7s3ven · 9 months ago
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ATHENA'S GIRL. luke (pjo) - pt. 1
trailer > part 1 > part 2 > part 3
( masterlist )
IN WHICH... Luke's second quest isn't exactly a heroic one but he doesn't have the power to reject it. Who knew it would lead him to a prestigious high school where his hardest mission would be trying to befriend a snappy demigod.
"Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you. I see you changing from how I've designed you. Have you forgotten your purpose?"
Warnings : modern au but camp still exists, Luke doesn’t betray
A/N : I signed up with a blogging side job and they asked if I had any previous blog experience. I said no because I wasn’t about to admit that I run a one shot blog acc on Tumblr 😭
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“What is wrong with you?!"
Heads turned to look at the H/C-haired girl who had shouted in a voice too loud to be inside a library. She was standing up, having shoved her chair back moments before. She clenched her hands into fists.
"Do you find joy in torturing me with your obnoxious presence? Is that it?!" She exclaimed at the brunette standing in front of her. She angrily grabbed her pile of books, messily shoving them into her bag. "Honestly!" She let out another groan as she loudly stormed past the doors.
"Well, that went smoothly, Luke." Chris, who had been watching the scene behind an upside down book, said.
The brunette boy with curled hair sighed, glaring at his friend, Chris. "I'm only trying to protect her. I don't know why she's so bitchy." Luke scowled. "I don't get why our quest was to protect some girl."
"Chiron said she doesn't have a satyr guide." Chris retorted, "That's why we're here."
Luke scoffed. "I can't even peacefully talk to her, let alone peacefully talk to her. She'll never come with us to camp." He swiftly threw his hands up in surrender.
"It's either that or the monsters. And if she doesn’t come with us, we fail.”
Luke stiffened at the mention of failing a quest. He knew all too well what that felt like. The jagged scar gruesomely painted across his face was proof of that.
“Just… befriend her.” Chris said as Luke stood up, ready to walk out of the library.
“Easier said than done. She hates me, Chris. And she hates you for being friends with me. So if neither of us can befriend her, how are you going to tell her about camp? It’s not like her dad will. He abandoned her for gods sake!”
Y/N, to put it simply, was an orphan. Her dad left her on the steps of a random house after her mother, whichever god she was, disappeared.
“Okay. Uh, what do we have in common with her then? And why does she hate you? I never understood that.” Chris questioned, desperate to think of ways to connect with Y/N before the monsters sensed her.
“I… made her get an F on her science project because I accidentally ruined it.” Luke sheepishly smiled.
“… You deserve all the insults from her then. But to answer my own question, we’re all demigods. That’s the most we have in common. I told you we should’ve taken Annabeth.” Chris uttered, gesturing to their surroundings.
“She’s a young kid." Luke retorted, "This is a high school. People will know something is wrong.”
“Or they’ll think she’s a child genius which, for the record, she is.”
Luke wasn’t sure how to feel about this quest. His first one had ended in absolute disaster so he was lucky to even be chosen for a second. But was a fire-breathing dragon worse than a high school girl who, if she needed to or even just felt like it, would stab you? Luke would take the dragon again because at least it didn’t spew out every insult known to man.
“I gotta get to this after school meeting.” Chris piped up, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Some kids forced me to join. Find her and talk to her. Who knows, maybe you’ll get along. Eventually.”
Luke rolled his eyes as his friend jogged off to who knows where. Finding Y/N wouldn’t be hard. As creepy as it sounded, he had been watching Y/N for moments just like this.
He quietly whistled under his breath as he walked to the cafe across the road, immediately spotting Y/N in her usual seat beside the large window. She was, to no one’s surprise, reading a book.
Luke pushed open the door, the bell attached to it chiming softly. He made an instant beeline for Y/N. “Why so many books?” He blurted out, raising an eyebrow at the amount of novels strewn over the table.
Y/N lifted her head, frowning at the sight of him. “These are my cafe books.” She said, looking down at her book once more. Luke slid into the seat across from her.
“You need four cafe books? Why four?”
“Well, I need a novel and a biography book.”
“You’re reading Fyodor Dostoevsky as a novel? That’s your definition of light reading?” Luke picked up the book, almost laughing. “And some of it is in Russian. You know Russian?”
“Somewhat. I’m learning it so I can read Dostoevsky in the original.”
“And the Edgar Allen Poe?”
“Short stories. And Norman Mailer is a great essay writer so I wanted to check him out too.”
Luke huffed, “Jeez, writer. Reading Dostoevsky, learning Russian, reading all of these books. You’re crazy.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes as she stared at him with her heavy gaze. “Why do you call me that? Writer? Are you making fun of me?”
“Why would I need to do that? I call you writer because you want to be a journalist, right?” Luke leaned back in his seat, “I’ve read some of your essays, by the way. Don’t get mad at me. They were great. You really seemed to like the Russian revolution.”
“I’m more interested in the royal family, actually. Not so much in the Bolsheviks and all that politic stuff.” Y/N placed the book she was reading down, a truce sign in Luke’s eyes.
“Oh, she’s smart, pretty, and interested in the slaughter of a royal family. Are you perhaps training to become a serial killer? I hope I’m not your next target.” Luke teasingly grinned as a mischievous glint shone in his eyes.
“Castellan, I have a question.” Y/N sat up straighter, “How is it that you got into the school? Don’t get me wrong, you’re street smart but you aren’t… academically smart. Are your parents filthy rich?”
“My dad’s a deadbeat.”
“Did you cheat then? I won’t tell anyone. I’m only curious.”
“You wound me, writer. No, I didn’t cheat. Is it so hard to believe I passed the entrance exam?”
“Yes.” Y/N said without hesitation.
Luke stared at her with his lips pressed into a thin line. “Ouch. Now you’ve added salt to the wound.”
Luke had already acknowledged that he wasn’t gifted in the academic department. But there was more to life than writing articles and scribbling down overly complicated math equations.
“Wait a minute,” Luke sat up. How was it that Y/N could draft a perfectly constructed essay when she had dyslexia? “Don’t you have a reading problem? Dyslexia? Are you sure you didn’t cheat?” He meant the last bit as a joke but he instantly knew he made a mistake when Y/N’s eyes darkened.
“I have no need to.” She jeered, grabbing her cafe books. And just like that, their little moment of peace was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Never accuse me of cheating again. You got that, Castellan?” She harshly poked his shoulder as she walked past him.
“Hey, you forgot your Dostoevsky- and she’s not even listening to me. Great. Okay.” Luke sighed as he grabbed the book, observing it. It seemed well-loved because the novel was almost falling apart and its delicate pages were stained brown with coffee and tea.
Luke cracked open the book, raising his eyebrows at the sight of highlighted words, pen marks, and sticky notes inside. “She likes annotating.” He muttered to himself, running his hands over the pages.
The writing stopped near the end of the book and Luke realized it was because she had yet to finish it. An idea burst into his head and he quickly exited the cafe, clutching the book close to his chest. His usual routine would be to wait for Chris outside but he strolled back into the library, eyes landing in a group of giggling girls.
“Hey, ladies.” Luke boyishly smirked at them, which almost caused them to melt. “Do you have any sticky notes and pens I could borrow?”
That’s how he ended up with a pile of sticky notes and a multitude of pens at his disposal. Luke couldn’t read that well due to his godly side but he sure tried. Luke had heard about how a book girl’s love language was someone else annotating a book for her. In this case, this was Luke waving the white flag for good.
“Yo, Luke, you ready to head off?” Chris returned an hour later, just as Luke was finished scribbling on sticky notes and placing them carefully on the crumbled pages. Chris arched an eyebrow. “You can’t read.” He stated.
Luke rolled his eyes. “I know but this is me trying to befriend her. Trust me, it’ll work.” The brunette led his friend to Y/N’s locker, easily picking it open with a bobby pin he found on the floor. “Say hello to friendly Y/N.” Luke grinned as he placed the novel on the top shelf and closed the door.
“If this works, I’ll give you my dessert for a week.” Chris piped up
Luke chuckled, putting all his faith into his plan. “It’ll work. And deal.”
Chris and Luke watched Y/N like hawks as she opened her locker, letting out a small yawn as she did so. She spotted the book immediately. As she flipped through the pages, something unexpected happened that left Chris gaping.
She smiled. Her pink-tinted lips curved into a bubbly smile as she read something and she even let out a quiet laugh. As she turned her head, her gaze locked with Luke’s. She sent him a nod of acknowledgment before leaving to get to class.
“Looks like I’ll be having extra dessert.” Luke cockily uttered, teasing his friend.
“I can’t believe it actually worked.” Chris clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Better luck next time, buddy.” Luke tilted his head back as he laughed. “Get to class. We can’t blow our cover.”
Luke’s first class was with Y/N. Actually, all of his classes were. And that was on purpose. He had to keep a close eye on her in case anything happened. Nothing ever did, which was unusual. Monsters sensed demigods as soon as they turned twelve but Y/N was Luke’s age and still hadn’t run into one. Luke found it strange.
He sat down in his chosen seat and turned his head, surprised to see Y/N sitting beside him. “Impotence means the inability to do something effectively.” She spoke, looking at him. Luke was at a loss for words as his lips parted.
“What?” He stupidly questioned.
“‘The fear of appearance is the first symptom of impotence’. You put a question mark next to impotence.”
“Oh.” Luke could recall doing that. “I guess I did.”
“You don’t write very well.” Y/N said. “At some point, you started writing in Greek. You know Greek?”
“To an extent.”
Y/N quietly hummed. “The ability to go from English to Greek is somewhat impressive. Your Greek is better.”
Luke almost smiled at the backhanded compliment. “You know, writer, I always took you as a Jane Austin girl. Pride and Prejudice and what not. How come you’re reading Crime and Punishment instead?”
Y/N shrugged. “I want to know more about Russian culture.” She simply said, opening her science textbook. Luke stared at her.
“You want to know more about Russia? I’ll show you. Come on.” Luke tugged Y/N out of her seat much to her surprise. She gasped.
“But class.” She said, but Luke ignored her.
“It’ll be fine. You’ll love it.” Luke reassured her as he pulled her out of the room.
“I’m not sure I will.” Y/N groaned, trying to dig her heels into the ground to slow Luke down. “We really should go back to class.” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in worry while Luke clicked his tongue.
“No. We don’t.”
Before Y/N knew it, she was outside the school building and walking down the road behind Luke. “Where are we going?” She asked, receiving no reply.
“Wait here.” Luke said, pausing in front of a large wired fence.
“Are you sure you aren’t the serial killer here?” Y/N muttered, almost scoffing. Luke jumped, easily grabbing onto the fence and climbing up. “You look like a monkey!” Y/N exclaimed. Luke quietly chuckled, reaching the top.
“You’re funny, writer- Woah!”
Y/N gaped as Luke tumbled down, harshly hitting the ground. “Are you okay?” She asked, her eyes wide. Luke groaned as he stood up, clutching his shoulder.
“I’m fine. I just have to rearrange my shoulder real quick.” He said, grunting. Y/N watched in horror as Luke grabbed his own shoulder, readjusting it with a terrifying crack.
“That’s not normal.” Y/N said, cringing. “Your shoulder should not be doing that… oh, my gosh! You need to see a doctor soon. That crack was disgusting!” But Luke ignored her.
“You can climb, right?” Luke questioned.
“I am not climbing and falling like you.” Y/N sneered. She looked around, spotting a door. “I’m glad I’m not dumb like you.” She pushed the door open, mockingly staring at Luke. “Voila. No need to look like a monkey.”
“And there our truce goes, writer. I’m going to beat you up now.”
Y/N lightly laughed, rolling her eyes. “You can’t hit a lady.” She warned.
“Oh, you’re right. Damn me for being a gentleman. If only I was a girl. I could slam you.” Luke teasingly slung an arm around her shoulder as he led Y/N through the woods. “Chris and I found this place by accident. I thought you’d like it, especially after seeing your obsession with books. That’s not normal, by the way. It’s creepy. You treat books like your friends.”
“For your information, I have friends.” Y/N snapped.
“You have one friend. And she’s not even at the school.”
“So? Who cares. Besides, I talk to Sehee.”
“Sehee Kim hates you.”
“Yeah. But she’s toned down. We’re acquainted now.”
“Whatever you say, writer. Close your eyes.” Luke slapped a hand over her face, concealing her gaze. “Don’t peek. It’s a surprise.”
“If you plan on killing me, don’t eat me. I’m not into cannibalism.”
“You wrote an essay on all the media’s that portrayed cannibalism. The hills have eyes, that plane crash with the sports team. What else am I forgetting?”
“The Bean clan. Technically, that wasn’t a show or movie but the hills have eyes were inspired by it. At least, I like to think so.” Y/N paused, “Wait, you read the essay?”
“You’re a model student, writer. Of course I read your work. It took me a few days.” Luke grinned, though Y/N couldn’t see it. “Alright. You ready?” Luke rested his chin on Y/N’s shoulder as he lowered his hands, emitted a small gasp from Y/N.
“This place… what the…” She was speechless. In front of her was a beautiful, old library. Vibes of ivy wrapped around the shelves yet the books still looked functional. Albeit, a little old but they didn’t look like they’d turn to dust if she touched them.
“It’s an old library. Abandoned but still pretty. All of the books here are in Russian. You like it?”
“I love it… Castellan.” She gently smiled.
“I come here when I need time to think.” Luke sighed to himself, gesturing to a small corner where a blanket and a few pillows lay. “I can’t read in general but it’s comforting.”
“How’d you know I have dyslexia?” Y/N asked, arching an eyebrow.
Luke shrugged. “I had a feeling.”
“To answer the question from yesterday, yes. I do have dyslexia. But I envied children who could read so I got help. More like I begged the orphanage to get me help. I wanted to read and write so I did.”
Y/N ran a hand over the books, letting her fingers trace over the delicate golden details. Luke watched as she walked past the sturdy wooden shelves, a gleeful skip in her step.
“What’s your favourite book?” Luke asked as Y/N opened an aged book, staring at the words carefully printed in black ink.
“Oh. I actually have it with me.” Y/N began, digging around in her bag to pull out a small paperback. She showed it to Luke. “I want to die but I want to eat tteobokki.” She uttered. Luke stared at it, eyebrows lifted.
“You read… self-help books?”
“Well, it’s more like a biography or a memoir. It doubles as a self-help book. And yes. Is that a problem? It's an opportunity to learn how these type of books are written."
Luke shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I mean, why do you need help? You seem to have your life figured out. Studying, Harvard, journalism."
Y/N softly cleared her throat as she stared at him. “Castellan, I firmly believe that everybody needs help. Even just a little bit. And my life is literally falling apart if I’m not in school. My orphanage is crumbling to the ground and I’m probably going to be kicked out soon. On top of that, I think I’m going crazy.” Realising she was ranting too much, Y/N took a breath and stopped talking.
“We’re all crazy in a way, writer.”
“No. I’m actually crazy… Castellan, I see things… things normal people shouldn’t see. Creatures… weird things… things I can’t describe.” Y/N pulled at the ends of her hair. Luke was quick to grab her hands, stopping her.
“I understand, writer. Trust me. You may think I don’t, but I do.”
“You hallucinate too?”
“It’s not hallucinations. It’s real. I know I probably sound crazy. You see strange animals, right? Like, monsters?”
Y/N turned her head, staring at Luke with wide eyes. Y/N silently nodded. “How… how did you know?”
“I need you to listen to me, writer. And don’t call me insane or judge me or any other mean thing you like to do.” When Y/N still didn’t say anything, Luke continued. “How do I put this… You’re a demigod. I am too. Chris as well. Your mother is, uh, a goddess. You’re a half-blood. And eventually… monsters are going to chase after you.”
Y/N gawked at Luke for a few long minutes before she looked away. "You're crazy."
"I'm not crazy. I told you I'm not."
"Okay, not crazy. You're mad, out of your mind, deranged, demented. You're a lunatic, unstable, unbalanced. Non compos mentis!"
"Are you speaking in Latin right now?"
"We have to recite the school song on the spot. We get extra credits if we say it in Latin. You didn't know that?" Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're... not lying. Gods and goddesses actually exist... don't they?" Luke sighed, nodding his head.
"I'm sorry to put all of this on you now but we really have to go. It's unusual that the monsters haven't sensed you yet. We have to find Chris before"- Luke was cut off by a loud roar. Y/N gasped, clutching onto Luke.
"What was that?" She gasped.
Luke pulled Y/N up, holding her tight. "We have to go. Now. Come on." Y/N's hands shook as she tried to shove the old book back into its place. Luke grabbed it, cramming the book into her bag. "Just take it. Take the book!" Luke grabbed Y/N's wrist, pulling her out of the library.
"Whatever that thing was seemed close. We have to hurry." Luke and Y/N ran out of the forest and barged past the door to the metal fence. "Chris will meet us at the road. Come on!"
There was another roar and Y/N shrieked. A blast of flames engulfed the fence, burning away at it. "Oh, my gosh... what is that?! Is that a fucking dragon?!"
"So you can swear! I never expected that!" Luke exclaimed as he stood in front of Y/N, drawing a sword.
"You have a fucking sword too?! What the fuck!" Y/N screamed, "What is going on?!"
"Stop cussing! Y/N, I need you to listen to me. Run. Run as fast as you can and find Chris. Please." Luke pushed Y/N back.
"What? No! I am not leaving you with that... that beast! And I don’t really what to be alone too!” Y/N furrowed her brows but Luke was persistent.
“Go! Go!” He shouted. Y/N spun around, sprinting away. She heard Luke’s sword clash with the dragon’s hard scales and she looked over her shoulder.
“Find Chris!” Luke shouted again.
Y/N gasped as she burst through the vegetation, almost crashing into Chris. “Oh, my fucking god! Chris! Castellan- I mean Luke is fighting against a dragon! What do we do?!” Panic glazed over Chris’ eyes.
“Y/N, stay here. It’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon!” Chris ran off. Y/N shakily inhaled as she looked around. The road was barren and there wasn’t a car in sight.
“This is fine… totally, inexplicably fine.” Y/N muttered, thickly gulping. But her panic flared up again when she felt a presence behind her.
She shook as she turned around, her head slowly lifting to stare at the dragon. “… Oh, I’m fucked.” Y/N’s bag felt heavier than it did before. It slid off her arm, crashing to the ground. Y/N scrambled back as the dragon blew a mouthful of burning smoke through its sharp fangs.
“Nice boy… or girl. Or are you gender-neutral? It doesn’t matter.” Y/N nervously chuckled as she slowly kneeled down to search for something, anything, to defend herself. Instead of a sharp pen or maybe a heavy book, she pulled out a golden brass spear with electricity crackling through it.
“Oh… this works.”
The dragon growled as its beady eyes watched her trembling form. Y/N swung the spear at the dragon, managing to hit it with a lucky shot. The dragon roared, throwing its head back in pain. Y/N landed another blow and managed to dodge the beast’s claws.
