#dead letters missing wife

[abronzeagegod]

Dead Letters, Missing Wife

Dead Letter #0 & 1 Marriage Certificate and 'Come Find Me'

[a cleaned up and longer version of this post and prompt]

You had just turned 18 over the weekend. Reaching the age of majority or whatever. Sunday birthdays are whatever, you have the day off of school and responsibilities but the looming threat of Monday hangs over the entire day.

At least with this Monday you have the joy of looking forward to belated birthday letters and things being delivered to you since the mail doesn't go on Sundays.

Sure enough after school there was a small stack of letters for you.

Grandma, aunts, uncles, your one weird cousin that lives in the mountains.

All birthday wishes and greetings. I was nice.

Then there was a large, thick envelope that said, "Department of Recognition, Vows, and Contracts."

You carefully tear along the edge of the large envelope and open it. Two things are there. One is something that looks like what you imagine your eventual college diploma would look like. Thick, impressive paper that almost feels laminated, some kind of fun calligraphy across it. There was also a piece of paper.

The paper was forgotten about at first.

The certificate, was a marriage certificate. For you and your first crush, your best friend at 6 years old, Siobhan.

There was your name and Siobhan Winters.

"This certificate recognizes the wedding vows exchanged between these two parties as complete and binding upon the youngest reaching their age of majority."

The memories come flooding back. You hadn't thought of Siobhan in years. Hell, you haven't even seen them in twice as long.

You were a demanding six year old. It was something about you that you were just adamant that this was how things were and how they were supposed to be. And seeing Siobhan, a cute little kid with long blonde hair that was so blonde it was almost white, big green eyes, and just this quiet demeanor to everyone but you, of course she was the one that you figured out what the terms "crush" and "fall in love" and everything meant. Those words were just words, descriptions of parents and grandparents and why they were together for so long, but Siobhan was the person that made the definition real and gave it tangibility and form for you.

She was your best friend but that wasn't quite enough for you at six years old. You dragged her to the pond out back of the neighborhood. The pond was on the edge of a small wood, really nothing more than a copse of trees and wilderness in the suburban sprawl, but it felt like a great and terrible wood when you were that small.

You donned a veil because there was something Traditional, and Correct, about hiding your face from your best friend/crush. You didn't have a ring but you did spend your allowance on candy at the corner shop, and in your haul were two candy rings.

There were somethings about weddings that you know, but you don't know much.

You know there was a veil, that was very important. You know there were rings. You know there were vows and witnesses.

There were vows, you know that for a fact. You just can't quite remember, now, what they were. Siobhan said them with such gravitas and meaning and weight to them that you still feel the shivers up your spine when you think about it.

The frogs were your witnesses.

The ring pops were the binding rings, exchanged with words of devotion.

Siobhan lifted your veil, and pulled you into a hug.

As far as the two of you were concerned, you were married!

The frogs croaked in happiness.

Apparently, the Department of Recognition, Vows, and Contracts also thought that the marriage was real. And as the younger of the two, you were the last one to reach the age of majority, and the marriage certificate was mailed to you.

As if that answered any questions.

The nostalgia calls after you and you want to remember Siobhan as they were and not the hazy memories of childhood.

You immediately start digging through your old year books, or whatever the grade school equivalent of a year books was.

It was only then that you recall that Siobhan never made it to picture day in kindergarten.

Nor did she make it to picture day the year after, or the year after, or any year until she moved away in sixth grade.

Puzzled, intrigued, and now even more confused, you head downstairs where you find your mom working hard on a crossword puzzle.

"Hey, what's a four letter word for black and white?" she asks.

"Oreo," you answer without really thinking about it. "Hey, do you remember my friend Siobhan? From kindergarten and grade school?"

Your mom finishes filling in your answer, looking pleased with herself for having most of the puzzle finished. "Was that the weird one with the cape and the glasses?"

"No, that was Steph."

"Oh yeah, she really loved random trivia, didn't she?"

"Yup."

"Siobhan was the one that was always looking for dinosaur bones in everyone's backyard?"

"That's Joel. No, Siobhan. She came over all the time, we would go play in the backyard, and went to the park together like every day. You didn't like her dad like at all. One day after kindergarten I demanded that I was gonna make her my wife and did a little ceremony out by the pond."

"Oh! Right!" Your mom looks up at you, lost in memory for a second. "Lived across the street, wild black hair, always asked if we had Cheetos."

"No. Mom. That was Matt. Siobhan. Cute kid, always seemed to be the smallest kid in class. Green eyes that had a look you called 'an old soul with the million yard stare'. Platinum blonde hair that was almost grey in a very long braid all the time."

Your mom makes eye contact with you but she doesn't seem to see you. "You never had a friend like that," she says in a strange, almost monotone.

Confused and a little weirded out, you decide to drop it, and head back up to your room. If you mom wasn't going to help you then perhaps the internet would. You don't like to brag, but you're extremely adept at Facebook stalking and finding people.

One time, at your part time job over the summer, you had a really weird coworker that you only knew for three days, lied about almost everything, and then was fired for being outrageously high on the clock. They claimed that they were getting a job in a small town in Alaska as a Fire Marshall and promptly disappeared.

All you had to find them was their first name and the fact that they worked at the same place you did for a very short amount of time.

It took you only a couple of days to find them. They did not move to Alaska, they went one town over and bounced around between barbacking jobs and running a mildly successful etsy shop.

So you use all the skills that you possess and try to reach out to all sorts of people to find someone with a shared memory of Siobhan. Friends, teachers, people you shared classes with that you'd rather never speak to again.

Every. Single. Response. "You never had a friend like that."

This went from being some weird, intriguing mystery, to something vaguely sinister, and deeply creepy.

No one seemed to remember Siobhan except for you. You remember them now, perfectly. Your first crush. The first person you ever developed feelings for, as real and as deep as any 6 year old possibly could develop.

You remember her vividly. Hugging her was the best. She was shy and didn't like to be touched too much, so when she did let you hug her it was the best. It was like hugging a piece of glass. Sharp, beautiful, and fragile. You always felt that if you hugged her too tightly she was shatter.

