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[soulpad-bell-tent]

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[indiantent20]

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[littlemissmentallyunstable]

there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

TIG masterlist

[reaper2187]

Cairo sweet x female reader

As the school bell rings, a cacophony of chatter fills the hallways, mingling with the light scent of morning coffee and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Amidst this teeming sea of students, you find yourself drawn to a solitary figure perched on a windowsill near the library.

Her name is Cairo Sweet, and your gaze lingers on her with a curious mix of fascination and trepidation. Her face, framed by a cascade of raven hair, is a canvas of exquisite features: piercing brown eyes that seem to hold a depth beyond her years, a delicate nose, and a mouth that curves into a mysterious smile.

As your eyes connect, you feel an unexpected surge of kinship. She is an enigma, an outsider, like you

 You have always felt like a square peg in a round hole, never quite fitting in with the preppy girls who gossip and giggle in the cafeteria. But in Cairo's gaze, you sense a glimmer of understanding.

With a hesitant step, you approach her. 'Excuse me,' you say softly. 'I'm new here. I couldn't help but overhear that you're Cairo Sweet. My name's [Your Name].'

A faint smile crosses her lips. 'Nice to meet you, [Your Name].'

You sit down beside her, your notebooks open in front of you. The silence between you is comfortable, almost inviting. As the minutes turn into hours, you share stolen glances, whispered secrets, and dreams that have long been buried within.

Cairo tells you about her life before Miller's Creek, her nomadic childhood, and her passion for writing. You, in turn, confide in her about your own struggles and aspirations. For the first time, you feel truly seen and understood.

As the day draws to a close, you and Cairo walk together to your lockers. Your fingers brush against hers, and a spark ignites within you. It is a spark of connection, a desire to be near her, to explore the forbidden realms that lie beyond friendship.

But your burgeoning feelings are met with trepidation. This is high school, after all, and societal norms dictate that girls should only date boys. You fear the repercussions of breaking these unspoken rules.

Undeterred, Cairo leans in and whispers, 'I think you're amazing, [Your Name]. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'

Her words embolden you. You take her hand and lead her to an empty classroom. The soft glow of the setting sun filters through the windows, casting a warm and intimate light upon the two of you.

With trembling lips, you confess your feelings. To your surprise, Cairo reciprocates. Her kiss is gentle, tentative, and yet filled with an undeniable longing.

In that stolen moment, time stands still. The world outside fades away, leaving only you and Cairo, two hearts entwined in a secret dance of love.

As you reluctantly pull away, Cairo whispers, 'This is against the rules, but it feels so right.'

You smile. 'Maybe we're destined to be rebels.'

Your secret rendezvous becomes a solace amidst the turmoil of high school. You carve out hidden corners in the library, linger in the shadows of the hallways, and steal precious moments together on deserted benches. Your love grows stronger with each stolen kiss, each whispered promise.

But the walls of silence cannot hold indefinitely. Rumors spread like wildfire, and soon you find yourselves at the center of a storm of gossip and condemnation. Some students whisper words of support, but many more cast judgment upon your forbidden love.

As the pressure mounts, you and Cairo face an impossible choice. You could deny your feelings and conform to societal expectations, or you could embrace your love and risk the consequences.

Together, you choose the latter. Hand in hand, you walk through the hallways, ignoring the disapproving stares and hurtful comments. Your love is a beacon of defiance, a testament to the power of the human heart.

In the end, your resilience and unwavering bond silence the critics. Cairo and [Your Name] become a symbol of hope and acceptance for all who dare to love beyond the confines of societal norms.

And as the years go by, your love story becomes a legend whispered among the students of Miller's Creek, a tale of two girls who dared to defy the odds and find happiness in the most unexpected of places.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Now, this house may look like your average 1968 ranch style home in Camarillo, CA, but it's actually either a sexy place or some sort of business. I don't know if the equipment conveys, but take a look anyway. 3bds, 2ba, $899,999.

It's move-in ready. Note the security keypad, can't be too careful w/your toys and set-ups, nowadays. Note the jingle bells hanging, so you can ring when you enter.

Don't bother to look for a living room. The current occupants don't have a need for one. Maybe it's a place of business, I'm confused. Could that be a 2-way mirror where they sit at the table, have a snack, and watch the show?

Now, here's bd. #1 w/a sturdy looking bed that features a mirrored canopy and ropes or pulley's, I don't know. It looks like it may jack up and down. Again, I don't know.

Bath #1 is a small shower room.

In this room, that wall hides a large Murphy bed.

See?

Is this a teen's room?

Bedroom #3 also has a rope/system with another one attached to the ceiling.

It'a a little tight in here.

And, then, here's bath #2. The toilet and tub can be closed off by a curtain.

Maybe this is a treatment room of some sort? Unless it's a play Dr. room. I'm so confused. Note the chain on the ceiling and on the wall. According to the floor plan, it's a treatment room (wink, wink).

Then, there's the pole dancing room. No matter what this house is, it's so cold and unwelcoming.

The laundry room.

And, in here there's a nice pool room.

That looks like a canvas house. Why do they need a tent house? I'm afraid to ask.

In the yard, they have a pergola, seating, a BBQ grill and a hot tub (I wonder if the base it's on rotates).

Plus, there's another covered place to sit and a putting green.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2249-Lonsdale-St-Camarillo-CA-93010/16366937_zpid/?

[unidentifiedly]

Eventful Morning

Micah Bell x reader

- In which Micah almost scares the reader to death. Or at the very least, scares them enough for it to have consequences.

"Tip, tip, tip" Soft sounds of rain droplets made their way into your ears.

"No, no. Just a few more minutes." You thought to yourself, unable to open your eyes just yet. Slowly but surely you adjusted to the idea of waking up and opened your eyes. The off white canvas tent filtered the morning light beautifully. Glancing around yourself, looking for your favourite blouse and overdress, your gaze fell on the small dusty mirror in front of you, perched atop a trunk and supported by a stack of hardcover copies of romance novels.

In the mirror, yourself staring right back. You glanced at the intricately engraved brass pocket watch by the side of the bed. The watch itself was a birthday gift from Arthur a couple months back. The arms reaching toward four and twelve, it was way too early to get up and start one's day. Yet, here you were.

