#but poor baby thinks that if he burns the letters then he also burns the memories he has of Hannibal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rvllybllply2014 · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! Oh please don't worry over how long this took, I'm sorry our replies have gotten so long that it could stretch out like this ;w; I've started a new job btw so I'm afraid I really won't have as much free time to write such long replies as much, so I'm cutting this one a bit short, I hope that's okay! :(

I have to agree we never know what someone is going through or how their feeling, so a proper warning is always for the best! Still very sweet & thoughtful of you :')

Heh now that I think about it, the Brackens might be the only house to consider "dumber than a horse" as an insult to horses! If anyone would know just how smart horses are, it would be them! They could call Blackwood horses dumb though, just because of the Blackwood influence the poor horses have had to suffer XD

Lord & lady Tully are such a cute pair~ I love how he matches her feisty nature perfectly, and insisting she become a strong swimmer too! x3 Aw and I love how realistic their argument feels? Of course they would both react this way! They both have good points & both apologizing later sets the stage for a good marriage between them uwu

Lil bitty Samwell learning from both his grandparents & playing with his cousins is just too precious~ And I love lady Tully calling lord Blackwood out on his poor parenting & the emotional distance he puts between himself & his sons! I kind of wonder how he's react if after a bit too much wine he'd end up leaning against lady Tully, who instead of pushing him away, would hold him & stroke his hair as if he were her own son? Like she does for her daughter & grandsons? With lord Blackwood unknowingly seeking a mother's touch. Only to remember the next morning how lady Tully had held & soothed him like a child?

She's such a good grandmother to Samwell & Willem, and I understand lord Blackwood's insistence on her praying to the old gods, & she's too stubborn to be honest to him about her reason to refuse. Though I do wonder if he would have understood her concerns? Oof that argument is so hard to read, I understand lord Blackwood's hurt, anger, & loss but lying to his sons and burning the letters, not even storing them away..that just horrible D= Poor lady Tully & Samwell, knowing his father hid letters from their grandmother had to hit him terribly, and to have Willen parrot their father's teachings too! At least their Tully cousins questioned them at least!

Amos practicing flattery in front of his mirror is too cute! Along with Raylon's light teasing x3 Aw and speaking of Ser Raylon Rivers, can you imagine a secret relationship between him & Samwell in the background?

Neither of them wishing to burden their brothers with it, and feeling as though they especially can't mention it after their brother's brake up? :< And Willem keeping his blade on him while trying to distance himself from it emotionally is such a good contrast to Amos locking his blade away but keeping the key to it literally next to his heart, never truly parting from it emotionally..

Davos being the one to stake Aeron through the neck, oh my poor babies :'( Imagine if Aeron had lived but still is injured, with Davos fleeing with him and both waiting out the war while Aeron recovers, until they hear of the Blackwood attack on Bracken lands?

Ooh I love how you wrote Willem finding the blade, how Amos never truly broke the chain connecting him to Willem.. And how the rape doesn't happen right away or all at once, how it gradually builds, and how Willem deludes himself into thinking Amos wants it. That despite his desire to punish him, he doesn't wish to see himself as Amos's rapist.. That threat to have Raylon taken before both houses, that he's already "broken in" is harsh..i totally understand Amos's fury!

Aw having Benjicot sent to Riverrun is a smart idea, though I also like the idea of him coming to Harrenhall to lead the Blackwoods, and while Oscar is tense at first, he soon sees just how much like Samwell Benjicot is? Saying he understands Oscar did what he has to and doing what he can to keep his own house in line? I could see Amos meeting him & seeing so much of Samwell in him ;w;

1A) Heh poor Aeron! I feel like the spanking he gets from Davos would be less sexual and more so an actual punishment, like for when he's genuinely unfair & rude to Davos, or does something stupid & knightly, risking his life for others, Davos wouldn't let that go without making riding too painful for his Bracken for a while, I mean what better punishment is there for his Bracken than that? I imagine he'd rarely need to use anything but his hand (which he prefers, he likes how much more intimate it feels) but occasionally, if he feels it's really needed to teach a lesson, he'll use the thin leather reins from he cut from Aeron's own horse. He can't bring himself to use a belt but that's fine, the reins are painful enough!

1B) Ooh I saw you wrote something for this idea, so I'll comment on it tomorrow~ I did think up another idea involving spanking though. Now this would be a purley parental spanking, but imagine before the battle of the burning mill ever takes place, Raylon Bracken would come to blows with a group of young Blackwood men and get overpowered, being brought back to Raventree Hall by them so he can be ransomed back to his lord father. He's not treated terribly, locked away in a room instead of a cell, but of course that doesn't make him any less angry! And when Willem comes to check on him himself, Raylon in his anger continues mouthing off to Willem despite his warning... And after stomping his foot and throwing something at Willem in anger, Raylon would soon find himself lying over Willem's knees, told if he was going to have a tantrum like a little child, he may as well be punished like one..

Ah sorry this reply was so much shorter than others, there's plenty I didn't comment on, but you summed up all we've discussed perfectly~ Thank you so much for discussing all these ideas with me <3 I'm all ears to hear any you have as well! =)

Congratulations on the new job. And also no worries about reply length or anything like that.

Lord and lady Tully are definitely based on my best friend’s parents.

Also think I hit all your ideas I’m sure, so sorry if I didn’t.

And now I’m definitely thinking about Samwell and Raylon Rivers. They have been added to the list.

Just non descriptive mentions of rape, look at previous ask for the more descriptive parts of the rape and trauma.

Definitely older brackenwood with some davron once again.

Lord Tully insisted that since he had to learn how to ride like a Bracken then his wife needs to learn to swim like a Tully. Yeah the fights are just them not seeing eye to eye and just needing some time to let cooler heads prevail. Once that happens they’ll apologize because they know they both had valid points. They’re also trying to raise their daughter to be level headed.

Lord Tully once asked lady Tully why she felt bad for the Blackwood horses, when they had a tourney in honor of their daughters first name day. She explained that Blackwood horses had to deal with the dumb Blackwoods, that those horses are smarter than their owners. So of course she’s going to feel bad for them. Lord Tully just shakes his head, he just goes along with it.

The one and only time both lady Tully and lord Blackwood allow themselves to seek some form of comfort in each other is in the months leading up to lady Blackwoods death. Lady Tully had just gotten Samwell settled in for the night again, and Willem was already in his bed sound asleep. Both lady Tully and lord Blackwood had too much wine, they’re both six glasses deep when lord Blackwood starts to tear up.

Normally lady Tully would just walk away, while muttering a Blackwood can just be miserable by himself, no need to drag everyone else’s mood down, it’s already sad enough in her daughter’s room. But since she’s already tipsy and already mourning her daughter she figures that lord Blackwood is also mourning his wife. So she does the only thing that she can think to do which is move to the couch, in her daughter’s room and pat the seat next to her.

Lord Blackwood at first thinks that lady Tully is making fun of him, acting like he’s a small child like Samwell or Willem. It’s only when she says that she’s here to offer comfort, as his mother in law and a fellow mourner die he finally sit next to her. She’s the one to lean into lord Blackwoods space while pulling his head towards her shoulder. It’s only after lord Blackwood has settled down on her shoulder, does she start to pet his hair while telling him that it’s okay to already mourn someone that is alive. That although he’s a Blackwood, she’s here for him and her grandsons. She just lets him know that it’s okay to let his emotions out.

He accepts the comfort until Samwell comes in from the nursery telling them that Willem is awake and crying. Lord Blackwood starts to get up until lady Tully tells him she’ll take care of Samwell and Willem, he needs to spend time with his wife. And with that she gives lord Blackwood a kiss on his temple, and grabs Samwell’s hand telling him that they’re going to go take care of Willem.

Willem just had a bad dream, which was an easy enough fix. But Samwell wouldn’t settle down again, he was too worried about his mother and father. He’d never seen his father show any emotion. So lady Tully decides to bring Samwell and Willem into their mother’s room. It’s just a short walk back to the rooms, and when they arrive lord Blackwood questions if everything’s alright?

Lady Tully tells him that his sons need their parents, she also orders lord Blackwood out of the chair that he sitting in so she can sit there. Lord Blackwood starts to protest but she tells him to get in the bed, but to leave space between him and wife so the boys can sleep between them. She’ll tell them bed time stories until they all fall asleep. Once they’re asleep she quietly leaves the room.

It isn’t until the next day that lord Blackwood realizes that he allowed himself to be treated like a child by lady Tully. He’s a little disappointed in himself but he also realizes deep down that he needed someone to take care of him, to validate his feelings while also still being an adult. Surprisingly it’s not lady Tully or Samwell who brings up the night before, it’s Willem that does. He thinks it’s just a strange dream, that he had a nightmare and then his father brought him and his brother to their mother for comfort. It’s Samwell who tells him it wasn’t a dream.

It’s when the boys are at their lessons, that lord Blackwood decides to confront lady Tully about last night. She tells him although he’s just a Blackwood and was never deserving enough for her daughter she can see how much he loves lady Blackwood; he also gave her, her adorable grandsons. Also it’s okay to feel fear and grief for the future, they’re both about to loose someone important but they’ll always be related through the kids.

The funeral happens, the fight also happens, lady Tully keeps her promise to write but lord Blackwood burns them and years pass without Samwell and Willem seeing their grandmother until lord Tully writes to tell them that she’s sick and dying. And how much she’d love to see them one last time. They’re too late, but they do stay for the funeral and do find out about how she really had kept her promise to write. Samwell believes his cousins and concludes that lord Blackwood must’ve burnt them. Willem already so close to his father in appearance and attitude decides that although these are his Tully cousins, they’re obviously lying a Bracken never keeps a promise.

After the funeral Samwell resumes his duties of watching the boundary stones, where he meets little Amos and his half brother Raylon. Raylon was sent to check up on Amos, to make sure that he wasn’t starting a fight with the Blackwoods. So he was absolutely shocked when he saw Amos and Samwell talking. Raylon doesn’t approach them just yet, he wants to see how the little interaction plays out.

It’s only when Amos sees Raylon, does he decide to approach them. Raylon tells Amos it’s time to go back to Stone Hedge, and sends him on his way. Raylon stays back long enough to thank Samwell for being so kind to his brother, he likes to act like a big boy but he’s still just a ten year old child. Samwell says it’s no issue Amos reminds him so much of his younger brother, who’s just come back from the court. Raylon doesn’t ask any questions especially when Amos comes back to ask if he’s ready? Raylon tells to go ahead he’ll catch up he needs to finish this conversation.

Once Amos had left again Raylon asks Samwell his name, and if he can send ravens to him. Samwell agrees he sees Raylon as a friend and also a connection to his grandmother that he just lost. It’s only a few weeks before Samwell and Raylon realize that they might actually like each other, more than just in a friend way. Samwell is actually the first one to broach the subject of how there might be more than friendship between them, if Raylon would allow it? Raylon is surprised but doesn’t disagree, so as their brothers fall into love with each other Raylon and Samwell also fall into love.

Raylon sends raven on Samwells eighteenth name telling him that they need to meet that night. Samwell is sorrow by he doesn’t need to be Raylon just wanted to give him his present in person. Raylon had stolen the idea of gifting his lover a blade from his brother. He’d had the blacksmith make him a dagger with a ravens head as the handle and had a horse etched into the actual blade. That way he’d always be near to protect him. Samwell is touched by the gift and vows to get Raylon something just as special for his name day.

So when it’s Raylons name day Samwell gifts him a blade with a horse head as the handle and a raven etched into the actual blade. But unlike their brothers they continue to send ravens even after they too eventually brake up. Also both men keep their blades on them. They tell themselves it’s to keep tabs on how each house is feeling towards the other, Raylon wants to be able to advise Amos to the best of his abilities. But they also send updates about their personal lives. They each write to the other that they hope their sons can be good friends just like they were. Raylon also congratulates Samwell when he’s married and has his heir Ben.

The letters only stop after Raylon was killed in a freak riding accident, he’d been thrown from his spooked horse and trampled. The very last letter Samwell writes to Raylon is how much he loves him and he’s sorry that everything happened the way it did. He also asks how could Raylon leave him so easily and early? They both still had so much life left, but now it’s just him but he’ll do his best to live for him. He burns the letter hoping that his words will reach Raylon.

Several more years pass and Samwell gets a mysterious illness that takes him before Ben is old enough to run Raven tree hall. Willem takes over as regent and plots his revenge against Amos. According to Willem it was Amos who walked away from him and their future along with his heart, just like Amos’s ancestors walked away from the old gods. He imagined the old gods felt the same type of pain and anger he feels.

So as soon as the dance happens and he hears from Davos that the Brackens have declared for Aegon, he uses it as an excuse to attack the Brackens. He’ll finally have his opportunity to show that he’s never forgiven or forgotten Amos’s betrayal.

Willem is disappointed with Davos when he finds out that he had the chance to kill a Bracken but doesn’t. He orders the Bracken that he spared to be sent to the dungeons and left to rot. Since Davos couldn’t kill him, he’ll keep him alive but barely. He orders that Davos is not allowed down there, he can’t be trusted around that Bracken. Instead Davos is ordered to watch Amos’s son Raylon.

He wants Davos to watch a Bracken get taken multiple times while also knowing that if he misbehaves then his Bracken will also suffer that fate. Davos and Raylon still get friendly, Davos also stops his uncles men from raping Raylon on his birthday. Davos manages to tell Raylon that Aeron is still alive. Raylon is equal parts relieved and horrified. He hopes that he’s not suffering the same fate as him, Davos tells him that he isn’t sure it’s been almost a month since they last saw each other.

Willem is also delusional enough to believe that every cry from Amos is a cry of pleasure. That his begging is a way of calling back to their relationship, and how he’d always cry and plead for Willem to not stop. It’s obvious that Amos wants it even if he doesn’t explicitly ask for it. He’s just trying to play hard to get, especially when it’s in the camp on the way to Harrenhal.

Davos is forced to guard Raylon while on the move to Harrenhal, he tries to get to Aeron but he’s too well guarded. The only time Davos is allowed to see Aeron is at Harrenhal when his uncle Willem is beheaded for what he did in the river lands.

Oscar still orders Raylon and Davos back to Stone Hedge, Davos is still a hostage. Aeron is ordered to stay at Harrenhal, he’s needed to help fight, Davos and Aeron can see each other after the war.

Oscar also sends a raven to Raven tree hall demanding that Ben comes to Harrenhal. He needs Ben not to fight but to show his support towards him. Once Ben arrives at Harrenhal, he tells Oscar that he understands that he did what he needed to do, especially to secure the loyalty of all the other houses. Ben shows nothing but respect towards Oscar, which in turn causes the Blackwoods to show only respect towards him.

