, seeming like there were endless rows of beautiful greenery growing. The wind was cold, but beautifully it was softly blowing and making the corn, which was in its early stage of growth, dance like waves. It made you forget all about the temperature. The sky was grey, yet despite the seemingly melancholy weather, it looked beautiful. The contrast between the earth and the sky looked stunning from up there, providing a calming atmosphere.

"I've never told anyone about this place," Merry said, taking his wooden pipe from his pocket, preparing to smoke some Old Toby. "Except Frodo. I think he comes down here to read sometimes, and so do I. I believed it was time to show this to Pippin and you. Well, mostly you."

"What do you mean mostly me?" you asked, handing him the small pouch of pipe-weed. Merry filled the bowl of the pipe, pressing the leaf down gently. He lit it up, inhaling the first round of Old Toby.

"I know you like to have some time to yourself," he answered sincerely, taking another puff. He looked somewhere to the distance, admiring the surroundings. "I figured that after what happened at the river, I owed you a proper apology. I thought showing a place where you can cool down your overactive mind would do the trick."

"Well, apology accepted," you smiled, gently taking the pipe from his hands. You took a puff, the pipe lingering on your lips for a moment. It took almost no time at all for the calming effects of it to hit both of you. You passed the pipe to each other for some time in total silence. The wind was calming down, and the sky looked like it could rain soon.

"You seem troubled," you said, looking at Merry, who was deep in his thoughts. His eyes were fixated on the horizon, as he took a deep breath. He passed you the pipe, leaning backwards to lay down on his back, as the top of the rock was wide enough for a Hobbit to rest down almost comfortably. "Merry?"

"I broke it off with Estella," Merry muttered under his breath. He had been dating his friend's sister for several months now. This information was almost jaw dropping to you, but you tried to keep your composure and not pressure your friend too much.

"What happened?" you asked carefully and concerned, extinguishing the remaining pipe-weed. You put the pipe down and placed your palm on his shoulder, trying to make sure he knew that he was in a safe space with you. This was not an area of expertise for you when it came to Merry. The two of you talked about many things, but relationships or their difficulties, were not one of those things. Merry exhaled loudly.

"I don't know. Something about it did not feel right from the start, which I don't completely understand," he said, almost puzzled about his own decision. He placed his palms behind his head, gently resting on them. "If you wrote down her qualities next to mine, it would be perfect. Perfect, but only on paper. Whenever I held her close, or even kissed her... It just felt odd."

You felt compassion towards your best friend, still shocked that he was opening up about the troubles of his romantic life to you. You stayed quiet, still holding his shoulder gently. Merry did not seem to have anything more to say on the matter, but you had plenty of questions and could not keep totally silent.

"When did this happen?" you asked. It had to not have been more than a few days. He had not acted any way differently since the last time you saw him at the river.

"A month ago," Merry answered, your face showing all the possible signs of confusion at once. Nothing had seemed different, yet he was going through a massive change in his life.

"A month! How on earth did I miss that?" you cried, looking at him with pure shock. Merry shifted his eyes on you, a calm expression on his face.

"Well, we don't really talk about this stuff," he responded, softly chuckling at the whole reality of the situation. "Besides, I felt bad."

"I get it," you said. "Whenever a relationship ends, it's just always hard to-"

Merry interrupted you, lifting his other hand in the air. "That's not what I meant," he said, his body twisting a little from feeling uncomfortable. "I felt bad, because I didn't feel bad. She was crying, and all I could do was just stare at her. I felt so relieved. Seeing her cry made me feel like the worst being in all of Middle-Earth. I tried to comfort her, but she just ran off. We haven't said a word to each other since, nor has Fatty talked to me either."

You stared at Merry in confusion. You thought he had been happy, and you had no clue he had stirred the pot in his personal life so roughly. You gave him an understanding smile.

"Look, you tried to comfort her. That's all I'm saying," you responded, trying to cheer Merry up. "It did not feel right and you did the correct thing by ending it, before it escalated."

"I just wish I didn't make her feel so heartbroken, that his brother decided to not talk to me," Merry said quietly. "Fatty and I have always been friends. So have Estella and I. I might have ruined good friendships by trying to force something, when it wasn't there."

"Hey," you said, firmly grabbing his shoulder and giving him a supportive shake. "You did not ruin anything. Yes, sure, she might be mad at you for a while, but I'm positive she will eventually get over it. Both of them will. He's just very protective over his younger sister. You didn't force anything. You gave it a try, and it wasn't a match."

"The thing is," Merry said, sitting up, a slightly sad expression on his face, his eyes glued to his feet. "So far all of my relationships have been like this. At this point, I fear something is wrong with me!"