“Man, am I glad I took those sports classes now!” Y/N shouted, ducking. She swung the blade of the spear ay the creature, slicing a scale off. Y/N yelped as blood oozed out. “Oh, that is revolting.” She wrinkled up her nose.
The dragon, seemingly very unhappy with Y/N’s wide use of vocabulary, grunted as it stalked towards Y/N with heavy steps. Y/N gulped. She gripped the spear tightly, trying to think of what to do. As the dragon neared, her survival instincts took over and before she knew it, she was hurling her weapon at the dragon’s chest. It groaned in pain as the tip impaled its flesh before disintegrating into a fury of golden specks.
Y/N panted as her spear clattered to the ground. “… I’m glad javelin was a requirement at school.” Luke and Chris arrived at the scene a moment too late, staring at the golden flecks in surprise.
“You… took down a dragon?” Chris asked in shock while Luke was silent as he subtly lifted a hand to touch the scar on his face.
“Yes. Now, can we get out of here before we get slaughtered like the family from the hills have eyes?! If I die, I can’t get into Harvard!” Y/N exclaimed, picking up her spear that had transformed back into the old book from the library.
“She’s right.” Finally, Luke spoke up. “We need to get moving. The stronger monsters have already sensed us. More will be coming.”
"Wait!" Y/N shouted, causing both of the boys to pause. "Oh, my gosh... What about Harvard?! I can't get into Harvard with all these monsters running after me!"
"You didn't tell her?" Chris asked, glancing at Luke.
Luke quickly shrugged in confusion. "I told her about camp! But I may have left out the part where she has to go if she doesn't want to be slaughtered..."
"What?! No, I'm not fit out for camp! I need to go to school and study so I can get into Harvard and study journalism so I can become like Christiane Amanpour!"
"We'll explain more at camp." Luke uttered, wrapping his hands around one of Y/N's arms while Chris did the same on the other side. The two boys dragged her away, ignoring how she kicked and screamed, mainly about Harvard and how her career was ruined now.
Eventually, she calmed now. The trio now calmly walked along the empty road with Y/N in the middle. “I mean, at least it can’t get worse than a dragon.” Y/N said in an effort to raise spirits.
Above, thunder rumbled as rain began to pour down. Y/N loudly clicked her tongue, “Never mind.” She grumbled. “But hey, can’t get worse”- Lightning crackled and hit a tree near Luke. He jumped as the leaves went up in flames, though they were quickly distinguished by the large droplets of rain. “Okay, but surely”- Luke cut Y/N off.
“Please… writer, stop talking. We’ll hide in that cave until the rain stops. It’s getting dark soon too. We officially leave tomorrow.” Luke uttered, pointing at a nearby hole in the rocks. Y/N jogged for cover while Luke and Chris took their time, not caring about the rain because they were already soaked to the bone.
“So, you call her writer? Cute.” Chris mockingly smirked as he knowingly winked.
“Yeah, so what? What do you call Clarisse? Oh, that’s right, you haven’t confessed yet. You have the right to judge me when you confess.” Luke walked away while Chris was left standing there, speechless.
“Touché.” Chris muttered under his breath.
Luke woke Y/N the moment the sun rose. She groaned as he shook her awake, sleepily rubbing her eyes. “What do you want?” She muttered, trying to kick him away.
“Time to get moving before any more dragons come.” Luke grinned as Y/N quickly sat up. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, writer. Come on, we’ll get breakfast at the train station. It’s the fastest way to camp.”
It was a thirty minute walk to the nearest train station and in those thirty minutes, Luke would not stop talking. And Y/N thought her rambling was bad.
“Why do people like peanuts anyway? They taste so… nutty. I don’t like peanut butter. The look of it, the taste of it, the texture, the way it sticks to the roof of my mouth. Ugh! Gross.” Luke faked a small gag while Y/N slowly nodded.
“Do you usually talk this much?” She questioned, recalling the days where Luke hardly spoke up in class unless he was replying to a girl in love with him.
"No. Not unless I've got a pretty girl next to me who's too smart for her own good." Luke grinned while Y/N rolled her eyes at his pathetic flirting.
“Have you got money? Once we get to the station, I would suggest we buy tickets first. Food can wait. Besides, the train should have food too.” Y/N said, checking her watch. "When's the next train? We should try and catch the earliest one."
"Jeez, who made her in charge?" Luke whispered to Chris behind Y/N's back.
“What? You think you’d be in charge?”
“Well, this is my quest after all. Plus, I thought there’d be a voting. You know, a show of hands.”
Chris sent Luke a look. “Don’t be like Percy, man. She’s like our Annabeth. She’s obviously in charge. And I’m like, uh, Grover.”
“And let me guess,” Luke deadpanned, “I’m Percy.”
“Yeah. Always trying to change the system into a voting thing. Just let the pretty girl do the work and we won't get killed."
"I can hear you, by the way." Y/N butted in, staring at the two boys with an unimpressed look.
"That's the point." Luke replied.
"The train station is right over there. I'll buy us tickets." Y/N said, outstretching her hand.
"Huh? Why do you have to buy the tickets?"
"Because, genius, it's suspicious to see two guys with a girl. They’ll think you’re kidnapping me. Which, mind you, you technically are.” Y/N ran her hands through her messy hair to smoothen it down, “The faster we leave, the better.” She brushed the dirt off her skirt and adjusted her wrinkled blouse so she could fit in more with the crowd.
Luke begrudgingly handed over a part of the given money to Y/N. She smiled, which only fuelled his annoyance. “After we buy tickets, we can look for food if we have time.”
“Why can’t we split up?” Luke interrupted, earning an eye roll from Y/N. Chris silently watched as they bickered, not wanting to get involved. It was like they were in class again, always going back and forth until the teacher forced them to stop.
“Splitting up would be dangerous. We have to stay together. But when I buy the tickets, don’t follow me. Hang back.”
Luke had no choice but to agree with the plan.
“So,” Chris shuffled closer to Luke, “Still think we should have a voting system?”
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bbr0wni3 · 4 months ago
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Melting like gold.
(One shot)
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♡ -> Legolas x reader
-> Content & warnings: female reader, fluff, love confession, Thranduil and Tauriel's scene reference, narrated in 2nd person.
Summary: After a harsh "supposedly" private conversation with Thranduil, you seem to not handle the strong emotions well, letting you burst on tears and run deep into the forest..
-> word count: 1.8k
-> (a/n): hii, this is the first time Im going to upload one of my silly fanfics on tumblr ^^ I recently finished the lord of the rings and the hobbit trilogy so what's better than a one shot of the pretty elf ;)
Sorry in advance if there are some misspelled words/grammar/phrases,etc. English is not my first language!!
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The sound of your heels hitting the floor echoes along the halls of Mirkwood, your hair swings and the sun hits your face as soon as you head through the garden to get to the other side of the palace, and to Thranduil's chamber.
You were informed that he wanted to speak with you privately.
You stand outside the door for a moment, taking a deep breath and knocking three times on the long and white glass door.
"Come on in" is heard from inside the room.
Stepping inside, you see Thranduil standing from a distance with his arms behind his back, walking slowly in circles around the room. Your eyes meet his, and you keep your lips separated for a moment before you speak out loud.
"My lord, I must apologize, the spider nest failed to be destroyed, we were able to clear the forest as ordered, but more spiders kept coming up from the south, they are spawning near the ruins of Dol Guldur, we were soon outnumbered, but it was my task to accomplish and i-"
As you mouth non-stop your concern to the king, he eases your chatter.
"That is not the term I wanted to discuss." He stops his walking and turns his body to face you. There's a pause as he makes direct eye contact and starts walking towards the giant window where he has the most stunning view of not only Mirkwood but beyond the lake and the shape of mountains. You now follow his steps so you're both focused on the view, the silence breaks.
"Legolas said you fought well today" Thranduil began to speak. Your gaze falls to the ground as you try to hide the slight smirk that appears on your face. Locking in your expressions, you face the window again.
"He's grown very fond of you." He continues to speak. Your eyes are wide open now, trying to glance at Thranduil's face, as also avoiding eye contact, to maybe catch a glimpse of how he feels about these sudden words he's sharing with you.
"I assure you, my lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain in the guard." You speak while you are once again looking out the window. Your heart breaking in your own hands, set on fire, and shattered like glass.
As much as you wish to believe that what you're saying was a lie, you're only being truthful when you wish you wasn't.
"Perhaps he did once, now I'm not so sure" Thranduil responded while taking a place behind you, his words echoing in your mind, you can't believe that that's the way he thinks about Legolas and you.
"I-i do not think you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly silvan elf like me." You close your eyes, every word that you pronounce feeling like you're being stabbed with a sword. Your own sword of dilusion, as you dream of hearing Thranduil deny your response, but he does not.
"You're right, I would not. Still, he cares about you. You do not give him hope where there is not." His harsh demeanor and cold tone completely finishes to sink your heart beyond measure. As you slowly open your eyes again, you can almost feel how they burn as you fight back tears.
"Of course, my lord." Is all you get to say, straightening up and swallowing your pain.
"Let it pass, let it pass, don't cry now " you repeat over and over inside your head.
"Alright, you can go now" His words now a key that unlocks you from this cage, you bite your lip and just nod, walking towards the door where you came from.
As soon as you step outside, a single tear goes down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it off as you only want to get out of there, you escape so fast you don't even realize Legolas was hiding beside the door this whole time, hearing all and watching how your tears began to stream down your face.
His eyes open, and his lips separate, almost mouthing something, but he does not, he only watches you leave.
"How can i stand here and do nothing?!" He thinks to himself, questioning his behavior and angry at himself but mostly angry with his father for making you cry, for making you think there wasn't any other path but to never try and fall out of love.."love" he though for a moment, that's what he feels for you.
He grabs his bow and places it behind his back. He runs across the palace and heads to the gates.
"Open the gates!" Legolas yells at the elven guards that secure the entrance.
"As you order my prince." one of the two guards said, as they see their prince so desperate to go out for some reason.
The gates open, and he heads to the bridge and into the forest. He knows his father is watching from above the tower, through his window, and for sure judging his own son. But Legolas doesn't care enough, not even a command from the king would stop him from going out and looking for you, even if he had to cross mountains or fight a thousand orcs to get to you, believe me, he would.
However, that won't happen now because he knows exactly where you are.
He knows exactly the place your heart seeks the most when your day doesn't go as you expect, because you know you'll always find him there, only a place the two of you know and always kept a secret, it's your place.
"Across the lake and behind the trees, promise me you'll look for me, and this would be our secret place. " Your voice in Legolas' memories came back to him as he kept pacing through the forest, a sweet promise under the stars. That night, he knew what love was meant to feel like, that night and many others, where he kept this promise of being there for each other.
And you were there, as Legolas predicted. Your back laying on a big mossy rock, your hair shining through the last remaining light of the sunset, your eyes closed as you felt the breeze of the approaching night coming in, the one that blew dry the tears that were still falling from your beautiful eyes.
Legolas tried to be as quiet as possible as he wants to give you this moment of silence before he speaks, he fails to do so when he steps on a branch that even made the birds from the trees fly away.
Alerted you grab your bow, turning your whole body to face the unknown danger, pointing towards the sound, ready to shoot. Only for Legolas to meet with your face full of tears while you meet his sapphire eyes, the ones that you die for, the ones that are now painted with worriedness.
You lower your bow and stand up in front of him. You want to run to his arms and melt like gold in his embrace, but the words of Thranduil resonate in your head "you do not give him hope where there is not."
The blonde elven man starts to step closer to you, your heart beating so fast that you wouldn't be surprised if it got out from your chest, you're sure that if he extends his arm he can feel it pounding, and that's how closer he stood from you.
Another tear falls from your eyes, you turn your face to the right to try and hide it, but he already saw it, and soon I know I would miss the blue if his eyes.
"I heard your conversation with my father." He confesses. You close your eyes to let a second tear fall, and choose to look at him again.
"Then you should not be here." The words scrape your throat. The resistance that lies upon them is a chain forged by Thranduil for you to grab on while leaving marks on your hands by doing so. You search his face focusing on his eyes, trying to see if you can find a way for him to notice that your words are only a mirror of Thranduil demands, and not what you actually want to say.
"But I choose to be here, with you" He steps even closer, you take a small step back even if you don't want to, but he does want to feel you close so he grabs your wrist with his right hand and pulls you closer, and for a few inches you notice that he is now even closer than before.
"Please legolas, you're making it harder for me to-" your words almost coming out as a whisper, a sigh.
"To what? To finally correspond my feelings?. I choose to be here for a reason." He insisted. His thumb took a place on your cheek, caressing the wetness from your old tears and preventing a third one from falling. You close your eyes at his touch, warm and soft.
Your body surrenders and calls for this warmness, you place your hand on top of his, you cannot play as if you didn't want to he like this forever, you crave his touch more than anything else, and by the way your face leans towards his hand he knows you do.
"You've heard what your father said. He would never allow us to be together, not like this." You open your eyes, his eyes pierced on your face, he looks bewitched, enchanted by your beauty, by having you so close, a way he had dreamed of many times.
In that moment you realize he kept his promise, he came looking for you and now is holding you with such love and desire.
"I don't care what my father allows or wants, not even a little bit, for as I already know what i want, what my heart wants. I would never, not even in a thousand elven years not choose to love you, and i cannot think of a lifetime without you, so please...please"
There's a small pause as he tries to catch his breath from speaking so quickly, you decide to take it away from him one last time as you lean to kiss him, finally breaking the chain that kept you longing for this reciprocated love.
You let your whole body be held by him, his hands on your waist and your arms around his neck. His long hair twirled around your fingers and also tickling your cheeks, which are now fully dried, because he took the time that nobody else would've taken to stop this storm that clouded your thoughts and drowned your eyes.
He came as the sun and gifted you a rainbow.
You both separate your lips and let yourself breathe against each other, your foreheads touching and the tip of your noses brushing on one another. You both let a breathy laugh as you share a strong hug.
It seems like the same stars that crowded the sky that one promising and memorial night are above you both again, shining again under another lovely promise.
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Thank you for reading! <3
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poeticlilies · 1 year ago
Note
Dazai with a reader who’s really motherly with him? I feel like he secretly craves to be coddled but he plays it off with jokes for a while until a certain point where he just breaks :(
also I’m sorry if my request got sent more than once, tumblr is being silly ‼️
♡ My baby, my baby...
Dazai Osamu x Reader
Desc: Comforting Dazai. (fem reader)
TW/CW: mental breakdowns, joking about mental health, dark thoughts, suicide, self-harm, mentions of religion (usage of word "God"), usage of "Y/N", angst -> hurt/comfort
It hurt.
It hurt so, so much Dazai Osamu thought that God had finally pitied him and was letting him die.
He couldn't breathe; his lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, and he sobbed, trying to let oxygen back into his lungs as they burned.
"Just get home," his mind repeated. "Just get home and you can see Y/N again."
A foreign corner of his heart quieted it's pounding; slowing down to consider the thought of keeping quiet long enough to see you. It agreed, happy at the thought of you; and after five minutes Dazai got up and walked out of the closet he had locked himself inside.
Kunikida stared at him, stopping mid-rant as concern flashed over his coworker's face; but before the blond could say anything, Dazai was out the door and on his way to see you again. The annoying ringing of his cellphone wasn't present; which means that Kunikida probably laid off of him and let him go home early.
He doesn't even remember going home, doesn't remember the sidewalk, the train ride, or the winding little path leading to the quaint little neighborhood; doesn't remember unlocking the front door and taking his shoes off, heart beginning to race again as it protests for the mind to uphold it's part of the deal.
"Y/N?.." he calls weakly; stumbling around your shared home. "Y/N!"
His mind begins to race, panicking; what if you had gotten kidnapped? or hurt? what if the Port Mafia took you? what if-- but his thoughts were cut off when the angel that is you, in your everlasting glory, appeared; dressed in shorts and a sweater, surprised (and a little concerned) to why he was home so early and stumbling around your shared house like a drunkard.
He barely hears the worried gasp of his name; barely processes anything before he's lunging for you, arms flying around your torso and coiling around it, tears coming to his eyes as he sobs in relief, crying and blubbering as he's finally back in your loving arms.
He feels the hand you have on his head caressing his hair gently as if he were a glass ornament that would break apart at the slightest touch, and he cries harder; burying his face into your stomach as he sinks down closer to the floor. He feels you crouching down with him; cradling his head against your chest as you murmur warm words that slither inside through his ears to his heart, comforting it as you hold him in your embrace.
You had never seen him like this; had always known the strong, brave Dazai Osamu; had always seen the confident, cocky, brave persona he put on. Whenever you tried to coddle him, he had brushed it off; but you never missed the slight twitch of his eyes, the lingering look in them as he turned away, the way his hand rested on top of yours for a second too long before he pulled away.
That's why you kept going; kept pushing at his walls, begging and pleading for him to let them down; that you weren't going to hurt him like everybody else, weren't going to be let in only to stab at everything in a frenzy like everyone else. No, you wanted to love him; to cherish him and to make him feel loved as you protected him from the world and it's miseries the way he did to countless other individuals.
And it worked; hence the events of today, as Dazai clings to your sweater and sobs.
"Shhh... Shhh.. baby, what's wrong?.." you murmur, finally; petting his hair as he begins to quiet down, obediently following your words.
"M-Missed you." he states, quietly, simply. "Missed y-you so much; c-couldn't think. Could-dn't do a-anything. Missed you so bad..." he whispers, tearing up again.
"Shh.." you whisper again; lifting his face up and kissing his cheeks. "Cmon, baby; you can tell me what's wrong. It's alright, darling."
And Dazai Osamu only falls deeper in love with you.
--
YAHOO!! sorry if u wanted smt else this was the way i interpreted it :(
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lotus-n-l0ve · 1 year ago
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"𝐀-𝐀𝐫𝐞........𝐀𝐫𝐞, 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐡-𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐞?"
— Ken 'Draken' Ryuguji x Female Reader
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☯ SYNOPSIS : When a hoodie and picture makes Draken think that you are cheating on him.
☯ WARNINGS : Cursing, making out at the end, cock-blocked, 1.2k words.
☯ NOTE FROM LOTUS : Hey guys. Since you guys liked Mikey one so much I decided to write one for his best friend as well. Tumblr is being such a bitch. I can't save darfts, edit my works or anything. I hade to do this one for at least nine times.
𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘'𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍
𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
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Draken waits patiently outside of your house for you to open the door and bless him with your beautiful face. This was going to be the first time he came to your house. He was pretty nervous. Can you believe The Draken is nervous?
Finally the wait seemed to be over when the wooden door opened, revealing your adorable form. You were almost drowning in the sage green hoodie that you were wearing, paired with matching socks.
Your face lit up when you saw your giant but gentle boyfriend, "Draken, you are here? Come in, come in."
You grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind with your leg. Draken chuckled at your antics. Someday you will be the death of him. You can stab him with a knife and he will let you.
You dragged him to your bedroom where you were going to watch the new airing anime with him. You were so excited to spend some time with your boyfriend and enjoy the anime.
"Sit here."