Softly humming to yourself you tied your hair up lazily with a ribbon, deciding to spend the hours of the morning organizing your safe haven. The gang had only recently arrived at the new spot, Horseshoe Overlook they called it. Far too east for Arthur's liking, but to you about anything sounded better than heading back up those cold mountains toward Colter. You were used to it at this point, the constant moving around. It was a way of life that held you tightly in its grip.

That being said, the new camp was still unorganized and there was sure to be work around that needed doing. This was a chance to have some private time, peace and quiet for yourself.

Sorting through the mementos and trinkets from throughout the years was quick, you wiped the dust off of the little mirror with the corner of your nightgown. Gathering up the few clothes you had laying around and neatly folding them up you realized the growing pile of fabric by the end of your bed was clothes and linen that needed washing, not something that should just be sorted back into the trunks right away. "I think it was Charles who mentioned there was a river just west of here?" Mumbling to yourself, you picked up the dirty clothes and put them in a basket, not bothering to dress up all the way. "Everyone will be asleep at this hour anyways, and if not, it'll be Miss Grimshaw awake. It's nothing that'll bother her too much." Pulling on your trusty leather boots you untied the strings holding the fabric flap door of your tent shut. A prompt walk to your horse, a beautiful paint mare, and you were off along with your basket of laundry. With the carelessness, soft hums and the skip on your step you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch you leave the camp. The observer finished smoking his cicarette, let his legs fall from the log they were resting on while chucking the cigarette butt over his shoulder, and rubbed his hands together. What on on God's green Earth were you up to this early in the morning, and barely dressed to boot?

The sound of a running stream reached your ears fast. Charles had of course been right, even a blind man would notice the Dakota River from this close by. Hopping off your horse and tying the reins to a nearby tree you swung the basket on your elbow and kicked the boots off your feet, walking straight into the cold running water. Oh how sweet the feeling was! In a low point of the river, a rock stood taller than the surface of the water, so you took a seat and began the chore.

"Eeeasy there boy" Micah huffed to Baylock, staying well hidden in the trees, observing you from afar. A smirk spread on his lips as he saw your boots and gun belt scattered on the riverbank, and you sitting on a rock in the middle of the water, with your back facing him. Dismounting with an agile leap, he slowly but surely started making his way toward you.

Completely lost in your activity and the sweet warm sunshine of the spring morning you were singing to yourself, getting ready to leave. Looking at the last blouse, and squeezing the extra water out of it a surprisingly strong wave hit the rock and splashed water all over you, soaking your thin white linen undergarments. "Fuck!" You stood up and turned around, screaming out loud.

"Mic- Mr.Bell! What the fuck are you doing?"

Keeping his eyes locked on your body, his smirk widened, his arms reaching out toward you. "Just call me Micah, and I could ask ya the same thing, sweetcheeks. Now come on here." He beckoned with his hands, but you refused.

"No, I don't think so, you can't just creep up on me like that Mr Bell. I could have dropped my laundry basket, or worse, fallen down and then drowned out of shock!"

You took a step back, lifting the now heavier basket full of wet clothes up to rest against your hipbone.

For every step you took back, Micah took one forward, and the man had both the advantage of longer legs and facing the direction he was going. It didn't take long for things to go south.

"I'm warning you Mr Bell, I'm going to tell Arthur about this, and you know he is not going to be happy!" You tried in vain.

"Hrmph. The cowpoke ain't got nothing to do with how I conduct my business with a lady such as yerself."

You were taken aback, "what did you just call me? You never- Ah!"

Slipping on a rock and falling back, you reached out to Micah for support, and closed your eyes in anticipation of the cold hard surface of the river. The sensation never came.

"Gotcha." Eyeing down at you was Micah, who effortlessly supported your almost naked body by your waist and left arm. "Now how about ya let me show you a good time as a thanks?" One of his eyebrows rising up and his face forming a seductive expression.

You, however, were too occupied to notice or care. "Micah you idiot! All of my clothes are fucking gone!"

And indeed, the river was decorated with the various pieces of clothing running merrily downstream, way too fast to catch up to.

"Well, ya won't be needin' any of those for th- Ow!" "Shut the fuck up and help me get dressed before anyone else notices!"

The ride to the camp was one of the worst you had ever experienced. For Micah, it was the opposite. A prideful smirk on his cocky face, throwing you the occasional remark about the curve of your waist and ass, and how good you looked in just his jacket as you rode, and making no attempts to be quiet and discreet as you arrived in camp. You tried your best to ignore him and get away from the situation as quickly as possible. Hopping off your horse, not even bothering to tie the rains to the hitchpost, you walked briskly toward your tent only to run straight into Sean.

"Oi, watch where ya- Y/N, wow, let me tell ya, could not see this one comin'!" A smirk instantly grew on his face, and he slapped a hand on Micah's jacket, on your shoulder.

"Sean it's NOT what it looks like, and don't you dare mention this to anyone either!" You whisper yelled while taking off the jacket, exposing your still wet and thus transparent garments. Sean blushed bright red, poor guy, and you stomped right in to your tent.

Not being able to face the rest of the day, the longer you stayed in your tent the more intimidating the prospect of leaving felt. Surely Sean had told everyone about what he saw, and you'd be mocked til eternity.

No, there was no way you'd ever leave that tent again.

A few hours later you were starving for a snack and stuck your head out to find the main area empty. Great! An opening. As soon as you stepped out, a voice rang: "Y/N!" You turned around, mouth open to start defending yourself, only to face a very noticeably beat-up looking Sean. "Listen, sorry about the earlier, I never saw nothing, alright?" You nodded in confusion and he smiled, thanked you quickly and scurried off. You got the food you were after, and returned to your tent to eat it. There, on your cot, rested a shirt and a dress, folded in a way which looked like a very bad attempt, with a piece of paper on top. There, in barely legible rough handwriting:

"The idiot won't bother ya about it. M"

You smiled to yourself, feeling the fabric of the clothes. Both of good quality fabrics, a white undershirt and a red simple dress. Just like the ones you usually wear every day.

Observing from a distance as you emerged from your tent in your red dress, Micah Bell smiled to himself as he sharpened his knife, softly murmuring to himself: "Gotcha ta call me by my name at least. That's a start."

note: Yay! My first ever piece of writing I've published online :) do suggest if you get any good ideas and like my writing style.