You shuffled closer, placing your arm around him. He leaned his head on top of yours, as you always had done when providing comfort to each other.

"Nothing is wrong with you, Merry. You just haven't met the right girl yet," you said, squeezing your arm around him tightly. Merry sighed, appearing to not believe a word from your mouth, as he dwelled deep in his guilt. "I mean it. Someone will come along. You'll be at the Green Dragon, and your eyes meet, and you'll know."

"It's just weird, that's all," Merry sighed. "I've had plenty of crushes, all around Buckland too, but when it came to actually something happening, it came to a halt from my side. There's always this empty feeling. It feels like it's wrong, and I can't quite explain it."

Merry's words made you quiet. As you thought of what he said, you related to it more than you had before realized. Most of the Hobbits you had dated were perfect on paper, but when it came down to actually feeling something real with them - it was never there.

"I get it," you finally said after some time, Merry snickering at your response. "No, I mean it, Merry. I hadn't really thought about it like that before, but I think I was miserable because of that exact reason in my previous relationships. Even the latest relationship ended with her crying, and me feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders."

Merry looked at you, eyes widening with surprisement.

"My dear friend, you have just made me feel so much better," he smiled, hugging you tightly. His arms around you were always a source of comfort, and in that moment you felt like you really needed it as well. You wrapped your other arm around him too, squeezing him tightly. You were enjoying the calming effect of the hug, as always. His face was nuzzled comfortably in your neck, his smile pressing against your skin.

"I think you are sometimes too hard on yourself," you said to him as you pulled away from the hug. "There are plenty of Hobbits out there for you. You just have to find the right one."

"I am not as sure about it as I used to be, but I am definitely feeling more confident now!" he stated, voice full of sudden happiness. "Maybe it's the pipe-weed, maybe it's you, or maybe it's both."

You giggled at his joke, realizing then just how calm the smoking had made both of you. Talking about all this stuff with your best friend felt new, refreshing and like it should have happened a long time ago.

You both talked about your past relationships for over an hour, in tears of laughter at the disasters they had all been. Neither of you noticed the passage of time or the cold air anymore, until the effects of Old Toby started to wear off. After that you both agreed that it would be time for both of you to go back for some late luncheon.

On your way back, you were both slightly more quiet and in your thoughts, but relieved as some weight got lifted off your shoulders, knowing you weren't alone with your catastrophic relationship history.

"Did you know that suits you?" Merry suddenly asked, as the two of you were making your way through the Shire, Bag End slowly approaching in the distance.

"What suits me?" you responded, confused. Merry chuckled and picked up a piece of dirt that had somehow clumped its way to your curls on your journey. He flicked it to the ground with his fingers, looking at you with a mischievous grin. "How long has that been there?" you asked him, slightly annoyed.

"Since we got through the cornfield for the first time," Merry said, smirking. "I noticed it, but I thought it would be funny to not say a thing."

"I had dirt in my hair for hours and you said nothing?" you shouted in a playfully furious tone. "Meriadoc Brandybuck!"

"Calm down!" he chuckled and lifted his hands up, as if to surrender. "I just figured you might have thought it suited your style better than a flower behind your ear, but I suppose I was wrong."

"What, the daisy you snuck in my hair when you were calming me down?" you said, eyes narrowing as you looked at him in his blue eyes, which were glowing with mischief and self-satisfaction.

"Ah, you noticed!" Merry laughed whole-heartedly. "I thought it might frame your face nicely. I did not know it would make you upset. My sincerest apologies," he continued with a sarcastic manner, making you giggle.

"What a nice thought," you smirked, scrunching your nose at him. You crossed your arms, now again shivering from the cold spring wind. "When I have a panic attack again, I'll make sure we are surrounded by daisies."

Merry laughed. "Well, let's hope you don't have another panic attack. What if I don't have a daisy on me? More than that, what if you are so smothered by anxiety that I have to whip up a flower crown for you in a matter of seconds?" he exclaimed dramatically, making your giggles louder. His gaze traveled around your face as he talked, clearly looking for signs that his jokes about the dramatic need of flowers at all times were still funny to you.

"In all seriousness," you started, clearing your throat and changing your tone from playful to a more serious one. "It was a nice gesture. I saw it in the mirror later and it cheered me up."

"I figured it might," Merry said, smiling softly, looking at the ground as you walked through the gate of Bag End. "I know it's your favorite flower."

You gave him a tender smile "I am amazed how well you actually know me," you said, entering through the green front door with him.

NEXT CHAPTER

#daisies #merry x reader #merry brandybuck #meriadoc brandybuck #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #pippin took #lotr merry #meriadoc x reader #tolkien #jrrt

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