There was no way you could let this rest now. No way that you could let this end now.

You call the government office that issued you the certificate of marriage. Or at least. You tried to contact the government office.

The website listed no such department, neither locally nor federally.

You called city hall and they transferred you to a dead line.

Out of desperation you called the post office to see where the letter came from.

"Hello," you say for the fifth time this particular call after being transferred too many times. "I was hoping that you could help me track down who sent me a letter and not transfer me to someone else. I received a marriage certificate with my name and information but I can't find anyone who would have sent this to me, the department seemingly doesn't exist."

The deep, bored, and phlegmy voice asked simply, "And your spouse?"

"Siobhan Winters, I can't find any record of her either!" you say, perhaps too loudly, but your frustration is overwhelming you.

"Oh. You got a dead letter. Undeliverable since Siobhan Winters ain't here. But if your her spouse w can send you all the stuff we got sitting here for her. Do you accept?"

"Yes! Wait. What? What do you mean?"

"Everything will be delivered to you in the next two to three business days, thank you for contacting the Dead Letter Office. You have a pleasant day."

You couldn't do anything else before he hung up. You stare at the phone for a while before putting it down.

All you can do is wait for the dead letters to make it to you.

When the letters finally arrived there were boxes full. At least six boxes full of mail, and a few packages. It would take you, by rough estimate, at least three days to go through it all. Even if half of it was spam mail, it would take forever.

But on top of one of the boxes that you just found outside your front door, seemingly delivered before the sun rose, was a letter. It was addressed to you, sort of.

"To the spouse of Siobhan Winters"

That was you, by all accounts.

The letter was sealed with wax, and seemingly made out of heavy parchment, like some kind of ancient letter.

You opened it first.

"To my love,

I fear I must apologize for a great many things. I never wished to abandon you or break our vows, but there are actions I must take, deeds that must be done, purposes I must fulfill. If you have found this, found me, then I am sure you have many questions.

If you must search me out, then you can find my trail starting at our favorite place.

I love you still. I love you forever.

I still remember our vows and will endeavor to never corrupt or break them.

Please find me.

I miss you.

I need you.

I am so afraid.

Yours till the end of time,

Siobhan Winters"

You carefully fold the letter, and hold it close to you for a second.

It seems like you have to go out and find your wife.

You bring all the boxes inside, carefully put them in your bedroom where space is already running low. Your parents, barely awake and carefully sipping coffee watch you with mild confusion and interest.

"Everything good?" your dad asked as you carried in the last box.

"Mix up with the post office. A bunch of unsent mail finally made it my way," you half explain.

"Ok..."

With all of the boxes in your room you start to unpack and sort them.

There were hundreds if not thousands of spam mail for Siobhan. It seems that the only people that remember her are you and the person in charge of trying to sell HelloFresh boxes.

There seemed to be four serious piles of mail by the time that you finish sorting all six boxes.

The first pile, the biggest one, was spam mail. The one inexhaustible truth in the universe.

They were all addressed to Siobhan Winters, but seemingly were listed under a couple dozen addresses all over the country. There was something there, a code or a pattern in Siobhan's movements. But you don't quite have the brain power to think that one through.

The second pile were bills. None of them were overdue, but just notices for the stopping and starting of service. This felt like a pattern too, one that you could combine with the spam mail to really track where Siobhan had been over the course of the years she's been gone.

But that wasn't the important thing, yet.

Because the third and forth piles were much more interesting, and they were all addressed to "The Spouse of Siobhan Winters".

There were letters, all extremely similar to the first one you opened, all addressed the same, all sealed similarly.

Then there were packages. They were of various sizes but most of them were pretty small.

This was a mystery and an adventure, so you wanted to start at the end. Find Siobhan right away and then work through the rest.

After carefully looking over each letter you see that there were small numbers written on the back of each letter and package, right near the seal.

You couldn't make out the exact details of the seal in the dark purple wax, but you realize that it was probably a tower of some kind with some squiggly line accents.

The last letter, one with the number 60 on it, was the highest one you found, so you opened that one first.

Answers to start, adventure later.

"My love,

There is an order and a reason for this. It may be difficult, and it may change you in ways that you cannot see or predict. I say this now, here, that the road is long and difficult, for the better and the worse, and the changes are fundamental and total and incomprehensible until you go through it.

I do not want to discourage you from this journey.

I want you to be prepared.

You cannot remain, the act of searching has already started and changed you. There is no going back.

If you stop I would not blame you, nor would I intrude upon the peace you would inevitably seek and find. I would weep for the loss.

If you do wish to continue, you must know that there is an order, a reason, and a pattern to the journey. You cannot jump to the end, even though I recall you desperately reading the last chapters of books in school because you needed to know if there was a happy ending. This is not a story you can skip to the end.

I'm sorry.

The journey will be long and will alter everything for you. In the end there will be a choice, for you to make alone.

I'm sorry that all you have of me are these dead letters. But if you follow them in order, if you undergo the journey with me, after me, you will understand.

Yours for all time,

Siobhan"

You close the letter and sit on your bed.

After all this time she still remembers you so clearly it seemed. You still look up the plot summary of movies and TV shows before you start watching them. You'll spoil yourself left and right on things to make sure that they aren't going to end badly or not be worth the time investment.

It seems that this is not something that you can skip to the end of, this is a journey that you will have to take from the beginning.

There were so many letters and packages.

And you had a feeling that many of these things would have you going to wildly different places.

You grab your bag, stuff in some snacks and a bottle of water, and grab letter number 2.

If this is how it has to be, then you're going to start walking to the old pond where the two of you got married in kindergarten.

i have a kofi

[stalkedbytrains]

Dead Letters, Missing Wife

First Letter

Dead Letter #6: Beyond the Veil

You didn't sleep much at all last night. You had a lot on your mind. Siobhan was all you could think of. Even if all you can really picture is her hair, her eyes, and those hands crafting your wedding ring.