[elbertsbabygirl]

Title: Wounds of the heart

Nica X Y/n Reader

Note: Hello Robins I missed you all so much it's been A months since I started posting for Fanfiction story because of work I stopped posting for a while but I am here now to present on our new boy in our ikemen villians JP server I hope you enjoy our boy!! Love u all

A field hospital near the frontlines of the war between Germany and England. The sounds of distant gunfire and the occasional explosion can be heard outside, but within the tent, it’s quiet except for the soft rustling of bandages and the murmurs of the wounded.

Y/n is gently tending to the wounds of Nica Schwartz, a German soldier with a mix of pain and intrigue in his eyes. His face is marred by dirt and blood, but his gaze remains fixed on Y/n as she works.

Nica: (His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if testing the waters) "You’re far too kind for this place, Y/n. Someone like you shouldn’t be here, surrounded by all this death.

"Y/n: (She pauses, meeting his gaze with a mix of firmness and softness) "And what about you, Nica? You speak as if you’re any different. War has taken its toll on us all.

"Nica: (A ghost of a smile plays on his lips as he leans in slightly) "Perhaps. But I’ve never met someone like you. So gentle, yet strong. You make me forget, if only for a moment, that we’re on opposite sides of this madness."Y/n’s hands still for a brief second as she processes his words. She’s heard such lines before from soldiers trying to charm their way out of pain, but something about Nica’s tone is different—dangerously sincere.

Y/n: (A soft sigh escapes her as she resumes her work, her voice barely above a whisper) "This war… it’s not something we can forget, Nica. It’s always there, lurking in the background."

Nica: (His expression shifts, a flicker of something darker crossing his face before he softens again) "But what if, just for tonight, we pretended it wasn’t? Just for a few moments, Y/n… let’s be two people, not a nurse and a soldier. No England. No Germany. Just… us."

Y/n feels a tug at her heart, but she’s wary, knowing that Nica’s words could be just another game. Still, the way he looks at her, as if she’s the only thing keeping him tethered to humanity, stirs something deep within her.

Y/n: (She finishes bandaging his wound and meets his gaze, her voice tender yet firm) "You speak as if we have a choice, Nica. But we don’t. Not really. The war will always be there, between us."

Nica: (He reaches out, gently taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he speaks with a mix of sincerity and something more elusive) "Maybe. But I’ve never been one to follow the rules. And I think, deep down, neither are you."

Y/n’s heart skips a beat at his touch, and despite the alarm bells ringing in her mind, she doesn’t pull away. There’s something about Nica that draws her in, like a moth to a flame. She knows she should be cautious, but in this moment, all she feels is the warmth of his hand in hers.

Y/n: (Her voice is soft, almost hesitant) "Nica… I…

"Nica leans in closer, his voice a hushed whisper that sends shivers down Y/n’s spine.

Nica: "Just for tonight, Y/n. Let’s forget the world outside this tent. Let’s just be…

"The tension in the air is palpable as Y/n’s mind races. She knows she should step back, remind herself of the boundaries, but something in Nica’s eyes holds her there, teetering on the edge of something she can’t quite name.

Y/n: (She finally whispers, her voice barely audible) "Just for tonight…"

As the words leave her lips, Nica’s grip tightens slightly on her hand, a silent promise of something more, something dangerous yet alluring. And in that moment, as the world outside continues to burn, Y/n and Nica are just two souls seeking solace in each other’s presence, if only for a fleeting moment.

The night deepens, and the sounds of war outside become a distant hum. Inside the tent, the soft glow of a lantern casts flickering shadows on the canvas walls. Y/n and Nica sit close, their hands still entwined, the tension between them thickening with every passing second.

Nica: (He tilts his head slightly, his voice low and almost teasing) "Tell me, Y/n, have you ever thought about what you’d do when this is all over? When the war is just a memory?

Y/n: (She hesitates, her eyes searching his, trying to decipher his intentions) "I… I haven’t allowed myself to think that far ahead. It seems almost impossible to imagine a life beyond this."

Nica: (He leans closer, his breath warm against her skin as he speaks, his tone more serious now) "You should. A woman like you deserves to dream of something better. A life where you’re not surrounded by blood and pain."

Y/n feels a pang in her chest, a reminder of the harsh reality she’s living in. But Nica’s words, though seductive, are also tinged with a sadness that tugs at her heart.

Y/n: (She tries to pull back, to distance herself from the emotions swirling inside her, but Nica’s grip on her hand tightens, keeping her close) "And what about you, Nica? Do you dream of a life beyond the war?"

Nica: (His eyes darken slightly, a shadow passing over his face) "I used to. Before… everything. But now… my dreams feel as distant as the stars. Perhaps that’s why I find myself here, with you. You make me feel like there might still be something worth dreaming about."

Y/n’s breath catches in her throat at his words. She knows she should be wary, that Nica’s intentions might not be as pure as they seem. But there’s something in his voice, a vulnerability that she can’t ignore.

Y/n: (Her voice is soft, almost pleading) "Nica… I don’t know if I can trust you. We’re on opposite sides of this war. How can we even think about… anything beyond this moment?"

Nica: (He leans in, his forehead almost touching hers, his voice a hushed whisper filled with an intensity that sends shivers down her spine) "Trust is a fragile thing, Y/n. But I’m willing to take the risk, if you are. Let’s leave the war outside this tent. Just for tonight, let’s pretend…"

Y/n closes her eyes, feeling the warmth of Nica’s presence, the steady beat of his heart through his chest. She knows this is dangerous, that she’s treading on thin ice. But the way he looks at her, with a mix of desperation and hope, makes her want to believe in the possibility of something more.

Y/n: (Her voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mix of fear and longing) "What are we doing, Nica?"

Nica: (He gently cups her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he looks deeply into her eyes, his voice soft and sincere) "We’re holding onto the only thing that feels real in this madness. Each other."

For a moment, everything else fades away—the war, the pain, the uncertainty. All that exists is the two of them, caught in a moment of shared vulnerability and the flickering hope of something beyond the horrors of war.

Y/n’s heart races, her emotions a tangled mess of fear, desire, and the yearning for something more than the life she’s known. And in that moment, she makes a decision—a small, quiet one, but one that will change everything.

Y/n: (Her voice trembles slightly as she speaks, her heart in her words) "Just for tonight, Nica… let’s pretend."