The first meeting between Amos and Ben, Amos almost feels like a small child again. Ben reminds Amos so much of Samwell, how he listens and weighs his words/actions before he does anything. Amos knows that house Blackwood will be in capable hands once Ben is old enough to take responsibility. Amos might also hug Ben, offering comfort to him; he’s sorry for his loss of uncle and for his father years earlier.

1A): Davos is more of a punisher when it comes to spanking Aeron. Every time Aeron back talks, trying to prove to Davos that he’s capable of being a knight, it’s over his knee until his ass is red. Davos only uses the reins when Aeron falls off his horse. Aeron was trying to show off to his friends and managed to fall, and ended up scarring Davos half to death he didn’t move for almost a whole minute and he couldn’t cross over to Bracken lands to check on him. Davos tells him this spanking is for his own good, it should teach him not to show off.

2): Raylon knows that he’s being an irrational brat, especially in front of Willem but he’s pissed. It was a stupid mistake on his part, he’d followed his horse into Blackwood lands and ran right into Willem. As soon as Willem realized who had ran into him, he knew he’d get a huge ransom from Amos.

But first Willem needed to get Raylon to stop snorting and stomping his foot and the only way he knows how to is bend him over his knee and spank him. He makes Raylon count to ten, and then evaluates Raylons attitude. If Raylon is still throwing a temper tantrum, then it’s ten more smacks. It will continue until Raylon has learned his lesson.

#older brackenwood #house of the dragon #davron #brackenwood #brackwood #raylon rivers x samwell blackwood #aeron bracken #davos blackwood #samwell blackwood #raylon rivers #willem blackwood #amos bracken

11 notes · View notes

garfieldbussys · 10 months ago

Note

clo this isnt funny anymore.

arthur is deteriorating in front of my eyes and i dont like it what is happening right now i dont know if i can handle this its so sad

what does campbell have against this poor policeman hes always having a go at him its unreal

ALSO wait hang on whats poll doing also tommys found her kids OH NO HER DAUGHTERS DEAD POLL IM SO SORRY ☹️

ANYWAYS i cannot WAIT to finish this cause that means i can go on a rampage of reading fics SO excited

poll ily but put the gun down babe ik youre hurting but babes anyways they’re opening the garrison again since it was blown up last ep ALSO finn is SO grown up its crazy

finns talking to arthur i have a feeling this isnt gonna go well NO NO NO FINN NOT DRUGS PLEASE FINN DO NOT I SWEAR YOURE KIDDING ARTHUR NO

oh no hes fucking high off his tits isnt he 😐 ffs

why do i have a feeling another bomb is gonna go off idk i just feel like smth really bad is about to happen- hes got graces letter out hes burning it good to know i wont be seeing her again then

ADA BABY YOU MADE IT 🫶🫶

i think shes come to speak to poll shes so drunk i LOVE drunk poll shes so funny shes dancing with some guy

could you imagine if this guy ended up being her son that would be HORRIFIC cause it looks like they just had like 4 rounds tbh

why are blackcurrent soothers so good like???

HAHA POLLS DOING THE WALK OFF SHAME

ITS HER SON

hang on is that- IS THAT ERIC BIRLING FROM AN INSPECTOR CALLS OR AM I BUGGING

anyways thats it for ep 2 onto ep 3

i love ada so much and i love in fics where she’s like the best big sister ever i just can’t

and you finally watching arthur like crumble in front of your eyes is so upsetting i actually hate season 2 for him it’s so upsetting

no because finn is like 14 why is 6foot ?!?! what have the shelbys been feeding him??

LMAO THE UNIVERSAL experience of watching eric birling appear on your screen as the iconic polly gray’s son 😭😭

8 notes · View notes

thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 2 years ago

Note

I'm curious - what do you think would have happened if on 1st November 1981, the Dursleys had both decided 'nope, screw this', burnt Dumbledore's letter and called the police to report an abandoned baby who totally has nothing to do with them?

That would have been a very bold move for them to make.

Caveat

This is sort of what happened. Kind of.

The Dursleys did not want Harry.

However, in that letter, among a very long passage guilt tripping them, were none too subtle threats of how Dumbledore would be sending people to watch them and make sure they were doing as expected.

They wouldn't think of abandoning Harry, would they?

The Dursleys sheltered Harry out of terror that the wizards would come back and do something horrible to them if they didn't. Petunia knowing enough to know that the police couldn't help them even if they went to them (not to mention, of course, that would make them look abnormal and we can't have that).

Dumbledore notably also shows up in the sixth book to threaten them in person when he picks up Harry.

It was made very clear to the Dursleys that "no" was never an answer when it came to a) not taking Harry in b) preventing him from going to Hogwarts.

The Dursleys Try

The thing is Harry has no real reasonable place to go and ah Dumbledore really likes the Dursleys (yes, yes, we can get into the blood ward thing but let's leave it alone for now).

I imagine we see something similar to the fiasco with the letters in Philosopher's Stone.

The letter shows back up after burning, nails itself to their wall, and is irremovable.

The Dursleys find themselves unable to dial the police from any telephone. WHen they go in person, they seem to be utterly invisible to the cops.

Dumbledore shows up in person to have a "chat" and remind them that it is their duty, to poor Lily, to take in Harry and "I really think you don't want to refuse, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley".

The Dursleys are getting stuck with that baby.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #albus dumbledore #anti albus dumbledore #the dursleys #meta #headcanon #opinion

74 notes · View notes

theamberplumbob · 4 months ago

Text

The Bride of Straud: Chapter 8

After a commotion was reported at Modern Apartments the police arrived to find the bodies of Marianna Palmer and Alex Adkins, the blood having been drained from their bodies.

Left alone in their respective apartments were Elena Palmer, daughter of Marianna, and twin girls Ellie and Sofia Adkins, daughters of Alex.

The three girls were unsurprisingly distressed, the four-year-olds having witnessed the attack on their parents and having been left alone with their bodies for several hours. Luckily, no bodily harm had come to them. The attacker(s) only having been interested in Marianna and Alex for reason unknown to the police.

Fortunately for the three girls, someone immediately showed interest in taking them in. This woman was none other than Sonya Block, who most knew as the local bar tender. What most didn't know was that she, well, daylighted as a monster hunter in secret.

Sonya herself had experienced the loss of a loved one at the hands of a vampire when she was young. Because of this she dedicated her life to protecting the innocent from the creatures of the night who wish to prey upon them, funding her pursuits with a bar tending job on the side.

When she heard of Marianna and Alex’s death she instantly knew who, or rather what, was responsible: a vampire, most likely two. Sonya saw herself in the poor orphaned girls, and decided to take them in and train them so that they can one day take their revenge.

So, not a week after the death of their parents, Sonya took them home to her house in Oasis Springs where she had two nice bedrooms waiting for them.

She was still a stranger to them, but she hoped they would warm up to her in time. Luckily, the three girls were already friends, having gone on many play dates together, so at least they had each other.

For the sake of preserving their parents memories, Sonya found and framed family photos of Marianna and Alex with their respective children. Not only would they be a nice way of keeping their parents with them, it would also serve as a reminder of the importance of what they do as hunters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rohan Elderberry had always been very close with his family. He had the coolest parents anyone could ask for, and an adorable baby sister. On top of that he would visit his grandparents every summer when he was young, and exchanged letters with them throughout the rest of the year.

Since he was thinking of attending college in Britechester, his parents agreed to let him live with his grandparents during his senior year to decide whether he wanted to attend UBrite or Foxbury. Rohan was elated, not only was he going to live in the beautiful city of Britechester, but he would get to spend more quality time with his grandparents.

When Rohan was forced to return home early after his grandparents death, he was not the same. Despite the fact that he was wrapped in the warm embrace of his parents, his baby sister Renee even hugged his leg, nothing could console him. How could he look his father in the eye when he couldn’t even tell him the truth about what happened to his grandparents? No one would believe him. In that sense, he was truly alone.

That was, until the woman who lived across the street approached him when he came outside to get the mail one day. She told him that she knew how his grandparents died and that vampires were real. She told him about how she was a hunter, and that she could answer his many, burning questions.

Rohan told Sonya that the vampire that killed his grandfather was named Vlad, but the vampire who killed his grandmother was a woman, and he didn’t hear her name. Sonya told him that Vlad wasn’t just any vampire, but Vladislaus Straud, the king of vampires, and the women was most likely Claudia Straud, Vlad’s new bride.

Having learned the identity of his grandparents' killers, Rohan became enraged. Seeing the fire in his eyes, Sonya offered to teach him to become a hunter like her, and make sure that what happened to his grandparents wouldn’t happen to anyone else. He accepted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rohan began routinely coming over after school for his monster hunting training. Under Sonya’s guidance he would study vampiric tombs and engage in physical combat training.

He also ended up meeting Sonya’s three adopted daughters who had been orphaned by vampires. They were a similar age to his little sister, so he got along with them pretty well.

Seeing how good he was with the girls, Sonya mentioned that she needed a babysitter for them while she was at work. Wanting to save up cash, he accepted, and would watch the girls when Sonya went off to work, and arrangement they were all quite happy with.

As time passed, Rohan’s younger sister Renee aged up into a child. She was a funny, spontaneous girl, and she loved rough housing with her brother in the back yard. As even more time passed Rohan became a young adult and graduated high school.

At this point, Rohan had become quite an adept fighter, and even joined Sonya on a couple of hunts. He decided that this was what he was going to pursue. Rohan remembered a time when the question of which college to go to filled his every waking thought, being so excited to start his life as a Britechester academic, now, it was all just a distant memory, and he no longer had any want to pursue further education.

Instead, he got himself two part time jobs (one at a retail store and one as a babysitter), and got himself a trailer home in the cheaper part of Oasis Springs.

(Credits to GeistSdD on the gallery)

While he didn’t see it that way, it was sad for those around him to watch a once promising, bright young man who was accepted into both Foxbury and UBrite become so wrecked by trauma that he instead settled for working two part time jobs to afford his rundown trailer in Bedrock Strait.

A part of Sonya wishes she’d never approached Rohan. That maybe then he’d move on and have a life outside the hunt, but there was no use in wishing. What was done had been done, and the best she could do was make sure that boy didn’t get himself killed.

Rohan wasn’t the only one Sonya had to look after. Alex, Ellie, and Sophia were getting big, and somehow becoming more and more of a handful, even with Rohan’s help.

On the day of the girls’ birthday, she made them a cake and invited Rohan over. Together they helped the girls blow out the candles and become children.

Sophia seemed to be embracing the hunter lifestyle the most, being very active and bold. She loved training, and almost never complained during their longer training sessions.

Ellie, while the exact opposite of Sophia in terms of physicality, loved studying the lore and conducting research on the monsters Sonya was hunting. She may not be the best fighter of the group, but she was certainly the smartest, and when you’re in the thick of it, that’s all that really matters.

While Alex was perhaps not as physically gifted as Sophia or mentally gifted as Ellie, but she made up for all that in passion. She strongly believed in protecting people and preventing what happened to their parents from happening to anyone else, and it was that determination that inspired both Sophia and Ellie to follow her lead. Sonya felt that three of them could grow up to accomplish great things one day, and she couldn’t help already feeling proud.

(Ellie on the left, Alex center, Sophia on the right)

Despite the tragedy that surrounded these individuals, they were able to come together and support each other, united against the those who stole their loved ones from them.

As Rohan continued to care for the girls while Sonya was at work, Sonya continued to trained them all and help them become stronger. Together, they hoped to not only make amends for the wrongs done to them in the past, but hopefully heal.

However, they could only rest easy once they manage to do the impossible and take down their greatest enemy: the vampiric royals.

#ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 gameplay #ts4 screenshots #the sims 4 #sims 4 #bride of straud #my stuff #ts4 simblr

4 notes · View notes

lightdragon789 · 8 months ago

Text

Other inserts backstory/facts Pt 2.

Matthew Grey

Part two and talking about my insert for Lost Prince, Matthew. He’s big tough knight with an unwavering heart, so let’s get into his backstory then facts about him.

Backstory:

Matthew grew up in the outskirts of the kingdom, helping his father in collecting fish for local markets. He never knew his mother as she died giving birth to him and his father treasured Matthew as his last gift from his beloved. He never remarried as she was the only one for him and put his focus on Matthew. Telling him stories of them together and how much she would adore him.

Even still, Matthew’s father didn’t want Matthew to grow up poor fisherman like him. He prayed everyday for a sign that something great would come for his son. His prayers were heard as when Matthew was 12 he was helping bringing in fish and found the urn. To which Matthew learned the story of the lost “princess” and he was excited thinking they would get recognition from the kingdom.

However, his father had another idea. He wrote a letter to the kingdom that his son found the urn and how he wants him to be trained as a knight to save her. After he delivered the letter, he told Matthew about what was going to happen and it made Matthew upset. He didn’t want to leave his dad as he was his only family. But his dad told him he couldn’t change this as this was his wish for him to live a great life and not be a poor fisherman.

He made Matthew make a promise that in times of despair that they’ll listen for each other’s voice to comfort them and keep moving forward. Matthew begrudgingly agreed to the promise and the rest of the time was spent with him packing and spending a lot of time with his dad. When knights came and a member of the council came and confirmed it was the right urn. They requested Matthew and they hug one last time before Matthew is taken to start his training to save the princess.

His training was tough as they trained him in many fields in order to be prepared for anything. To cook, patch wounds, fight and defend. Even using spells to help in strengthening himself. When he turned 18 he fought in many battles, gained many burns and scars. The sounds of battles and screams soon drowned out his dad’s voice and after so many he forgot how his father sounded.

However, he found a new way to combat all his struggles and motivate him forward. That was saving people/comrades. Seeing them thrive and smile to see the next day always have Matthew the encouragement to continue his work. He still wishes to see his father again one day but knows that will happen once he saves the princess.

Matthew also had a bit of struggle with his sexuality. As he always saw knights trying to woo maidens and Matthew never had the urge to do the same. Plus with his muscular stature, most women were fearful of Matthew. Even more so when his comrade were doing a drunken dare and Matthew wanting to stay sober. Did a dare where he kissed a maiden which led to him being slapped and called a beast. Which made him a bit more recluse when it came to a love life. Knowing when he saves the princess he’ll be betrothed to her. Which made him still confused.

He questioned if he was more attracted to men then women but once again. Knowing he’ll be betrothed, he never let love be his top priority and seeing it as a fairy tale he needed to earn.