You haven't taken the ring off since you opened that letter.

No one has really said anything about it. The couple of friends that you eat lunch with have mentioned it.

They accepted the non-answer that you gave about it being a gag gift from a friend from long ago. But there was something in you that felt bad about lying. It's not like you can really explain the whole situation anyway. None of your friends even remember Siobhan or interacting with her even though you know for a fact that Jamie was at your 8th birthday sleepover with Siobhan.

No one really said much or reacted in any weird ways until today.

You were walking down the hallways at school when you crossed paths with you guidance counselor Mrs. Statch.

"Hey honey, that's a nice ring you got there. Tell me someone didn't propose to you at the bleachers and you said yes," the old, but pleasant woman says as she holds out her hand to inspect the ring on your hand.

"Oh no. This is from an old, old friend. We got married as kids, it was a joke. She gave it to me as a joke on my birthday."

"Oh that's cute," she starts, but when her hand touches you there's a sharp smell like ozone burning and a yelp as Mrs. Statch rips her hand away from you and lets out a sound that you can only approximate as a growl.

"Are you ok?" you ask.

Mrs. Statch doesn't say anything for a second as she nurses her hand. She speaks quickly, when she does speak, "An old silver allergy, forgot all about it. Got to go."

The old woman totters off into the crowded hallway full of students that didn't seem to notice a single thing.

You thought about the interaction all day. It was so weird, so strange.

You also tried to notice those people who looked at the ring and didn't say anything, or those that went out of their way to avoid touching it.

On your walk home you started to notice more than a few people who suddenly had to cross the street instead of just walking by you.

A feeling, something you can't quite place, something mysterious and strange, is building in your spine.

The journey is changing you.

You rush home to find the next letter.

"My dearest,

Have I ever told you of my love of parthenogenesis? It's the ability of some animals and plants to just have off spring without the use of a sexual partner.

In plants it's no big deal. I mean there are no plants out there having sex with each other to make little plant babies.

Would be fun to see.

But there are animals in zoos that have no contact with the males of the species. There was a Komodo dragon, a sting ray, and even a few sharks. It happens a lot in lizards.

My favorites are the sharks.

Do you think that the babies, which are genetically identical to their parent, know that they are a clone? Do they have any advantages from being a younger version of their parent? Does the parent even know how to parent themselves?

I know that they are sharks, they are animals that can be very smart, but they do not come close to the level of sentience.

Yet, I can't stop wondering. What would I be like as a parent? Could I be a better parent to myself knowing about all the things that I will experience and feel and go through or would the mere fact that I am my own parent change the offspring in such a fundamental way that it wouldn't even be recognizable to myself?

Sometimes I think life would be easier as a lizard.

Or a shark.

I think I would choose to be a lizard over a shark because finding a nice warm rock to lay on in the sun sounds like an excellent way to spend an afternoon.

I am realizing now how strange this letter must read. I am writing this very late at night, or possibly very early in the morning.

When does the night change over to morning? Is it when the sun starts to rise or is it when the darkness begins to lighten in an almost imperceptible way? I couldn't sleep and I wanted to talk with you like we used to. But we are separate and this letter is the best I can do.

Yours from the beginning to after the end,

Siobhan"

The letter is indeed strange and a little weird. But at the same time you find it funny and endearing. You feel like you know Siobhan a little bit better as a person now.

She loves lizards, and sharks.

It made you think of all the silly conversations you've ever had with friends and people at late night sleep overs.

So far this letter might be your favorite.

It warms you up a little, like a warm rock for you to lay on.

As you lay in your bed staring at the ceiling imaging Siobhan next to you, talking about parthenogenesis and lizards and sharks and komodo dragons. Then you can't stop yourself from thinking about all the other things that can happen at sleep overs, with Siobhan here, with you, in your room.

In your bed.

Your face feels hot.

Before you can get too far in a day dream there's a sudden explosion of noise and energy that you can sense happening downstairs.

From that level of commotion you know that it can only be for one person.

Your brother is home.

You try to collect yourself to go downstairs to say hello, but before you can your bedroom door bursts open as your brother lets himself in.

"Hey nerd. What the hell is happening in here?" He surveys the mess of dead letters and packages from Siobhan that have taken over your room.

"None of your business," you say automatically. "Don't you ever knock?"

"Why? Is there any possibility you'd be doing anything salacious in here? My perfect, sweet little-"

You throw a pillow at his head.

He catches it and is about to throw it right back at you when he suddenly stops.

"Hey, that's an interesting ring."

"Yeah, I got it from an old friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Siobhan Winters sent it to me. We got pretend married as kids and she sent this to me."

Your brother fully enters your room and sits down on your chair you have set up in front of your desk.

"That's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"You know her?"

Your brother nods. "She's hard to forget. And if you're wearing that ring, then I assume you know what it means?"

You don't break eye contact with him, you do nod very slowly.

He lets out a long breath that he had been holding for a minute. "Well then. Welcome beyond the veil. I hope you're ready for The Strange."

i have a kofi

[stalkedbyplanes]

Dead Letters, Missing Wife; Letters 4 & 5

[Letter #1][Letter #2][Letter #3]

History

You wish you had a better excuse for why it took you almost a week to open letter number four. But really it was just nerves. There was something about the ring and everything. It makes everything feel so much more real.

You can't really picture how Siobhan looks, at least not how she would look now, with the years and maturity changing her into someone else.

But you can picture her hands. Burned, cracked, dry and peeling, looking like someone spilled acid on her hands and she's still dealing with the wounds. You don't know why that image is so stuck in your mind, but it is.

As is the image of those same hurt hands sitting down to write you a bunch of letters that couldn't be sent, couldn't be read until you did the work to get them, to open them, to choose to read them.

You spent longer than you'd like to admit, in your bed, just staring at the pile of mail that isn't addressed to you (you're trying to not look at the mail that is addressed to you).