You told him to get comfortable as you fetch your laptop. In no time Draken was sitting in the middle of the bed with his back resting on the headboard and you were sitting between his legs, your back on his chest.
Draken had his hands wrapped around your shoulder, caressing his thumb over it occasionally. Your attention was on the laptop in your lap while he had his on you. Don't get him wrong, he did like anime but this one was just not his type.
He tightened his hold, pulling you in his chest even more. He buried his face in your nape, taking a long breath. But his face soon turned into a frown. Draken took another sniff and the frown deepened.
Your hoodie smelled of a men's cologne. Draken knew because Sanzu always wears this one. But since when do you like this kind of smell? Till today he knew that you liked floral scents and this was anything but floral.
Draken stopped himself before he concluded something stupid. You were not the type to cheat. You were too nice and kind to cheat. Yes, nothing happened. You probably tried something new.
Draken reassured himself but that quickly broke when his looked to the side. On your nightstand, there is a photo framed in gold. The picture is of you with a guy, not much older than Draken himself.
The problem isn't that. The problem is you had your arm wrapped around his neck while he had his around your waist. You were kissing his cheeks and he was wearing the sage green hoodie you had on right now.
Were you really cheating on him? Was he not enough? Did you even love him?
Draken could feel his heart breaking into millions of pieces. You were the light of his dark heart. A fresh breath of air in his suffocating life. But now he was not even sure whether all this was even true.
His hold around you loosened, diverting your attention from the anime to his, now loose, arm.
You turned your head to the side, "Draken, What happened?"
Your expression morphed into a confused one when he didn't answer. You called him a few more times but he remained silent. You could feel something was wrong. Draken never ignored you. Even if he is fighting someone, if you call, he would pay all his attention to you.
You paused the video, put the laptop on the bed and turned to him, still between his legs, "Draken?"
His head was hung low, so you could not see his face, a dark shadow casted on it. You brought yourself down and saw his face, only to gasp. Draken was clenching his jaw hard to not let the glistening tears that had gathered in eyes fall. His lips were pressed in a tight line, trying to suppress the sobbs.
"O my gosh! Draken?" You panicked as you cupped his face in your hands and tilted it up, "What's wrong baby?"
Draken refused to meet your eyes as he stuttered with a breaking voice, "A-are……..are, are you ch-cheating on me?"
His voice reduced to whispers at the end. Your eyes widened with shock at his acquisition.
"No, why would you think that?" You asked, wiping the falling water down his face.
He brought his both hands up and gripped your hoodie by the waist, "Who-se h-hoodie is this?"
You tilted your head slightly, which Draken would find endearing had he not been looking down, "My brother's, see."
You said as you pointed at the same photo on the nightstand. His head snapped up hearing your answer. He followed your finger pointing and saw the photo. Suddenly Draken felt so stupid. Of course you would never cheat on him, or anyone else for that matter. You can't even lie to save your life.
Suddenly Draken threw his hand around you, pulling you in his chest and catching up off guard. His head buried in your neck. You could feel him taking deep breath. You wrapped your arm around his torso, running a palm on his back to calm him down.
What am I going to do with this gentle giant?
You shake your head. As you understand the sudden behaviour of Draken, you fail to surpress the laugh and before you know, you were cracking up like there's no tomorrow.
"Hahaha, Draken you really thought I was cheating on you?" You almost choke on your words, "You accused me of cheating and now you are the one crying? O you cry baby."
Draken gave you a tight squeeze, "Stop making fun of me."
"Ok ok, you cry baby." You said but made no move to actually do so.
Draken pulled his head back, glaring at you, "Will you stop?"
You nod but the pout on his face made laugh even move, "The great Draken is crying."
"So you want to laugh huh? Let's see just how much you can."
In a flash you were lying on the bed on your back and Draken hovered over you. Draken slammed his lips on yours. The teste of your lip balm filled his senses. His plams slides up your hand to your palms and interwinded your fingers, holding you in his firm hold.
He broke the kiss and drifted kisses down your throat, drawing moans out of you. You throw your head back to give him more space. His touch glided at the base of your throat.
"Uh-nn……. Draken, fuck!" You whispered. Your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.
"Why aren't laughing anymore huh baby? Cat caught your tongue?" Draken taunted.
You watched with confusion as he released his hold on you and got off the bed.
Draken started walking out of the room, "Good bye, baby. I have to go meet Mikey."
"Wait! Draken Where are you going?" You shouted, panicking, "You can't leave like this. What about me?"
Draken turned his head back to face you and said with a teasing tone, "You should have thought about that before making fun of me."
With that he walking walking out of the house, leaving you hot and horny. His lips curled up to a smirk when he heard your frustrated scream. This was your punishment but he will make sure to take care of you tonight. So much that even your parents will hear how much of a whore their daughter is for him.
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© 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐒-𝐍-𝐋𝟎𝐕𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to LOTUS-N-L0VE. do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.
All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.
517 notes · View notes
endereies · 4 months ago
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JUNCTION
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Pairing: Matt x Reader
Contains: arguing, yelling, angst, kind of happy ending??
Requested?: no
Author's notes: i gotta stop posting and disappearing for a while, school has been a pain in my ass. thank fuck i only have a week left. I havent abandoned my matt series, i only obtained writers block instead. I promise another chapter will be out soon. ANYWAY, tumblr needs more angst so i must deliver. :)
Word Count: 1780
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“Matt. You have to see where I’m coming from..” 
You had been arguing with Matt for the better part of two hours. Small fragments of pent-up opinions finally formed a full set that was being thrown back at you.  
“I don’t have that much time to throw in your face whenever you need it.” His voice was slightly raspy as he choked out words at you constantly. You weren’t sure if this was the first time he said these phrases, or the seventh. But it was getting to you. 
“You think that’s what I want. I don’t want time! I want you. But you aren’t here anymore.” Tears had brimmed and fallen your eyes long ago and now stained your cheeks with the pure begging from your tone. 
“You think this is easy? I want to be near you, but I have to film, to edit, to create. I’m so sorry I’m too busy for an extra five minutes with you.” At this point you were both exasperated. Empty. And worn out by each other. Your arms were crossed in a self-comfort stance but his were in self-defence, refusing to let up. 
“Matt. You have a schedule, but you spend so much extra time and it’s wearing us both thin! Surely you see that..” As much as you were pulling at your hair, he was pulling at your heart. Tugging on each string as his facial expressions softened. 
Neither of you wanted to stretch this out as much as you did. Several hours had gone by and you both hadn’t been able to access your points without the other interrupting. Pleading internally began, begging to speak to one other.  
Having two stubborn people force their views was always a hard situation to be in. Two passionate people always adding to a fire created something that wasn’t worn down for days. It gnawed at you both endlessly.  
After nearly two weeks of this same argument, it was hard to talk about anything new. The points kept repeating themselves as language grew vile. 
“All I see is you being needy and it’s overwhelming me so much. Don’t you see.” 
You stood stunned at his tone of voice, the words he used and the pure spite behind it all. The silence wrapped around you both, creating an instant tension that was sharp and stabbed you. Your chest felt heavy with the weight of burdening someone you care so much about. It wasn’t simple words being aimlessly thrown to stand by your choices. It was hatred that had slipped though. 
Were you really that needy. To the point that it was overbearing? Arrogant? Despotic? You didn’t know. 
You only wanted to spend time with him. The memory of an old DVD that was clutched in your hand, crashed on the floor with an open case. 
Your expression faltered quickly, lacking any patience that you had left. 
“Right..well. I’ll stay out of your way then” Even saying those words hurt you more than it should’ve because all you wanted to do was be around him. But if he felt like you had to back off, you were going to choose any option that may lead to resolving this. Neither of you wanted to back down, but neither of you also wanted to lose the other and so you caved. 
It wasn’t long after those words were muttered that you left, returning to the front room. It hurt when you saw the DVD player unloaded with the abandoned disc. You switched the box back to the normal programmes and clicked into the YouTube app. You shoved on a random commentary video that you had seen before. It was the quickest things you thought of to change your mood.  
Matt had gone in the other direction, upstairs to his own bedroom to lounge in his chair and play Fortnite. He had been obsessed with the new chapters and ever since his audience requested runs of it. He wasn’t going to turn that down as a distraction. 
It had been a few hours of your YouTube series, and you were starting to get agitated. Every small argument from it made you flinch as your mind flashed back to the past two weeks between you and Matt. Call-backs of loud voices caused those remnants of hurt to spark inside your mind. That was when you had to turn it off.  
When the screen changed to black, your head did too, void of most thoughts. A strong exhale escapes your lips when you push yourself off the sofa. Your sweats slid up your legs and your shirt was a little twisted.  
Yet, the only thing that mattered to you was rest, especially once you saw how dark the sky was. You sought out the stars in the sky, but many clouds covered the brightest ones.  
Hesitation filled your body with each step towards the edge of the stairs, not as much due to the lack of energy as it was to nerves. Nerves that got worse each time you thought about passing Matt’s room. You knew you had to go there in order to get blankets, you just hoped to go unnoticed.  
In full honesty, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to make many first moves with Matt, no matter the circumstances, and this was no exception.  
It was like you were a child again, sneaking through the house when you know you should be asleep. Trouble wasn’t going to land in your lap, internally you knew that. If only your mind did.  
You were just paranoid that you’d be caught in conversation with him. Every ‘conversation’ between the pair if you had ended in some sort of a remark, if not a fight. 
Your body edged its way to the door of Matts room, and you were thankful to find his headset on. Without a stream watching. 
Curses fell from his lips as he fought off other players, and you just wanted to avoid that noise. One night. That’s all you wanted. You didn't want to be in his way again. 
A burden. 
With your arms full of a thick blanket, close to a duvet, you carried it through the door. The pillows that lined the couch, sufficed for your head as you laid them below your neck.  
This wasn’t as comfy as being in a bed, yet, knowing that Matt would soon follow seemed a bit more intimidating. The past two weeks had been hell for the both of you and with you both wearing thin, so did your patience. 
The duvet gave you some comfort against the chills of the night, but something was missing, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.  
You knew. 
“UGH FUCKS SAKE” Matt threw his controller onto his desk and watched as it clattered across his things before falling to land just by your foot. He let an exasperated sigh slip past his lips while he rubbed his face. His headset had slowly become more knocked off with every movement of his neck. With a lack of care to fix it, he threw that the same way as his controller. Each games grew to be challenging to complete and get past a place of #50. 
He let the headphones fall to his neck and hang as he laid his head in his hands. The atmosphere was tense, and the air seemed colder than normal.  
With the game dimming in volume, he realised how quiet the house was. No fans were turned on, no quiet mumbling of your voice singing a song, no show in the background. 
Nothing. 
It was unlike you to not have any sound playing around the house and it made him question if you were even home. Neither choice seemed good. 
He pushed his weight away from his desk and stood up. The hours of playing were only a distraction from the argument and now it had started to seep back into his thoughts. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been such a dick today. The balance between two passionate people had shifted to hurtful words towards the other.  
In full honesty, you never overwhelmed him and now he was missing how you both felt two weeks ago. It felt cold and lacked remorse. He had fucked up.  
Once Matt collected his thoughts his body begrudgingly moved along the wooden floors. He needed to find you and talk to you.  
You heard Matt’s footsteps through the ceiling with each creaking floorboard he stepped on. The covers immediately went up to your face and you turned your body on the sofa.  
You sling an arm over your face when the light above you flicks on, your eyes used to the dark night. 
“Are you awake..?” his voice was timid, unlike the spiteful tones from a few hours ago. 
He stammers a bit before sighing heavily, not knowing how to relieve the situation. 
The shine in your eyes was barely visible against the minimal light from the moon. 
Even if you didn’t respond to him, he knew you were awake as you moved away from the bright light. 
You internally expect him to turn around and return to his own bed, but he only etched closer, examining my body. 
The light above is suddenly shielded by his shadow and the cushions around you move as he lays himself alongside you. Before you even register anything, he snakes an arm around your waist. 
Your throat tightened when he nudged his face into the crevasse of your neck. 
“Matt..?” you rotate your head and notice his exhausted expression that was etched in his eyes. Your heart clenched as he lay next to you, wondering if you were the reason for his distress or guilt. 
A quiet hum escapes his lips, vibrating against your skin. 
“I know.. can we just leave it for a night. I miss you.” 
You felt your stomach turn with one too many emotions for you to process. His words uttered a silent apology 
“Is this hurting you as much as it is me?” Matt takes in a sharp exhale once the damage of the past two weeks sits between you. Silent but deadly. 
“I mean maybe we shoul-” His lips pepper a few kisses to your cheek before silencing you with a kiss to your own lips. 
“I know..I’ve been thinking it too..but all I ask is if we can forget this for just one night.” A pause settles between us. 
“Can we just remember each other one more time?” 
You weakly sigh and turn yourself one last time to face him, your eyes slowly brimming with tears. 
“Okay, Matt. One night..” 
────────────────────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗───────────────────
@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerslover @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @sleepysturnss @jnkvivi
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minniethemoocherda · 5 months ago
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Stay With Me
A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for all the support you guys have given me in response to my Morpherine fics! It has been completely insane especially all your incredible comments as well as all the amazing art over on tumblr! If it wasn't for you guys then I probably wouldn't feel as inspired to keep writing these fics so again thank you all so much!!!! Xxxxxxx
Ao3
FF.net
"NOOOOO!" Morph screamed as they woke up to find themselves sitting in a puddle of their own sweat and gloop.
They screamed again their bedroom door was broken down.
"What's wrong?" Logan demanded, claws drawn and body tensed ready to pounce.
"You giving me a fucking heart attack!" Morph cried, firing a pillow across the room.
Logan slashed through the first, but the second that Morph had launched a moment later hit him square in the face.
Morph was too riled up to feel any satisfaction at that fact.
"What are you even doing here?" Morph asked, feeling their body finally fully solidify back to its normal shape under the fabric of their oversized t-shirt.
"I heard you talkin' in your sleep." Logan grumbled.
"From all the way on the other side of the mansion?" Morph said pointedly, since they both knew that Morph knew that Logan's super-hearing didn't work that well.
That was when Morph realised that Logan was still wearing his uniform despite the fact that it was- Morph checked the alarm clock besides them- three o'clock in the morning.
"Do you want to tell me why you're not in bed?" Morph asked.
"No." Logan replied.
"Do you want to go back to bed?"
Logan sat himself in front of the remains of the doorway, watchful eyes glaring into the corridor outside.
"No."
"Do you want to come to bed?" Morph asked, which was something that if it were not three o'clock in the morning, Morph would never have asked.
After a moment's pause Logan again replied "No."
Morph sighed. The adrenaline of waking up from a nightmare and having their room being broken into was wearing off and now they just wanted to go back to sleep.
So they grabbed the duvet, sheets and blanket from their bed and carried them over to where Logan was apparently determined to stay on guard all night.
"What're you doin'?" Logan grumbled as Morph arranged the bedsheets around him.
"We are having a sleepover." Morph stated. "And I'm getting the pillow since you broke my other one."
Morph lay down on the duvet they'd placed on the floor, facing away from Logan into their room. The Wolverine still had his claws out but he didn't otherwise complain as Morph threw one of the sheets over the pair of them.
After a long time, long enough for Morph to think they might have made a mistake, Logan growled out a sigh.
"After we heard about Genosha I... I couldn't...I've been patrolling the halls all night-I just... I can't loose anyone else I care about." Logan growled, grief stumbling his words.
Slowly so as not to startle him, Morph sat back up. Logan was still facing away from them, never one to let other's see his weaknesses, but by now they had become experts at reading The Wolverine's behaviour. And they knew from the forceful shivers raking his body that Logan was literally biting back tears.
In that moment Morph would have done anything to help. But without the ability to change reality, there was little they could do. But that didn't mean that there was nothing.
Morph placed their hand on Logan's shoulder, his muscles taunt to the point Morph was worried they might snap. They squeezed their hand, hoping to share their own grief and to shoulder some of it for him.
Morph had never been on this side of loosing an X-men before. A stab of guilt as sharp as The Wolverine's claws buried its way into their stomach, at the thought that their own death could have caused the same amount of pain.
When they had learnt about Gambit's death, the only comparable pain Morph had felt was when they themselves had died. The concept that they would never again share each other's love for cooking or that they would never loose another heavily rigged card game, was impossible to comprehend. They weren't as close to Gambit as they could have been, however, as the only other openly queer person on the team, there had been a special connection between the two of them.
And Morph might not have shared the same history with Magneto that the other's had. The only reason they'd had to hate to him was that he was a generally shitty person who'd done some pretty shitty things. But when Morph had offered to take the team to Sinister's lair, he had been kind to them, making it clear that they did not have to if it brought back too many bad memories. And because of that, they couldn't help but grieve for him too.
And if Logan could finally open up, then it was only fair that Morph did the same.
"I.. I was dreaming... about that night."
They both knew what night Morph was talking about. The one where Morph was about to watch The Wolverine die and they sacrificed themselves to save him. Except in their dream there were too late. They lost him. Just like they lost Magneto. Like they lost Remy.
Because whilst being under Sinister's control was hell on earth, they would suffer through it all again if it meant that Logan was alive to lie beside them.
"I ain't lettin' nothin' get past me." Logan promised, finally turning to them. The grief was still there, it would probably never fully go away, but the pain that had been etched into the grooves of his skin, had been transformed into a steely determination.
"I know." Morph smiled, even after everything, unable to stop the fluttering if their heart at the sight of Logan's protectiveness directed at them. "And I'm not letting anything get past me either."
Feeling emboldened, from where their hand had been placed on Logan's shoulder, Morph traced his collar bone until their hand cupped the back of his neck.
"But even if you don't plan on sleeping, I have it on the trusted authority of my ex-therapist, that just lying down can help. So please, lay down for me." Morph's smile turned into a smirk. "I'll even let you share the pillow."
Logan blinked before shaking his head and snorting a smirk of his own.
"Alright, you win this one bub." He conceded, finally putting his claws away as he allowed Morph to pull him down to the pillow.
Morph reluctantly let go as they turned away from Logan to face the inside of their room, whilst The Wolverine took after his namesake and proceeded to nestle himself a den out of the bedsheets.
Now Morph hadn't really thought about the physics of sharing a pillow when they'd made the offer, as usual too preoccupied with making a joke to think about the consequences of opening their big mouth.
Because Logan's back was now placed firmly against theirs and the thin layer of his uniform was doing little to hide the solid layer muscle or stop the furnace level heat that his body was projecting. And due to his previous shuffling, the bottom of Morph's t-shirt had ridden up so that the sliver of skin between their briefs and their shirt could feel the full heat of Logan's body. It wasn't as if they hadn't touched the other before, But never that part of their body and even though the exposed skin was barely a few inches, Morph felt near naked at the touch.
They had no idea how they were supposed to go to sleep now. But eventually they must have.
Because next time Morph opened their eyes morning sun was beaming through their bedroom windows. At least that was where they assumed the light was coming from, as all they could see was the sleeping face of The Wolverine.
For a moment, Morph thought that they were still dreaming. Until they felt the breeze of Logan's breathe against the expanse of skin where their nose would have been.