Once he became 27, he completed his final trials in order to be ready to rescue the lost heir. He was still a bit withdrawn but hid it behind his helmet as he raised his sword and took back the urn that started him on his journey. Then rode on his mare to the portal.

Now for some facts and some cute things to add in for his interactions with Orin ^^

Matthew design is insirpied by the small glimpse of the knight in the second episode. I added in freckles, black medium length hair and the fact that Matthew has a somewhat baby face.

He is 27 years old, 6’3 and goes by (He/Him) pronouns.

Matthew was given a nickname amongst other knights, who saw Matthew getting special treatment due to finding the urn. That nickname being “The Golden Knight.” Which he didn’t like being called but it became a common nickname to Matthew.

He is homosexual and Demiromantic.

Matthew raised a mare that he named Ebony. Who he’s rode into battle many times and even taught her special tricks. Such as whistle commands as anyone would think he’s signaling other knights.

Due to his large stature, he does all he can to not appear so scary. Which doesn’t work all the time and he wishes others wouldn’t be afraid of him.

Hence he was afraid to do the same to Orin, fearful he would hurt him again after their duel.

However, Orin has given Matthew some courage in showing he wasn’t the brute many perceived him to be. Also making him forget about it and just being himself.

And yes, Orin was Matthew’s gay awakening XD

He also brought Ebony into the dimension so that she wouldn’t be hurt by creatures outside. She got along well with Orin after offering her an apple.

Vice versa, Matthew gets along well with Orin’s goats. Being very gentle, even to one’s that headbutt him.

Matthew already had a disconnect with the kingdom as they seemed more invested in his training than his well being. The knowledge of Orin’s imprisonment and how to free him made him distrust them more. As he didn’t know about the fire until the mage told him. Hence his resolve to want to stay with Orin in case the Mage or himself couldn’t find the incantation to free him.

Knowing the feeling of isolation from his early years in the kingdom and not wishing Orin to be alone again.

Also despite his large height, he loves being little spoon. Though he does t mind being big spoon either.

If he could, he would have a pet owl. He loves them a lot.

That’s all I have for Matthew atm. Can’t wait to see what’s in store for Lost Prince and the journey these two go on.

Next time, I’ll be doing Avery story.

So I hope you guys like this one and any question ask in the ask box! ^^

#obsidian lantern #the lost prince #audio story #oc lore

4 notes · View notes

whatamibutabutteredcroissant · 2 years ago

Note

For Vague Angst Dialogue:

11 "They shouldn't treat you like that." with Fearne, if you please?

Prompt Ok, so, confession time... I may have been a little dumb and reblogged some prompts because I liked them, and forgot that they're for ask games. However, I cannot stop thinking about this prompt and I've been looking for a reason to get back into writing. So, thank you so much for the ask, and I hope I can do it some kind of justice! (However it may be awful kdlakjhdlajsh) This ficlet is set in the hotel room in Yios. Also, hope it's ok that I don't write the exact line into this. <3

"Can any of y'all smell burnin'?"

Fearne could, in fact, smell burning. Fearne could also feel burning. But just as she was about to leap out of bed, there was a hoarse scream, and a splash, and then in place of the fiery heat licking up her left side there was the icy shock of a cold glass of water.

"Take that, you little bastard hellspawn!" cried the tremulous voice of one Mr. Chetney Pock O'Pea.

"Chet!" squealed Fearne, shooting bolt upright and clutching a screeching, soggy and very displeased Little Mister to her chest "Why would you do that? He was just trying to make himself all nice and cozy!"

"Cozy? That creature attempts arson on a daily basis, Fearne! How long d'you think it's gonna be 'til he actually kills one of us?" Chetney questioned, his normally adoring gaze replaced with one of a very pissed-off and sleep-deprived old man.

"Rheaaahk!" retorted Mister.

"Awwww, my poor baby boy!" cooed Fearne, her attention immediately diverted "It's okay bubba, Mommy's got you, she's not gonna let the nasty little man hurt you anymore. He doesn't get to yell at you like that.". Mister draped himself over her shoulder with a foul glance at his attacker, and a few more disgruntled chatters. "There we go. All safe and snuggly". Fearne looked up from her position on the bed to see the rest of the Hells watching her, unimpressed but not sure how far to take the matter. A flash of worry crossed her mind. What if they tried to make her sleep separately from Mister? What if they tried to make her get rid of him? He was her only little piece of home, her constant throughout all of her travels and uncertainty. Without him, she would feel so vulnerable, so out of place, so-

Orym's tiny hand brushed her shoulder. "It's okay, Fearnie. I think he's learned his lesson for tonight. How about we find him some sort of heatproof blanket tomorrow? That's the joy of being in a city. They've got a fix for every problem, you know.". Fearne's jaw unclenched at her best friend's steady voice, and she was once again reminded of how grateful she was for the ever-calm and rational presence of Orym.

"Okay." she whispered, and stroked the soft (but slightly damp) fur of her beloved fire monkey.

The rest of the group made noises of agreement, and started getting comfortable again in their respective cuddle piles. Laudna wistfully stroked Pâté, before nodding at Fearne, and Imogen put a hand on Laudna's shoulder in understanding. Ashton grunted in acknowledgement before turning their back to everyone, and Letters gave a last nervous glance around the room before powering off once more. Relief and gratitude flooded into her bones at the immediate acceptance from her team.

"Sorry for throwing water at you, Fearne." said Chetney, a shadow of guilt on his wizened face.

"No, that's okay, Chet. Thanks for not letting me burn to death." replied Fearne. She laid down and offered him her arms, and drifted back to sleep with Chetney as a little spoon, Orym in the bend of her knee, Little Mister in the crook of her neck, and the knowledge that no matter the problem, her little family would always help her find a solution. Even if there was some impromptu baths, arguments and chaos along the way.

9 notes · View notes

angeart · 1 year ago

Note

ask game 12 &13!

yayy more questions! okay i'll start with 13 because it's simpler:

13.Any segment of your work that made you cry while writing it? (because it moved you deeply)

so. i cry easily. but i don't tend to cry while writing, i think? i don't have the greatest memory, so i can't be sure. i remember one time i cried while writing hmtb, but it wasn't because i was moved deeply jcnbjk (it was actually a mellow scene and i just. unexpectedly triggered an unpleasant memory, oops.)

in a way, i think it's easier to get emotional while working on RPs, actually. i might've cried at those in the past, mmh.

now, if you asked me when did i get anxious while writing. that's a whole another thing. i do deal with a lot of heavy emotions in writing, and, yeah. anyway, the answer is yesterday. (hmtb grian is doing perfectly well wdym-) (i had to stop writing after 8 sentences and take a break everything's fine-)

12.Funniest comment you've ever gotten in a piece of work?

this is a fun one! i don't think i have a favourite, i'm not the best with putting things on a scale and deciding that's the most this or that. add my bad memory into the mix, and about a year of writing a multichapter fic, and- well. but! i dug through and made a small collection of comments that amuse me! (there were many more, but i'm trying not to swarm you completely.)

i cannot tell you how much i appreciate and value the comments i get. i read every single one, and they matter a lot! they help me immensely and i am insanely grateful for them. <33

anyway, the collection of comments that make me giggle is under the line!

♥ please, consider this a love letter to all the commenters. ♥

Chocolate_Cake_Enthusiast on Chapter 3 of Elegy: ANGE UOU ARE THE SINGULAR SOURCE OF MY ANGST AND DEPRESSION (…) POOR GRIAN HE BETTER BE ALRIGHT OTHERWISE I WILL CHUCK A TENNIS BALL AT MY TOE

ghostpi on Chapter 7 of hmtb: TIS BUT A FLESH WOUND.

Eucalypta on Chapter 18 of hmtb: I forgot this had a ship tag so I was reading all previous chapters like: "what deep soulmates they are! Wait … Thats a bit gay. Well sometimes platonic love goes very dee- No thats definitely gay… What were the tags again?"

Tiand on Chapter 21 of hmtb: So- uh- Where can I send my therapy bill?

wimrow on Chapter 26 of hmtb: WOOOOO I DONT FEWL LIKE SOBBING WITJ THIS CHAPTER!!!!!! (this will absolutely change later on won’t it)

genderfluid_bitch on Chapter 29: *does a little jig* THE BABIES ARE HURTING AGAIN

Amabsis on Chapter 30 of hmtb: “Grian, are you okay?” NOBODY IS OKAY IMPULSESV!!!

Chat on Chapter 31 of hmtb: THATS A BRILLIANT WAY TO END A CHAPTER BUT OH MY FUCKERY ARE YOU CRUEL FOR IT.

peskytimes on Chapter 39 of hmtb: everytime i read this fic my mental state gets worse <33 /pos

Alcea_42 on Chapter 42 of hmtb: so sometimes 42 doesn't solve everything-

Holly_Loves_Reading on Chapter 46 of hmtb: Oh my god they’re so cute! Not even a little bit healthy, but so cute!

Pidgey05 on Chapter 47 of hmtb: Omg 200k words of pain and now finnally some fluff T^T it was so beautiful thank you author, for this gift 🤣

SongbirdQuela on Chapter 48 of hmtb: Everything’s going so well! Oh jee wiz I hope nothing goes incredibly wrong, boy would that be a rollercoaster, oh golly I can’t wait to see absolutely none of the characters doing anything self destructive!

Heartpaw on Chapter 48 of hmtb: “Did you two have a romp?” Says you. Your the one not wearing you own pants. Are you sure YOU didn’t have a romp

also have a kiss collection of you guys going insane <33

The_Pesky_Crow on Chapter 28 of hmtb: 12 Chapters from now, in a land far far away, the Grain kisses the Scar

Linkito on Chapter 41 of hmtb: I absolutely cannot believe that I binged this FORTY ONE chapter fic of A HUNDRED AND SIXTY THOUSAND WORDS and these idiots haven't kissed. Unbelievable. You're taking slow burn to a whole new level bless you and also I hate you LMAO

Bones_exe on Chapter 44 of hmtb: I'm going to be a crinkly old man by the time these two smooch huh?

Chocolate_Cake_Enthusiast on Chapter 44 of hmtb: JUST KISS ALREADY. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. PLEASE JUST KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Xanadu:Wynter on Chapter 45 of hmtb: PLEASE JUST ONE KISS

Bioluminescence on Chapter 45 of hmtb: I THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO KISS I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH AND THEN THEY DIDN'T this is honestly so predictable of you though smh

and some bonus screenshot stuff <3 (first two from elegy, the rest is hmtb)

(in the one below you can see a beautiful duality of comments /pos)

i hope that was fun. i had fun putting this together <3

love you guys!!

----- questions from >>this ask game<<

#ange answers #comments appreciation #seriously comments mean so much to me #thank youuuu #ange rambles #i can't help it sorryyyy kjcnbxk #feel free to come ask more stuff <3 #and yes link #your comment got featured #i love it #i love all of them

5 notes · View notes

redandblackpoetry · 8 months ago

Note

ur writing is top-tier so no worries there, and it's very writer of u to say u like to break characters and put them back together. fic writers are a different breed istg LMAO

eldritch monsters and their workings being left vague is actually v interesting to me bc what ppl don't know, they fear, so it's actually a good way to write horror stuff i feel like. however the good lil student in me who has taken kind of detailed biology lessons several years ago says that i am very much grateful for and on board with u giving them a nerf in the sense of needing nutrition bc FUCK IT i tried to explain and continue this sentence but after failing to get out what i wanted to say and deleting my words like 4 times, i've come to the conclusion that i'm too lazy to get into its details but. yeah it makes sense. anyway it's insane to read that cthulhu is ghost's nephew from a neutral point of view, i hope u know. i wanna learn more abt this where is my time machine i need to go to a point of time in which this fic is finished and all my questions are answered so that i can come back and bug u abt how much i loved reading it

also this fic made me google lovecraft a bit and. is it just me or does he look a bit like samuel roukin. am i crazy???? simon riley is canonically h. p. lovecraft confirmed????

for the remembering details stuff, idk abt other readers but i am abysmal at it. which is why i actually forgot u've mentioned roach before, i caught that detail at the time but i wait one day and my brain bluescreens so i was like will roach be here? that's why i reread ur entire fic from the start when there's an update so i don't miss anything. anyway 6-story-tall-but-somehow-still-smol!ghost is like actually one of my favorite things now bc considering what he is and how simon's body is like BUILT is hilarious to me. imagining him pulling the 'but i'm tiny' card on some situation and the rest of the 141 going 'the fuck did u say bitch???' is just amazing. also gaz going 'yes u are' and metaphorically squishing his cheeks would be insanely brilliant, so.

oh and simon and ghost are murder bfs btw. that's their duo name. u can thank me for it later. bUT HOLD THE FUCK UP TF DO U MEAN UR CONSIDERING WRITING THE ONE THING I TOLD U I WAS SCARED OF SEEING??? PLS NO (do it it'd be so funny) (by funny i mean i'd have a breakdown and start sobbing uncontrollably) (do it anyway, i wanna see the world burn)

monsterfucker simon is. i approve. i am physically grinning after reading that paragraph, i hope u know. he's like 'fucking monsters up since 2009' *sees ghost* 'my bad, let me correct myself: fucking monsters since 2009' anyway i am very pleased to have gotten u thinking abt naughty soap/ghost/simon bc. i am like !!!! at the idea of reading ur take on that dynamic v much!!!!!!!! pls soap would be so over his head i am. i'm Interested. (making that my motto these days thanks to u)

mermay roach!!!!!! he's!!!! baby!!!!! he deserves the spotlight!!!!!! yes pls!!!!!!!!! my inbox is open and also i am ready to spare my leftover one and a half neurons for this as it is a worthy cause, tyvm

but yeah venom is my hidden obsession. and now that u've mentioned it yeah that plot is v close to it and. i'm. i'll sob. i'll actually sob wait please venom au goes so hard with ur ghost????? i'll cry i can't believe this fic doesn't exist in this very second, i'll sit down and have a temper tantrum like a 5yo right this second bc all these ideas we've talked abt so far aren't existing in like a 100k+ fic form that i can read to sleep tonight bc that's a travesty, how dare the world inconvenience me like this?????

the length of these asks are making me feel like a poor, stranded wife in the 1900s sending letters to her soldier husband who is off to fight in a war btw. come back home mutual, i miss u <3

Fic writers truly are a different breed, its honestly fascinating how popular hurt/comfort fics are, tho I do understand it

I am constantly at war with myself over how much do I explain versus how much do I leave up to the mystery/horror of it. I'm glad you enjoyed my giving them nutrition! Would you believe I'm kinda terrible with biology and several of the squishy sciences? Because I absolutely am, history and literary analysis was always my stronger suits. And yeah its bonkers to say shit like Cthulhu is Ghost's nephew without any context, you're gonna love the next chapter because family tree shits gonna get crazy

If you invent a time machine can you let me know so I can also read my own fic and take notes?