There's this massive weight that you feel coming down upon you. Something like an ocean overhead that is struggling to remain in the air, in defiance of the natural laws and the efforts of the earth to call it home. You feel the massive weight of the water will come down and crush and drown you at any moment.

You put off the next letter a bit longer by trying to sort through the mountain of other mail of Siobhan's. You figure if you can start on a different puzzle, a less personal one, you can make progress without having to deal with that overhead ocean.

But you only get so far. You start to sort the mail by the cities that Siobhan was supposedly in. You have to stop when there's an address in your city. Close by. Super close to where you've been living your entire life. All the evidence points to Siobhan moving back to your city, only a mile away, and the dates on the postmarks seem to suggest that she was back as recently as two years ago.

And she didn't come find you.

That thought haunts you, like a spike through your soul.

You find yourself running your hands along the seal on letter number four.

You open it and read, trying to ignore the rain from the ocean above.

"My sweet,

This journey that I have sent you on must feel deeply overwhelming and I can never apologize enough.

There is something profoundly terrifying for me in doing this. I crafted this mask out of myself. I made something pretty and nice and wore it for so long. I'm afraid of letting you see what is beneath it, because it might be too much. And there are only so many secret things that I can share without revealing the things that are best left buried.

I know that part of this journey that I have set you on, must include pieces of myself, show you how I have grown and changed and who I have wanted to become all these years.

It is hard for me. The being that I am supposed to be, the thing that my father crafted me to be, is a miserable pile of secrets. That is not who I want to be, but it is the nature that has fostered me so I am working against all my better instincts.

I am sorry.

I know you disliked my father, even as a child.

I can't say that I blame you. He is an exacting man. Precise and distant and cold.

I was supposed to be a perfect little one. I was supposed to be quiet and just as cold and distant.

There was a plan. Some great architecture that we can't see when we are small.

We weren't supposed to stay in this one spot for as long as we did. I wasn't supposed to make such a good friend. I don't even know if I was supposed to have friends.

Everything changed for me on that first day in kindergarten when I was first dropped off by my father. He told me to watch and learn.

You loudly declared, "I don't like him! He's weird!" Pointing right at my father.

The teacher scolded you and told you to not say such things about the other kids parents.

As soon as she was done telling you that, you walked over to me. I thought you were going to apologize. Instead, you cupped my face and told me, "I'm sorry your dad is weird. You seem nice."

Not exactly an apology, but it did make me laugh.

It still makes me laugh.

That's when I knew you were someone special. And that was the start of us staying in one specific place for far too long.

I regret nothing, because it meant that I was allowed to stay with you for as long as possible.

I just wish it could have been longer.

But father is an exacting man. And there is a plan. I must follow the plan. Even if I don't want to be that person anymore.

I wish to simply be yours,

Siobhan"

You close the letter and just sit with it in your hands. This whole thing is starting to get much much bigger. Much heavier.

You sit and you think.

Does Siobhan need to be rescued from her father? Is that what this is all about? Is she stuck in some weird abusive cult? Are these dead letters the only way for her to communicate with you?

With a sick feeling in your stomach rising, you reach for the next letter to grab it and open it.

If Siobhan needs to be saved from her father, from her situation, and the only way to find her is to read through the letters in sequence, then it's on you to hurry up and finish.

You break the seal of the next letter and it already feels different from the first words.

"I'm sorry my dear.

It was only after I finished writing that last letter and sent it, that the realization set on me.

I am not in any danger. My father, while he is what he is and I am what I am, is not threat to me. I am not in any danger from him any more than he is from me at this point.

I simply wanted to explain, and perhaps vent my frustrations a little bit at you. I wanted you to understand the situation I am in.

There is no abuse or mistreatment beyond the attempts to make me the perfect tool for the cyclopean plan that I am but a tiny part in and my family is but a moderately larger cog.

There is no abuse. No danger or imminent threat.

I promise.

I would have told you if there were.

It is simply like being in class. Something you have to do, even if there are benefits and positives to it, it seems hard to discern at the moment you are in it, and you are always wishing you could be somewhere else, with someone else, being happy and doing whatever your heart desires.

I'll be more careful with my words in the future,

Siobhan"

You close the letter and you find that your heartbeat has been raging out of control.

You feel at once, reassured that there's nothing to concern yourself over, and a deep sense of worry that whatever this is will be more than you can handle.

[love-killed-the-superstar]

Sad pining sigh

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - One

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. You stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet. masterlist ao3 next

You step off the train carrying every one of your earthly possessions clutched in both hands. In one a carpetbag, only half-full, and in the other, a stack of letters tied together with string. A paltry summary of a very small life, you thought months ago, but today you only see how much room is left over where happiness might take root.

It began with an ad in the paper—Widowed Ranch Owner Seeking Tender Companionship—and a mailing address to a livestock town out in the west. Hans König described himself as Austrian, unusually tall, and fair lonesome in a big ranch house with no woman to make it a home. He’d immigrated to the United States as a child, married very young, had no children, and was forced to watch his first wife perish to consumption.

After two years of mourning, he said in the paper, he finally accepted that she would not want him to live and die alone. And thus, if there were any kind-hearted lady willing to give an old widower a chance, he would promise to take very good care of her.

You’d replied as fast as you could get your hands on paper and pen. The fourth child and only daughter of a tobacco farmer, you hadn’t much else to occupy yourself with. And truly, you hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Proficient in the written word though you were, there was not much else to recommend you. You brought a tiny dowry, skill with a sewing needle, a general knowledge of plants, and mediocre cooking to the bargaining table; he was horse man tried and tested by the challenges of the frontier.

You were under no illusions that you were the most attractive candidate.

Still, you wrote your letter. Described yourself to him as honestly as you could—neither especially pretty nor particularly accomplished, but told by friends and family to be of gentle demeanor and useful intelligence. Forgave him preemptively if he never responded, and wished him the best of luck in his search for a wife.