As Morph blinked away sleep, they realised that the groves of anger and pain that Morph thought had been permanently etched onto Logan's face were relaxed, not completely gone but as close to peaceful as he could get.
They also realised that Logan's limbs were wrapped around their body like a koala in a tree as though he was afraid that if he didn't hold on tight enough he would fall. As a result Morph's hands, which had been trapped between the two of them, were braced against Logan's chest. Through the soft fabric of his costume, Morph could feel the individual bristles of his hair and under that the beating of his heart.
Perhaps they had died again, except this time they'd ended up in heaven instead of hell. That was the only logical explanation they could think of for why Logan would be holding them so close.
Well if this was their fate then Morph was happy to accept it, not that they were able to escape The Wolverine's grasp even if they wanted to. So with one last lingering look at the soft strokes of Logan's face, Morph drifted back off to sleep.
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acewritesfics · 1 year ago
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Lost Love | Tommy Shelby
Request: No.
Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, going off to war, grief, guilt. Angst. Italics - Flashbacks.
Word count: 665
TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || PEAKY B. TAG LIST SIGN-UP
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⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. YOU CAN FIND THE ORIGINAL POST STILL FLOATING AROUND ON TUMBLR SOMEWHERE. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.
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"She died two months ago, Tommy," the words echo in his ears as he stands in front of a grave belonging to someone very special to him. "A drunk had been brought into the emergency room. He stabbed her twice, one of which punctured an artery. She died from blood loss before they could get her to the operating theatre." 
Y/N's mother had informed him of the death of her daughter, his first and only love, when he went to visit her two hours ago. In that moment his heart had shattered even more than it was from the war. 
With his head bowed and blue eyes tightly closed trying to stop the tears from forming, he relives the memory of the last time he'd seen and spoken to her in person. 
"Thomas Shelby, don't you ever forget about me," Y/N tells the young man who she loves more than anyone else. She is proud but heartbroken to see him in his uniform, ready to fight for his country. There had been no way for her to stop him from enlisting, his pride and the thought of being labelled a coward if he didn't go weighed heavily on him as well as his eagerness for a fight, a lot of that having to do with how they were raised.  She feared for his safety and his life. Standing on the platform of the train station, saying her goodbyes to him, she gets a sinking feeling that this would be the last time she sees him in person. 
"I'll never forget you, Y/N," he promises her. "After all, you're the one I intend to spend the rest of my life with." 
He takes her left hand in his hand and kisses her on the fingers, right where her engagement ring sits. They were supposed to marry in six months, but then the war was announced, and they couldn't find anybody to marry them in the short time they had left together before he departed for France. All the men who had lovers seemed to be getting married before leaving. 
"I promise, the first thing we'll do when I get back is to get married. Nothing would make me happier than to call you my wife." 
Y/N smiles fondly at her fiancée before delicately kissing him. "Just promise me you'll come home." 
"I promise," he whispers before slamming his lips to hers, pulling her tight against him, savouring every inch of her, also sensing that this was the last time they'll be this close. He eventually steps back and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you, Y/N." 
"And I love you, Tommy," she says sadly as she kisses him one last time, tasting their salty tears mixed together before he boards the train. 
"I'm sorry, love," Tommy whispers as he opens his eyes, looking down at Y/N's headstone. "I'm so fucking sorry. I should have been here for you, given you everything I promised. I would have made so much money that you would not have needed to work. Maybe you'd still be here if that happened instead.  You deserve more than this." 
He holds the engagement ring he gave her between his fingers. "I kept my word and returned to you. Now it's your turn to assure me that you'll be there to greet me when my time is up." 
Tommy kneels to create a small hole in the ground. He kisses the ring, and then places it inside the hole before covering it up. Standing back up, he looks at her headstone again . "I'll never forget you, Y/N. I love you. That will never end." 
He turns and walks out of the graveyard. As he stands next to his car and raises his head to the sky, he feels a tender kiss land on his cheek. It was Y/N assuring him that she would honor her promise. That one day, when his turn comes, she'll be there waiting for him. 
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LINK TO TAG LIST ABOVE.
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bless-my-demons · 1 year ago
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Redamancy: Chapter Nineteen
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Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?
Warnings: Cuss words and a weeeee bit of angst, no Jasper tonight - but I promise I’ll make it up to y’all!
Notes: Tomorrow afternoon I’ll try to sort out the bugs with my taglist, tonight I just want to get this posted for y’all to enjoy because I had a stupid long day and Tumblr is wanting to test me for some reason.
Word Count: 2058
Series Masterlist
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• January 27, 2006 • Forks HS, WA•
Reader
Bella was noticeably absent from school yesterday and there’s a rumor floating around that she had made a trip to the ER Sunday afternoon. I had texted her yesterday to check on her as soon as I heard the whispers, but I received nothing but radio silence on her end.
I was in the middle of typing her another message as I headed in the direction of my final class of the day when a hand at my shoulder stopped me.
Snapping my head up, my eyes were immediately drawn to the neat row of stitches in Bella’s hairline.
“Holy shit, what-?” I gape, worry for my best friend taking hold of me.
“I um, lost control of one of the dirt bikes, hit a rock and it got me pretty good.” She sheepishly glanced at the floor while explaining herself quietly.
“I heard yesterday you had a trip to the ER on Sunday, I was worried sick about you!” My free hand gripping one of her biceps as I lightly berated her for not texting me back.
Her eyes met mine and something in them shifted, like she didn’t expect me to be so invested in her wellbeing.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” I suggest and tug her towards the exit to the student parking lot, “We’ve got some catching up to do.”
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“Aren’t you girls supposed to be in school?” Cora, the sweet hearted waitress at Carver’s Cafe, teases us as she sets down our shakes in front of us on the bar.
“It’s just one of those days.” I give her a half smile, stabbing my milkshake with a straw.
She nods understandingly, glancing at Bella’s injured forehead before moving on to other customers.
“Mike invited me to the movies.” She blurts as she scoops off the whipped cream into a discarded dish between us, neither one of us liking the topping.
A gasp slips out before I could reign in my surprise and Bella immediately shushes me.
“It’s not like I want to go with him!” She whisper-yells defensively.
“Well, what did you tell him?” I lean forward to press her for more details.
“I said yes, but!” She holds up a finger to delay my response, “I want it to be a group thing. I can’t deal with this potentially turning into some kind of date.”
“So you want me to come to be the awkward hand-holding buffer?” I smile to myself as I stir my melting drink.
“I’m asking Jake to come too and probably some of the others from school, I just have to find a weekend when everyone is free.”
“Oh thank god!” Her look of shock causes me to elaborate, “I’m not sure I could handle thwarting his advances towards you on my own, that’s a tall order for a wingwoman against Mike Newton on a mission, Bells.”
She groans and slumps back in her seat, “This is the worst, why couldn’t I have just said no?”
“Because you’re a nice person and even slightly hurting someone’s feelings is the worst thing you could do. I get it, I would’ve done the same thing.” Sighing, I slump down in my seat too.
“It sucks being a girl sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” My head lolls in her direction as I ask her sarcastically and we both let out a giggle.
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As soon as I walk in the door from my girl-date with Bella, I shoot a text to Quil:
Hey, you down for going to the movies? Bella is getting some friends together to go at some point in the near future, Jake will probably be there too.
A ping chirps from my phone before I even set my backpack down:
Absolutely, just let me know when and where Y/n/n.
I smile to myself - happy to get him out and hanging with other people, Quil has been struggling recently with Embry dropping off the map to spend time with Sam Uley. Somehow Sam is managing to dig his claws into the young guys of the tribe one by one, there also seems to be a gag order in place to not talk to anyone since Embry is ghosting us.
I just hope Jake and Quil aren’t next, I don’t think I could handle more people abandoning me.
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• February 20th, 2006 • Port Angeles, WA •
Reader
This group-movie-thing has got to be the newest and worst idea Isabella Swan has ever had.
Somehow in the shuffle under the dim lighting in the theater, Jake pushed his way between Bella and I, causing Mike to snatch up the other available seat next to her before I could even think of switching sides.
Huffing, I settle for sitting in between Jake and Quil, nervously meeting Bella’s panicked eyes as the opening ads begin playing.
I lean over and bump Quil with my shoulder, “Boys are mindless beasts.” I jokingly whisper.
“And girls never shut the fuck up in movies.” He whispers right back without missing a beat, devouring the bucket of popcorn while his eyes stay glued to the silver screen.
I turn my upper body to face him with a look of shock, this fucker-
But Jacob shushes us before we could get into it. I let out an exasperated sigh and cross my arms as I settle in for the movie, fucking boys.
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Ya know, last time I went to the movies I told Bella I would choose the next one.
Well, as my luck would have it, the boys beat us three to two on what to watch. Which means I’ve been left to suffer through gory after gory scene in this stupid action movie.
Cringing behind my hands as I squint, legs tucked up to my chest, Mike suddenly announces, “Okay-I think I’mgoingtothrowup.” And bolts from his chair for the exit, all of us turning to watch him run.
Bella turns to look at me questioningly and I gesture to follow him, all of us rising to leave.
“What a marshmallow.” Jake jokes as soon as we exit the theater and I try to stifle my laughter at the accuracy as we watch Mike dive for the bathroom door. “You should hold out for someone with a stronger stomach. Someone who laughs at the gore that makes weaker men vomit.”
“Yeah - I’ll keep my eye open for that.” Bella laughs, like actually laughs and it makes my heart a little happier to hear the sound from her again.
“I feel bad, he probably has that flu that’s-going around.” Bella’s voice trails off as I watch Jacob slide his hand into hers, but she drops it and twists around at the bottom of the stairs while we wait for Mike.
“What, I can’t hold your hand?” Jake’s offended tone immediately sets alarm bells off in my head and I turn to Quil, my eyes staring a hole in his chest.
“Of course you can, I just think it means something a little different.” I can hear Bella backpedaling to avoid hurting his feelings and it makes me cringe so hard I tune out their words.
Obviously this conversation needs to happen between them, but the urge to step in and come to her rescue fights my rational thought.
“Hey, let’s give them some space.” Quil whispers to me, steering me to the other side of the bathroom. Mike’s sounds of vomiting echoing as we pass and it makes me wince, poor dude can’t catch a break.
“But-” I look over my shoulder to check on my friend and see nothing but Jake’s tense back.
“I can see her from here and she’s fine.” Quil’s eyes never move from Bella, I can tell he feels the same way about their conversation.
“I knew this would happen sooner or later, but right now?” I speculate out loud.
“Jake’s always had the best fucking timing.”
“Really?” I ask questioningly.
“Of course not, dumbass - it was sarcasm.”
I punch his shoulder and he recoils from me at the same time a haggard-looking Mike Newton emerges from the men’s bathroom.
“Well, I need to go home.” The marshmallow announces, interrupting whatever was happening between Jacob and Bella on the stairs. “I-I was feeling sick before the movie. What is your problem?”
Quil hurriedly pushes me towards them, somehow already sensing a shift in the conversation.
“You, you’re my problem. Feeling sick? Maybe you need to go to the hospital. Want me to put you in the hospital?”
Quil surges past me to play mediator at the same time Bella grabs Jacob’s wrist.
“Jake! Jake-Jake, the movie is over, what are you doing?” I standby uselessly and watch as Bella tries to calm him down.
“Hey man-” Quil lays a hand on his chest to get his attention, but it fails.
“You’re really hot… You feel like you have a fever, are you okay?” I watch as Bella’s hands move along his arm, concern flooding her voice and moving her hands.
“I don’t know what’s happening. I gotta go.” Abruptly Jacob rushes for the exit, leaving the four of us dumbfounded in the corridor.
“Dude is weird.” Mike quips, but we ignore him, worried about our friend.
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The car ride home with Quil was… Awkward. Jake blowing up on Mike ended the night on a sour note, but his behavior had my mind racing.
It’s so obvious he’s in love with Bella and I’m worried I might eventually find myself in her same shoes. I chew on my lip nervously as I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, too fast for it to be with the beat of whatever is playing on the radio.
Quil leans over to shut the music off, “Alright, what’s wrong?”
At first I’m not really sure what to tell him, the anxiety of having the conversation I know we need to have is eating me alive.
“I’m worried about Jake.”
“Jake will be fine-”
“No, I know that. I’m just worried about what’s going on with him.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel.
“I’m not following, Y/n/n.” His eyebrows bunch together as he turns his face to study me.
“He’s in love with her.” I glance at him for a second before turning back to the road. “And-and I’m worried that we-”
“Pull over, please.” He asks gently and immediately I begin to panic internally.
Slowing to a stop on the shoulder of the deserted road back to Forks, Quil reaches up to turn on the car cabin light before turning to face me fully, “Y/n.”
Slowly I let go of the steering wheel and face him, worried about what he could possibly unleash on me.
“You’re my best friend, plain and simple. Jake and Bella are not us, I don’t have feelings for you like he does for her.” A puff of air blows through my lips as I deflate in relief, but he grabs my hands and continues. “You’re my sister for all intents and purposes, you don’t need to worry about that.”
My breaths are a bit shaky as I come down from the anxiety high, “I just don’t want you to think I’m close to you because I’m looking for something…” I look down at our joined hands and squeeze his. “After him, I just can’t.”
Tears begin to make my vision swim, it hurts every fiber of my being just thinking about potentially wanting someone else.
“I don’t know what happened with Hale,” my breath hitches at the name, “I don’t need the details about that whole situation, but I’m not here to replace him. I don’t want to, I just want a best friend that won’t leave me.”
“That’s all I want too, I can’t take anyone else leaving.”
Quil leans over the center console to pull me into a hug and my body relaxes.
“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers before letting go and leaning back into his seat.
Putting the car back into drive and continuing to the reservation to drop him off, a little sliver of dread worms its way into the cracks of my heart.
Everyone that says they aren’t going anywhere eventually goes somewhere, it’s like jinxing yourself with hard odds to beat - impossible.
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Next
Teaser
Taglist Part 1:
@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings
Sorry it took so long to fix!
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amberinn · 1 month ago
Text
Decided to share all my drdt related ideas so that you guys could hear about them at some point
Btw you can yoink and take and do any of those if y'want, with credit and stuff
Fuck 'm struggling with this... My lord
I also have MORE like 1/4th of a notebook+ pinboard full of those haha ;
It's a lot, believe me.
Eeveelutions!
Eevee - Min Jeung
Flareon - Ace Jockey (?)
Jolteon - J Moreno
Vapeoreon - Arei Nageishi 
Umbreon - Xander Matthews
Espeon - David Chiem
Leafeon - Hu Jing
Glaceon - Arturo Giles
Sylveon - Whit 
(Nucleon - Charles) (As in from Pokemon Uranium?)
Shiny eevee - Teruko
Shiny umbreon - Teruko post
______________
Say something
I can't
Then you havе forced my hand
Xander
Lower your weapon
No can do
Don't make me fight you, brother
Xander, Xander, Xander
Teruko, Teruko, Teruko
There is no price he won't pay
I am not letting you get in my way
*Teruko gets stabbed by Xander*
My brothers, why?
How are we supposed to trust you now?
Now your time has come, your luck's run out
Now, the time has come to shut you down
You relied on wit and then we died on it
Woah-oh-oh
___________
You can relax, my friend
Huh?
I can tell you're getting nervous
So do yourself a service
And try to relax, my friend
I'm fine, Eden
Think of all that we have been through
We'll survive what we get into
I know that you're tired of the war and bloodshed
Tell me, is this how we're supposed to live?
Look at how you grip your sword, enough said
Why should we take when we could give?
You could show a person that you trust them
When you stop and lower your guard
Here we have a chance for some adjustment
Give it a try, it's not that hard
I'm telling you
This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms
Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart
No matter the place, we can light up the world, here's how to start
Greet the world with open arms
Greet the world with open arms
(Welcome)
Stay back (stay back)
My friend, greet the world with open arms
We're only here for food (food)
Six hundred friends are waiting for us to show our faces (food)
Stay back, I'm warning you (food)
If we don't get back safely
My men will turn this place into blazes (here you go)
See?
This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms
Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart
No matter the place, we can light up the world, here's how to start
Greet the world with open arms
Greet the world with open arms
My friend, I wish that I could say that I agree
But look at the way this fruit is glowing and filled with glowing seeds
It took me a while to notice just what kind of fruit they eat
It's a lotus, it controls your mind and never lets you free
That's what we'd get with open arms
Lotus eaters
I'd like to show my friend that kindness is brave
Could you tell me where there's other food to eat?
(The cave)
A cave!
You're saying there's a cave where we could feast?
And where do we sail to find this food-filled cave?
(East, that way)
Thank you!
(Welcome)
This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms
I see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your heart
So why not replace it and light up the world, here's how to start
Greet the world with open arms
Greet the world with open arms
Greet the world with open arms
You can relax, my friend
___________________
"you will be my girl my girl my girl my girl
you will be my world my world my world my world" - lyrics
Them repairing each others hearts
More papa susheria, ice creameria, donuteria brainrots 
Them during pride
‌The moment Charles realises hes in love
‌(Whit is making batter for cupcakes and has a sliver of cake mass on his cheek and Charles reaches up to brush it out as Whit turns to look at him)
Charwhit playing DS.
One really desiring the other
Them baking with each other
Both of them using Tumblr
Charles with a bnnuuyy (Whit with a bnnuuy too they adopt all the bnuuys the bunny couple everrrr)
‌Them dancing in the rain
___________________
Them chilling in animal crossing esque room, on the island, fishing generally
___________________
Charwhit fishing some sort of cool science fish 
___________________
Rose Lacroix eating doritos
__________________
Areden 
Sweet like honey
Sweet like a summer day
Sweet like honey
Sweet like a summer day
Sweet like honey
Sweet like honey honey
Sweet like honey
Sweet like a summer day~
__________________
Whit pinning Charles down on the bed 
‌Whit protecting/shielding Charles from others when Charles is having a meltdown to give him some privacy
__________________
He's a bombshell blonde, wired up to detonate 
I'm James Bond, live to die another day
_________________
‌Charles distracting someone so Whit could sneak in 
Them meeting (Whit greeting a new neighbour)
Whit teaching Charles how to use a car
‌Charles and Whit creechurs 
Cat flower bouquets (also heart shaped for Whit OR Charles)
Whit on a really pretty pastel pink bike cycling to Charles
Them cuddling
Charles commenting how the cats in the village have been dissapeared along the same time monoTV agents have been appearing, Whit saving kittens from cages distracting monoTV
"Cha!" "What, do I call you Whits...?"
"No! Whit, not Whits"
The agents have left this area, you have now unlocked the flower garden!
You can use this location to collect flowers 
Them surrounded by flowers in a flower room
Charles and Whit catching some fucked up fish for a science experiment
- Them in different outfits
- Them in each others room (Charles, Whit)
- Them on the Night Market (Charles, Whit)
- Them flirting on the Night market (booths near each other)
- Zombie apocalypse setting
- Wearing each others clothes
Prince CHArming?