Nica’s eyes soften, a rare, genuine smile curving his lips as he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. The gesture is tender, almost reverent, and it makes Y/n’s heart ache with the realization of how much she’s come to care for this enigmatic, dangerous man.

Nica: (His voice is a whisper against her skin) "Just for tonight."

And as the night stretches on, Y/n allows herself to fall into the fantasy, if only for a few fleeting hours, knowing that when the dawn breaks, they will both have to face the harsh realities of the world outside. But for now, in the safety of the tent, they have each other—and for tonight, that is enough.

LOVE MAKING SCENE!! ( MINORS DON'T INTERACT SKIP THIS!!)

The night has grown quieter, with the distant sounds of the war almost completely muffled. Inside the tent, the lantern's soft glow bathes Y/n and Nica in a warm, golden light. They sit close together, their hands still entwined, hearts beating in sync as the tension between them reaches its peak.Y/n can feel the weight of Nica’s gaze on her, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions—desire, tenderness, and something deeper, something that she’s been trying to ignore but can no longer deny.

Nica: (His voice is low, filled with an emotion he’s no longer trying to hide) "Y/n… I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re… everything I never knew I needed."

His words send a shiver down Y/n’s spine. She knows she should be cautious, that she’s walking a dangerous path, but she can’t stop the way her heart leaps at his confession. Her breath hitches as Nica’s hand gently cups her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek with a tenderness that makes her chest tighten.

Y/n: (Her voice is barely a whisper, filled with both fear and longing) "Nica… this is crazy. We shouldn’t…"

Nica: (He leans in closer, his forehead resting against hers as he speaks softly, his breath warm against her lips) "I know. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to think about what we should or shouldn’t do. I just want to be here, with you."

Y/n’s heart races, her resolve crumbling as she feels the warmth of Nica’s touch, the sincerity in his voice. She’s tried to resist, to keep her emotions in check, but in this moment, with the world outside forgotten, all she can think about is him.Slowly, almost hesitantly, Nica closes the small gap between them. His lips hover over hers for a brief, agonizing second, giving Y/n a moment to pull away, to stop this before it goes any further. But instead, she finds herself leaning in, closing the distance, her eyes fluttering shut as their lips finally meet.The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if both are afraid to fully give in. But as the seconds pass, the tension and longing that have been building between them finally break free. Nica’s hand slides to the back of Y/n’s neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss with a desperation that matches the pounding of his heart.Y/n melts into him, her hands slipping up to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his uniform as she loses herself in the kiss. All the fear, the doubts, the war—all of it fades away, leaving only the two of them, connected in a moment of pure, unfiltered emotion.Nica’s kiss is filled with a passion that takes Y/n’s breath away, his lips moving against hers with an intensity that leaves her dizzy. She can feel the depth of his emotions in every movement, every touch—this is not just a kiss; it’s a confession, a plea, a promise.Y/n’s heart swells with emotions she can no longer deny. She’s falling, and she knows it, but she can’t bring herself to stop. Not now. Not when Nica is holding her like she’s the only thing keeping him grounded, like she’s his last link to humanity in a world gone mad.As the kiss deepens, Nica pulls her even closer, his other hand wrapping around her waist, holding her as if he’s afraid she might disappear. Y/n responds in kind, her own arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him in as if trying to fuse them together, to make this moment last forever.

Time seems to stand still as they pour everything they’ve been feeling into the kiss—every fear, every hope, every longing they’ve kept hidden. It’s as if the world outside has ceased to exist, and all that matters is the two of them, lost in each other.Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, they slowly pull back, their foreheads still pressed together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Y/n’s heart is pounding, her lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss, but she doesn’t pull away. Neither does Nica.

Nica: (His voice is hoarse, filled with raw emotion as he speaks, his lips brushing against hers as he does) "Y/n…"

Y/n doesn’t let him finish. Instead, she closes the distance again, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that’s just as desperate, just as full of love as the first. She’s no longer thinking, no longer worrying about the consequences. All she knows is that she needs this—needs him.They kiss again and again, each one more passionate than the last, as if trying to make up for all the time they’ve spent denying their feelings. Y/n can feel the love in every touch, every caress, and she knows, deep down, that this moment is real. This love is real.When they finally break apart again, both are breathless, their hearts racing, but neither pulls away. Nica rests his forehead against hers, his breath warm and uneven as he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nica: "I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, Y/n. But right now, I know that I love you."

Y/n’s eyes well up with tears at his words, and she can’t help but smile through them. She’s scared—terrified, even—but in this moment, she knows she feels the same.

Y/n: (Her voice is soft, filled with all the love she’s been holding back) "I love you too, Nica. I think… I always have."

And with that, they kiss again, sealing their confessions with the kind of love that can only be born in the midst of chaos. For tonight, at least, they have each other—and that’s all they need.

With that, they settle back into each other’s arms, holding on tightly as if afraid to let go. The night continues to stretch on, but for Y/n and Nica, time has lost its meaning. All that matters now is their love and the promise they’ve made to each other.As they drift off to sleep, their fingers still intertwined, the outside world fades away, leaving only the two of them—two souls bound together by love, determined to fight for their future, no matter the cost.

I hope you guys enjoyed This I love you guys so much and I promise to make it up to you all to post more fanfics🥰

Taglist: @lilaccosmic @sh0jun @natimiles @judejazza @candiedcoffeedrops

[margowritesthings]

Ghosts and Smoke

*i wrote this with this song in mind, so please feel free to listen for extra vibes!*

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 2791

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE END OF RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2, angst, death, smoking, suggested post-sex scene

a/n: y'all i am GONE. it killed me. the end of red dead killed me and all i've done since is cry and write this damn angst. i'm sorry, but i'm also not. hope you enjoy!! also, thank you for all the love on my latest piece! im so glad youre as into this silly cowboy man as much as i am rn.

It was so quiet. You were used to the quiet lately, going it alone, but not here. Not Shady Belle, which was always full of laughter and fire and swearing and gunshots. The leaves rustled and your broken heart beat every so often but other than that, there was nothing. No laughter, no fire, nothing. You’d hitched your horse about a mile away, careful to keep her hidden well, so you were well and truly alone here. 

You looked up at the house, still somehow standing tall amongst the ghosts and smoke and tried your best to take a deep breath. It was about 30 paces away from you, past the campfire, your old tent and the fountain. A twig snapped under your boot as you took the first step, fingernails digging little moons into the palm of your hand. You could do this. Just past the campfire and you’d be halfway there.