You’d nearly fainted dead away when his response had arrived as immediately as the next mail wagon. Hans König had addressed you by name, as intimately as if he’d known you for years, and said,

I was very pleased to receive your letter, Miss, and am terribly excited to correspond with you in the future. Although you write that you cannot imagine yourself an appropriate wife for a man of my experience, I myself cannot imagine what more you must need to be such. While I will not do you the discourtesy of making any promises with only my first letter to you, I will tell you truly that I was glad of your introduction, and hope you will grant me the pleasure of knowing you further.

Your whole family had been so excited for his response that Pa had broken out his fiddle after dinner that night, rejoicing already that his little girl’s future was secure.

What followed was a whirlwind half year of romance over letters sent back and forth so fast that you kept running out of ink for your pen. When you’d related this problem to Hans, he’d sent not only an entire box of lampblack ink, but a new steel pen, blotter, and lap desk on which to write.

There is no greater misfortune I can imagine now than to lose the pleasure of your correspondence, he’d written.

Pa had cried that day. Your mother had drawn you close and kissed your hair, whispering a thankful prayer that her baby was going to be alright.

In every letter, Hans demonstrated himself to be a kind man, thoughtful and patient, and as the relationship between the two of you blossomed, you started to believe it yourself. You had long given up on the possibility of marriage, thinking yourself too old and plain by now to offer much to any man worth marrying.

Now you stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet.

There are only a few people milling about the station for you to survey. The surest way to pick Hans out from a crowd, he’d written, was by height. He towered over most people, and expressed hope in an early letter that he would not dwarf you too much.

But as you look around, no one stands out above the rest. In fact, the people here aren’t much different than what you’re used to; their simple dress and slight grubbiness prove them to be working folk, the kind you’d expect in a town like this, stockyards visible from the station. Your kind of people—at least normally.

Anticipating this meeting, you’d put on the best dress you own, a light frock with little printed flowers all over it. Your hair is braided and pinned up as fashionably as you could manage early this morning, and you’d even dabbed a little rouge on your lips for the occasion. As far as you can tell you are the cleanest, best-dressed person in the vicinity, and you notice not a few people openly staring.

The thought would usually make you blanch, but right now you hope it will only help your would-be husband to catch sight of you. You still can’t find him—

“Mrs. König!”

You whip your head in the direction of the call. Relief trickles through you, soothing an anxiety you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet, and then you see that stepping onto the platform is the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Dark skin, warm as a summer’s day. Lips soft and full like a peach fresh-picked from the tree. A serious brow over serious eyes.

Strong and lean in build, with a loose, confident swagger in his step. He approaches, his large, long-fingered hands coming to rest on the buckle of his belt as comes to stand before you.

Tall, to be sure.

But not unusually tall.

This cowboy—profession evidenced by the worn state of his attire—is not your intended husband.

Something in you falls at that.

Swiftly you berate yourself for the betrayal. Your Hans is gentle, generous, kind. So what if this man before you is attractive? Marriages must be built on more, and Hans has already given you more. His looks shouldn’t—don’t—matter to you at all.

“Not as of yet,”you reply to the cowboy, “but soon. May I help you, sir?”

He fixes you with an intense gaze. Up close, you see thick, dark lashes framing even darker eyes—the color of which, you realize, is as black as fresh-turned soil.

The smell of humus fills your memory, powerfully earthy and fresh, such that you could be on your hands and knees with your face to the ground right now. You feel the phantom of it between your fingers; rich and cool, like at the start of the planting season before the rains. So dark and fine as to live between the grooves of your fingertips for days.

“I’m Kyle Garrick,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m a wrangler for Hans König, miss. He sent me to meet you.”

You blink. The fantasy you’d dreamed up on the train ride—of seeing Hans across the platform, recognizing him instantly, and running into his arms—finally crumbles into dust.

“Oh,” you say.

Kyle Garrick frowns. “You’re disappointed.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. “No, he must be such a busy man, I couldn’t expect him to drop everything for me.”

The cowboy sucks his lips between his teeth, studying you for a heartbeat, then—“He is busy. Mr. König is finishing preparations for your wedding this evening. That’s why he couldn’t come.”

What disappointment had begun to sprout in your stomach immediately strangles down to the root. Joy surges in your chest like birds taking flight.

“A wedding!”

You didn’t need a wedding, you’d written to him—you were so happy merely to marry him, you couldn’t possibly ask for more. All you needed, you told him, were his hands in yours, promising before God to be your husband for the rest of your lives. You’d meant it, too.

But an actual wedding!

“Biggest the town’s seen in years,” says Kyle Garrick. “Folks haven’t talked about anything else for weeks.”

“Oh!” Then suddenly you despair. “Oh, I’m not dressed at all for a wedding. If I’d known, I would’ve worked on this dress more, I would’ve put my hair up better!”

Kyle surprises you with sudden passion. “You look perfect. You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever come into this train station, miss. This town, even.”

“Oh,” you say again. You flush hot up into the roots of your hair. Embarrassed, you avert your gaze, looking down at his worn roper boots. “I’m not, really. But it’s kind of you to say.”

His hand touches yours, the one holding onto your carpetbag. When you look back up at him, his expression is gentler.

“Mr. König will agree with me,” he says, “I promise.” He eases the handle from your grasp. Up close, he has a comforting smell. Leather, and sweet hay, and campfire smoke.

“You think so?” you ask, tightening your grasp on the letters in your other hand.

He nods. “I do. Now come on—I brought a cart. Let me take you home.”