________
That one song that goes 
"Argh ahh ahh shit, no no no no no no no no no no no, BITCH, SHIT NO, DAMN IT, FUCKING GOD, AGH, STUPID, goddamnit come on Man! Fuck, oh fucking god, fuck, no, why, good, no! Fucking kid.. whatever! Oh. No. ArGHH--"
For everything that goes wrong in drdt
____________
It really does give the Xander reaches for Teruko and dies, Teruko reaches for Xander and watches him die, Teruko isolates herself, Eden gives her hope narrative
https://youtu.be/ChVV5EVL4W4?si=TyHsL-VgXITQ7_rc
_____________
It's Eden and her girlfriend Arei and her boyfriend Whit and his boyfriend Charles and his girlfriend Teruko and her girlfriend Veronika and her boyfriend Arturo
____________
Whitrei laying on the grass 
A sliver of grass on Whit's nose as he looks up, Arei digging the dirt and plomping it down on Whit's hand
____________
‌Charuko where Charles comes back with a grocery back and Teruko is the queen of the crows //both prompts are claimed by my bestie mercuriee theyre actually not up to being yoinked
‌Charuko where Charles and Teruko are plopped down on a lot of fluffy pillows in a nice bed
____________
‌Whit cuddling into Charles hand a blushing mess
____________
https://youtu.be/B85mAai1XZI?si=PHFr3tIL00sFJsIN
Iruoma  ?  And Harumiu irukawa....
_____________
‌Whit finds Charles who is trapped in a mirror, lacking a real friend he befriends him
_____________
Charwhit au where both of them fail to become ultimates and end up going to school that teaches programming
_____________
Teruko:
Argh, it's just that... *brushes finger across a photo of Xander *
Whit: *snatches it and ties it to a brick and throws it out the window *     Isn't here!
Teruko:  WHIT.
Whit: out of sight out of mind, isn't he?
In a cool room
________________
Charwhit dancing in that snowball christmas decoration except the insides of that ball are their life
‌Charwhit inspired boba recipes
_______________
https://youtu.be/ph9vQASpv6M?si=Ecu27a5yPsdPY9mt
Charwhit 
_______________
Whit kissing Charles with a draining kiss
Whit kissing Charles collarbone
Charwhit in pokemon trainer gear with a litten between them
Charwhit sensually pre kissing in various shades
_______________
Whit hanging out with Rose in winter outfits
Whit when Rose is painting 
Whit kissing Rose's nose while she is painting something 
Whit kissing Rose's cheek while she's having hot chocolate 
Whit kissing Rose's forehead while they're cuddling on the bed
Rose patting Whit's hair while they're sharing an electric blanket heating up
"It's such a rush, girl
Everytime we touch, girl"
They’re upstairs downstairs neighbours who fall in love au when - missmercuriee's idea
Au ideas where Whit is in a cute heart pink punkband of sorts idk and Rose loves it and is payed to design a poster for their next concert - missmercuriee's idea
Rosewhit slow dancing
Love grows where my (rose)mary goes by Edison light house but it’s just rosewhit - missmercuriees idea and i need to listen to the song
I like the dynamic of aloof quiet girl and loud flirty guy
I was thinking more over how Rose is struggling with everything that is traumatising and Whit is like a soft bandaid and a kiss and a hug
Also Whit describing to Rose what his mom looked like or showing her a picture and Rose sorta just doing her best to recreate a memory Whit has of her
___________
Mai wchodząca na egzamin wiedząć że always to podpaski 
___________
Taco - Puppeteer EPIC
Acevid - Wrecking Ball // mother mother
___________
He’d make hu jing play the zither for him and he’ll pretend like he doesn’t care but sometimes when he misses her he watches her concerts on YouTube to hear her voice and fall asleep - huturo, miss mercuriees idea
Ace with a galarian zigzagoon
_____________
"can't we be seventeen?
is that so hard to do?
if you could let me in...
I could be good with you!"
"People hurt us
Or they vanish 
And you're right!
It really blows... 
But we let go
Take a deep breath 
And go buy some summer clothes!" 
Charuko 
___________
If I can, If I can give them all the execution
Then I can, then I can be your only execution
If I can have you back, I will run the execution
Though we are trapped, we are trapped ah
I've , I've studied how to properly LO-O-OVE
Question me question me I can answer all LO-O-OVE
I know the algerbratic expression of LO-O-OVE
Though you are free, I are trapped, trapped in LO-O-OVE
Execution
MIN
__________
Just imagine being human, hating your confusion
Denying 'til it's proven, laughing at illusion
Thinking institution's the solution
While tyranny and irony float in its pollution
Imagine reducing yourself to your name
Janet, you've got no one else you can blame
You've stuck all your conscience inside of your brain
Charwhit
___________
Rose is really artsy cause she’s the ultimate art forger so she makes Whit funny looking socks all the time //missmercuriee's idea
___________
Rocket ships will take off
Whether you're in them or not
And it's sad, but it's the truth 
The world will still turn without you
And when your bones turn to earth
You'll ask me---
What was I worth?
I'll simply plant a flower above you...
And you can watch it grow
You can watch it grow
You can watch it... grow
Whit
________
Charuko where Charles buys Teruko tiger lily
________
J Moreno 
Copyright copyright copyright copyright 
________
Xander with a slip "take action" and red and blood
________
Goals and values with Charles Cuevas and Whit
Charwhit red string of fate Whit tangles in it
________
Charuko cuddling after an investigation 
Asking about Teruko's stitches 
gently touching through the clothes 
Curled up into Charles body 
Sighing 
Teruko holding onto Charles for protection and from pain 
Charuko where they're at a shop looking over at their wedding bands (the newly weds)
_______
"Nicolas, take the animals from the living room. Now"
"Ma... My name's Nico...?" ;
(While they're reading a book or something)
"Yes 
Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes"
Stop spamming me, what the fuck I'm on the stage 
Sorry, my phone crashed 
Honest mistake? My bad
Xanvid
Arei: Mamo, jak to jest mieć najlepszą córkę na świecie?
M: Nie wiem kochanie, musisz zapytać babci 
Levi: Przepraszam
We wtorki mi odpierdala (after the trial)
What's up Nico? 
You're sitting there pretty quietly
(Social interaction, uh oh)
Whit to Charles: 
You know if we met under normal circumstances February 15th this year would be a greeaaaaat birthday party...
Charuko fanfiction where Teruko laughs and banters with Charles as he treats her burn //this IS an actual fanfiction i just wanted to do fanart of it, also why is there only 7 works underneath the Charuko tag wtf i expected more out of this fandom /j
What do you mean I can't come there in jeans 
It's a special occasion, Whit.
But I don't have those kinds of clothes 
Charwhit at school
That gay triangle, but it's just a gay rainbow filled Whit drawing full of symbolism (and or David maybe)
Charles and Whit meet for the first time on Valentine's day
David Chiem eating peanut butter straight out of the jar
Love you so - Xanruko 
 microwaving Charles under that tan machine
Teruko getting a hallucination of Min watching her sleep full of care, before she feels her chest tighten and as Min fades Teruko breaks out into a sob and decides to skip going out that day
i am so happy for you and your ugly fucking boyfriend im serious <- Teruko to Xander about David
Idolising a politician is like believing the stripper really likes you
I need a cigarette and to die - Teruko
Whit kissing Charles hand
(Did you know that the knuckles are an erogenous zone?)
Don’t worry Nico, Ace is just a hater - David
It’s okay I’ll discipline him - Hu Jing (I said that haha)
Min eating bubbly chocolate Milka
Someone: Wait wait wait, is this about Xander? (To David)
Whit: You’re gonna trigger an allergic reaction, careful there! (I said that as well I love DM induced content ideas)
David: *opens his mouth as if to speak*
Whit: There it goes! (Tgere its goes !) *laughing
Arturo with an Altaria
Hu Jing with Swanna (aaaaa it’s like Xan Bing!!! :DD) // Xan Bing isnt exactly what shes called i just don't know chinese v well, me and mercuriees idea
Nico Hakobyan using a yes/no generator wheel to decide whether to murder Ace (it landed on yes)
Nico: This sounds wrong
Hu Jing: THAT’S PLAIN UP WRONG
Teruko: You’ve got that wrong 
Whit: me and my boyfriend are making a new way of creating a chemical war weapon (mentions)
Hu Jing: Come here Arei, and YOU fucker! I bet I can beat BOTH OF YOU. (Ace)
J, sarcastic: Hi fucker! 
Did you stop in to see my mom?
An old and beat up fishing rod (Teruko’s)
Teruko fishing in pokemon 
(shiny magikarp)
David: I feel so sigma with that Ohio gyatt rn 
Kneel before me Whit Young 
Your ass is so flat it’s low placement is not even on the list 
What in the sleep deprivation is this man 
Trans Charles or something 
Rose with Morellul 
Whit with Fidough and Swirlix making Swirlix super sweet pancakes (headcanon that his taste in food is so sweet it’s atrocious, because he makes overly sweet food all the time to keep his pokemon soso healthy)
Also Solosis 
MonoTV with Duraludon protecting it
Min with Ralts
David with a Seviper
Min feeding her Ralts experience candy (eating it herself aswell)
Whit holding his phone by the charger (on his wallpaper is a picture of Arei hanging)
Min and Eden chilling in that Polish Warsaw clock palace 
Veronika and Eden in Polish old town in Warsaw
Charwhit hanging out 
(Whit being a priority)
Whit being excited and looking forward to smooching Charles 
These two creating a love potion
Whit emberrasing Charles by telling him everything that’s just so goddamn good about him
Them cuddling in the relaxation room
Charles trying to be more outgoing (mostly with Whit)
Whit afraid of the visions he sees, if not hopeless 
Three things you love about your life:
-Sweets(?)
- Your mom
- Charles
What inspires you (Marie Curie idk lmao)
What is your big dream? (W: to get into a relationship)
Something you are currently working on (place in here one fun chemical experiment)
How do you procrastinate?
With Charles <3
What are you grateful for?
Whit
One small step you can take towards your big dream, but it’s just Whit holding Charles face nervously 
What bad habits do you have?
Nico and Ace as that 
Your fursona is cringe meme
43 notes · View notes
concretevampire · 2 years ago
Text
Early Morning Breeze
arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes
A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged
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You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes. 
A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight. 
“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight. 
“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky. 
Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily. 
Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat. 
Swallowing, you return to chopping onions. 
Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet. 
Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin. 
Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name. 
Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it. 
And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal. 
He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind. 
You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that. 
Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child. 
But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith. 
The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.
The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly. 
Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass. 
It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago. 
A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women. 
Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure. 
Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse. 
You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.
When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm. 
“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?” 
Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste. 
“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.” 
You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots. 
“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.” 
“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning. 
His smile widens. 
He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?” 
“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.” 
“So that’s how I get you to talk.” 
You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive. 
“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel. 
He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue. 
Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.” 
Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?” 
“Jealous she ain’t with you.” 
Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air. 
Both of them have stilled, turning towards you. 
“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads. 
And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth. 
It’s quiet again. 
You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.
“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember. 
“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work. 
Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily. 
Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss. 
Abigail’s raised him well. 
“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.” 
You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.” 
Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?” 
“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.” 
She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.” 
“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile. 
“So you are worried.” 
“Whatd’ya mean?” 
“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.” 
You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose. 
“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.” 
Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.” 
“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.
She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile. 
That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles. 
The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking. 
His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted. 
“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals. 
“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers. 
“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling. 
And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp  looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart. 
You help Tilly with the laundry. 
Karen and you care for spare guns. 
Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love. 
It makes you snort.
Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.  
You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it. 
You don’t blame her. You used to too. 
And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning. 
Javier and Bill from a home robbery. 
Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis. 
John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand. 
But no Arthur. 
It’s a bit disheartening.  Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then? 
You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave. 
Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet. 
You thank him with a glance. 
And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.
But you go.
You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week. 
And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide. 
And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out. 
You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.
Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for. 
It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.
The promise of his return. 
“Yer mutterin’.” 
The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore. 
You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.” 
“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you. 
His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most. 
You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing. 
“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now. 
“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning. 
“Yer mad.” 
“I am not mad.” 
“Sure ya are.” 
“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct. 
“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you. 
His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello.  Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike. 
He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning. 
“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message. 
For a second, you think he doesn’t. 
But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry. 
“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants. 
His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze. 
You’re sure he wishes. 
“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines. 
He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning. 
And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.” 
You look up, raising a brow. 
“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words. 
The only way he failed Hosea. 
“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again. 
Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.” 
You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better. 
And you look up, less angry this time. 
He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills. 
Finally, you acquiesce. 
Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.
You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat. 
“Your hair’s gotten long.” 
Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does. 
“Want me to cut it?” 
You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles. 
“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?” 
“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.” 
Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly. 
And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too. 
“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks. 
“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained. 
“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder. 
“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.
Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.
And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like. 
But you don’t. You never would. 
Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. 
Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another. 
Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours. 
“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out. 
“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return. 
Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you. 
Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead. 
But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other. 
That was you. 
Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people. 
Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together. 
And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie. 
“You’re not gonna ride?” 
He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you. 
“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.” 
You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?” 
The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking. 
“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.” 
He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.” 
You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang. 
They make Arthur laugh. 
“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.” 
Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.” 
“You would if there was money in it.” 
“Is there?” 
“I’ll say no for my own sake.” 
Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch. 
“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame. 
“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge. 
“You gotta get out more.” 
“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.” 
All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.” 
An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.” 
And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh. 
“What do you mean I’m not?” 
“You hate Saint Denis.” 
“I know but-“ 
You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.” 
He pouts. “It ain’t torture.” 
“Mhm, sure.” 
Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder. 
And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do. 
Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way. 
And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room. 
You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself: 
Talk to Dutch. 
Contribute money and check the ledger.
Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen. 
Help with any last minute chores. 
Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too. 
So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard. 
And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization. 
Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched. 
Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times. 
He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper. 
It’s strange when he gets like this. 
It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head. 
“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse. 
Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan. 
“Are you serious?”  But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees. 
You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there. 
Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again. 
When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar. 
“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything. 
“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.” 
Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles. 
“And whose fault is that?” 
He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it. 
“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly. 
“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.” 
“When,” he amends. “When they get better.” 
“Sure.” 
He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“ 
“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.” 
He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated. 
A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul. 
But you let go, and turn away. 
Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten. 
You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before. 
And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair. 
He’ll need a wash tomorrow. 
You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade. 
Obviously, you wake before him. 
Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams. 
His soft snores ensue. You drift away. 
And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted. 
And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee. 
At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze. 
He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard. 
At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it. 
Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back. 
He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.
Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically. 
It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue. 
Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once. 
You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all. 
But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always. 
“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.
He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?” 
You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?” 
“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).
And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.
He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him. 
But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been. 
But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family. 
“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron. 
“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?” 
“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other. 
Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery. 
“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts. 
“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.” 
He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?” 
And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power. 
In hatred. In violence. 
You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land. 
It had confused you. Hurt you even. 
And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die? 
And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you: 
“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.” 
And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too. 
You stare at Dutch. 
“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth. 
Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch. 
“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked. 
“Read it.” 
“My, aren’t you full of surprises?” 
“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?” 
He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense. 
“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.” 
Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?” 
“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking. 
“And how often is that?” 
“More than I’d like.” 
Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up. 
“Isn’t that the truth.” 
Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains. 
You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye. 
And it’s all very domestic. 
A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary. 
When dreams rule the plain of existence. 
Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months. 
Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret. 
And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it. 
“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.
“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have. 
Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay. 
Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile. 
He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.” 
“He does, doesn’t he?” 
“Where did Uncle Arthur go?” 
Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.” 
Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!” 
You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket. 
“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.” 
Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.” 
And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.” 
“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks. 
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.” 
Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?” 
And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.” 
And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt. 
Little brown capped soldiers. 
“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?” 
You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.” 
“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?” 
“It was before you were born.” You add gently. 
“Ohhh. Was it scary?” 
“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.
Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?” 
A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.” 
Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is. 
And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says, 
“There she is.” 
Micah’s back. 
Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside. 
Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated. 
“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?” 
A sock is hung up, next a union suit. 
“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?” 
You’re running short on clothespins. 
“You gettin’ tired of him?” 
There’s still enough for now. 
“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?” 
You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung. 
“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.” 
Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins. 
“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.” 
You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly. 
And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.
You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean. 
Washed away of filth and stress. 
An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over. 
“Good afternoon,” you say. 
“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers. 
You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?” 
He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.” 
You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.” 
“We could rent a room.” 
“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide. 
He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.” 
“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.” 
That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate. 
“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly. 
And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page. 
But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words. 
And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what. 
Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more. 
Not until night falls. 
You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night. 
Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out. 
And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave. 
Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.
And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped. 
In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.
“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?” 
You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.” 
A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose. 
“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.” 
“Was he angry?” 
“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.” 
And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars. 
You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight. 
“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves. 
You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out. 
“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.” 
“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts. 
“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?” 
Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together. 
“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.” 
Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him. 
Only him. 
And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something. 
But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light. 
He’s struck gold. 
Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche. 
He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers. 
The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers. 
The gift of walls. 
And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets. 
“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties. 
Not since Mary. 
And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered. 
And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent. 
But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to. 
Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name. 
And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too. 
It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started. 
Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. 
He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts. 
And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second. 
For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache. 
Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily. 
There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good. 
A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop. 
Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress. 
To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.
Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does. 
And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea. 
You’re a woman, of course you have. 
But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer. 
Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint. 
Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.
He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch. 
It’s intoxicating.  
For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple. 
A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier. 
You all but melt. 
You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly. 
You’re oversensitive and overstimulated. 
When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.
His trousers have become a hindrance. 
Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.
And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants. 
“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.” 
You ponder him for a moment, then nod.
The trousers are off in an instant. 
And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper. 
Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do. 
He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off. 
And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm. 
Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset. 
Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further. 
Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him. 
And finally, you slide onto his length. 
It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely. 
He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist. 
Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again. 
The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you. 
To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being). 
And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder. 
You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else. 
You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck. 
And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach. 
“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown. 
His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him. 
“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out. 
In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful. 
Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress. 
Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves. 
Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does. 
And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress. 
And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him. 
“Please,” you beg. 
“Please, what?” 
Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.
He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours. 
A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum. 
Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set. 
And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen. 
Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy. 
He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot. 
Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.
The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation. 
Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would. 
He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant. 
But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly. 
It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck. 
Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself. 
But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over. 
Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock. 
He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties. 
And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated. 
He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders. 
It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is. 
And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.
After a while, he mumbles your name. 
You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss. 
“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.
You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like. 
“You heard him today I’m guessing.”
“When you were doin’ the laundry.” 
You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say. 
“No it ain’t.” 
You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.” 
Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created. 
“Okay.” 