═══════☆═══════

“What’re you always lookin’ at when I do this, huh?” Arthur asked, meeting your eye and wearing that amused smirk that suited him so well, sending your heart fluttering each and every time. 

That awful feeling people only get when they realise the other knows you’ve been watching them churned your stomach for a second. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised you were staring. 

“Nothin’. I just… my daddy used to smoke those things. He always tried to teach me to roll them for him and I never could. You seem so good at it.”

Sat around the fire with some of the camp, Arthur had been rolling some tobacco into a cigarette. You always found yourself watching him, finding the way his fingers expertly knew what they were doing somewhat hypnotising. And then there was that moment his tongue darted out from his teeth to lick the paper, which was… a sight to behold, to say the least. 

“I’ve got years of experience… I can teach ya sometime, if you’d like.” 

The opportunity to spend more time with Arthur dangled in front of you, shining like a medal. You reached out and grabbed it, nodding at him eagerly, “I’ll warn ya, my daddy tried real hard. I’m a difficult student.” 

Arthur’s head tilted, a cocky grin dominating his features beautifully before he pulled the masterfully rolled cigarette to his lips and licked down the length of the paper. You tried to remain composed while the air was stolen by an outlaw straight from your lungs. 

“I guess I’ll just have t’work you real hard then, won’t I?”

═══════☆═══════

The camp always smelled like smoke, so the fresh air felt wrong as you stepped past the plot that was formerly the fire you’d spent so many nights beside. The logs and stumps repurposed into chairs still sat around the burnt blackened circle, waiting for people who would never again be together. 

You kept walking, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Your old tent caught your eye, at least what was left of it, singed and ripped canvas still hanging pathetically, tangled in a branch. In and amongst the ruins of your former home, your eye is caught by a piece of metal catching the dappled sunlight above. Kneeling down briefly, you pushed damp soil and leaves out of the way to reveal a metal cup trodden into the ground. For a silly little cup, it hurt far too much.

═══════☆═══════

“God damn it!” You swore, watching the tobacco scatter across your legs. Arthur chuckled, low and throaty, leaning against the tree your tent was hung around and taking a long, leisurely sip of coffee out of his cup. Gathering the tiny leaves back together on your skirts, you scowled at Arthur before starting to load the paper back up again.

“You gotta loosen up. Your fingers are too stiff.” He advised, watching his student intently. Easier said than done, really, hunched over a lantern in a tent, but you didn’t want to sound like you were making excuses. 

“Right, yeah... Got it.” You mumbled, your tongue poking out between your teeth, a sure sign of absolute concentration. It was all in vain, though, as the paper crumpled at a funny angle and sent tobacco flying once more onto your person. 

“Shit!” You hissed, flexing out your hands in a futile attempt to 

“Alright, easy now…” he cooed, earning another glare when you realised you recognised the phrase and tone of voice from when a snake spooked Arthur’s horse.

“I give up. This is hopeless.” You tried to reach up to hand him the paper to roll his own damn cigarette and he stepped forwards towards you. Expecting him to take it, you were surprised when he instead handed you his mug and sat down right up next to you. You hadn’t been this close since he first rode you into camp and you felt so small flushed against his broad shoulders like this. 

“Hold that, warm your hands up and I’ll show you again.” You obeyed your orders, doing just as Arthur said as he rubbed his own hands together, occasionally blowing into them. Without another word, he covered your hands, sandwiching them in between calloused palms and heated metal. The unexpected contact knocks you pretty hard, but you somehow manage to find the composure to mutter a thank you and hope you weren’t blushing too hard. 

You looked up to Arthur, only to find he was already looking at you. When your eyes met properly, it felt as though someone had just lit a fire right beside you. The air felt… heavier? No, lighter. Both? You didn’t know and couldn’t quite seem to figure it out, feeling the fuzziness of 4 whiskies that you hadn’t actually drank.

All from the touch of a hand?

The moment was weighted now, and you both knew it. The quiet between you twisted and grew and almost became palpable, but you physically couldn’t talk, not knowing if any actual words would leave or lips or some incoherent murmurings.

“Here. Let me show you.” Arthur took his hands away and the lack of contact had you almost… pouting? You didn’t have time to examine why you were so disappointed, though, as Arthur sat behind you, his chest right up against your back. His legs pressed against the outside of you and you were worried that he was close enough to hear your heart, beating right out of your chest. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Y’have t’make sure you get it nice and tight, so the bottom doesn’t fall out…” His arms wrapped around yours and his hands cupped yours again. The contrast was stark, his tanned, hardened skin making your hands look even tinier. You couldn’t breathe, wedged between the smell of dried tobacco and coffee on one side and smoked tobacco and Arthur on the other. Your fingers so naturally followed what he was doing, and before you could even register it, you had a perfectly rolled cigarette in your hands.

“Oh shit! I did it!” You twisted slightly, only to see the excited grin on Arthur’s face as he watched you squeal proudly. He took the roll from you, placing it right between your teeth and pulling out a match. A questioning brow raised as he lit a match, suspending it in front of the cigarette until you nodded your permission and he lit it. You coughed. He laughed, chest still pressed firmly against your back.

“I’m real proud of you. Now y’gotta learn to smoke the damn things.”

═══════☆═══════

You left your first tent for the last time, vowing to never look back. Wet leaves clung to your boots, dragging across the floor past the crumbling fountain and some other tents being reclaimed by nature, muddy and covered in ivy. The final path up to the house was so familiar after so many hours watching it, waiting for your beloved to return from a job, wringing your hands with worry. The porch creaked as you stepped on it, the site of so many tear-filled reunions. The door was no longer on its hinges and fell with a bang at your touch, echoing out into the forest and sending the wildlife running. 

You were home. For the last time.

═══════☆═══════

“I’ve got a surprise for you-uuu.” you sang out, hands held behind your back as Arthur stepped the threshold into the abandoned manor. He looked tired, but still managed a sleepy smile as you reached up to kiss him on the cheek. He caught the kiss, snaking a hand around your waist and pulling you closer for a more tender moment. You hadn’t seen each other in 3 days, Arthur off near Strawberry following a lead, so being back encased in his arms felt like home had come back to you.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, gentle smile tugging on his lip, “A surprise? For me? Y’shouldn’t have, darlin’.” The humbleness that appeared whenever you tried to do something nice for Arthur reared its adorable head and you shook your head, one hand still pinned to your back, clutching your gift. 