-

[dughole]

radiohead’s complicity in israeli-occupied palestine

my feelings on radiohead are complicated these days, as i’m sure they are for many. i'm using this post as a method of sorting out my own thoughts & to provide sources.

for me, the bottom line is this: radiohead is both a brand & a musical group. the brand of radiohead has always had deep roots in the israeli colonial project - they have played many, many shows there throughout their career. their breakout single - creep, was intially only a hit in israel (x, x) & the personal choices of some of radiohead's members remain just as involved. jonny greenwood met his future wife - the israeli artist, antivaxxer & vehement zionist (x) sharona katan - at a show radiohead played in israel in 1993 (x). jonny consistently collaborated with zionist musician shye ben tzur & his projects continue to tour in tel aviv as recently as last september. as for jonny himself - his only statement in regards to the war on gaza has been in mourning for the israeli concert goers on october 10th - w no such empathy spared to the 100,000 palestinians dead, injured, or missing. as for thom, while he’s thrown a few bitchfits (x) through the years abt criticism of radiohead’s shows in israel, he has imo - only paid lipservice to the criticism, saying “playing in a country isn’t the same as endorsing its government” going against the pleas of his peers & coworkers in the music industry. as well as the pro-palestine activism undertaken by his long term friend micheal stipe (x & x). (note: stipe stood by radiohead’s performance in israel in 2017, but his current political choices suggest his understanding of the situation has evolved). even his own son - noah yorke, a fellow working musician, has voiced his opposition to the genocide in gaza via instagram stories. as for the other members, rhythm guitarist ed o'brien has called for a ceasefire, as well as making a few tweets about "solidarity with palestinians & israeli peacemakers". while bassist colin greenwood reportedly refused to accept letters of dialogue from the fan-run organization radiohead fans for palestine. drummer phillip selway's commentary is similarly brief but defensive, saying radiohead's 2017 tel aviv concert "felt right"

to me, this paints a picture of a band who's members stances on israel range from abhorrent to simply not enough. & as a brand, their particular combination of action & inaction amounts to a fundamentally zionist perspective. you cannot separate radiohead as artists from radiohead as a brand name.

i've loved radiohead since i was 14. i was brought into it by another longtime fan. i cried & danced when i saw them live back in 2017 - it was, & remains, a moment that allowed me to live through the hardest parts of my life. i felt for the longest time, that radiohead's music & political positions encouraged my empathy - my questioning of conservative political authority. & while all celebrities are failures in some sense - it is still heartbreaking to know how wrong i was.

i don't think it's possible to disconnect the decade of connection & love i have for their music - I won't ask that of myself or anyone else. & the idea of scrubbing one's taste of the "morally impure" is useless effort & an inappropriate simplification of both art & our conceptions of what makes someone "bad". but i can say with certainty - i will not be giving them any more of my money, whether that be streaming their music or buying their merch - & i encourage you to do the same. silence is complicity - this is beyond silence.

in the words of nina simone - "an artist's duty, as far as i'm concerned, is to reflect the times. how can you be an artist and not reflect the times? that to me is the definition of an artist."

[eternally-racing]

racer girl | lando norris

pairing: dad! Lando x wife! reader (+ their adorable little kiddo)

wc: 1.3k

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: Lando's more than apprehensive when his daughter wants to try karting for the first time, but luckily you're there to hold his hand through it all.

note: this fic is part of the racer girl collection but can also be read as a stand alone !

----- The request came on the list your daughter, Piper, wrote for Santa, and as soon as you saw it you ran to go show your husband, Lando. “Go karting” was written in scraggly letters.

You had anticipated it to be a joyous event in the Norris household. None of you ever put any pressure on your daughter to follow in either of your footsteps, but the image of your little girl in a racing suit just like her daddy made you smile. You surprised Lando with the when you both were cleaning up after dinner, but the reaction you got is nothing like what you expected.

“She’s not going karting. End of story”

“It’s what she wants, Lan, and I think it makes perfect sense.” 

“It’s TOO dangerous. That’s my little girl out there.” 

You’ve never seen Lando look this serious in his life. He’s not being overdramatic or overzealous, but there’s a fire behind his eyes that tells you that he’s dead set on this. 

“Do you think your mother was ecstatic when she found out her son was in love with one of the most dangerous sports in the world? Probably not, but she let you do it anyway. Because you loved it, and who knows, maybe Piper’s gonna love it like her daddy.” 

This is why Lando loves you. You're always realistic and you keep him grounded while he floats away into overthinking on situations like this.

“I guess I’m just scared for her,” Lando says more quietly, taking a seat on the couch and curling in on himself. You’re quick to join him and cuddle into his side.

“You’ve seen what I’ve been through Y/N - the training, the crashes, the missed birthdays and weddings, the mental toll, how can you still say you want her to do this knowing all of that?”  

You sigh as you take Lando’s hands in yours. You rub your thumb over the back of his hands while you ask him your next question.

“Looking back, do you regret anything, Lan? Would you give up racing entirely if you had the chance to start all over again?”

He shakes his head in denial instantly, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as you lay with one another.

“We’re not committing to her becoming a Formula 1 driver, babe. She just grew up seeing her daddy do this really cool thing and wants to give it a try, and I don’t think it’s the worst thing if we let her.”

Lando buries himself further into your neck and he mumbles his next words. “Our little girl is growing up, isn’t she?” 

You don’t reply back with your words, but Lando understands you perfectly as you cuddle further into his side. 

- - - - - - 

It’s a rare instance when Lando tosses you the keys to drive to the track. He protects his McLaren like it’s his second child, but from the way his knee is bouncing in the passenger seat you know that he’s in no state to drive. It’s a perfectly mild cloudy day, yet Lando is wearing these ridiculous wide rimmed sunglasses that you can only assume he found in a hurry while foraging through your shared bathroom. While you may not tease him much for it since you know they’re covering his teary eyes, your daughter is still just as merciless and cheeky as her father usually is. Lando teaches her the word “allergies” on the drive down as he’s coming up with excuses for his sniffly state. 

When Piper first gets a helmet, she runs right past you to get her daddy to put it on her. She’s serious when she tells him not to make it “tew tight”, but Lando’s hands are shaking so much that he can hardly get the buckles done up anyways. She barely spares you both a second glance and Lando has to pull her back to give her a quick kiss on the helmet before she goes off. You both wrap her in your embrace and give her a squeeze until she’s telling you it’s time to let go, and Lando only gets halfway through his dad talk of “we can leave at any time if you get scared and I’m gonna be standing right here supporting you” before she’s already dashing away again. Piper is barely going past a crawling speed in the kart but something about the sight tugs at your heart. You’re used to this feeling, watching half your heart racing away while you’re on the sidelines, but you realize this is the first time Lando’s been in this position instead of being the one in the car. You reach for his hand and hold it tight as you lay your head on his shoulder. You two had so many “firsts” with your daughter: first steps, first time you left her at home, first words, and so much more, but none of them compared to this feeling of watching her karting for the first time. 