And I did not realize they looked so similar before! Huh!

And you reread my fic when there's a new chapter??? Can you hear by brain bluescreen?

1,000% thats how it would go, Gaz would be like 'absolutely a tiny and adorable (giant) Ghost', Soap would be somewhere between turned on by the size different and baffled swearing about how hes a big motherfucker, Price would be like 'if Ghost is the small one how big are his kind usually?'

Hell yeah murder boyfriends! (And you're in luck because I sometimes like burning the world)

I'm glad you approve of monsterfucker simon lol, glad I made you smile! Soap would definitely be in over his head, but he would definitely enjoy every minute of it, I think he would like being ruined in the best way possible (and I will accept that motto of yours gladly)

Darling, sweet roach! My problem is I love developing characters and worlds but plot, I suck at making a plot. I might consult your askbox in the future for wisdom

I am also upset that these ideas arent 100k fics and given time I'll roll up my sleeves and say if no one else will I'll do it myself, god I love the idea of a venom au

I will gladly accept your letters while I'm off in the War (different time zone), love hearing from you as always. I await your next letter, beloved mutual as I fight in the trenches of poly 141 ideas

1 note · View note

al1x00 · 5 months ago

Text

⚠️CHAPTER 9 SPOILERS⚠️

OUCHH THE NIGHTMARE😭😭😭 WHY YOU GOTTA HURT ME LIKE THAT KATY?

Hobie letting himself be vulnerable with R is such a stark contrast to the beginning of OPIN. He would never, EVER, let any emotion slip past him, almost like he was afraid of having his feelings exposed, while now he allows himself to show just how much his traumas affected him and isn't afraid to cry in front of R. HE'S JUST A LITTLE PRECIOUS GUY LET HIM LIVE HAPPILY FOR ONCE

When R said the thing about desensitizing the horses to the ducks it reminded me of a video I saw about that but with a cat instead and it was one of the goofiest things I ever saw I swear😭 Imagine R and Hobie holding up the ducks to the horses while they go around in circles or some shit LMAOO

“It doesn't matter. We have forever now.” SJAKDJKBNAS I'M CRYING AND SCREAMING WTF THEY LOVE EACHOTHER SO MUCH I'M LITERALLY SOBBING.

OH MY GOD THE LETTERS?? I WOULD START CRYING ON THE SPOT TBH.

Also I love how they're both healing their emotional trauma together, all throught reassurements and making up for the time they lost together. They're always so gentle and understanding with eachother because they both just need that right now, to be at peace with eachother and take a quiet life.

“You said that last time and we didn't get anything done the whole day.” OH😳 KATY DOES THIS IMPLY WHAT I THINK IT'S IMPLYING?

“Maybe if we shave your head it might suit you.” BDAS HOBIE REFERENCE??? MAYHAPS?

KATY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DFDKNA SKDA I'M CRYING SO BADLY. NOT ONLY R'S "HUSBAND" SHOWED UP, BUT EVEN HICKS AND SHERIFF LEE? WTF DID THEY HAVE A "WORST MEN EVER" REUNION AND DECIDED TO GANG UP? LIKE WTF

You honestly made me hate Cross only with the first two words he said. I hate that man with my guts and I totally understand why R ran away from that place. He's not only egoistical, but so sure of himself he doesn't see the consequences of his actions and how cruel he is. Same with Hicks. I'm genuinely physically repulsed by them because anytime I read a line that refers to them I make a disgusted face

THEY'RE HORRIBLE I HOPE THEY HAVE A GRUESOME DEATH

YESS THE BITCH DIED YAYYY (Kinda sad R didn't get to kill her but happy anyway because now she has croaked🥰)

Also I'm so worried for Hobie and Clover too because if they really burned the house to the ground they killed Clover too because she was in there😭😭 MY POOR BABY LET HER LIVE

it's all fun and games until they kill the dog. That's where I draw the line tbh.

NONONONO DON'T TELL ME THAT SON OF A BITCH KILLED HOBIE KATY YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME I CAN'T HANDLE ANY SAD ENDINGS AFTER TF

ALSO THE PARALLELS BETWEEN THE DAY FIVE YEARS BEFORE WHEN HOBIE WAS BURIED UNDER THE OAK TREE AND IT WAS RAINING IN THAT OCCASION TOO? SO COOL HOW IT PARALLELS TO WHAT WAS HAPPENING NOW IN THE SOUTH

Also they're so cruel like, they burned R and Hobie's house to the ground, the very house they were finally living a happy life in, and then decided to try and bury Hobie RIGHT BEHIND IT? THAT'S HORRENDOUS.

THANK GOD HE'S ALIVE AND HICKS HAS A SHIT AIM OH MY GOODNESS I HAD A MINI HEART ATTACK FOR A SECOND

CLOVER MY BABYYY SHE'S ALIVE AND WELL AND HELPING HOBIE

AND FINALLY WE HAVE RIRI AND THAT OLD MEXICAN MAN TO HELP. God this chapter was a whirlwind of emotions, but I loved it so much just like all the other ones. Honestly I'm a bit sad the next chapter's gonna be the last but OPIN has been such a great fic until now and I can't wait to see what you got in store for the finale. As always you did an amazing job I LOVED IT I LOVED IT I LOVED IT THANK YOU KATY❤️❤️LYSM

By Hook or By Crook

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.2 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW guns, CW food mention, CW suggestive, CW blood, TW violence, TW death, TW abuse mention, Wild west AU, Cowboy AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 9 >>> CHAPTER 10

Hobie's nightmares are few and far between now that you sleep beside him. But on the rare occasion that it haunts him, it's always horrific. His own mind betrays him, the fog of a nightmarish scene unfolds like theatre curtains; where you're the star, a bleeding, screaming star of the night. It always starts off with you in place of him. Hicks has you in his iron grip, while his men, men that you've known since you were a little girl taunt you with the same disgusting words they threw at him.

He can never forget how your face contorted into a horrified expression when you see Hicks brandishing the knife in front of you. All the while, Hobie stands there, motionless, in place of the same oak tree bearing your name. As if your fate is predestined, your own tombstone carved above the shallow grave they're about to throw you in. It happens just like how he remembered it. Hicks, your own uncle, slices your throat with a cackle; while rain pelts down upon you, drenching your lace dress, mixing in with your blood gushing out of your neck in waves. Thunder and lightning cracks above, and you're thrown into the pit where they bury you alive.

You try to claw your way out, nails digging into the dirt, staining your once soft hands. Gasping for air, Hobie is unable to look away— how could he when he stays rooted on the spot of your tree?

As the storm pours down, your lungs filled with dirt and rain water, he watches as you slowly lose the light behind your eyes; falling limp, chest completely frozen as you stare up at the night sky. Hobie tries to scream, desperately uprooting himself off the soil, but it's not enough. You lay there unblinking, dead before they could cover your whole body with the same earthly soil you once stood upon with him. The last thing you saw was the leaves dancing in the wind, the last thing you saw was him, unable to save you one last time.

You hold him in bed until the trembling stops, you'll hold him forever if need be. Hobie's embracing your middle, face tucked just above your ribs, hiding his red puffy eyes from you while you knead at his nape. Your other hand cradles his elbow, fingers drawing patterns on his skin to calm him down. With every sniffle, you squeeze him tighter against you, and love filled words spilling out of your mouth to comfort him further.

You've told him a hundred times before that it was just a nightmare concocted by his mind that was caused by the trauma he has experienced. But you know that he understands that it isn't real, but you'll tell him a thousand times more to ease his worries because he once told you that it helps. You'll do anything to support him, and maybe one day his nightmares will finally fade away. Until then, you'll hold him and keep him grounded to the present.

His silent sobs have subsided, hand splayed over your stomach to feel your warmth. Dawn is peeking through the light blue curtains you've put up in the shared bedroom. You're surrounded in hues of brilliant blue, as if the sky itself presents itself inside your small bedroom.

The room is sparsely decorated, save for a large wardrobe at the other end of the room. You were too occupied to decorate the house. If you had enough time in between tending to the garden and the house, you'd decorate your home with things you and Hobie love— place photographs of you two, trinkets that remind you of the good days back home; and fill it with shared memories. You promise once everything is settled, you'd put your time and effort in making the place more homely. For now, you'll settle for filling the abode with warmth and your love for eachother.

The almost sheer fabric of the curtains does nothing to shield you from the light, but with the soft blue hue coming from the heavens above, and the cool breeze passing by, blowing the curtains around the sparsely decorated room— it helps him calm down. Hobie feels like he's floating above a cloud with you hugging him, lips pecking gently against the crown of his head with so much love he feels it in his chest. Blossoming, spreading around his limbs, tending to him and comforting him slowly.

You flick your eyes over to him, inadvertently meeting with his own that has been searching for the light behind your eyes. “I think we need ducks.”

Hobie cracks a smile, green eyes lingering on your soft grin. “Why ducks?” His voice is still hoarse so he clears his throat as you continue to massage at his nape. Making sure that he doesn't get a crick in his neck from how he's looking up at you with tender eyes.

“They hunt pests, it'll help the farm.”

“Where'd you learn that?” He humours you, hand cupping your side; such affection could only come from him.

You chuckle while your fingers play with his baby hairs clinging to his nape. “From my books.”

Hobie cuddles closer, nose nudging your stomach. “Buck and Cherry won't like ‘em. Clover might even eat ‘em.”

You snort, tamping down another laugh as if your laughter will disturb the peace when it's the opposite for him. “If we desensitize the horses they'll like them. And I'm sure Clover won't eat the ducks.” Hobie pulls himself up, tear stained cheeks illuminated by the dwindling oil lamp; chin placed on your chest. “We can build a coop for them, then have duck eggs every morning.”

“Have you tried duck eggs before, lovie?” His knuckles brush along your jaw, emerald eyes swimming with emotion. Sometimes you wish you could hear his thoughts so you could do a better job at comforting him. Like he does to you, he's better at that than you.

“I don't think so. Do they taste bad?”

“Nah,” his voice is soft, as if he's whispering secrets only to you. “It tastes the same as regular chicken eggs.”

You reach for his nose, squeezing it once before letting go. “I'll take your word for it, farmer Hobie.”

He chuckles, cheek pressed gently on top of your chest, straining his ear to hear your heartbeat. “‘Farmer Hobie,’ I never thought I'd hear that.”

“Don't like it?” With your thumb, you wipe the remaining tears clinging on his eyelashes. “How about ‘rancher Hobie?’”

“It sounds better than outlaw Hobie. Whatever you want to call me, love.” He pulls himself up more, face tucked in the crook of your neck. You cradle his head, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “I'll be there.”

“Good, you know I don't like waiting.” You joke, eyes slowly closing while you fight a yawn. “We can go back to sleep, Hobs. It's still early.” You feel his presence above you, eyes cracking open, you see him frown. “You okay?”

“'m sorry that we lost all that time together.” He sniffs, inhaling sharply. Eyes finding your own.

You smile, helping him ease up. “It doesn't matter. We have forever now.” Hands cradling his face, you peck his lips then his eyelids as he closes his eyes. It's a simple act, a small one but it wraps his heart in silk and warmth. He feels like that lovelorn boy he left behind a long time ago.

“I need to show you somethin'” He whispers against your lips.

You quirk a brow, lips pursed into a gentle smile. “Okay, show me.” Hobie kisses your cheek before leaning away. The mattress squeaks as he leaves your side, you already feel empty and cold.

You watch as he crouches down on the foot of the bed. There's a scraping noise when he pulls something from underneath. Propping your elbows up, you crane your neck to see what he's doing. Wood scraping against wood, you see him lugging it towards the side of the bed. It's a large wooden trunk that's carved with simple patterns. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it, nothing but metal inlays and a lock where a key would go. Your heart thumps loudly, filled with trepidation as Hobie takes an old rusted key hidden under the bedside table. Crawling towards the edge of the bed, you peek as he opens it.

“Please don't tell me that's where you're hiding your millions.” You joke just as when the smell of old paper akin to weathered books hits your nose. “Oh,” you almost cried at the sight of hundreds of letters piled inside. They all bear his name and yours where the recipient would be. Your letters dwarf next to his own, yours are wrapped in a red ribbon that's placed next to his own pile. “Hobie—”

“I kept it all, I used to write everyday, but I got busy. I never forgot, Y/N. I never forgot you.” You choke back a sob whilst he roams his eyes around the contents of the trunk. His hands reached inside to grab a leather bound book. He finally looks at you, staring at your tear filled eyes. “D’you remember this?” Holding up the book, you smile at the worn out title. You remember the gold painted on it, now it has been worn down from years of it being read.

Heart stuck in your throat, you could only beckon him over back to your side. “Come here please.” You sniff, and he complies. Reaching for your hand as you help him up on the bed. Hobie places himself in-between your legs, back laying on your chest as his hands flip towards the front page of the book. “‘Candide,’ how could I forget?” You wrap your arms around him while your legs are crossed around his waist. You're his personal pillow, you've accepted the role earnestly. “I never asked how you liked it.”

“Your confession trumped how much I liked the book.” Hobie takes your hand to peck the back of it, eyes reading the three words you wrote years ago. “‘I love you,’” he reads the brief inscription you wrote on the front page. It's short, but you'd write it on every wall you encounter, on every surface; carve it on mountains and even the sky itself if you could. “I thought it was as absurd as the book itself.”

You chuckle against the crown of his head, “I remember the way you ran towards me after you saw it.” His lips felt like morning dew against your own that day. It was heaven sent for him and for you.

“This is the only thing I could grab before I had to leave. It was just this, all my savings and the clothes on my back.”

“I'm sorry,” you hide behind his shoulder, sobs wracking your body as he holds onto you tightly. You should've been there, fought harder to be by his side. All you could do now is lament on your grief and longing for time lost.

“Never mind that, it's over now.” Hobie pats your cheek, “the trunk is yours, love. If you want it.”

You peek over his shoulder, blinking at the large amount of letters that would surely have you sobbing even more. “You'd let me read it all?”

“They're all addressed to you. ‘sides, I read all of yours. It's only fair that you read mine.”

You wipe a fallen tear, sniffing while a moment passes in comfortable silence. He senses your feelings, twisting around, he cups your cheek before laying his forehead on your own. “I never blamed you for everythin’ that happened.”