“Close your eyes!”

“Alright, alright…” Arthur chuckled, holding his hands up in a mock surrender as he closed his eyes. You waved at him a few times, just to be sure, before pulling a single, wonky cigarette out from behind you and tapping Arhur on the chest.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. Nonetheless, his face lit up with pride as he realised what exactly it was that he was looking at.

“You did it?”“I did it!”

“Yes!” He was so excited for you, more so than you’d ever seen him and your heart swelled. This big, scary cowboy, pulling you into a hug and spinning you around because you finally managed to roll something smokeable.

“I’m so proud of you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and never told you that it fell apart before he had the chance to light the damn thing.

═══════☆═══════

The stairs groaned under your weight miserably, each step feeling more and more likely to collapse. It always was the loudest staircase you’d ever heard, impossibly difficult to sneak around on when trying not to let a whole camp know that you and Arthur were both going upstairs. Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you knew if you started now you’d never make it upstairs. You couldn’t break, because there was nobody left to put you back together.

Every step required a more laboured breath, splinters half-heartedly brushing your fingertips as you traced them over the rotting bannister. You were alone, but the ghosts ran up and down around you, laughing and teasing and smiling and kissing and loving and taunting just how alone you really were. 

A few more strides and you were there. His door was closed and for some reason that made it all that harder to breach the barrier and enter Arthur’s room. A shaky hand reached for the handle, twisting agonisingly slowly and pushing through.

Arthur always, always stole the breath from you, but it was always in the best way. Not like this, not how winded you felt seeing the empty, abandoned room. It was never exactly a palace, Arthur being the first to admit to that, but whenever you used to be there it had this… energy woven into the air. You realized, standing there in that moment, that it wasn’t the place at all. The place was… just that. A place, dying where it stood, rotting and filled with ghosts. The air was clean, but it couldn’t fill your lungs. You needed the fire, built by your soulmate, keeping you warm every night. You needed the cigarette smoke he breathed, tickling your lungs and coating his lip. But it was gone, stamped out and extinguished by God’s great plan. It hurt so much that you laughed, just once, harsh and loud, before your back fell into the wall of Arthur’s bedroom and you slid downwards, your legs finally giving in. Your lungs burned for the cry that just wouldn’t come as you pulled your languid legs towards your chest. 

You hugged your legs close for a second, before the exhaustion reached your arms and they dropped to your sides. One hand hit the damp wooden floorboard, where the other hit something much colder, the ring on your finger clanging against it loudly. The sudden break of agonising silence shocked you for a second, instinct and past trauma screaming at you that you were in a shootout, but you managed to calm down quickly as soon as you figured out the cause of such a volume. 

The floor fell out from under you. Not physically, though you wouldn’t have been surprised, but everything around you seemed to fall when you laid your eyes on the little metal box beside you, rust embellishing the corners and hinges.

Arthur’s tin.

═══════☆═══════

You felt the rise and fall of Arthur’s bare chest, your head resting on it as you tried to gain control of your own breath. The blood was still rushing in your ears as you came back down from the intense high what you’d just experienced with Arthur gave you. Limbs jelly, vision fuzzy, you pressed a lazy kiss to his skin. The fingers mindlessly running through your hair stopped, Arthur in a momentary contemplation that resulted in him reaching over and grabbing a cigarette from the table beside his bed.

“Pass the matches over will ya’, sweetheart? They’re in with my tobacco.” 

You nodded, rolling over to your other side to reach over to your side of the bed, where Arthur’s stash tin sat. While Arthur waited, cigarette hanging limply from the side of his lip, you opened the tin and froze. There was the usual hit of the strong scent of tobacco, the little box of matches, and papers, but those were to be expected. What you didn’t expect to see was a charcoal sketch stuffed in there, staring back at you. It was a remarkable likeness, though you were sure you’d never looked as beautiful as how Arthur had drawn you, laughing in a way that lit up your whole face. The emotion was all too much, sitting in your throat and filling your eyes with wet tears.

“Y’alright? Are they in there?” A concerned voice asked, forcing you to swallow the overwhelming happiness for a moment or two, nodding, handing Arthur the matches and closing the tin. You nuzzled back into his chest, swirling a finger around the little hairs that trailed down his abs.

“I love you, you know that?”“I know. I love you too.”

═══════☆═══════

The tin was so cold in your hands, that cold that you could feel it through your shirt as you held it close to your chest, so hard it was though you were willing more into existence than was there anymore, as if Arthur himself was in there. One last deep breath to find the courage and the tin popped open. The smell of tobacco hit your nostrils and infiltrated your lungs and it hurt. The scent was so undeniably Arthur that it felt so wrong that he wasn’t there with it. He was gone, you knew that, but there was some hope in you that you’d find him hiding in the smoke, just like he always was. 

Clumps of leaves were a little damp in your fingers, attacked by the elements, but you managed to gather enough dry bits and pull out one of the papers. It was cold, but your hands didn’t seem to notice. You had to do this, there was nothing else left. No leads, no job, no Arthur. Just you, alone in an empty room in a lonely house.

Your nimble fingers worked slowly, savouring the ritual of sprinkling in the grind, rolling it up and sealing it, just as he taught you.

That’s it. You got it, sweetheart.

Take your time.

You pictured him, arms closing you in as he guided the paper over with you. 

Just one step at a time.

Soon enough, there was a cigarette wedged between your fingers. 

See? Look at you.

The first few matches were duds, ruined by the water, but eventually you got one lit. You remembered Arthur, cupping his hands over the match as he lit to protect the flame from the weather. You did the same, not trusting the hole where a window once stood proud. 

The tip lit and you breathed in. You coughed. You cried.

The last cigarette of Arthur Morgan. 

You got this, darlin’.

You inhaled smoke. You exhaled ghosts, swirling and wisping around you, caressing your cheek just like he did.

I’m so proud of you.

[forestduck]

[wulfnerd]

Camping in Style, sterek, g, 100w ◌ Derek takes Stiles camping. [ao3] For @sterekdrabbles, 04 Sep (sweater, canvas, linen)

When Derek suggested camping, Stiles half-expected sleeping bags in the middle of a clearing.