The first time Piper bumps into a wall Lando says that he thinks he’s gonna throw up and you have to almost physically hold him back from running out there to her. Once you see a big thumbs up from your daughter to confirm she’s okay, the whole situation earns a little giggle from you and you reply back with Lando with “imagine instead of going into the wall at 3km/h it’s actually 313km/h and you’re watching the father of your children crash.” 

Lando’s never seen your point of view before like this. You spent years on the paddock as the worried girlfriend, then as the worried fiance, then as the worried wife, and then finally as the worried pregnant wife (probably the worst situation of all since you were already nauseous anyways). You never once pushed him into retiring for the sake of your family - you could see the joy the sport brought him and he always appreciated your respect for that. He thinks having to watch on the sidelines might be even harder than actually being on the track, and he looks at you with a newfound appreciation for your strength as you cheer on your daughter.

“Thank you.” Lando whispers to you with a little crack in his voice.

It’s more than a thank you for convincing him to let Piper do this - it’s a thank you for supporting him all these years, through all the ups and downs of his racing career. You only hold onto him tighter as a response, pulling out your phone too to capture the moment. Whether Piper continues in motorsport or not, you know this is a moment that you’ll both treasure forever. 

That night Piper begs for you both to put on the home video of Lando’s first karting win while she eats her supper. You’ve never seen your daughter this happy before, and you know from the look on Lando’s face that he thinks the same. It’s only after she retells her experience in karting from start to finish for the 4th time over that you’re able to finally bargain with her to go to sleep. Her one concession is that she sleep with her helmet in her bed, an action that brings the tears right back to the forefront of Lando’s eyes since that was something he did as a kid too.

“Our baby girl is going to be the first ever female driver in formula 1” he cooes as you both stand at the foot of her bed. “Typical Lando” you call out, not surprised one bit that he’s gone from banning his daughter from stepping foot into a kart to imagining her future in motorsport history all within the span of a couple of days. You have to slow him down before he starts going off on a tangent about the best places to train and the moments he can’t wait for her to experience in the sport. But at the end of the day you’re so happy that Lando came around on this (an “i told you so” or two sometimes slip out when the topic comes up), and you know that it’s going to be a fun journey being karting parents for as long as Piper wants to do so. 

----

author's note: this was such a fun one to write <3 you'll probably see a lot more dad! Lando on my page in the future! If you have any dad! Lando scenarios (or any scenarios really) that you want me to write, feel free to drop them in my ask box! Until next time <3 - Em

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Letters and Paper goods are easy to store, and therefore, easy to hide. Danny has drama to monger though.

Tim Drake becomes a ward of Bruce Wayne at the same time the Drake Corporation is crumbling, and his father's health is declining. Dana, his father's physical therapist turned new wife, isn't optimistic these days, and Tim can read the writing on the wall.

Times have changed and Bruce and Dick are treating him with kid gloves. Jason Todd is alive again, been there suffered that. Young Just-Us has proven yet again to be his true family... But Bruce 'welcomes' him home the second the fake uncle is sniffed out.

So, Tim rationalizes, If Drake Corp is going down, then so shall the reason he spent his childhood abandoned. The many, many archeology digs his parents left him for over the years and their many, many stolen historical pieces. Tim is ready and able to get rid of them all.

He first returns the artifacts that have obvious origins to the people with whom they belong. Then it starts to get a little hazy as to where each item stolen is from. The paper goods are the hardest to place.

Years later, Tim has almost completely emptied his parent's old home of their stolen goods. By now, he runs a fortune 500 company and is working as Red Robin. Going through the last of the archives means going through the very last objects his parents ever preferred over his company, and he can't wait to be rid of them.

A glowing green envelope however... this one he feels compelled to keep. He hadn't known it back when he started this project- but somehow his Parents had found objects drenched in the essence of the Lazarus Pits. And it wasn't just one letter, it was dozens and dozens.

Tim Drake knew it would be risky to move them, but he needed to get these letters to an ex-league member to understand what the language of the dead was trying to proclaim.

_____

Danny hates a fetch quest but apparently Ghost Writer is having a bad day. It starts with Danny running by the guys library to have a chat when all of a sudden, the question of certain... ghost relations... came up. Danny is always more than thrilled to hear about how the various ancient-as-in-old ghosts interacted with the Ancients-as-in-yikes ghosts.

Ghost Writer finally admitted to the monarch in training that if he wanted to know so badly, that he could track down Clockworks old letters. They'd been scattered well before Ghost Writer could properly work on the ghost archives (read: was still alive), and it wasn't until he'd long worked on the library that such affairs were noted as missing.

The potential for gossip was just too good! A call home to Sam, Tuck and Jazz to let them know he was on an adventure, and then Danny flew off with little more than some hints by GW and an annoyed nod of cryptic agreement by CW.

Danny goes about wondering Gotham as himself, not yet seeing the need to be Phantom, when he runs into the very guy he was looking for.

"Hey- you don't happen to have a shit ton of letters written in the language of the dead do you?" Danny smiles as innocently as possible as he watches all seven stages of grief play out on the guy's face. Then something changes and Danny can tell that this guy is like, scary competent.

"I do, however, I was double crossed and a shit ton of assassins are on their way to try and take them."

"Uh... Bummer for them I guess? I'll just take them and go- I don't even really need to keep them if you want em back-"

"Assassins. They won't exactly leave empty handed."

"Huh. Well... Wanna come with? These are supposed to have some pretty juicy drama in them." Danny awkwardly places a hand on the back of his neck.

A knife being thrown in their direction was enough to get this guy to make a decision.

"Let's go spill some tea then."