A weight is lifted off your chest, a weight that you never realized was there since you've gotten used to the burden. “I–I never truly hated you for leaving.” Eyes closed, you rub his shoulders, comforting him and yourself at the same time. “I wrote it a hundred times in my letters.”

“I know, I read all of them. Now it's your turn to read all my…” He inhales sharply, letting your scent ground him to the present. “...complicated thoughts.”

“Complicated thoughts comes with loving someone.” Pulling away, you kiss him gently. Hobie has placed his whole heart in your hands, and you intend to keep it safe and tucked right beside your own. Or perhaps you've given him yours years ago.

—

After spending hours in bed, letters in hand and Hobie sleeping soundly next to you; you've only read half of the letters he wrote for you. Some made you quietly weep as he wrote about his struggles in the new world without you by his side. Some have made you laugh with his almost incoherent scribbles, notes that he has written while deep in amber liquid and under the fog of longing. It was almost noon when you two finally decided to leave the comfort of the bed to eat and go about your day to day chores.

Hobie decided to make breakfast for the two of you, or brunch is the better way to put it. After feeding Clover and both horses, you come home to a neatly set table. Bowls of fruit, bread and butter with oatmeal on the side sit prettily inside the new porcelains you bought from town. The table is complete with a red checkered table cloth, and plush roses inside a vase placed in the middle.

You stop in the doorway, watching him whistle a tune as he straightens the utensils. “I love it when you go the extra mile.”

Hobie perks his head up, sun shining on the delight etched on his face. “Can’t help it, love, you're contagious.” He eyes your blue poncho that he gifted to you a while ago. “I spend all this time with you, it's impossible not to catch your flawless manners.” He's already reaching towards you as you close the distance.

You place yourself in his arms, palms flat on his chest. “You make it sound like I gave you an incurable disease.”

Index finger on your jaw, he wipes away sweat from your heated skin. You notice the gun belt around his waist that pokes your hip, you don't mention why he started carrying even in the comfort of your home. You know why he does.

“I don't mind dyin’ from it.” He starts to peck your forehead and then he moves down to your parted lips, but you lean away teasingly before he reaches your waiting lips. With a furrowed brow, he tilts his head questioningly.

“Easy there, cowboy. We just got out of bed.” You reluctantly pull away even though you wanted the kiss as much as he did. Patting his bicep, you walk towards the kitchen to wash your hands.

“What do you mean? It's just a quick snog, love.” He leans on the table with one arm, the other nonchalantly inside his jean pocket. He clearly knows what he's doing to you. Sun rays part around him, bathing him in godly light.

You laugh, looking away before you pounce on him, hands in the water basin as you scrub the grime off your hands. “You said that last time and we didn't get anything done the whole day.”

Shrugging, he pulls the chair away from the table for you. Wood scraping on hardwood, smirk thrown your way. “It was one time. ‘sides, we finished all our chores before the sun went down.”

Drying your hand, you walk back to him. You poke his chest with a chuckle, he feigns hurt, making you laugh even more. “Bucky and Cherry were ignoring us after because their food was late.” Sitting down, you roll your eyes, “and it wasn't just that one time, Hobs.”

Hobie slides the chair back in, quickly kissing the crown of your head before sitting next to you, not at the head of the table like you thought he would the first time you two shared a meal together. You love all the subtle ways he shows you his love without saying the three words.

He gestures between you and him, “combined effort, love.”

You flick his ear, heat settling on your cheeks. “I know, I was there.” mumbling, you grab the pitcher of orange juice to pour one in his glass then over to yours whilst he spreads butter on your bread.

“You love flickin’ my bloody ear.” His arm is comfortably placed over the back of your chair, fingers brushing along the top of your head. “How would you feel if I started flicking your ear, hm?”

Covering your ear, you dramatically gasp. “It's still healing, how dare you?” Despite your words, your smile betrays you.

Hobie chuckles, “you can barely see the scar now, love.”

“It still hurts, sometimes.”

“Wait, really?” The sarcasm goes over his head until you give him a look that says ‘I’m clearly joking.’ He sighs, relief in his viridescent eyes. “You had me, I was about to bring you to the doctor.” The last word doesn't send you spiraling anymore after what happened last time with a certain doctor.

Scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal with blackberries, you bring it to Hobie's mouth. “You're a worrywart, Hobs. And I love you for it, now eat. We have so much to do today.”

Smiling, he clamps his mouth shut. “Yeah, but what if we just stay in bed instead—” he gets cut off by oatmeal gently shoved in his mouth. Laughing, he almost chokes from amusement.

He loves this, the domesticity, the shared affection and everything in between. He now sees the beauty in the mundane, the peace in uneventful days. After what seemed like decades of longing and bone aching grief, he feels like he's finally living again

After eating, you pick up plates even though Hobie told you a dozen times that he'll clean up. Once you shut him up with a quick kiss, he immediately relents and continues to drink his coffee.

You come around his seat, taking his finished plate. Before you could leave, he dips his head down backwards to look up at you. “Don't wash them yet, let me help you, yeah?”

With one hand cupping his chin, stubble prickling your palm, you squeeze tenderly. “You made breakfast, so that means I get to clean.” He starts to shake his head, but your hand stops him, making him scrunch his nose. “Combined effort, right?”

As you brush your hand along his scruff, you can see that he's surrendering. “Fine, at least let me dry it.” Beaming down at him, you can't seem to move away from him, hand still running along his jaw. “Do I need to shave?”

“No, it's growing on me actually.”

“Funny, it's growing on me too.”

“Haha.” You walk away with the plates as he hides his laugh behind his mug.

Finishing his drink, as the warmth settles in his stomach, he saunters over to you with the remaining dishes. “D’you think a beard would suit me?” Appearing next to you, he grabs a clean towel, drying the clean plates just like he promised.

“Maybe if we shave your head it might suit you.” Teasing and giggling Hobie splashes water on your cheek. “Completely joking, my love. I like whatever you decide to do. Even if it's a mustache.”

“And they say ‘m the bloody menace.” He pretends to glare at you, but you flash him with a flutter of your eyelashes, melting his façade on the spot. You shake your head with a grin, a comfortable silence settles, save for the sound of water sloshing around the basin and birds chirping outside.

Your matching rings gleam in the sun with the kitchen window in front of you that's facing the backyard. You've gotten used to this life, yet you still can't believe you're living it. It's hard to think that you were running away and starving just barely six months ago. Now you're living the life you always hoped you would be in.

You've forgotten what you were worrying about in the first place.

“What are your plans today, love?” He dries his hands before he takes yours to dry with a clean towel. Gently wiping, he waits for your answer while you think.

“Pick some tomatoes for Riri, you remember how she loved the last batch?” You love it when he dotes on you.

“Yeah, she was raving ‘bout it.”

You hum, “then maybe try again with your surprise.”

Hobie pauses from drying your hands. “You're still not goin’ to tell me what it is?”

Shaking your head, you stare at him with a cheeky smile, and eyes sparkling. “Nope,” he doesn't know that you're trying to breed a new variant of roses that would bloom in the same shade as his eyes. It's a lot harder than you thought it would be, but you persevere especially after one of the saloon's band members lent you a book all about it. “I think I'm close to getting it.”

“As long as it's not going to blow up in my face.” His hands clasps your own, tilting his head with a raised brow.

“For the last time, I didn't know that combining those two cleaning agents would make the bucket explode.” You both chortle at the memory. “But I think it's about to rain though. So I might just help you fix the floors in the spare bedrooms.”

Hobie glances at the window, seeing a clear blue sky without any hints of grey clouds nor rain. “Let me guess, knee hurtin’ again?”

You nod, “exactly. Wanna bet like last time since you still don't trust my knee rule?”

“It’s not an exact science.”

“And yet I've been right ninety percent of the time.”

“Ninety?” He slyly wraps you in his arms, you let him wholeheartedly. “Try seventy.”

“You either bet or you don't, Hobie.”

Nudging your nose lovingly, he peppers your face with featherlight kisses. You softly smile, clay in his arms, eyes closed as he dusts your skin with kisses. “Fine,” kiss “I'll bite.” He smooches each corner of your eyes. “How much?”

“I think you're already paying in advance.” You don't blame him when you two didn't finish any chores for today. It is a combined effort as you let him in your saccharine embrace.

—

Hobie waits for you by the porch with a cigarette in between his lips, smoke wafting in the air. The sun is slowly setting, orange and pinks dancing along Clover's face as she paws on his leg. Her eyes are big and glinting in the afternoon hues. A breeze carries the smoke away into oblivion just as when Cherry and Buckeye make their way inside the barn like clockwork.

“Your treat is comin’, stop whinin’.” He pats her head briefly. If dogs could frown, Clover would be giving him the deepest lour. “You've become spoiled, girl.” His fingers scratch behind her ear, tail wagging from side to side, yet she still whines for her afternoon treat.

The front door opens with a creak, Hobie sighs from the sound, thinking that he has finally fixed the stubborn hinges. But alas, it still declares every time it opens. His furrowed brows are replaced by a gentle smile the second he sees you saunter out with two mugs of tea in both hands. Still gorgeous in your poncho that seems to camouflage you with the house paint.

He quickly snuffs the cigarette, and flicks it away from you. Waving away the remaining smoke, he holds his hands towards you, one to hold one of the mugs, the other to hold onto your waist.

“There you are.” He beams at you, palms meeting with the drink’s warmth and your affection. “Run into some trouble?”

You grin at him and his habitual sweetness. “Here I am.” Pecking his cheek, you place yourself on the porch railing, eyes never leaving his own. Hand brushing along Clover's head, petting her. “You didn't even wait that long.”

“Seemed like forever to me, love.” Hobie clinks his mug against your own, earning a soft chuckle from you. Taking a sip, he makes a face, scrunching up his nose with a groan.

“What's wrong? Shit, did I mistake salt for sugar again?” You take his mug, tasting it for yourself. His tea barely tastes like anything, if anything else, it tastes bitter and akin to dirt. You clearly forgot to add sugar and milk just like how he likes it with this tea variant. You don't blame him for disliking it, the shop in town ran out of the good tea so you both had to settle with whatever is floating in the mug. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I'll remake it.”

“Oi, oi.” Before you could leave his side, Hobie reaches for your hip, arm snaking around it to pull you back to him. “I can handle it, stay with me, yeah?”

You feign a huff, placing your own mug on the railing, bringing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer to you. Hip to hip, you beam at him whilst his hands rests upon your hips. You two look like you're about to dance. “I appreciate the sentiment, Hobs, but I can't let you drink bland tea.” You're sure that you forgot to put honey in your own.

He shrugs while Clover watches from the side, puppy dog eyes waiting for her treat. “I've got all the sugar and sweetness right ‘ere.” Leaning down, he places his forehead against your own. He then pecks the tip of your nose, all the while never leaving the comfort of staring into your eyes.

“I knew you'd say that.” You giggle, hands balling around his shirt. His eyes shine brightly, emeralds mixing in with the soft orange.

“You psychic now?” He raises a playful brow.

“Nope, I just know you, Hobie Brown.” You slide your hands away from his shirt to his chin, scruff scratching you a bit. “And I know you hate this tea without milk and sugar.”

“I can live without it for one drink.”

“And what? You can't live without me for even a moment?” You tease, and you now notice Clover's waiting but polite stare.

Hobie smiles, tilting away to then bend back in to kiss your lips gently. His hand holds your chin in place while you smile into the kiss, eyes closed but you still see the soft afternoon glow behind your closed eyelids. With one last peck, lips brushing along your own, he gives you his answer without saying a word.

You open your eyes with a breathy sigh, warmth filling your entire chest. “Do that again when I come back.”

“Love.” He sounds like he's pleading.

“I'll make your tea better this time.” You pat his cheek. “Besides, I forgot Clover's beef jerky.” With the utterance of her name, Clover stands up, wagging her tail with her tongue lolling out on the side of her maw. You're already moving away backwards, but his hand still holds onto your arm. You take both drinks, careful not to spill and waste any. As you go, his palm slides down, still trying to make you stay. “Five minutes, Hobs. Give me five and I'll be back.” You giggle when he stomps his foot like a petulant child.

“I'll be waitin', countin’ down the seconds.” he exhales dramatically, making sure that his longing is clearly shown. You laugh as Clover follows you inside. “It's my beef jerky by the way!” He yells, earning a muffled guffaw from you.

Smiling, Hobie returns to rest on the railing, elbow propped up, leaning and relaxing on the bannister. He refrains from lighting another stick of cigarette so he could keep his promise to you of quitting smoking. Fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve, his ears perk up from the sound of hooves thumping on the ground. Hobie's heart immediately skips a beat from the sound. His hand stays on his gun as he leaves the porch to see where the horses are coming from. He's not expecting any visitors, and from how loud the sound is, there seems to be a dozen of them coming his way.

Everything screams at him to take you and run.

His worry quickly rushes to you, as he twists and turns to spot where they're all coming from, he finally sees them coming down from hills. A dozen or so of them unmistakably gallop towards the farm. They're fast, leaving everything in the dust behind them.

There's no time to run away. And there's too many of them to fight off.

“Y/N!” He yells. “Stay inside!” There's no sound coming from the house, not even your footsteps as the strangers come closer and closer within a second until they all appear from behind the farmhouse with a couple of horses missing from the line. He takes notice of them, afraid of what will happen.

Dust flies around the farm, the clover covered ground gets trampled by hooves. They stop a mere inches away from your precious plants, surrounding him. Horses huff and neigh just as when dust settles, showing Hobie all their riders faces. He doesn't recognize any of them, and none of them stands out from the crowd. Except for the one leading the party, he's clad in a white suit with a pitch black tie. Eyes as green as the grass he's standing on, hair slicked back, revealed when he took off his matching hat.

Hobie stands before them, hand on his gun, posture ready to quick draw. “You’re trespassin’”

“Sorry about that,” the man in the white suit answers for the rest of them. “We're just here to ask for directions.”

“Ask, then leave.”

He clears his throat, “You see, we're looking for a place in Scarlett Meadows. But we're all turned around.” Chuckling, he leans on his horse, the poor horse clearly looks uncomfortable from the awkward weight on its neck.

“You're in Scarlett Meadows, mate.” Hobie says the last part sarcastically.

Clapping, the strange man looks around his party before returning his attention to Hobie. “That's good! Now can you point us towards the direction of Emerald Ranch?”

Hobie's stomach plummets, “You passed it.”

“That so?” The stranger looks around the farm. “Funny, this place looks like Emerald Ranch.”

“This is a farm, not a ranch.” Hobie's eyes narrow at the man before flicking towards the front door of the house to then return at the man whose eyes stare him down without a single fear behind them. “Have you tried asking ‘round town?”