It’s why he hesitated so long.

Instead, they’re staying inside a large canvas bell tent. There’s an air mattress with soft linen sheets, plenty of pillows, hanging string lights, and a space heater. If he knew Derek meant glamping, he would’ve said yes immediately. All the fresh air Derek’s werewolf heart desires without sacrificing comfort.  

His mate wakes him after the first night, looking relaxed in a soft sweater and carrying coffee—Stiles could get used to this.

There’ll definitely be more camping in the future.

Glamping - Glamping is a portmanteau of "glamorous" and "camping", and describes a style of camping with amenities and, in some cases, resort-style services not usually associated with "traditional" camping.

[indiantent20]

Multipurpose canvas bell tents for shelter - A Home Away From Home

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[yeehawtarnation]

The Van Der Linde Gang, crowded around the campfire at Horseshoe overlook, the night is young but darkness has settled over their New Hanover spot. The Dakota river drifts along in the distance under the shadow of Mt Shann.

Hosea Matthews is sitting under a canvas canopy, overhanging the campfire, while Javier Escuella sits plucking away at his guitar.

John Marston, Charles Smith and Uncle are all laughing at Hosea's story, who smiles with the satisfaction of a story well told. Arthur Morgan has been sitting listening and smiling quietly as he enjoys the presence of this gang. His family.

But as always he can smell a snake a hundred yards off, and sure as shit Micah Bell came sauntering into the group, Arthur spits on the ground as Micah approaches and they lock eyes.

Micah: Easy cowpoke.

Arthur: Shut the hell up.

Hosea: Come and eh, sit by the fire. I was just telling the boys 'bout the bank job we hit back in '81 outside of the Arizona territory.

Micah: Oh yeah, I'm sure everyone laughed, just like they always do when you tell that same damned story every couple of days.

Micah: Oooh hahahah easy cowpoke I'm just joking.

Charles: That's not fair, Micah, some of us hadn't heard it before .

Micah: Oh I'm sure you were just too far down the bottle like always last few times ya heard it.

Arthur: I already told you to shut the hell up Micah, now sit down before I break your legs.

Hosea: Now let's just settle down and you know...

Hosea glances at Uncle who raised a bottle of Guarma Rum and chases it with a wink.

Hosea: ... Come to think of it I got one y'all hadn't heard yet.

Micah: Regail us, then, old timer, I'm tired of hearing the same old same old same old.

Hosea adjusts himself and looks to Charles and Uncle and then to Javier.

Hosea: You boys ever hear of, eh, reincarnation?

John: wassat?

Arthur: I think I found some flowers called that over near Roanoke Ridge.

Hosea: No not Carnations. Reincarnation. Then you come around again don't you know?

Silence around the group but for a solitary cough from Arthur.

Hosea: Well alright, I heard this from a man named Wally McRae up in Montana. Goes like this:

Hosea raises his hands in a show of mystery, from his tent Dutch Van Der Linde chuckles and pulls from his cigar.

Hosea: What is reincarnation the cowpoke asked his friend. His pal replied, it happens when your life has reached its end.

Hosea rests his hands on his knees.

Hosea: they comb your hair and wash her neck and clean your fingernails and lay you in a padded box. Away from life's travails. This box and you in goes in a hole that's been dug in the ground. Reincarnation starts in once your planted 'neath the mound.

Then clods melt down around your box, and you who's inside and then you're just beginning on your transformation ride. In a while some grass will grow up on your rendered mound. Till one day on your lonely grave a single flower is found.

John: So it is a flower!

Javier and Micah laugh at John and Hosea, but Javier stops at a glance from Arthur.

Charles: Come on let him finish.

Hosea: Thank you Charles. Where was I... Oh.

Then say a horse should wander by and graze upon this flower. That once was you but now it's become your vegetative bower. Now the posy that this horse ate up, along with the rest of his feed makes up bone and fat and muscle, essential to the steed.

But

Some is left! That he can't use. And so it passes through. And finally lays upon the ground

This thing that once was you.

Hosea: Then, say by chance I wanders by, I finds this object on the ground. I ponders and I wonders at this thing that I have found.

The rest of the boys and girls of the Van Der Linde Gang are now standing around listening to Hosea's take, enraptured by the new story they'd never heard.

I thinks of reincarnation

Of life and death and such

And come away concluding:

MICAH! YOU AINT CHANGED ALL THE MUCH!!

For a moment there is silence until everyone catches on, Arthur is the first to laugh, until the whole gang is howling at Hosea's joke at Micah's expense. Micah huffily stands up and tries to comeback but anything he says is drowned by the rest of the gang's laughter. Micah stalks away to his tent as Arthur laughs and watches a buck at the edge of camp dash off into the night.

[whitherwanderer]

19 // weal

Fall and rise, fall and rise.

There was a time she was quicker to get back on her feet, but now each time she had to push herself up again, it took more from her than the last. A weight she couldn’t shake off as her mistakes clung to her.

Should and shouldn’t’ves made terrible company and yet it was all she could find to keep these days, staring her down through the eyes of people that she’d kept at an arm’s length for fear of what they’d see if they got too close. How terribly lonely it is, knowing her every step, her every move, is a bad idea. Even when she means the best.

Penance is meaningless where there’s no one to witness, and so the bells spent staring at the tented canvas are rewarded only by comments about how long it takes for her to rise in the morning. Didn’t matter how sick she was with blackened thoughts—needling reminders of all the missteps and wasted opportunities—it all came back up as the same bile.

Fall and rise. Like it was that easy. Just be a little more open. Just drink a little less. Just accept the crushing waves of unavoidable truth. That’s what a stronger woman would do. As if she hadn’t spent the better part of her life slipping through the gauntlet, skirting by on luck and crowning herself as clever for it. She wasn’t a strong woman, and even pretending to be was a bit beyond her skill.

Obstinacy, then, was accessible, and she’d made that her fortress for many years, using the bricks to wall herself in instead of laying them to find her way out. And now that the fort was in ruins, there was a choice: rebuild or pave some new road with the debris.

It made her ill just thinking about the gamble, and yet here she was—grin on her face, dice in hand.

[unidentifiedly]

And many eventful nights to come

Micah Bell x reader

- In which Micah saves you from a "dangerous" situation. The man is smitten. Continuation to Eventful Morning.