682 notes · View notes
redhairedwolfwitch · 1 year ago
Text
In Sickness - Aitana Bonmatí x Reader
A/n: this fic is covid heavy and based on my personal experiences, so there is content involving covid, hospitals, detiled medical stuff, anxiety (because i felt a lot of it on that lovely day where i was in a&e for nearly two days...) so read at your own risk because i probably overshared. take care of yourselves. @grapefruit-personified enjoy:) especially because i wrote this months ago and part 2 is mainly written, i just lost motivation to finish anything.
do not repost this anywhere, i only post on this tumblr so unless it's a reblog, it was stolen.
///
You could remember the day you met her. You had just moved to Spain, knowing zero Spanish made you shy and you were struggling with school, not understanding much. She spotted you sitting on the grass, tying together daisies into chains one lunch time, eventually she went over to join you instead of playing her usual lunchtime football.
The on hold music finally stopped as the clinician returned to the phone, advising you to get to the closest A&E department within the hour, after asking you if you had some way to get there.
Checking the time on your phone, you grimaced at the 12% and decreasing battery before admitting you had no way to get to A&E, resulting in advice for an ambulance, but a taxi would be quicker.
Your teammates were already at training, so none of them would be answering their phones, and your partner, she was where you left her. Barcelona.
Her last message to you was a good morning one, a message you had mirrored before the stabbing pain in your ribs had gotten worse.
You’d been able to withstand the pain yesterday, but it was stabbing more and more, getting more intense and making it hard for you to do anything. Now you were masked up in the back of a taxi, your breathing laboured as you waited for the Manchester hospital you’d been given the address to to come into view.
Leila frowned as she looked around the Manchester City training ground, wondering where you were and if you were stuck in traffic or something.
It was ‘or something’. Sitting in the emergency department, it took over an hour for you to be moved from A&E to the major emergency department, but your blood pressure and heart rate were high enough that they did an ECG. The nausea from before had stopped, but the hot and cold flashes hadn’t.
Your phone was on 8% as you checked the notifications, having no internet connection meant you didn’t have many, but Leila had texted along with the staff asking where you were.
You were barely able to send a pin of your location to Leila before the 5% battery warning lit up your phone, but you were cut off as a healthcare worker approached, wheeling over the machine to check your vitals.
Vitals that were circling the toilet, especially after a sweet old woman had spotted you swaying in your half asleep state in the waiting room chair, helping you move to a recliner that enabled you to lean back safely.
The back and forth to and from the waiting room was draining, after emerging again to return to the waiting room with a cannula in your arm.
They’d taken blood to grow some blood cultures, apparently to see if it was bacterial or viral, before leaving you in the waiting room again, attaching a small bag of fluids to the cannula to hydrate you after taking more blood to check on your general functioning. It was the nasal swab that gave them all the information they needed though.
Your COVID test was positive, but that wasn’t the only concerning factor to your vitals. They were too high, even for an individual fighting a virus. They offered you paracetamol to try to bring your temperature down, but your blood pressure had dropped slightly, your heart was still racing and your d-dimer was slightly higher than normal. 
You couldn’t fight back the tears after that, the waterfalls hidden behind your mask as they discussed keeping you in observation even longer, asking about if you had a family history of blood clots in lungs or legs.
At this point you’d only had a couple of small packets of random biscuits to eat, eventually heading into the waiting room that you had been isolated from to protect other patients, to quickly grab a packet of crisps and some more water, but it was all too much.
You didn’t know Leila had gotten your location update once in the changing room after training, and when she got no response, she began to ask questions.
The club staff had no answers after discovering your emergency contact you had written down for the club knew nothing, and the hospital told Leila nothing after being given a name she hadn’t heard of for your emergency contact.
So Leila contacted someone who would know. Your partner. Even in Barcelona, Aitana would know who your hospital emergency contact was, Aitana knew everything about you, except that you were in hospital.
It was getting closer to dinner time, you had nothing with you but your wallet, nearly dead phone and your zip up hoodie that was one of Aitana’s old Barcelona ones. Your legs and bum were going numb under the crappy waiting room chair you’d been moved to, your vitals still far too high for anyone to be comfortable sending you home.
They’d talked about giving you a blood thinning medication but a change in doctor later had you recalling all of your family health history instead. This doctor said it was sounding unlikely that you had a blood clot in your lungs, but they still sent you for a chest x-ray.
Aitana hadn’t heard from you all day. The panic inside her kept restrained by the knowledge you were probably training and having fun with your team.
Until Leila called, asking about a family member who had been out of your life for years now. A family member who was apparently still your emergency contact in NHS systems. It didn’t take long for Aitana to read through what Leila had sent, realising immediately you were in hospital and nobody had heard from you since.
It was closer to 8pm when they gave you the blood thinning injection in your stomach, keeping you hydrated with more water and trying to control your fever with more paracetamol.
You had all of the notices on the walls of the hospital waiting rooms memorised at this point, but the ‘one visitor per patient’ in the hospital policy was useless when you had come to the hospital alone.
Your arms were freezing cold, but you couldn’t get your sleeve on over the cannula without almost crying in pain, so you wrapped the shoulders of the hoodie around your shoulders and hoped your hands wouldn’t feel so cold so much longer.
The next flight to Manchester from Barcelona would arrive at Manchester airport past 11pm, but Aitana had made it to the airport in time for it, especially after asking her teammates for help.
They didn’t move you far, but once you had curled up across the two waiting room chairs, you were moved into an isolated room with a small view through the door of the nurse’s station outside.
The walls were bare minus plug sockets for machinery, a table near the recliner you were able to set up for the night, a sink in the corner and a bin for clinical waste in the other. It was past 10pm when a healthcare worker came in, attaching a bag of fluids to the cannula in your arm and leaving you alone in the dark.
Exhaustion washed over you but the cold feeling of the fluids being administered into your arm kept you half awake. Your phone is barely holding on with its 5% battery but the message Aitana sent when it was closer to midnight gave you hope.
She had rented a car from Manchester airport, getting her spare key from Leila to sort of your home for the night. A home that she had helped you pick out when it was clear Barcelona’s A team had no room for you, and you had outgrown Barcelona Team B.
One glance around your Manchester home was all it took for her to calm her anxieties. You weren’t there. Your bed was a mess, bedding all but tossed on the floor as she moved to pick up the bedding, finding some pyjamas for your return.
You were going to be okay.
She convinced herself of such as she checked your fridge, rolling her eyes at the nearing emptiness of your fridge and cupboards. She’d have to figure out how to do an online food shop.
It was closer to midnight when the first big bag of fluids was finished, sticking your head out of the door to have the tubing removed from the cannula, you headed towards the toilet for what was one of many trips there during the night.
You’d stopped looking at your phone hours ago, but getting a glance at the time after each toilet trip, it was nearly 2am when the next bag of fluids was administered, once again leaving you laying on the recliner in the dark, listening to every beeping alarm and footsteps passing by.
You probably should have called Aitana and told her what was going on, but every time you got an update, it was from a different healthcare professional and they kept changing their minds. For example, the blood thinning injection had been talked about hours before it was eventually given. You had managed to send out a short text though. 
You were COVID positive.
It was after 4am that you finished the next round of fluids, two bags that looked like they were cloudier, perhaps full of nutrients but the writing on the bags were small and you were more interested in going to the toilet again after flagging down someone to detach the tubing from the cannula again.
Your temperature and heart rate were fluctuating throughout the night, going from 39 point something degrees celsius to an apparent normal of 37 degrees, before rising again to 38.1 degrees celsius.
Waiting until 8am, another doctor came in, explaining the goal to get you a CT scan of your chest early this morning to check for blood clots, and if there were none, they planned to discharge you to ride out the COVID at home. It was only then that you were able to request something to eat, since your last meal yesterday was a three pack of digestive biscuits.
One bowl of cornflakes and milk later, you were offered more paracetamol and left to wait until it was time for your CT scan.
Your arms were freezing despite attempts to keep warm under the one blanket you were given, plus a smaller blanket to act as a pillow for your head.
They didn’t want to increase your temperature by giving you another, so you worked with your hoodie, the softness of the fabric working to keep you calm as you waited, and waited.
Aitana hadn’t been able to sleep much. The worry of you still being in hospital consuming her, so she stayed up, using a multi-surface cleaner to wipe down the surfaces in your place, gather your medical supplies in case you needed them to fight off the COVID virus.
You didn’t hear from anyone until noon, but the CT scanner was ready for you, and after a quick check that you were okay to walk, you followed the healthcare worker to the CT scanner room, a different location entirely to where the emergency x-ray rooms were located.
They checked you weren’t allergic to the contrast dye they would administer via the cannula, before warning you of the warm feeling that often overtakes your body once administered, and how it would feel like you had wet yourself, even though you would not have actually wet yourself.
Your arms ached as you held them above your head for the chest CT, slamming your eyes shut at the horrid feeling of the scanner moving, you remained still as you were informed what was happening, and when they were administering the CT contrast dye.
The warm feeling was too hot to feel like you had actually wet yourself, but it was a horrid feeling that didn’t help the nausea at the CT scanner moving to get the required imagery of your chest. You just wanted to go home, but it would be a lot worse if you did in fact have blood clots on your lungs.
Walking back to your isolation room, you were playing a waiting game as you managed to send another text to Aitana, updating her that you had had the CT scan. 
It was getting towards 1pm when the vitals machine was wheeled into your room, checking your temperature (38.1 degrees celsius), your heart rate which had decreased from 140 beats per minute to 128 beats per minute.
Your oxygen levels had maintained high throughout but when it came to the healthcare worker checking your pulse, your wrists were still freezing to the touch.
There were no signs of your CT scan results, but the healthcare worker had been kind enough to ask if anyone had spoken to you about food, something you had not had since being brought the cornflakes hours ago.
The result of the conversation turned into a sandwich, some more water, and a yoghurt as you continued to play the waiting game for your scan results and whether you did or did not have blood clots in or on your lungs.
It was nearing 2pm when the doctor from this morning entered your room again, but the key piece of information you needed was given. Your CT scan was clear, you could be discharged and have your cannula removed. You could go home and ride out the COVID in your own bed.
Your phone was somehow holding on as you texted Aitana that your scan was clear so you could go home if she or someone else could pick you up from the main reception carpark, your phone sending the message and getting a thumbs up response before finally the battery dropped to 0%.
Sticking your head out of the door, the mask you had been wearing since yesterday felt damp and close to your face, but you did not remove it yet. Waiting for a nurse to come remove the cannula in your arm, you went for your final toilet break before the final hospital waiting game.
It was warm outside, and despite the clouds in the sky making it seem greyer than that one moment where you saw out a window when waiting for the CT scan, it was sunny too. Your phone was long dead, but you were alive.
Holding your hoodie in your arms, your phone and wallet in your pockets as you made the trek across the main reception disabled car park, lingering near the out of use bus stop that gave you a perfect vantage point of the entrance into the hospital from the main road.
You weren’t entirely sure who you were looking for, who would be your saviour and get you home until a car you didn’t recognise pulled up in front of you. The window going down to reveal a pair of eyes you had not seen in person since the two of you were in Italy together during the winter break.
“Mi dulce flor!” you exclaimed, shock in your tone but your throat felt like you were swallowing knives, barely getting into the passenger seat before you were almost hacking up your lungs into your mask.
“Cálmate, estoy aquí mi amor.” Aitana cooed, her hand lingering on your back as you coughed, eventually settling enough to put your seatbelt on so Aitana could drive you home.
“Are you hungry?” Aitana paused, going over the English in her head as she watched you walk over to your couch, appearing with several blankets before digging through your living room cabinets for something.
“Bebé?” Aitana broke the silence as you froze before letting out a hoarse cheer of victory.
“Found it!” Revealing the old box set that left Aitana smiling softly, watching as you went to play the series from the beginning, then disappearing to your room.
It was getting dark when Aitana realised your phone was charged, allowing you to finally message your teammates and staff at Manchester City with an update of what had happened. But it also gave Aitana a chance to message her teammates and the staff at Barcelona, sending a photo of you wrapped in blankets, half asleep as you watched the TV.
It was Alexia, Patri and Laia that messaged back first, Alexia having helped Aitana get to the airport the night before whilst Patri and Laia had held down the fort when Aitana had to leave.
“What happens when you miss training? You have the game against Atleti… and the game against Chelsea-”
“Shush, mi amor. You were alone in the hospital for more than a day, I am not leaving you again.” Aitana replied, passing you your drink as you began to cough.
“They worried you had, what did you call it? Blood clots on your lungs! Era serio!” Aitana exclaimed before quietening her voice as you grimaced at the loudness.
“Lo siento.”
“It is not your fault. The virus…” Aitana fell quiet, brushing away a tear as you reached for her hand, holding it gently, “I thought I would lose you, mi dulce flor. I cannot lose you.” Aitana admitted, feeling your fingers draw patterns in the back of her hand. Your eyes were glassy with exhaustion but the love for Aitana in them was undeniable. 
She wouldn’t admit it, but Aitana listened to your breathing for most of that night. It was heavier, but you kept breathing which was a relief to her. The windows were opened enough to air out the room from germs, your fear of giving Aitana the dreaded virus which was wreaking havoc on your body and mind overwhelming you.
You didn’t want to get out of bed, the way your body ached was not helping you but Aitana needed your help for an online order of food. You were running a fever that was kept at bay by paracetamol, tapping away on the touch screen to add things to the order, much to Aitana’s amusement at how quickly you were doing it.
She found you on the couch later, curled up under your blankets and clad in your dressing gown over your pyjamas. You were breathing heavily but you remained in deep slumber, the tv stuck replaying the menu music over and over as you’d gotten to the end of the disc. 
Feeling your forehead to check your temperature, Aitana froze as it sounded like you whimpered in your sleep, eyes cracking open as you smacked together your dried lips. “Your hands are cold.”
Aitana rolled her eyes playfully before disappearing for a moment, dropping something in your lap as she returned.
“Lip balm? Gracias mi dulce flor.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm but Aitana ignored it in favour of heading to your kitchen to make something that didn’t irritate your mouth.
You hadn’t admitted it at first, but you had been trying to hide the grimace at the toast you had this morning, the rough texture hurting the hard palate of your mouth.
Staring up at the ceiling of your living room, your eyes fluttered shut as memories flickered in your mind. The first time you met Aitana, the flower crowns the two of you would make together, and the dynamic duo the two of you became on the football pitch, despite the boys picking on Aitana for her height, and you for existing.
Aitana was 13 when she joined Barcelona’s youth team, whilst you took longer to join, the two hour rides by public transport to get to practice were not in your favour until you were travelling with Aitana and her father.
The two of you were moved up to Barcelona B close together, but when Aitana was 17, she was promoted by the manager to the first team, whilst you remained with Barcelona B. It didn’t take long for you to figure out why.
You had the talent, but Barcelona were full of talented players, they had no room for you. No matter how well you and Aitana played together, you would not get to play with Barcelona’s first team.
It broke your and Aitana’s heart to leave, but Manchester City gave you an offer that was better than any other club in Spain. Manchester City were not Barcelona, but you flourished there. You flourished into a player that Barcelona kept an eye on, until your contract with City began to run out in the summer and the talks to renew were at a stalemate.
And now you have covid. A virus that you’d seen and heard of other players getting back during the height of the pandemic, but none were so affected as you were now. None had to be hospitalised despite being clinically healthy. They bounced back, but despite Aitana’s remarks that you would be back stronger, you doubted it.
The exhaustion hadn’t left you alone, even days later. Your temperature was kept at bay by paracetamol, your coughing grew worse before it was better, your gums so sore that eating crunchy foods still hurt, and you felt like you had cotton wool in your ears and wrapped around your brain.
Even after you were testing negative, your energy levels remained low but Aitana had to leave for London for the match against Chelsea before returning with the team to Barcelona.
She had tested negative throughout somehow, and it broke her heart to leave you, but it wasn’t long until the end of the season and the two of you would be reunited again.
The match against Chelsea ended on good terms for Barcelona, with a 1-0 advantage in the first leg thanks to Caro, and whilst you watched Aitana struggle to get on the ball in the first half, the second half enabled your partner to have more of the ball, despite the lack of goals.
You weren’t the only player who wasn’t on the Manchester City squad list for the match against West Ham the day after though.
Sandy and Laia were both out with injuries, and you were still weak and recovering from the virus that rampaged your body and mind. You sat with the two of them as you observed the game against West Ham, City winning 6-2 against the Hammers.
Your cough didn’t fully leave you alone, but that wasn’t the only issue. Your joints hated you enough that your knee joints felt like cement, your ears felt like they had cotton wool stuffed in them, and because of this, you were more wobbly on your feet than you had ever been before.
Manchester City had ruled you out for the rest of the season too quickly for you to feel comfortable, but it wasn’t what was bothering you. The talks that were previously at a stalemate had fallen through. Manchester City had decided not to renew your contract, and you couldn’t help but blame yourself.
“City don’t want me anymore. They took me in when Barcelona had no place for me, but now… I feel like a broken toy cast away when I’m no use anymore.” You left a voicemail for Aitana, she was busy training for the next leg of the semifinals against Chelsea.
Your hands tingle as you begin to type up what you had to, what you needed to say, to get control over something in your life.
Although some people may be excited by the prospect of a player who originated from Barcelona’s youth teams being a free agent who could come home, you knew the reality was much worse.
City were still at least trying to help you with your recovery but your hopes of returning to your pre-covid state were fading, especially after they ruled you out for the remainder of the season.
‘It’s a bitter feeling. Realising that the last game I played would be my final game at Manchester City. A club that took me in when I was lost, you have taught me so much and I will always be grateful. Thank you for changing my life, but my part at Manchester City is over. I won’t forget any of it.’
It was an early goodbye, City still had four matches left, two at home and two away. You would get to attend the home matches in the crowds, but you wouldn’t get to step on the pitch in City colours again.
Your lungs were fine according to the staff at City, your cough coming and going but it was your joint and fatigue issues that were the problem.
Your energy levels came and went, and even though they had had you training alongside your teammates some days, you would be wiped out after.
You had even fallen asleep in the dressing room at one point, using a hoodie that Aitana had worn whilst she stayed with you as a makeshift pillow. Leila was the one who found you,  but it was Steph that convinced you to let her drive you home, your body too sore to walk this time.
Steph remained silent as you sat in her passenger seat, tears falling down your face as you sobbed, venting your feelings of everything.
How your illness had wrecked your body and mind, how much you missed the old you, how much you missed playing and how much it hurt to leave Manchester City at the end of the season.
How afraid you were for what was to come, and how far away you felt from your partner, the love of your life you’d known since you were both children.
Steph, who knew what it was like to be away from a team due to injury, then dropped from the squad, but instead of her club, it was her national team.
You hadn’t even thought about the World Cup, but you knew deep down you would not be called up. You could barely stay standing after training, you would not be able to play a full ninety minutes in your current state at all.
“Do you know where you’ll go in the transfer window? Will you go back to Spain?”
“My love is in Spain, and I have nothing here outside of Manchester City. I’m lucky that City helped me with my coaching qualification before I got sick. I hoped that I wouldn’t need it immediately, but I’ll be a free agent in the transfer window, and I don’t know if anyone wants a player recovering from covid. Everyone else bounced back from it so quickly, but the simplest of things hurt me now. Please, I just want to go home and sleep.” You vented, swiping at your eyes to get rid of the tears, but Steph frowned at the last sentence you said.