“We would, but we heard they're not too friendly.”

“I wonder why?”

The white suit man chuckles lowly, “I'm just looking for someone, mate.”

“You're like a bloody cigarette, you're draggin’ this out, mate.” Hobie unlocks the strap securing his gun, ready to shoot.

The stranger chuckles, cracking a humourless smile before his expression turns flat. “Where's my fucking wife, Mr. Brown?”

Hobie falters, hand twitching around his gun. “Wife?”

The front door slams open, and you come out with a shotgun aimed at the stranger's head. “Ah there she is—!” A shot rings out, Hobie dodges from your range, and the man has the same idea. He falls from his now dead horse, using its body for cover.

“Cross!” You scream with anger, fear laced into your tone like venom. “You motherfucker!” Pumping the shotgun, you glance at Hobie. “Run!”

“I forgot I taught you how to shoot!” Cross laughs even with bullets raining down on him and his entourage.

Hobie sees everything in slow motion, one by one, as the assailants run towards you, they get shot down immediately. Blood splattered all over the clovers and plants you love so much. The horses neigh wildly from the barn, and Clover barks desperately from inside the house. Shotgun shells fall on the porch he mended, with gunpowder replacing the honey scented home. Hobie quick draws his gun, emptying half of his chamber at the men you missed. You're in the clear as his Entourage now lies beneath your feet. Hobie aims at Cross where he has a clear shot at while the man continues to hide behind the corpse. But before he could shoot, he hears your gun run out of bullets from how the trigger clicks empty. And then a harsh crack follows as you fall loudly on the wooden deck, head bloodied, breath trembling and struggling as the man Hobie hoped never to see again stands over you with his rifle digging into your temple.

Hicks, a stout man with a pencil thin mustache, clad in gold and your supposed uncle; the one who started it all, cackles above your bleeding form. “Long time no see, Hobie! Back from the dead, eh?” He waves at him, grinning widely. “Drop your fucking gun or I'll end her right here.”

Hobie's entire body trembles just like five years ago, mind reeling from the sight of Hicks' face. Never wasting a second, Hobie drops his gun just as he feels a pistol whip him from behind the second he's unarmed. He falls on the ground not from the strike on his head but from the angry kick on the back of his knees. He gets a mouthful of grass, dirt sticking to his cheeks.

Gun punted away from him, his vision swirls, hand reaching towards you. “No,” he whispers as he hears your sobs. There's a sudden pressure around his wrists, rope tying his hands on his back. “You fucker.”

Hobie picks up the unmistakable sound of a body getting dragged across the ground. Hands and feet hogtied, he struggles to fight back. He stops his struggle when you're placed in front of him in the same position. Your hands and feet are also bound, crimson trickling down from your temple to your eyes; blood sticking to your lashes. Trying desperately to wiggle next to you, he gets a harsh kick at his side. He bites his lip to prevent a pained groan from escaping.

Your eyes try to focus on him, pulse rapidly decreasing, you're in danger of falling unconscious. “...Hobs?” You call to him despite only seeing his outline in front of you.

“‘m here, love.” He wheezes. “Stay awake for me, yeah?”

You struggle to see, black dots dancing around your vision and blood rushing in your ears. Voices come and go, victorious laughter echoing and fading. “I–I should've told you. I'm s–sorry.” Crying, you feel a heavy cheek pressed on your own.

Your sobs would haunt Hobie in his grave. A haze of despair falling over him like fog atop a mountain.

“It's okay—”

“Yeah, you should've told him. Or maybe you shouldn't have left in the first place, hm, honey?” Cross has his hands around your binds, flesh against your cheek. “You left me for him?” He yanks you up, your bones crack and creak as his hand slither up to your bare throat. “I told you, you can never leave.” You choke as he squeezes.

Hobie tries to fight back even with the ropes around his legs and wrists. “Let her fucking go!” A heel stomps on the small of his back as Hicks laughs above him. A raging pain flares, but he refuses to let you fall in the clutches of a man that you clearly never wanted to be next to you.

Guilt wraps Hobie in its familiar embrace. He should've done more, added barbed wires around picket fences, hid guns under the porch, grabbed you the moment he heard the horses— he should've been better at protecting you.

“P–please,” you mumble out despite the hand gripping around your neck. “Let him go, y-you have me. You won.” Gasping, you stare at Hobie with your bloodshot eyes. He shakes his head, eyes full of unshed tears. Even now he doesn't want them to see the sorrow that they've caused him. “Cross, please.” You beg, a trapped doe in front of him.

Cross lets you go after a moment of you desperately trying to gasp for air. You look into his green eyes that are awfully familiar that fills you with dread. You despise that colour on him and how similar it is with the only man you love.

He reaches for your face as you flinch away but with his hand around your collar, you can't escape. You wait for a hit, but it doesn't come. Instead, he pats your cheek with a gloved hand, rough leather sending shivers down your spine. For a second, he looks like he's considering letting Hobie go. Hope blossoms in your chest together with the panic.

Your husband turns towards Hobie, towering over him, his hand still on you. Hobie meets with the similar green eyes with fury. Silence blankets around the farm as both men stare each other down. Cross is the first one to break.

“Thank you for bringing my wife back to me, Mr. Brown.” Craning his head to look at you, you pray that he gets hit with a stray bullet. “Mr. Hicks,” said man hums in reply. He smiles at you, showing his teeth. “Do whatever you want with Mr. Brown, I'm done here.” Cross pushes you towards one of his men, your back hits a sturdy chest. Something gold and metallic pokes your shoulder.

You look up at the man who bears the familiar gilded star. “Sheriff Lee?” He could only look at you through narrowed eyes, anger swimming behind hazel. “No!” Heart in your stomach, heels digging in, you refuse to go. “Hobie!” Said man wails for you in agony as you get dragged away by Lee's strong grip. You ignore the sheriff's sneer as you return your attention towards the only person who deserves it. “Run! Please!”

Hobie yells your name with wild rage. “No! Fuckin' let me go, you wankers!” He fights back on the ground, teeth biting at anyone who comes near him. But there's too many of them left, they punch and kick at him. Steel toed boots hitting his flesh in a sickening squelch. Once they're satisfied, they drag him behind the house as you both fight back despite the odds. “Remember your promise!” He screams, blood coating his tongue from the beatings. “Wait for me!”

“Leave—!” A sack is placed on your head, lungs struggling to breathe, eyes flicking rapidly from side to side. Your joints are frozen in place as panic takes over your whole body. Even with massive amounts of adrenaline to keep you fighting, you feel powerless, muscles straining, fingers trembling; everything crumbles. It's an assault on your senses, there're hands touching you, trying to tie you down. Breath staggered, eyes blown out, and body trembling. And yet, his screams are the ones that truly stay with you. Him screaming your name, crying out to you whilst you try to reach him.

“Burn the bloody place to the ground!” Hicks yells as you're placed on the back of a horse. “Dig a deeper hole! I'm here to finish what I started.” You call for him desperately, throat aching, body twisting and turning on the horse as you try to fall off it.

The stench of iron is replaced with fiery embers curling around your nose behind the fiber hood. You see blurred red and orange spreading through your home in a blaze of wildfire.

The last thing you hear is his screams as you fall unconscious from another hard punch to your skull.

—

Stirring awake, head pounding mercilessly against your temple, you groggily sit up despite the throbbing pain and dazed state. Hands still tied by rough rope behind you, the skin around your wrist is angry and starting to blister. Back hitting hard oak, your eyes meet with red stained glass windows that shine underneath flashes of lightning. You sit hunched on a pew as rain batters the windows with wind howling outside while you roam your eyes around the chapel— Smooth stone walls carved all around with granite floors glinting from the candle light. Arched ceilings that seem to be taller every time you blink, and incense filtering around the air, making your nose twitch.

“Good, you're awake.” Cross’ echoing voice rumbles deeply from the altar. Shoulders straight as a ruler, white suit drenched and dirtied from his recent fall from his horse.

“Wish I wasn't.” You groan, noticing how your feet are also tied together. Glancing around the altar, you scoff bitterly. “Really? Is nothing sacred to you, Cross?” He stalks over to you, fists clenched on his side. Fear is slowly creeping up to you. Yet, you don't balk, nor flinch when he gets closer to you. “What? Are you thinking about renewing our vows?”

“What did he do to you? Hm? What did he say to get you out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” His wedding ring shines, making you glare at the piece of jewelry.

“Why? I chose to be with him, simple as that. I moved forward because you weren't there to shackle me anymore.” You lean closer despite the bindings and your instincts telling you not to fight or else. You know what he's capable of, his hands still bear the shape of your throat and cheek. “Why are you even here? You should've let me go, I gave you a reason to finally be free of me!” You stomp your foot, frustrated and angry. But most of all afraid for Hobie and what has become of him when you were dragged away. “Why didn't you let me go, Cross?”

His eye twitches, the same eyes that are sickenly familiar to Hobie's. “You're my wife, of course I'd follow you.”

You scoff bitterly, “your wife? I'm only your wife on paper.” Wrists twisting, you try to free yourself just like how Hobie taught you in case something like this would happen. And happen it did. “If you forgot, my aunt chose you, and Hicks made me walk down that fucking aisle with a knife to my throat. You are not my husband. Not to me.”

Cross blinks as if he's lingering around your words. Your heart beats louder than the storm outside, afraid of what the man before you would do. Your instincts are right as he suddenly raises his hand to land a harsh slap, you flinch away on instinct, heart beating loudly from the fear. But the pain doesn't blossom on your cheek like it used to, instead, he lunges for your throat, fingers digging in your pulse as you choke.

“Make s-sure you hit me right between my eyes until I see stars, husband.” You mock him despite your crippling fear.

“Don't.” He seethes, you don't stand down, this pain is nothing new to you.

When he doesn't get the response he wanted, his hold loosens, green eyes roaming and searching for the familiar fear in your eyes. A second later, he slowly lets you go and slides his hand up to cup your chin. He smells of nickel and rotten wood.

You tilt your head back so you can leave his hold but he grips tighter. Hair standing on end, his touch is a shivering familiarity on your skin.

“W-why do you hold on tight to me? You don't love me, you never wanted me to begin with.”

He rubs your cheekbone with his thumb. “A year of marriage with you— Anyone would hold onto you with a grip.”

“You should've gotten a dog instead of a wife then.” You laugh throatily, feeling his hand clasp tighter. “Now what has become of you, Cross?” His jaw clenches. “What happened to slapping me as your greeting? All the hair pulling, and dragging me across the floor to show your so-called love for me? Fetch my aunt, she knows how to properly greet me as always.”

His eyes sparkled with brief amusement. “You didn't hear?” He pauses, thumb brushing along your bottom lip, hunger in those green eyes. “Your great aunt's dead.” You swallow thickly, letting his words sink in. Your mind can't make out how to feel about it. “Died of a broken heart, that's what the doctor said.”

“A–a broken heart?” You shove his hand away from your face. “I didn't know she even had a heart in the first place.”

You can see the confusion spreading across his face, not used to your new found fiery attitude. “What has become of you? She died because you ran away.” Cross uses grief and guilt as his weapon, and he knows what he's doing.

“I'm not the same girl you married, Cross.” You tilt your head on the back of the pew, staring him down through your bloodied lashes. “And you and I both know that's bullshit. She smoked like a goddamn chimney, worse that she had numerous enemies. Not the kind of combination you want if you wish to live long.”

“Watch your fucking tongue, girl.” Hicks’ booming voice ricochets around the chapel as he appears from a door near the altar. “That was my wife you're talking about.”

“Look at that, hello, uncle.” Sarcasm drips from your words. “Why do you like a fucking priest when you're the farthest from being one?” You gesture with your head towards his robe like clothes, he's draped in black cloth from head to toe, mourning clothes.

Unabashedly eyeing him up and down, you start to giggle. “You married her for money, you fool. You're not convincing anyone with that.” Turning towards Cross whose eyes remained on you, you falter for a second before straightening your expression. “You blame me for her death but have you asked him about it? He has everything to gain from her death.” Cross flicks his eyes towards the man before turning to leave with a humourless scoff. “Coward.” You whisper.

A strong grip latches itself in your hair, pulling at your scalp. Hicks' hot breath puffs over your cheek, you yelp in pain, reminding you of all the times she did this exact thing to you. “You and your childish whims killed her. And for what? To be with that boy?”

“Fuck you!”

“Y/N,” Cross stands in the middle of the aisle, nonchalantly taking a coin from his breast pocket to twirl it across his fingers. “He didn't kill her, Hicks isn't the one named in her will. He has nothing to gain.”

Slowly, delight spreads across your chest, wrists almost free. You grin widely. “She left it all to me.” Hicks throws your head down, skull hitting the pew with a sickening crack. Yet, you still laugh even with blood trickling down to your nape. “A-after all the shit you had to do to win her over,” you swallow down the pain. “she still didn't trust you enough to hand the company over to you!” Your guffaw echoes around the chapel. You spot Sheriff Lee standing in the corner, guarding the door, your laughter roars louder at the sight of him.

Hicks scoffs, trying to act that your words hasn't fazed him. “I always admired her, y’know, her and her resilience to punish you even though she loved you so much. With your hands bloodied and knees in grain— pretty eyes wet with salty tears. It was quite a sight. But as much as I admired her, cared for her, I can't replace you. No one can.”

Your eyes brim with tears you refuse to let go. “She could barely look at me.” You whisper the words.

He sighs, “she loved you.”

“There was a time I thought she did. That I deserved all of the pain, that I didn't know any better. But I was just a child who didn't do anything wrong but look up to her.”

Shrugging, Hicks makes a face that fans the flames in you. “Maybe you did deserve it.”

You don't feel the fear anymore, your rage triumphs over it.

“Fuck you!” Your screech could be heard above the thunder. “It got worse because of you! Only because you whispered in her ears and told her everything with your jealous sickly eyes! Married me off to some man who would hurt me more than grains on my knees!” You heave, Hicks raises an unbothered brow. “Wasn't it enough that you took him away from me?” He grins at you, papers in his hand, looking at you as if you're the one in the wrong. “The poison drips down, from her to you and then to my accursed husband.” You turn your red eyes towards Cross, the coin in his hand pauses from your heavy stare.

Maybe you should've gone with your parents on that doomed expedition.

A rustle of papers makes you turn towards the sound. Hicks spreads the crumpled paper on the seat next to you, pointing at the dotted line and placing a fountain pen beside it. “Sign your name and this'll be over.”

You lick your dry lips, the taste of your blood is bitter and acrid on your tongue. Your eyes don't even glance at the words. Wondering how they knew where you went, your mind wanders to the only person back home who knew. “What did you do to Peter?”