Around a week later it was apparent Sean had kept his word. No one seemed to know or whisper about something having happened between you and Micah, and that was for the best. Arthur and John were still calling him names, Javier and Dutch were pretty much indifferent to him. Sean didn't tease him at all, but honestly you doubted anyone noticed, since he was being his old annoying self otherwise.

The day was set to be an exciting one. You and the girls were going to go shopping for new clothes, since a traveling salesman was visiting Valentine, the nearby town.

Atop your trunk near the mirror was your trinket box, in which you also stored some of the money you earned and had put in for safekeeping. This, you decided, was a good occasion to spend some of that money. You needed to buy at least two blouses and an overdress.

"Maybe it wasn't so bad what happened with Mr. Bell at the river after all." You caught yourself mid thought and almost slammed the trinket box shut, the metallic lock clicking shut with a bit too much force.

The feeling of wet fabric sticking to your cold skin, goosebumps traveling down your arms to your sides and onward to your legs. The early morning sun, and his arms...-

his arms holding you up from falling, his eyes all over your body.

"Why is my heart beating so hard?"

Shaking you away from the memory was Tilly calling for your name.

"Come on Y/N! Don't wanna be there too late, all them pretty dresses are going to be gone before we ever even see them!"

You stuffed the dollars to your pouch you carried with you, glancing at your gunbelt on the cot, taking a second to think.

"Whatever, there'll be many of us going', doubt i'll need that." Stomping out of the tent you made your way through the camp, past the fire pit and common area and grabbed Karen's outstretched hand, helping yourself onto the carriage.

Green fields upon green fields, a country road, not a cloud in the sky. The vast wide landscape shaping into mountains in the horizon, a couple of lush thickets here and there. Oh how you loved spring.

Upon arriving in Valentine you jumped down first, your bootheels sinking into the trampled upon mud. You corrected the hem of your red corduroy dress, helping Tilly and Karen down to the ground. Arthur and John who had been driving the carriage walked over, and bid their adieus after you all agreed to meet back at the same spot after an hour. You and the girls headed straight down the main street toward the vendor, who had set up shop on the vacant spot close to the sheriff's office.

Building after building were equipped with porches on stilts, to stop some of the mud from entering the interior perhaps, you thought. A couple of men passed out drunk by the saloon, and old woman smoking in front of the convenience store. On the opposite side of the street a motel, nice enough, and in front of it a gang of younger looking men.

You smiled to yourself, as one of them shot a look toward Karen. Always the looker.

With a skip in your step you took both the girls by their arms, smiling and laughing together.

Lifting the canvas to get into this tent was not necessary. The vendor had set up an open tent with tables filled with blouses, dresses, trousers and shoes of all different kinds. The vendor himself a lean dark skinned man with a thin moustache.

"Welcome, welcome, my ladies. What could I help you with today? A new dress, perhaps an embroidered blouse? The catalogue is large."

After deciding on some items, a red fabric caught your attention. Hidden beneath other clothes, you gently moved them away to uncover a bright vermilion blouse. Made from sturdy cotton and with patch-reinforced elbows, the shirt was undoubtedly of high quality. "How much for this one?" You asked, turning toward the shopkeeper.

"For you my dear, I will give a discount!" Pressing his hands together, closing his eyes: "Thirty and five dollars."

"Oh, I see, a bit too much then." You squeezed your hand around the pouch in your pocket, only containing a five dollar bill after splurging on the two blouses, overdress and new trousers you held on your other arm.

"Here." A grunt from behind you, and a man's arm placed bank notes and coins on the shopkeeper's outstretched hand. Looking pleased, the vendor offered the shirt, your eyes following the red of the fabric only to meet up with more red.

"Mr. Bell, please!" You huffed. "You have to stop scaring me like this!" Your complaints met with a smirk and a wink from under the rim of his dirty cowboy hat.

All of a sudden, a bang rang out, and women started screaming. Your eyes searched for the source of the scream, hands feeling for your trusty revolver, only to be met with air. "Fuck," you cursed after remembering you had decided to leave it in the camp.

"Eek!" A strong arm pulled you close and lifted you up on horseback. Micah stepped up on his horse's saddle, already swinging the reins for speed. "Hold on darlin'!" "You don't have to tell me twice!" Your arms hugging him tightly to keep yourself on Baylock. You caught a glimpse of Arthur tackling a guy to the ground while John was helping Karen up.

"Micah! We have to go help them!" Not turning around he slowed down until Baylock maintained a steady gait. Bringing the speed to a stop he jumped off, holding a hand out to you. You ascended as gracefully as one could, not taking his hand.

"Respectfully, Mic- Mr. Bell, you cannot keep doing this. Creeping up on me and causing me heart palpitations and awkward situations!"You huffed, red cheeked and arms crossed under your chest.

"Ya seem to like it, though, judging by the blush on yor cheeks."

"I- I don't know!" You blurted.

"Let me take ya out darlin'." Seeing your the doubting look in your eyes, he continued: "Nothin' weird, I swear."

Was this too good to be true? Sure, his methods of getting your attention were unorthodox but he wasn't exactly the most normal guy in the world. Glancing up at his eyes, shifting your weight to your right leg, you answered.

"Sure, Mr. Bell. Why not."

The seconds of uneasiness in his eyes turned into a few seconds of joy, and quickly back into his usual cocky self.

"Ya ain't gonna regret it. Quit the Mr. Bell bullshit though, call me Micah."

You nodded, and he motioned for you to get back onto the horse. You climbed up, yelping in the process after a palm made it's way firmly onto your rear, slapping and squeezing it. "Micah!"

"Ya like it, girl, quit yappin'."

Your arrival to the camp wasn't the quietest. Arthur yelling at Micah to swear he hadn't corrupted you, the girls calling him a dirty old man, and you just walking to your tent, giving Micah a joking smile and a wink from the doorway. His eyes looking past everyone questioning him and his motives, a sneaky smile spreading across his lips, a plan forming in his head.

Now there was a goal. He stuffed the new red shirt into his jacket and pushed past the people. He sat next to the fire and put his legs up, lighting a cigarette, angling himself so that he had a clear view of your tent.

And with everybody else gone to sleep, he downed the rest of his beer, saluting himself. "For an eventful night, and for many eventful nights to come." He got up, heading toward that tent with the light on with his signature smirk on his face.