“Don’t shut yourself away from us, little one. You may be leaving the club but you’re not leaving our hearts or our thoughts. So please don’t shut yourself away.” Steph begged, hoping you would make some sort of promise, but you didn’t.
It was a promise you could not keep.
/// translations hopefully ///
mi dulce flor - my sweet flower
Cálmate, estoy aquí mi amor - calm down, i'm here my love
Bebé - baby
lo siento - i'm sorry
gracias - thank you
375 notes · View notes
honeybelleee · 1 month ago
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Stabbed, You’re Next!
| Prologue |
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TW
This story contains themes of violence, murder, and death, including graphic depictions of a stabbing and blood. It also explores corruption, fear, and grief, as the characters deal with loss, danger, and being stalked by a killer. Themes of paranoia and emotional trauma are present.
Notes
First fic posted on tumblr, ignore the details of the text messages plssss (it’s unorganized)!
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The soft glow of the moon filtered through the high windows of Riverton High's science lab, casting elongated shadows that danced across the floor. The room was eerily silent, the usual hum of fluorescent lights replaced by a quiet that seemed almost oppressive. A single figure moved stealthily through the darkness, their presence an intrusion in this hallowed space of learning.
Wonyoung Jang stood at one of the lab benches, her face illuminated by the soft light of her phone. She typed furiously, her fingers moving with a sense of urgency and fear. Her normally composed demeanor was shattered; her hands trembled as she sent off one last, desperate message.
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She placed the phone down and began to gather her papers. The evidence she had uncovered was damning, and she knew it would bring down more than just a few corrupt officials. It could shake the very foundation of Riverton High. As she sorted through her notes, a cold draft made her shiver. She turned to close the window, but stopped when she saw the faint reflection of a figure in the glass.
A shadow moved behind her.
Before she could react, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream. Panic surged through her as she struggled against the iron grip, her heart pounding in her chest. She twisted and turned, trying to break free, but the assailant was strong, their hold unyielding.
"Shhh," a voice hissed in her ear, low and menacing. "No one can hear you. No one will help you."
Wonyoung’s eyes widened in terror as she was forced to the ground, the cold tile floor biting into her skin. The assailant leaned over her, their face obscured by a dark hood. She could see the glint of something metallic in their hand—a knife. Her mind raced, thoughts of her family, her friends, and all the things she would never get to do flashing before her eyes.
"Please," she tried to say, her voice muffled by the hand over her mouth. "Please, don't."
The figure didn't respond, their silence more terrifying than any words. They held the knife above her, the blade catching the moonlight, before plunging it down. Pain exploded in Wonyoung’s abdomen, a white-hot agony that stole her breath away. She gasped, her vision blurring as tears streamed down her cheeks.
The assailant withdrew the knife, only to strike again. And again. Each thrust was methodical, precise, as if they were performing some macabre ritual. Her strength ebbed with each stab, her struggles growing weaker. She could feel her life slipping away, the darkness closing in around her.
As her consciousness faded, her last thought was of Y/n, her best friend who would soon find her lifeless body. She wanted to warn Y/n, to tell her to stay away, but she couldn't. The words wouldn't come.
The figure stood over her, watching as life drained from her eyes. They stepped back, wiping the blood from the knife with a cloth, before slipping it back into their coat. They looked around the lab, ensuring there were no signs of their presence, and then disappeared into the shadows, as silently as they had come.
The lab was quiet once more, the only sound was the soft drip of blood pooling on the floor. The moon continued to shine through the windows, indifferent to the horror that had just unfolded below. And Wonyoung Jang, the once bright and promising student-body president, lay still in the center of it all, her life cut tragically short.
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stnkiconverse · 3 months ago
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you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.
Ch.3 - The Execution
⇠ Previous
Next ⇢
genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)
pairing: none.
WC: 2k
content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse and strong language.
Yes this has to do with Greepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.
Reader discretion is advised.
do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.
quick a/n: i’ve never committed a murder before..? so pls don’t judge how well or how bad, or how believable i wrote this 🙏😭😔
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You moved both of your hands towards Frank, the urge to immediately kill him being immense, but no. You were going to make him suffer, even if it was just for a bit. As the memories of what he put your mother through rushed back, your resolve solidified even more. This man deserved every bit of pain you were about to inflict on him.
With a sudden, forceful shove, you pushed Frank to the ground. He barely had time to react before you pounced on him, your gloved hand clamping down over his mouth to stifle any screams. The glass knife in your other hand gleamed momentarily before plunging into his flesh. Blood gushed from his wounds as you stabbed him over and over, purposely missing the throat and heart. You wanted him to feel every bit of this.
Frank's eyes widen in shock and pain, his hands flailing as he tries to fight back. But you have the advantage of surprise and the sheer ferocity of your attack. His initial reaction is one of disbelief, unable to comprehend what is happening. As the knife continues its brutal descent into his body, his movements become more frantic, but you hold firm, your grip unyielding.
Blood spatters everywhere, the warm liquid coating your gloves and clothes. The crimson splashes against your face, warm and sticky.
Frank's face becomes unrecognizable, a mess of wounds and blood. You stab him in the chest, the stomach, the arms, and the legs, making sure he feels every ounce of pain. His mouth opens and closes, trying to form words, but only gurgling noises come out as blood fills his mouth. The sight of his pleading eyes only fuels your resolve. This is justice, long overdue.
You feel a surge of adrenaline and satisfaction with each thrust of the knife. This is for your mother, for every bruise, every tear she shed because of this man. The thought of avenging her fuels your actions, driving you to inflict as much pain as possible. You feel no hesitation, no regret, only a grim sense of justice.
Each plunge of the knife is a release, years of pent-up rage and sorrow channeling into your strikes.
Frank's final moments are a chaotic blend of agony and desperation. His eyes plead for mercy, but you have none to give. His gurgling noises and futile attempts to fight back only intensify your determination. With one final, powerful stab, you plunge the knife into his heart. The gurgling noises cease, and his body goes limp. Silence fills the room, save for your heavy breathing and the dripping of blood.
Blood splatters on your face, and a huge, sadistic smile creeps up, blood even landing in your mouth. The metallic taste is sharp and tangy, mingling with the thrill of what you've done. You savor it, the sensation of triumph and vengeance fulfilled.
You sat back, breathing heavily, staring at the lifeless body beneath you. For a moment, you simply observed your handiwork, the crimson-soaked scene that was once your stepfather. Satisfaction coursed through you, a sense of closure beginning to settle in. But you knew this was only the beginning.
Standing up, you picked up the axe you had brought with you. The weight of it felt reassuring in your hands. You weren't done yet. With a grim determination, you began dismembering Frank's body. The axe came down with a sickening thud, severing limbs and reducing his corpse to unrecognizable parts. Each swing was methodical, precise, driven by the need to erase every trace of him.
The sound of the axe hitting bone and flesh was nauseating, but you pushed through. You had prepared yourself for this, and now there was no turning back.
You worked quickly but carefully, placing the dismembered parts into the trash bags you had prepared. Blood pooled around you, but you didn't let it distract you. Once his body was completely dismembered, you stepped back, surveying the scene. It was a grotesque tableau, but one that marked the end of Frank's tyranny.
Next, you grabbed as many paper towels as you could find and began cleaning up the blood. When the paper towels ran out, you used clothes from Frank's closet, anything that could absorb the mess. It was a tedious task, but necessary. You couldn't leave any evidence behind.
Each swipe of the towel was methodical, scrubbing away the physical remnants of your act of vengeance.
Once the visible blood was cleaned up, you moved the trash bags containing Frank's remains out of the way and grabbed the bleach. You scrubbed the floor, the walls, and any other surfaces that had been touched by blood. The leather couch, thankfully, was easier to clean. You scrubbed and scrubbed until the scent of bleach filled the room, erasing any hint of the violence that had occurred. Every inch of the space that had been tainted by Frank's presence was now wiped clean, a symbolic purification of the house.
With the house clean, you took a moment to gather your thoughts.
You walked into the kitchen, your gloved hands still stained with blood, and poured yourself a glass of water.
The cool liquid soothed your dry throat. When you were done, you placed the glass in the sink, leaving it bloody. It was the last trace of Frank anyone would ever know about.
You moved swiftly, taking the trash bags with bloody tissues and clothes out the back door. You set them down, then returned inside for Frank's remains.
Dragging the heavy bags through the house, you finally made your way out the back door again. The night sky had darkened, providing the cover you needed.
Before leaving, you set two flower petals on the couch - a black rose petal and a bird's foot trefoil petal. It was a small, personal touch, a tribute to your mother. With that done, you gathered your strength and began the arduous task of dragging the bags deep into the forest behind Frank's house.
The forest was dense and silent, the perfect place to hide what you had done. You moved through the trees, the weight of the bags making each step a struggle. The darkness enveloped you, but you knew the way.
You had memorized this path days before, preparing for this very moment. The forest, with its thick canopy and undergrowth, seemed to swallow you whole, providing the concealment you needed.
When you found a suitable spot, you set the bags down and unstrapped the shovel from your pack. You began to dig, the effort consuming you as you created a deep, wide hole. Each shovel full of dirt brought you closer to completion, and after what felt like an eternity, the hole was ready. The physical exertion was exhausting, but it also served as a way to channel the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins.
You opened the bags, dumping Frank's body parts into the hole. You hesitated slightly as you reached his hands, considering taking his fingertips as a macabre trophy. But you decided against it.
Instead, you dipped each fingertip into bleach and set them on fire, erasing any traces of his identity. Once his hands were dealt with, you tossed them into the hole as well and began covering everything with dirt. The smell of burning flesh was acrid and cloying, but it was a necessary step to ensure there would be no evidence left behind.
Next, you took Frank's head and set it ablaze, watching as the fire consumed it, reducing it to a charred, unrecognizable state. When the fire burned out, you buried the remains deep in the forest. With the heavy work done, you gathered the trash bag full of bloody clothes and tissues and walked further into the forest.
You found another spot and dug a smaller, deeper hole. You shoved Frank's head into the hole and covered it with dirt. With that done, you focused on the final task. You stripped off your gloves, wig, shoes, and the oversized clothes you had worn, stuffing them into the bag. You took out the remaining bottle of bleach and poured it over the contents, then set the bag on fire.
You watched carefully as the flames consumed everything, ensuring the fire didn't spread. The flames danced in the darkness, casting eerie shadows that seemed to mirror the turmoil within you.
The realization of what you had done hit you as you watched the fire burn.
You had killed Frank. You had taken a life. The weight of it settled on your shoulders, but it felt lighter than you expected. This was justice. This was for your mother.
You checked the time on your phone
- 12:52 AM. This had taken longer than expected, but it didn't matter.
Once the fire had reduced everything to ashes, you reached into your duffel bag and pulled out the clothes you had prepared for your alibi. A cute concert dress, a denim jacket, and stylish boots. You stripped off your bloody disguise, tossing it into the fire along with the bag. The change was swift, but it made you feel like a different person, as if you were shedding your old skin. The concert clothes felt strangely comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos you had just endured.
As you changed in the forest, the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl were the only sounds that accompanied you. The quiet of the forest contrasted sharply with the chaos you had just unleashed.
Once dressed, you carefully folded your old clothes and placed them in the bag with the remains of your disguise. The final step was to pour the remaining bleach over the bag and set it on fire, ensuring that every piece of evidence was destroyed.
With the fire burning brightly, you took a moment to reflect on what you had done. The weight of your actions was immense, but the sense of justice you felt for your mother was even greater. This was for her, and you knew she would understand.
As the fire consumed the last remnants of your disguise, you knew it was time to leave. You picked up your duffel bag, now significantly lighter, and began the walk back to your apartment. The path through the forest was familiar, and you
navigated it with ease. The adrenaline that had fueled you throughout the night began to wane, and exhaustion set in.
As you neared the edge of the forest, you clutched your duffel bag, it still held the axe, shovel and knife. You heard rustling and movement around you. Your heart raced, but you saw no one. It was unnerving, the feeling of being watched, but you kept moving, determined to get home. Unbeknownst to you, someone was indeed watching – someone intrigued by your actions.
You took a path you knew was rarely used, hurrying through the silent streets until you reached your apartment. Once inside, you closed the door behind you and sank to the floor, the reality of your actions washing over you. The sense of accomplishment was mixed with the heavy weight of what you had done. But this was for your mother, and that thought alone brought you some peace.
Finally, you took out your phone and snapped a picture of yourself in your concert outfit. You posted it on social media with the caption: "Had so much fun tonight! Even though I spent like 30 mins looking for my phone after I dropped it!" The comments and likes began rolling in almost immediately, reinforcing your carefully crafted alibi.
As you lay in bed, the events of the night played over and over in your mind. You had done it. Frank was gone. But the sense of being watched lingered, a reminder that this was far from over. Exhaustion finally overtook you, and you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the haze between waking and sleeping, a sudden thought jolted you upright. The shovel and axe. They were still in your duffel bag. Panic surged briefly, but you took a deep breath. You would get rid of them tomorrow. You had already taken so many precautions, and the darkness of the forest was a cloak that could hide anything for a little while longer.
With a resolve to dispose of the remaining tools the next day, you allowed yourself to drift back into the comforting arms of sleep.
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skyward-floored · 1 year ago
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Whumptober Day 9: Polaroid (“you’re a liar”)
I purposely got off of tumblr and didn’t get sucked into lu update stuff too much because I knew that if I did I would never finish this XD But here’s today’s fic! I love writing Malon :)
Read on ao3
Warnings: kidnapping, some violence, and a broken bone
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“I can’t find my pictobox!”
Time looked up at the complaint, and saw Wind digging through his bag and emptying it into a steadily increasing pile next to him. The others were packing up their gear to in preparation to move, and more than one exasperated face was thrown towards Wind’s mess.
“I wanted a picture of that cool island in the lake, but it’s gone!” Wind huffed as he leaned back, bag now empty. “Who took it?”
“Don’t look at me,” Wild said with his hands up, packing away his cooking supplies. “I don’t need it, I have my own camera.”
“I didn’t either!” Legend defended at Wind’s accusing finger, and the rest of them replied in the negative when Wind looked around at them all.
“We’ll help you look for it sailor,” Warriors said as he joined his side, and they began scouring the campsite.
Time glanced around where he was sitting, but there was no sign of the distinctive red and yellow device, and he shook his head, watching the others search. The camera had to be around here somewhere, Wind had been using it just the night before.
Hopefully it hadn’t been broken.
Time sighed, and prepared to get down on his knees to help search when the sound of footsteps made him look up. He wasn’t the only one who tensed towards his weapon, but it was merely the mailman, stepping through the reeds near their campsite, and they all relaxed.
“I have a letter, for a... Link,” he said with smile, holding it out. Time took it, as he was one of the only Links not crawling around in the rushes, and he smiled at the script.
He recognized Malon’s handwriting instantly, and felt something warm in his chest at the familiar loops. It hadn’t been too long since she’d sent him a letter, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.
“I also found this, does it belong to you?” the mailman asked, and Wind cheered as he saw the red and yellow device.
“My pictobox!” he yelled excitedly, and ran over and took it, studying it for any damage. “All right!”
“Thank you,” Time said politely, and the mailman gave him a surprisingly big grin.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
And then he was gone as unnaturally fast as always, Sky and Twilight both frozen in the act of getting up. They both sit back down with a grumble at their quarry lost (they both had questions about the mail service using unstable dark magic portals), and Time chuckled, grabbing a small knife to tease open the letter.
He had plenty of time to read it after all. Wind still needed to pack everything he owned back into his bag.
The sailor began cajoling Warriors to help him pack all his stuff together again, voice pleading, and Time finally got the seal off the letter, unfolding the paper with a smile.
Then felt his heart stop.
Surrender, and no further harm will come to her.
That was it. Nothing else.
Nine little words in scrawling, angry handwriting that was nothing like Malon’s, and they were enough to make Time feel like he’d been stabbed in the chest.
His heart finally started beating again, but it was going so fast it was like a panicked animal trapped in his chest, and his breathing began to pick up.
No further harm? What had her kidnapper already done to her? How had they known? Was she even—
“Old man? Are you okay?”
Twilight was looking at him in concern, and Time merely stared at him, still frozen in shock.
“Time, you’re as pale as a ghost, what did Malon say? Is she okay?” he repeated, and the rest of the Links looked at him in concern.
Time couldn’t get his mouth to work, and Legend sighed and moved around behind him so he could read the letter as well. He immediately paled, and looked between Time and the paper without saying anything for a moment.
“It’s not from Malon. Someone’s done something to her,” he said finally, and the clearing went dead silent. “It says to surrender, and... she won’t suffer any further harm.”
“Further?” Sky asked in a horrified voice, and they all looked at Time again.
He felt as if he was going to be sick.
“No, no way, it’s a trick. It has to be a trick,” Wild spoke up, voice fierce as he stood. “They’re lying Time, whoever it is has got to be lying, there’s no way Malon could...”
He trailed off, hands clenched into fists, and Twilight approached Time, his face white. He held out a hand, and Time handed him the letter with a grip that was definitely not shaking.
But another paper fluttered out between them as he handed it over, tucked into the envelope. Time snatched it up mere seconds before it touched the ground, and turned it over, staring at the picture in silence.
The mystery of where Wind’s pictobox had gone last night was immediately solved.
The photograph showed Malon in disarray, a look equally angry and frightened in her eyes where she was bound to a chair. Dark Link stood in the foreground, obviously holding the pictobox with one hand while he gestured to Malon with the other, a grin splitting his shadowed face.
There was a dark line of blood on Malon’s cheek.
Time’s numb shock snapped into a wave of pure fury, crashing over him as he stood up. He looked around at the other heroes, clenching the photograph so tightly it nearly ripped in his hands.
“We’re going. Now.”
(...)
Malon’s cheek hurt.
She let out a quiet sigh, the sound muffled by the cloth over her mouth. It was tied tight over her face, and it dug in painfully to the scratch the dark copy of her husband had given her. It stung rather badly, and was still bleeding a bit, and the blood soaking into the gag only made the whole situation that much more unpleasant.
Malon was proud of the reason she’d received the cut though, along with the sting in her knuckles and the handful of bruises she was sporting.
The Shadow of her husband had caught her by surprise, breaking into her house in the dead of night looking nearly identical to Link. Malon had only been fooled for a moment, and she’d done her best to fight him off and escape, managing a few solid punches before he’d overpowered her, and making his nose bleed all over her floor.
Then he’d tied her up, and gagged her when she kept demanding answers from him, bringing her through a shadowy portal like the ones her husband and the other boys had been traveling through.
She’d squirmed and fought and yelled at him the entire time, but he’d either ignored her, or given her a smile that made a shiver run down her spine. And then he’d taken her picture with a strange little device, and stalked away, leaving more then one monster stationed around the perimeter of the room, all watching her closely.