“We set him free. Free to roam the gates of heaven that is.”

Nails dig into your palms, leaving crescent scars atop your old one. Fury snaking along your aching body, you crane your neck towards Cross who leans against the altar, flipping a coin as candlelight flicks across his face and red windows reflecting off his skin and eyes. “The people you surround yourself with, Cross, it's astounding. You've got a dirty sheriff, a gold digging motherfucker, and me, who will take every opportunity to kill everyone in this fucking room.” Your want for vengeance spreads across the chapel, voice louder than the thunder raging outside. Cross looks at you like it's the first time he truly ever saw you. Returning your focus on the man who buried the love of your life, you utter behind clenched teeth.

“Just sign the damn papers—”

“When you buried Hobie under that oak tree, you buried me too. And you sliced open my neck just like how you did to him, that's why I'll never sign it.” Hicks tries to grab your head but you headbutt his chin before he could. He collapses on the floor, cradling his bitten and bleeding tongue. Standing above him, pen in hand, wrists now free behind you, you smile at him so it's the last thing he'll ever see. “I'm going to burn the company into the ground, and you'll be left penniless but I'll be fine; thanks to you suggesting this, how did you put it? ‘Auspicious’ marriage.”

Cross notices the sharp, shiny pen in your hands. He yells, coin falling from his hand with a clink, but it's too late as you pounce on Hicks, stabbing his chest with every clink of the coin— three times, you stab him three times as blood gushes out in a spray across your vengeful face. Lee stops you by tackling you on the ground. The blood coated pen clangs on the granite, drenching the floor with crimson. Lee has to put his entire weight on you so you can't escape, Hobie drives you to fight back with the same ferocity he would.

You need to avenge him.

“How does it feel, Hicks?! That's how I felt while you watched!” Your uncle sits up, groaning, blood slipping from his fingers as the outlaws that they hired rush towards him. You know he won't die from his injuries, you'd know— but it's enough, knowing that you caused him pain until you can finally end him with your own hands.

Laughing, arms being tied up from behind, tighter this time, you continue to try and escape from under Lee even with his knee digging on the small of your back. “I will not cleave, never again! Especially to men like you!”

Hicks stands up with some help. He leaves small drops of his blood on the granite, hands plugging the holes you made on his torso. “Now I'm glad I finished the job! I buried him again, and this time he'll stay down there for good!” He tries to rile you up further, it works from the mere mention of Hobie. You fight back, Lee's hold on you wasn't enough so Cross joins him, hands keeping your kicking legs down. “I even burned down your dinky house, there's nothing left there for you!”

“Did you make sure that he stayed buried this time, uncle?!” You yell at him, a sound akin to primal fury. His eyes widen, and you grin bitterly, “You didn't. Don't bother running away because he's already coming after you.” Lee yanks you up, and then places the same hood on your face. “He's coming after you!” You get dragged away towards the small room behind the altar.

Your grief has grown teeth. “If he doesn't then I'll do it for him!”

As Lee ties you to a table, closing and locking the door behind your screaming form; Cross' entourage looks at him with trepidation.

“We'll leave the second the rain is gone.” They all agree immediately.

—

Dread spills over him like a flood, incapable of saving you, watching your unconscious form ride away as Cross carries you on his borrowed horse. Hobie had to gaze upon the agonizing pain of you being taken away.

Outlaws set fire to the house, razing it to the ground as smoke immediately entered his senses. Flames spread in the home you two built together, angry orange hues devouring the same place he promised to live the rest of his life with you. The light blue paint starts to melt, glass windows cracking in the heat. He watches as his home turns to ash.

Men drag his screaming, writhing body towards the back of the house as he hears the awfully familiar sound of soil falling from shovels. His entire body hurts, cuts and bruises marring his flesh, clothes torn, and teeth coated in crimson. Trying to fight back, his nails digging in on the men's wrists yet it doesn't faze them. He sees Buck and Cherry run towards Hobie, neighing angrily with every intention to kick each of his assailants.

Hicks takes his guns out, aiming at both horses before they could reach him. Hobie yells at his horses, pleading with his broken voice. “No! Get away, Buck!”

Hicks shoots, gunshot echoing around the farm, bullet missing Cherry's hoof by an inch. Both horses rears, neighing loudly. “Fuck, I missed.” Hicks looks back at Hobie, who's on his knees. Hicks pulls down the hammer again to shoot. “Good thing I have more than one bullet.”

Hobie sneers, turning towards both terrified horses. “Buckeye! Leave! Get!” Bucky seems to shake his head in protest, but one look from his rider has him understanding what he meant. He runs away in the direction with Cherry in tow, who looks at the place she last saw you in. Hobie's glad he listened, he can't lose them too.

With dust clearing, Hicks returns his focus on Hobie and the outlaws that are digging behind him. “Dig deeper, make sure he doesn't get out like last time.” An idea passes by his eyes. “Or maybe I should just strap your hands and feet to my horse and gallop away while I drag you around in your shitty farm?”

“Fuck you, Hicks!” Hobie kicks dirt at his direction, soil landing on his shoes, completely unbothered. “Where is he taking her?”

Hicks chuckles while he takes out a cigar from a golden case that Hobie recognizes as your aunt's cigar case. He cuts the cigar before lighting it up with the same fire that eats away the farm. “Why bother asking? She's married, boy, taken and all that.” Crouching down, he blows smoke at Hobie's face. Eyes flicking towards the hole behind him. “Besides, you'd be six feet under.”

Thunder roars overhead, followed by a spark of lightning and petrichor. You were right, it's going to rain.

“It was all arranged wasn't it? Was it you?”

“No, it was her aunt. God rest her soul.” Hicks points at the sky as droplets of rain trickles down.

“Good.” Hobie grins, teeth threatening to snap at the man. Hicks clenches his jaw, sneering with a scoff.

The fire continues to burn behind him, and the men carry on with digging Hobie's grave right behind him. “Well, technically, I was the one who suggested it but she's the one who did most of the work.” He huffs and blows smoke, “you should've seen Y/N at her wedding, so gorgeous in white.”

Hobie tightens his jaw, lunging at Hicks but the men holding him down stops him. “No matter how deep that hole you put me in, I'll dig myself out and I'll come and cut your neck this time.”

“Let's see about that, Hobie. Pity, if only you didn't chase her, you'd be fine. Hell, maybe a manager at the factory by now.” He takes a peek behind Hobie, sucking in his teeth when it's not deep enough. “Shame, you had talents. I gotta hand it to you though, you've built yourself quite a reputation over here.”

“Whatever you heard,” Hobie leans closer, but a hand stops him. “It's all true, especially what I did in the east. And once I get my hands on you and that prick you married her to, I'll make sure what happened back then was child's play.” For a brief second, Hicks wavers.

“It's six feet,” someone says behind Hobie, still heaving from the labour.

“About time.” Hicks stands up, instructing the men to lift Hobie up on his feet. He gets yanked up, shoulders throbbing. “I'm supposed to say some nice parting words to the departed,” Hicks takes out his gun, pressing the barrel on Hobie's forehead while he glares with a bitter smile— “But I don't want to waste my breath.”

“Make sure you don't miss.” Hobie leans closer to the metal as Hicks then digs it into his neck as Hobie taunts. Moving a few paces away with his free hand pressed on his ear, he knocks the hammer down and aims it at Hobie's head.

He braces himself.

Hicks shoots, lighting strikes a few ways from the farm, lighting up the bullet heading right at Hobie's head. Blood spills over the soil below. He falls into the grave with a thud. Hicks Looks from above, seeing Hobie limp inside the hole in the ground, right next to the writhing worms. Satisfied, he tells his men to cover it back up just as the rain starts to pour in.

“Meet us at the rendezvous.” Hicks says above the sound of rain and thunder as he makes his way towards his horse, already galloping away while soil drops on Hobie's motionless face.

—

It rains, just like that day five years ago.

Hobie's nails are coated in dirt and grime, face covered by his own shirt to protect him from falling soil. Yet it doesn't save him from slowly suffocating. Soil in his lungs, breath ragged, he remembers the panic in your voice, how you screamed so he could be let go. He's living his past once again, but this time, he's not a frightened boy, he'll rise from the dead over and over again if he has to. With a raging heart that feels like imploding, his thoughts are on you.

Your worst fear is him dying. Even with the threat of a gun to your head, you still chose him.

Did he deserve any of these? To see you cry for him desperately, to hear you call for him with blood spilling from your lips— is he cursed? Is this karma for all the things he has done? That he deserves all of it because he was molded into this, a weapon he never wished to become but had to so he could survive. He doesn't want to linger on the thought, all he knows is that he needs to survive this.

But will he survive long enough to see you again?

Grunting, his temple has stopped bleeding a few minutes ago, skin grazed by the bullet that he dodged covertly. Hicks was never known for his aim even if his target was just a few steps away from him. Or perhaps Hobie is incapable of dying.

With his belt buckle in hand, he digs upwards. While he laid there ‘dead’ he heard about the new factory settled in the south— That after your aunt's death, they changed the main location from London to the heart of the new world's south. He knows where to find Hicks now, and in turn, you too.

He's not going to lie down and bleed.

Hobie hears the pattering of rain just outside the grave, thankful that the idiots Hicks tasked to bury him gave up halfway after they thought him dead. Still, Hobie's having a hard time digging himself out when the soil has clumped together because of the water and became heavier because of it. But he won't give up until he gets to see and hold you again. He still needs to tell you that he forgives you, that he understands why you didn't tell him. That he loves you despite it all.

Yelling in frustration, he still can't feel the breeze from below. Seemingly not making any progress. Arms thrumming from fatigue, he inhales and exhales, remembering why he keeps fighting, why he wants to survive it all.

You. The image of you drives him to dig himself out of his own supposed grave.

Hobie digs and digs, calculating his breathing so he doesn't waste what little air he has. He lists all their names, all the people he has to cut through to get to you. Hicks is a given, he has to end that man to avenge his younger self. Sheriff Lee, whose asshole son he had to shoot or he'll continue to commit unspeakable crimes that his own father lets him do without a single reprimand. And Cross, your husband, a marriage you never wanted, your shackle that continues to drag you down.

“Fuckers,” he whispers, renewed energy making him dig faster and faster.

There's a metallic twinkle from outside, for a moment, he thought that he suffocated and is now being taken by death. His worries subsides when he hears frantic barking outside, paws digging and whining sadly.

“Clover.” Hobie is in disbelief, lucky that Clover returned. “Good girl, Clover! Keep diggin’!” He helps, tunneling together in tandem until he sees her snout sniff at the ground. “Atta girl!” Petting briefly, Clover digs as Hobie gets his hand out from the depths of the soil.

Lighting pierces the night, he rises from his grave once more.

Death can't stop him from getting back to you. This time, he won't leave you to be eaten by the coyotes.

Dragging himself out, Clover helps him by biting at the hem of his jeans, pulling him up by her teeth. Rain pelts against his skin, mud sticking to his flesh, and blades of grass clinging to him. Shakily standing up, he screams the moment he's fully out of the grave.

Hobie brushes his hand along Clover's head, scratching just behind her ear. She scampers off, running towards somewhere, maybe a dry place where she can rest after a job well done.

He lets Clover run away, taking out his cigarette and lighter, he drags the stick across his dry lips before placing it in between. Lighting it, he inhales deeply, the glow from it illuminates the fury on his face. Promising himself that he'll save you, that he won't abandon you this time. And If you're still willing, rebuild the house in each of your visions like it was supposed to be.

Staring at the farm house, its burnt, but remnants of it remains thanks to the unexpected rain. The structure still stands tall, darkened wood falling apart, ash mixing in with the rain, turning the floorboards into a muddy sludge. He can't think about all the letters that you didn't finish reading, all those words forgotten in the wind, nothing but ash flying away with the breeze.

Even the garden you worked so hard for is burnt to nothingness, not even a single leaf has survived. All the flowers and produce you've painstakingly kept alive are now cinders.

The familiar calmness that comes after a brush with death sits in his chest. A wave of pain seizes him to a pause, gripping the chest, his mind imagines the worst. That they've hurt you, that you're sailing halfway across the world by now; that they've killed you and dropped you into a shallow grave to let the rain inevitably wash you away. He shuts the thought out, tears pricking at his eyes. Uttering your name softly, he exhales. You're his peace.

Still standing in what remains of the farm, Hobie hears hooves rushing behind him, and a familiar bark running next to the pair of horses, whose shadow looms over him when lightning strikes and lights up the barren land.

“I'll get her back, I promise.”

—

The saloon is in full swing, patrons dance around the band, people rambunctiously play poker upstairs while Riri is arguing with Miguel after she told him that she's leaving to go and check the farm.

“I'm telling you, Miguel, something doesn't feel right. Morgan told me he saw fire blazing over there!” She unlaces her apron, tossing the empty whiskey bottle right next to other empty ones.

“Their place is far away, how could Morgan even see that?” Miguel chomps down on a slice of cake, rain continues to pour down as Riri takes her coat and hat from the closet beside the bar. “Where are you going, Ri? It's pouring outside!”

“To check on them—!” The saloon doors open with a bang, spooking the band, the music screeching to a halt when they see Hobie standing there drenched, bleeding and covered in weapons. Everyone stops to look, the brim of his hat covers half of his face, scar in full display, ring glinting in the light. Silence hangs, not even a whisper can be heard. “Holy fuck.” Riri pushes past people to get closer to him, hands reaching out to him, eyes seeking you from behind him. When she doesn't see you, she presumes the worst.

“They found her.” Lightning strikes behind him, briefly showing his red eyes.

Riri nods, hiding her shaking hands with a fist. “I've got your back, just like I said.” Miguel stands dumbfounded, frowning, eyebrows knitted in anger.

Hobie glances at the customers he knows, half of them were from the gang he used to run with. The other half are afraid of him. He turns his heed towards Miguel, eyes boring into the man. “Remember that bounty you never got?” Miguel smirks, already placing his hat on his head. “Any valuables you find, it's yours and the gang’s. Time to get even, Miguel.”

He hears ear splitting cheers before he collapses into Riri's arms.

109 notes · View notes

tenjikubaby · 3 years ago

Text

rindou may break his enemies’ bones but never ur heart <3 <3

alternatively titled, “projecting everything my last relationship lacked on imagined romantic scenarios with rindou”

What’s it like having Rindou as your partner? Gender-neutral HCs

#2 Best Boyfriend Rindou. Dependable. Affectionate. Secret softie.

➼ Rindou lets you listen to all his mixes and always asks what you think. He’s always excited to share them with you. Be honest but also hype him up, would you? He values your opinion so much. If you happen to love something he made, he’d be so, so happy.

➼ He could remix your favorite song, maybe make an original mix inspired by music you like. Maybe you could work on something together if you’re a musician.

➼ When you’re sleeping together, he tends to roll over so that you’re under him and just stays there. So in the morning, you wake up to a whole Rindou on top of you. He’s warm though, and honestly I wouldn’t complain.

➼ Let’s say you’re the one who patches him up after he and Ran return from a fight. This guy would exaggerate his pain so you’d baby him more. (“Oh no, my poor baby! Where does it hurt?”) Either you fall for this act, or you know what he’s doing but choose to give him what he wants anyway. Ran would witness all this and just roll his eyes.

➼ Would talk your ears off if you’d let him. Rindou has A LOT of stories to tell and he’s always excited to share them with you. He’s the type of person that, while telling his stories, would stop in the middle and say “Wait, wait. Before that, this happened,” and it’s adorable! But he’ll soon notice that he’s been talking too much. He’d say a sheepish sorry and asks about your day. (Note: It’s adorable how he shared two stories on his CB3 profile)

➼ He may talk a lot about himself and his experiences, but he is NOT the type of person to just let you finish and bring the topic back to him. Conversations with Rindou are always fulfilling for the both of you. You’re also free to talk to him about whatever! He loves to hear you talk about your interests as well, and loves when he learns new things from you.

➼ He’d try to get into your interests so you’d have more stuff to talk about or do together. If you’re a reader, he’d ask for book recommendations (though I don’t really see him as someone who reads. If any of the Haitani brothers read, it would probably be Ran). He would pick it up and constantly update you on his progress.

➼ Expect A LOT of gifts on your birthday. A huge plushie? Yes. A cake or any dessert you like? Got it. A handwritten birthday letter? It’s there. A book, movie, or video game you’ve been wanting? Rindou remembered, and he got it for you. He never gives just one gift.

➼ When he tried to make you a birthday cake, it was so dry and the frosting was so sloppily done. Ran saw and tried to help but he somehow made it worse and it looked like it was about to fall over. So they called Kaku over for help. Kaku helped them turn the failed cake into a cake pop bouquet while Izana watched and ate frosting. Rindou still owes him one.

➼ Since TR is (mostly) set in the 2000s, I just thought of burned CDs! Rindou makes playlists for you and burns them onto CDs, which he would write little notes on. You do the same for him and he keeps all of them in his CD shelves to play whenever he misses you.

➼ Kiss him out of the blue! Maybe do it while he’s talking or focusing intensely on something he’s doing. Do it, because it always makes him smile and you get to see his dimples. (Imagine Rindou with dimples? Waaaaaa ang guwapo :”) ) He’ll give you a kiss or more back.

➼ At night, if you’re not together, he calls you before bed to talk about how your days went. If your day was pretty uneventful, Rindou just rambles on about how his meeting went, something Ran did, or other stuff he might want to share. He’d say “good night” and “I love you” before hanging up.

➼ If you’re interested in fitness, that’s another thing you and your boyfriend can bond over! He’ll assist you through difficult exercises. Have you seen partner workouts? You’d definitely do those together. And if you’re okay with it, you might even do those partner workouts where the couples... kiss 😳 (It ends in a makeout session)

➼ Once Ran likes you enough, Ran might ask Rindou to invite you over for dinner. Rindou is then subjected to the torture of his of his brother showing you all his baby pics and sharing embarrassing stories from when they were kids. Rindou wanted you to get along with Ran, but not like this :(

#tokyo revengers headcanons #rindou haitani #rindou haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tenjikubaby

2K notes · View notes

prettyboypucey · 3 years ago

Text

Weird ~ G.W.

Summary: George is gorgeous. Charlie is a meddler. The snow is cold. (this summary sucks...just read it)

Pairing: George Weasley x Y/N

Word Count: 2,404 (who do I think I am?)

Warnings: mentions of bullying. mentions of food/eating. george is unknowingly triggering? reader cries. idk? let me know if i missed something.

A/N: part 2? maybe? translations are for romanian via google translate. do not come for me if they are hella wrong.

Translations: draga - darling; dragoste - love; tampit - stupid

I had never been normal. From the time I was a toddler I had stars in my eyes and dirt on my knees. While the other kids in my grade were playing with dolls and dressing respectably, I was riding imaginary dragons and wearing mismatched socks with dungarees and a butterfly headband. Normalcy evaded me even further when at 11 years old, I got a letter declaring me a witch.

When I first came to Hogwarts I spent the majority of my time alone. It appeared that even children who could wave a stick around and makes things fly wanted nothing to do with the colorful little girl. Meeting Luna Lovegood in my second year was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Here was a girl who allowed me to be exactly who I was with no judgments. And then she introduced me to Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, and suddenly that little girl who thought her only friends would always be the rocks she painted faces on, had found her people.

Of course, being friends with Ginny Weasley meant knowing her many brothers. So after graduation when I went off to Romania to work with dragons it made me feel slightly better knowing Charlie Weasley would be there. He quickly took me under his wing and became the older brother figure I had never had. After working together for three years, and electing to stay at the sanctuary for the last two over the holidays, he had finally convinced me to come home with him. I was reluctant to leave the sanctuary - the one place I truly feel safe (despite the massive fire breathing creatures).

Charlie had warned me that being with one or two of the Weasleys was very different from being with the entire Weasley clan. Obviously I knew Charlie and Ginny, Ron had always been nice to me, and I had met Molly a handful of times in passing. However, Bill was known to be quite intimidating, Percy was supposedly very no-nonsense, and the twins (albeit never cruel) had a reputation of being hell-raisers.

Apparating to the edge of a marsh with Charlie by my side I could see the rising structure haphazardly balanced slightly ahead.

Pausing, I glanced at the back of the familiar red covered head, “I don’t know Charles, maybe I should just go back. I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Charlie very quickly rounded behind me to continue guiding me towards his home, “No, no, no, no, no. No. You’re not a burden to anyone draga. Keep your head up and if any of them give you grief - remind them of the giant, winged beasts you can feed them to.”

Quickly placing a kiss to the side of my head Charlie bounded ahead again to open the door and announce your arrival. Before I could toe off the first boot to leave next to the dozen other pairs in the entryway, a pair of arms had flung around my neck.

“Y/N! I missed you so much!”, Ginny pulled back, keeping her grip on my shoulders, to inspect for any major injuries.

I held onto her elbows, keeping her close, “Hi Gin, I missed you too. A lot. I’m loving this new look by the way.”

She reached up to brush the now short locks behind her ears. A grin on her face as the two of us looked the other over for the first time in months. Ginny was wrapped in a pretty baby pink sweater with shades of red and white running through it. The material was soft against my palm as I hooked it around her crooked elbow to follow her into the living area.

“You know”, she started, “I was starting to think maybe Charlie had let you get eaten or burnt to a crisp in the land of dragons. It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me or left the sanctuary.”

“I’m sorry Ginny. It’s just that after everything, I had to keep myself busy.”

Ginny’s smile softened into one of understanding. The war had taken a part of all of us. Although Fred had recovered after many months, that fear of almost losing such a vital part of their family had rocked the entire Weasley family to its core.

“I get it, I do, but I worry about you. I just want you to know you’re not alone Y/N.”

I pulled the girl into another tight hug, “I know.”

Ginny pulled away first, clearing her throat, “Okay! Now that’s out of the way - it’s time to introduce the one and only Y/N L/N to the Weasley’s.”

I hummed, “Hmmm and which of us should be more scared?”

“Oh definitely the Weasleys.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Meeting the Weasley family had gone much better than expected.

Molly had opened her arms and home to me as if I was one of her own children. By the time the night was over she had me stuffed full of warm food and drink and donning my very own coveted Weasley sweater, the lavender initial in the middle marking it as my own. Arthur had been very interested in my muggle parents and upbringing, questioning me about the functions of a rubber duck. Bill and his wife Fleur were the most stunning couple I have ever seen, and not nearly as intimidating as people portrayed them. Fleur was pleased when she found out I spoke a bit of conversational French and promised to have me over to Shell Cottage (apparently they have an amazing collection of wind chimes that I am dying to see). Percy was a bit more refined. Completely polite and friendly but he seemed reserved. Ginny had explained in one of her letters how much guilt Percy carried after the Battle of Hogwarts over how he had behaved in the years leading up to that day.

The twins were much different than I remembered them being from the few times we were around each other in school. The physical differences were clear - George’s missing ear and Fred’s dragging limp were both signs of the prices they paid in the war. More than that however, they had matured greatly. They were still happy and made sure to pull at least two pranks over the night, poor Molly nearly lost her voice after they blew up the turkey. However, there was something in their eyes that had been dimmed. Especially in George.

His twin almost died that night, and it reflected in George’s eyes each time he looked at his older brother. It was clear that he was still afraid because whenever Fred left a room George followed, never letting his brother out of his sight, and if he happened to lose track of him a panic began to swirl in his brown orbs.

I was in the middle of watching as George yet again made his way to Fred’s side, clapping a large hand on his twins shoulder and throwing his head back in laughter.

“So which one are you staring at dragoste?”, Charlie whispered as he appeared out of nowhere.

I ignored the burning in my cheeks as I looked away from the scene in front of me.

“I am not staring at either of them tampit.”

“Mhmm, sure, absolutely, I believe you.”, after a quick pause he said, “It’s George isn’t it?”

I turned and scoffed at him, “No!… How did you know?”

Charlie let out a chuckle, “Because I know you my little dragon. I also know my brother, and just between us, he definitely likes you as well.”

At this I let out an incredulous laugh and glanced back to where George was now telling a story, his hands moving animatedly. There was no way that George Weasley had even a remote attraction to me. He was kind, strong, clever, and so bloody gorgeous it truly was a privilege to look at him. And I am…me. Nothing special. Just a girl who had more dragon friends than human ones and whose hands were covered in scars and callouses and whose socks never matched and had never even kissed a man before. So no, there was no way that George Weasley would ever like me.

“Hey. I know that look Y/N. Stop those thoughts right this bloody second.”

“Charles it really is annoying when you read me like that.”

Throwing his arm over my shoulder he began to lead me towards the twins, “Yes I know and I am sorry in advance but this needs to be done. Fred!”

Charlie’s voice had gone from a rushed whisper to a jovial shout when we reached George, Fred, and Ron by the fireplace. George’s smile as he turned to look at us sent a million butterflies off in my tummy.

“So Freddy, I was hoping you could help me out with a top secret project tomorrow for mum and maybe show me around the joke shop. I heard you added some new displays that I want to check out.”

“Sure Charlie”, Fred glanced at George as he spoke, “I’m sure we can make some time for our favorite brother.”

Ignoring Rons protest, Charlie gripped my shoulders and pushed me in front of him, “Actually George I was thinking you could stay here and show Y/N around the area. She mentioned wanting to talk a walk tomorrow and I would hate to disappoint her on her first Christmas out of the sanctuary.”

“Um-”

I interrupted the rejection coming from George, “No please, I would hate to be a bother and make you be stuck with me all day. I’m sure Ginny can take me.”

George smiled and shook his head, “No it’s completely fine Y/N. I would be happy to show you around.”

“Okay great! It’s settled then!”, Charlie looked rather too pleased with himself and obviously missed the look exchanged by his identical younger brothers.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the Burrow was a flurry of movement as everyone began their day. Apparently Charlie and Fred weren’t the only ones on their way out. The others still had some last minute gift shopping to do and Ron was spending the day with Hermione’s muggle family. After breakfast, a quick wink from Charlie, and a slam of the front door - George and I were alone in the house.

The two of us stood facing one another in the living room for a few awkward moments before George spoke, “Well, um, did you want to head out as well?”

“Oh sure! Yes, let me just grab my boots really quickly.”

George led me out the door and onto the snow covered path towards the small, iced over river. Nothing was said for a while, the only sound was the crunch of snow under our boots and the occasional sniffle from one of our red noses. I was mentally imagining all the ways I was going to kick Charlie’s ass when he got back for suggesting a walk in the middle of winter when we came to the top of a hill and stopped.

Everything as far as the eye could see was blanketed in sheets of white. Stomping my boots down into the fresh snow, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as the snow gave way underfoot. Feeling a pair of eyes on me I remembered that I wasn’t alone and turned to see George watching me with an unidentifiable look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that. I liked the feeling of the crunch of the snow I guess. Sorry.”

George grinned, “You don’t have to apologize. It was cute.”

I could feel my face flush at his words. His smile grew even wider at the sight of my heated face. My gaze dropped from his pretty face down to my boots. I could feel the thick socks I had on beginning to grow cold and wet from how long we’d been outside. Looking back up I could see George’s deep eyes glaze over. Assuming it was because he had been apart from Fred so long I glanced out at the view one last time before turning back the way we came.

“We should probably get back. We’ve been gone a while and my toes are getting wet. I feel bad enough that Charlie forced you to do this anyways without you getting frostbite or something. I’ve had frostbite, it’s not fun. And now I’m rambling. I’m sorry. Sorry”

George was shaking his head at me and said, “You are so weird.”

Ouch. My chest tightened and the small smile I had been wearing dropped from my face. If I had been able to see past the tears forming in my eyes that were making my sight blurry, I would have seen George’s face do the same. Unfortunately, all I could focus on was that word. Weird. Strange. Abnormal. Freak.

Weird weird weird.

The walk back was silent. A thick tension surrounded you both as thick snow flurries began to swirl down in the midmorning air. Just as thick was the lump forming in my throat as I fought back tears. I know I shouldn’t let his words affect me. He’s just some guy. But deep down I also know that he’s not just some guy. This is George fricking Weasley. With his stupid perfect face and gorgeous eyes and his loyalty to his family. I couldn’t help but be enamored with him from the moment I walked in the Weasley’s front door. So it hurt to hear the man I liked call me that nasty word that has haunted me my entire life.

When we finally reached the Burrow, George tried to reach for my arm but I pulled away and ran into the house. I could hear that some of the others had returned and really wanted to avoid a confrontation. Once again, luck wasn’t on my side. Charlie came walking out of the kitchen and saw me in the entryway. His face immediately became concerned at the sight of me and he lowered the sandwich he had from his mouth.

“Draga?”, Charlie’s voice followed me as I finally reached the stairs and launched upstairs.

As I reached the first landing I heard him speak again, his voice rough and hard.

“What did you do?”

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley angst #george weasley fluff #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter writing #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x platonic!reader #charlie weasley imagine #hp #harry potter

449 notes · View notes