Their gazes made her skin prickle, and she dearly wished she could have a little privacy, or at least not be in the center of the room. She felt like some sort of garish display for people to gawk at, and the looks the monsters were giving her only made the feeling worse.
And truth be told, she was a bit frightened of what exactly Dark Link was planning on doing with her.
She breathed out, calming the panic that had been licking at her heels all night. She didn’t need to worry. Link would be along shortly, and nine heroes were nothing against a second-rate copy.
I hope.
A distant screech caught her attention, and she looked over at the doorway, the shadow of her husband also glancing in its direction. He waved some of the monsters through it, then moved around behind her somewhere where she couldn’t easily see him.
Having him so close but out of sight made her stomach twist.
A much closer shout rang through the doorway, and Malon felt her heart leap as a monster fell dead across the threshold, disappearing into dust. She knew that shout well.
Link entered the room seconds later with his sword already bloodied, the rest of the boys behind him looking equally tense and battle worn.
His gaze immediately sought her own, and a look equally relieved and furious shone in his eye. Malon would’ve tried to give him a reassuring smile, but her mouth was still gagged, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to dredge up a look that was truly comforting.
“That’s far enough.”
Something cold settled against her neck, and Malon breathed in sharply, a blood-red sword pressed to her skin.
The heroes all froze, staring at her with differing mixtures of fear and outrage on their faces. Dark Link stared at them all, watching to make sure none of them approached, then nodded, looking satisfied.
“Good. Now we can all have a nice, civil chat.”
“Not while you still threaten her,” Link said sharply, and Malon could hear how desperately he was holding back the emotion in his voice.
Oh fairy boy.
The other boys loudly agreed with him, and Dark Link looked around at them all, appearing entirely unbothered.
“I am dictating the terms here,” he replied smoothly, and looked at Malon with a smile that normally made her heart soar. “After all, I do seem to hold all of the cards.”
Malon fixed her husband’s shadow with the most intense glare she could manage, wishing her mouth was free to tell him just what she thought of him. He had the audacity to laugh at her though, and something almost possessive shone in his eyes as she glared. The sword at her neck eased just a little, and he leaned closer to her, practically nose-to-nose.
His breath even smelled like Link’s, and Malon froze, suddenly terrified of what he was going to do.
“I see why you married her, she’s got spirit, this one,” Dark Link purred, holding her chin in an almost terrifyingly gentle grip. His fingers felt like ice. “She’s quite the catch.”
“Release her,” Link nearly snarled, and surprisingly enough the Shadow obeyed, his fingers slipping off her face. The sword never left her neck though, and Malon forced herself not to shake as it teased her skin again.
“I made my demands abundantly clear, Hero of Time, and I think they’re quite reasonable,” Dark Link said, sliding his blade just enough to make pain trickle across Malon’s neck. “Surrender, and no further harm will come to her.”
“What proof do we have that you’ll stick with it?” Twilight interjected, his face just as dark as her Link’s.
“Yeah, we have no guarantee!” Wind shouted, and the others joined in, “why should we do anything you say?!”
Dark Link smiled.
“Because you have no choice.”
He abruptly twisted around and grabbed Malon’s arm, the ropes at her wrists cut off with his sword. Before she could even register what was happening, he twisted to the side, and a horrible crack echoed through the room.
Malon couldn’t hold back her scream.
Pain burst up her arm and shoulder, white sparking in her vision, and there was a sudden rush of noise from where the Heroes were standing, shouts and cries of outrage, and questions of if she was okay.
But Malon couldn’t focus on anything at the moment, just the pain blazing up her arm. She knew immediately something was broken, possibly in more then one place, but before she could even try to ease the pain or calm herself down, something twisted her arm around and it got even worse.
She couldn’t stop herself from crying out again as Dark Link replaced the ropes around her wrists, roughly pulling her arms behind her back. Tears trickled out of her eyes and dampened the gag, and every breath was more painful then the last.
The sound of a weapon clattering to the ground pulled her out of the worst of the pain clouding her mind, and she looked up, meeting Link’s eyes through her tears.
“I surrender!” he shouted, staring at her in horror. His sword was on the ground, and he raised his hands up, turning a glare on Dark Link that was filled with such hatred Malon was surprised he didn’t burn up on the spot.
“I surrender. Let her go.”
“I’m glad we came to an understanding,” Dark Link smiled, ignoring the glare, “very noble of you. But I didn’t mean just you, Hero of Time. I want all of your complete surrenders in exchange for her safety.”
Link’s eyes flashed, but he looked behind him at where the others stood, watching him hesitantly. A few moments of silence went by, and Malon felt a hand curl its fingers around her unbroken arm.
“Do I need to make myself more clear?”
“No,” Sky replied quickly, and the other heroes dropped their weapons, looking just as angry and worried as Malon’s own Link did.
Dark Link removed his hand from her shoulder, and Malon couldn’t stifle a shudder, her heart sinking as she watched the last of the heroes place their weapons on the floor. Boys no, don’t let him use me against you!
“Good... now we’re getting somewhere,” Dark Link grinned, looking pleased as pudding. “I want your bags on the floor too, and any magical items you might be wearing. All nine of you will soon—”
He stopped suddenly, red eyes narrowing as they trailed along the heroes.
“We seem to be missing someone,” Dark Link said in a low voice, and the heroes went still. “Where is the First of the Downfall? The one you call Hero of Legend?”
The room went silent, apart from an unsteady breath from Malon.
Then there was a quiet swish of a cape, and the Hero of Legend suddenly appeared out of nothing, charging at Dark Link with his sword high and eyes blazing with torchlight.
He threw himself at the shadow, and Dark Link was forced to hold his sword up to defend himself, removing it from Malon’s neck. The room erupted into chaos as their blades clashed, and the heroes quickly grabbed their weapons. They leapt forward, the monsters around the perimeter running to stop them, and screeches and yelling echoed all over the room.
And Malon couldn’t do anything but watch it happen, her arm still burning white hot with pain.
She watched Legend narrowly dodge a strike that would have killed him, and looked down at herself, shoulder aching as she tilted her head. Wriggling loose of her ropes wasn’t even a possibility now that she had an opportunity to, her arm entirely uncooperative, and frustration broke through her pain.
Malon looked down at her arm, nausea twisting in her stomach at the angle it was at.
I have to try.
She experimentally wiggled her good arm, trying to see if she could at least loosen the ropes. But pain ripped through the broken one with even that tiny movement, and she gasped, closing her eyes as she fought back more tears of pain.
Okay. Okay, wait a bit, then try again.
You have to get out of here.
As if summoned by her thoughts, something suddenly pulled at the ropes on her feet, and Malon dizzily looked down, trying to focus on who was helping her. All she could make out was blond hair though, bent over her ankles. A different set of hands was at her back, pulling off her gag and ever-so-gently removing the ropes at her wrists.
Her breath hitched with pain when the hands accidentally nudged her arm, and there was an apology in her ear, then a rustle as the ropes fell to the ground.
A hand very carefully shifted her arm to a better position, and Malon squeezed her eyes shut, trying not shout at the pain. But once it was let go, Malon could actually focus a little better now that the ropes weren’t twisting it around. It still hurt, rather badly, but not quite to the extent it had.
She looked up at who had freed her, and saw Twilight standing next to Four and Sky, the two keeping a sharp eye on the fight around them while Twilight looked her over with no small alarm.
“Malon, are you okay?” he asked, the worry on his face only growing as he studied her arm. “...never mind, that’s a stupid question. How bad is your arm?”
“It’ll be okay,” she replied, voice mostly not shaking, and squeezed Twilight’s hand with her good one. “Thank you, hon.”
Twilight helped her up, ears pricked for any monsters that might approach, and Malon rubbed at her cheeks, sore from how tight the gag had been. Her stomach twisted when she felt something move in her arm, and she held a little tighter to Twilight’s arm as the pain spiked.
“I’m sorry, I’d offer you a potion, but we’ll have to set your arm first,” Twilight apologized, looking a little frantic as she forced herself to keep her breathing steady through the pain. Easy does it Malon. “And that’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere safe.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice, and Twilight began to lead her away from the worst of the fighting.
Four stayed nearby, giving her an encouraging look before returning his gaze to the fight around them. Sky stayed a bit further away, but he didn’t go far, and they both acted as a sort of guard as Twilight led her across the room. Her world narrowed to mostly Twilight’s arm supporting her as they walked, and the pain that only seemed to get worse in her arm.
She couldn’t entirely bite back a gasp when it abruptly spiked, and swallowed back her nausea as Twilight gently squeezed her hand.
They’d stopped walking at some point, she wasn’t sure when. She was afraid to raise her head and check if they’d left the room or not, worried the nausea she felt in the back of her throat would win and she’d end up making even more of a mess of herself. Talking was going on around her, possibly directed at her, but she couldn’t focus on any of it, just the pain that wouldn’t go away in her arm.
Then a voice cut through the fog she’d been drifting through, sharp and frantic.
“Malon!”
She raised her head, and suddenly Link was holding her, pressing her into his arms, murmuring frantic apologies and assurances as she buried her head in his shoulder and allowed herself a couple more tears.
Relief swept through Malon as Link held her, carefully not touching her arm, running trembling fingers through her hair. She could hear his heart thumping rapidly where her ear was pressed to his neck, and she merely listened to it for a moment as he held her, warm and safe.
Link finally pulled back enough to properly look at her face, and his thumb gently caressed her cheek, right next to the cut Dark Link had given her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes still shining with fear.
“I think I should be asking you that,” she said with a teasing smile, but her voice shook, and Link’s face creased further. He carefully ran a hand over her arm and shoulder, Malon flinching at the pain that shot up her arm at his touch, and he winced and apologized.
Someone said something over his shoulder, and Link looked back and replied, though Malon didn’t catch everything that was said.
“...Is Legend okay?” she asked suddenly, remembering how he’d leapt at the Shadow.
“He’s fine. Dark Link got away, but he’ll think twice before coming after you again,” Twilight said with a smile, and Malon blinked. She hadn’t realized he was still nearby.
“I gave him something to remember me by, that’s for sure,” Legend’s voice said from somewhere nearby. His tone was satisfied, but it held something dangerous in it.
Link’s arms went around her more tightly again, and Malon looked up at him, a storm of all sorts of emotions on his face. He caught her looking, and gave her a slightly brittle smile.
“I’m okay,” she reassured gently, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
“I’ve done that to you enough to know you’re absolutely not telling the truth,” he replied, but his smile was a little more genuine then before. “We’ll get you healed as soon as we’re able, Malon.”
Malon nodded, and ignored how her arm still hurt like it was being trampled on, and how her stomach still twisted with nausea, merely setting her chin on Link’s shoulder again.
“Thank you fairy boy,” she said softly, and Link held her as tight as he could without hurting her arm. “I wish I could have stopped him.”
Link let out a trembling sigh.
“I’m just relieved you’re okay.”
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iys-cloud · 3 months ago
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hello to everyone in the void that is Tumblr, a single conversation with @arrowheadedbitch made me create a whole ass Mbav x Pjo Au and now it's everyone's problem
SO the Au starts with Ethan, Benny, Sarah, Erica and Rory going to new york for vacations and they tun into nico, leo, percy and will (nico is there bc will forced him to come along lol) in like, a remote part of a park or smt. and nico, being the son of hades and all low-key just... Senses smts wrong with the vampire trio And tells the others, leo, being as subtle as a bull with bells, points at them and says something along the lines of
"them? They're the 'dead feeling' guys??"
fast forward a lot of discussion and accusing later they're all fighting, Leo managed to stab Erica and, used to the monsters dissolving into gold powder, turns around. Erica being the petty bitch she is BITES him because that's SUCH a great idea cue everyone panicking bc at the moment the gang™ had been trying to be subtle about what they are (not that they accomplished it) and the demigods had only pulled a normal sized dagger that looked well, normal.
Rory, seeing the mess, fucking flies away, leaving the chb kids dumbfounded, sarah grabs erica and drags her away from leo, benny BOOKS IT and Ethan's on the floor wondering why can't anything go Right for them, the chb peps are wondering what new pantheon they just stumbled across and procced to get incredibly concerned because LEO IS QUITE LITERALLY DYING ON THE FLOOR.
Ethan seems to process the fact and panics but oh would you look at that, there's a bigger problem, Nico's there and since the mf can sense death he panics even harder because Leo is DYING and starts questioning them on "what the fuck is happening to him!?" And everything is kicked right back into a frenzy
Anyway long story short, the gang (minus rory and benny) ends up locked up in camp Half-blood for ✨ questioning ✨ and stay in a locked up room in the main house till Percy comes to drag Ethan and Erica out because Leo just woke up and apparently he's attacking people and making a mess out of everything???
Ethan SOMEHOW managed to convince Percy to take Sara with him instead ( "if you take Erica it'll just get worse, believe me" )
And oh boy the infermary looks like a war zone, Also are Leo's eyes glowing yellow??
He barely notices their entrance seeing as hes too busy trying to rip anyone who even comes clos eto shreds.The piper, who has been debriefed in the matter,nico, and will have sort of restrained him (pushed him into a corner with weapons).
And that sounds great and all but the thing is, Sara doesn't have the fake blood she usually drinks bc it's in her purse which the chb peps confiscated, so now they have no way to deal with the starving agitated fledgling
"well fuck" is the only thing she can think to say as she gets ready for a lot of struggling
They ( Sarah and Ethan) try to get the demigods to get Sarah's purse but they won't listen.
after a lot, and I mean A LOT of fighting, some (a hella lot of) begging from Ethans part and a little wake up call that ' hey somethings wrong!!!' (Leo throws Percy motherfucking Jackson into a wall with so much force it KNOCKS THE AIR OUT OF HIM) they do listen to them and from there it's a game of ' let's feed the starving fledgling without the other weird people finding just what we're giving him'
It somehow works because Sarah opens the container and Leo's head SNAPS towards the thing, they manage to get him into a 'safe' position while he rips into the (weirdly red) liquid with the desperation of a starving man.
everyone is trying to get air back into their lungs after the heart attack and proceed to glare daggers at Sara and Ethan
"okay what the actual fuck is happening!?!?"
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snootlestheangel · 1 year ago
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Just A Dude!Ghost Monster AU
Side note before this post gets rolling, I love that my post with the highest notes starts with "I don't know who else" and I think that's very reflective of what Tumblr is like XD
Anyways
We're doing it! We are writing a Monster AU featuring Ghost as the only human despite what everyone else thinks! As far as I am concerned, mostly gonna post it here on Tumblr, since I don't really have much right now for it, mostly just little blurbs but if needed for readability, I'll put it on AO3 (under my profile FeelzMaster)
I'm gonna go ahead and give y'all the rundown of what species are featured, kinda what this world's like, the stuffs, ya know? TW: talks of death (just how they can die, relax)
Soap
To be 100% honest, I really wanted to do the whole werewolf!Soap thing cause it's just so perfect for him, but I thought back to a post I made about him being lightning and thought HUH WHAT IF?
So, partially inspired by @tactax-art and their depiction of Soap dealing with fire 'n shit, I have made Soap a unique type of "nymph". Technically, nymph isn't the right word, but neither is elemental, and the true name of these things is so old it's real translation has kinda lost meaning so they stick to describing themselves as "nymphs" or "elementals".
He is a Lightning Nymph, which is rare but that's apparently what happens when you cross an "atmospheric" air nymph (his mum) and a less traditional water nymph (his dad). He's often seeing consuming/messing with things that have electrical charge in order to keep up his own energy (Gaz once had to watch him literally lick an exposed outlet and maintain a straight face). Every time it storms, he's outside somewhere as high as he can get so he can soak up the natural static energy that comes with storms. He can and will shock people for the fun of it.
As for abilities, he's obviously highly conductive, can manipulate electrical energy but it's pretty exhausting so it's more of a life or death thing, he can glow in the dark if he wants to, and he's hyper aware of changes (due to ~energy~). His diet is batteries... Jk, but seriously he does not eat like a human would, he straight up eats things that will help with energy. Like I said earlier, he's licked an exposed outlet like it was an espresso shot. Downside is he can't see for shit in the dark so he's reliant on sensing energies, nightvision, or having one of his buddies that can see in the dark guide him. Can be killed if his brain stem is destroyed, but is also very weakened by the typical stuff (gunshots, stab wounds, severe bodily trauama, etc). but can be severely weakened by being trapped in insulated rooms/wrapped in insulators. If exposed to these things and not able to find a sustainable source of electrical energy, he will die. (rubber, steel, copper are some good insulators)
Gaz
I don't know why but I'm gonna make him a Siren. For some reason Siren!Gaz just melts my heart and I wanna hold him. I don't care if he can lure me to my death with his voice, I wanna hear him sing :'(
He's typically pretty human appearing, it's a natural instinct for Sirens, but when he's tired or distracted (like working out/doing paperwork), you can start to see some very fish-like qualities. Mostly very gorgeous iridescent scales around his ears, eyes, neck, shoulders, knees, top of his feet, and back of his hands.
Can breathe underwater, has the best vision in the dark, eats like a typical person but with more sea food cravings or cravings for fatty foods (like human), when in full Siren form he doesn't have a "mermaid's" tail, it's much more shark-like so he can accelerate really fast. Generally just more shark-like, except his scales are fish-like. His nose, like sharks, is super sensitive to certain changes, so booping his nose always throws him off if it's surprise, but he will also bump his nose into people/things without realizing it to get a better sense of it. Can be killed by things humans can, susceptible to parasites.
Price
Honestly, his has been the hardest but I'm gonna do changeling. I honestly don't know a lot about them, and quite frankly I've already got one homebrewed monster here, so why not another?
He's definitely the one everyone mistakes for being human cause he's so good at keeping up appearances. But there are always times where Price manipulates his appearance/body just enough that it's a little startling for those that believed him to be human to suddenly realize he's very much not.
He's got better eyesight in the dark than a human, but nowhere near close to what Gaz has. He's good at picking up on scents though, as his nose is a bit more attune to sniffing out humans than anything. He's not a bloodsucker, but changelings typically feed on weakened/ill/very old/very young humans, so he's able to tell when something is wrong with someone. Stifles the more violent urges of his species by eating a primarily meat heavy diet with a lot of raw veggies for the crunch. Most susceptible to things with iron or salt (obvi) but can still be fatally wounded by stab wounds/gunshots. Most other stuff won't kill him but it'll certainly hurt and he'll complain the entire time.
Alejandro and Rudy
These two are werewolves and Los Vaqueros is their pack :'). Most Vaqueros are also werewolves, but they do have a variety of other creatures commonly found in North America.
And finally, the whole point of this: we got our boy Ghost as a literal human being. Nothing more, just a dude. A dude with so much fucked up shit happening to him constantly it's just assumed he must be inhuman. NOPE! He's just a dude, a very very unlucky, and probably cursed, dude.
So yeah, that's what I have so far! Working title is "Cheers to the Unknown"
Taglist (if you want added let me know in the replies/reblogs): @tacticaltaxonomist @cthulhusstepmom
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