Danny grins as he pulls the guy through a rapidly drawn portal, ignoring the wide eyes he makes. Turns out his name is Tim, and walking him through afterlife drama is the best- how does he know so many dead assassins??? One of these letters is about a guy who took Tim's spleen??

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Five Long Years (Chapter 1)

aemond x niece!reader

A/N: i've been wanting to do age gap aemond with his niece for a while so when someone requested it, i was going to do a smut oneshot but it turned into this so weee new miniseries

WARNINGS: angsty, there will be incest and future smut

WORD COUNT: 1,059 words

next chapter series masterlist

Five years since you saw him last. Two years since the death of his wife, Cassandra Baratheron and he is now finally coming home. He has travelled much, or at least that is what he says in his letters. Aemond Targaryen is a man of few words in everything but his letters to you, his dear niece who has spent the majority of her life doing no less than adoring him. Seeing him has been the thing you have spent the last month looking forward to and the day has finally come as you make your way to the courtyard.

“Ñuha rūs mandianna, look at how you’ve grown.” (my baby niece) 

You hear the voice from behind you, whipping around to meet his eye. Oh, and grown you have, into your name and into your body.

You hold in your squeal of delight as you walk up to him. “I have missed you, Kepus. I didn’t think you had already arrived.” You breathe out as he takes both your hands in his and brings them up to his mouth for a kiss. You feel your cheeks flush.

“I missed you more.” He murmurs, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. He must have noticed your blush by now.

“Tell me everything. I want to hear all about Pentos and Naarth and Lys.” You take his arm, leading him forward for a walk so you don’t have to look him in the eyes.

He smiles at how flustered you are. “You would have loved it, darling. There was so much to learn, so much history in every city.”

You listen to him with such interest as he goes on about each city, their people, their clothes. He’s pleased about how you want to hear it all. You’ve walked through the gardens twice by the time he had gotten through the bulk of it but even so, you can feel that he hasn’t told you everything.

“Tell me more, Kepus.” You beg him, never wanting to leave his side again.

“Not all things are for your ears, sweetling.”

You pout. “What do you mean?”

“You are still just a little girl in many ways.” He holds your hand, his thumb drawing small circles on your knuckles.

“I will be married soon. I won’t be a little girl after that.” A hint of emotion flashes through his eyes as you speak the words.

“I’m not so sure you’re ready for that.” He murmurs, looking at your soft hands before you yank them from his grasp.

“How should you know what i’m ready for?” He’s surprised by your sharp response. He never would have expected you to use such a tone with him.

“Because I know you.”

“You knew me. We have not seen one another for years.” There’s hurt in your voice, in your eyes.

“I had a wife to attend to… a child.”

Both who are now dead.

“A woman grown would be able to understand that.” He says, patronizing you.

“I do understand that.” There’s such jealousy in your voice. You just want to be seen by him, in a way that is different from a little girl who is only now slightly less little.

“You have flowered, yes and you have gotten so beautiful but your petulance has yet to escape you.” He speaks so tenderly as he lifts your chin to force you to look in his eye, but you find his words cruel.

“I’m not petulant.” You protest, pulling your face from his hand. You hate his gentle touches when he’s being mean.

“A well-mannered girl wouldn’t speak to her uncle the way you do.”

“I am well-mannered, just not a pushover.” You say back to him.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have looked at a man on his wedding day the way you looked at me.” It stings when he says it. You didn’t even realize he noticed the way you gazed at him when he said his vows, all your longing wrapped up in a single look.

“Will you truly hold me to a look I gave you five years ago?” You want to scoff or say something mean but you hold your tongue instead.

“I was too old for you then.” He sympathizes. You didn’t even realize he knew. Men aren’t unusually so perceptive, especially ones who are barely twenty years old.

“Eight years isn’t so long. Daemon and my mother are sixteen years apart.” You murmur, knowing there’s no point in pretending.

“Her Grace wasn’t twelve when she married him.”

“Lots of girls get married at twelve.” You think of your grandmother who married even younger.

“Yes, lots of girls do get married at twelve… and then they die in childbirth at thirteen.” He states seriously. Aemond has little interest in fucking children, whether they have bled or not. “It was not because I did not like you, mandianna.” He reaches for you again to bring you demeaning comfort that you do not want.

“Stop touching me.”

“I didn’t know it would hurt you so. I had assumed it would pass.” He knows you still yearn for him.

“You think I still desire you? I want a man who will treat me like a woman, not a babe!” You’re angry and humiliated and you lash out, wanting that childhood crush to finally die, because that’s all it could have possibly been, frivolous and childish.

“I apologize. I should not have assumed.” You know he’s saying it just to calm you because a man like him is not so stupid, just arrogant enough to think he could never be wrong.

“I don’t want your purportless apologies.” You say with venom.

He sighs. “Then allow me to give you the gifts I brought for you-”

“You wish to distract me with trinkets?”

He isn’t too sure of what to say. You were much meeker as a girl, easily won over with pretty things and kind words. You’re more confident now… more Targaryen.

“I just do not wish to argue when it’s been so long since I saw you last.”

“And whose fault is that? You’ve had two years to see me… I’m starting to think it’s now too late.”

And with that, you stomp off, leaving Aemond dazed and confused… and slightly impressed. Maybe you aren’t just a little girl anymore.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

[astrae4]

HAN TAESAN | happy wife, happy life

pairings — idol!han dongmin x idol!reader

warnings — hanging joke, saying marriage but not actually married yet(?)

genre — FLUFF & romance hehe (wc. 789)

note — mentally not the best so im rlly inconsistent but it’s okay for now guys 😎👍 if u have any requests i’d be very happy to make it for u 😘😘 plspls like repost n follow 🙌

more works — navigation | bnd!masterlist

DING! DING! DING!

The buzzing notification sounds echoed loudly in a busy cafe, making some customers look at the victim responsible for these noises.

Said victim hurries to turn their notification sounds off, before checking his messages—only to see 6 missed calls and 14 messages from ‘manager 😫🔥’.

manager 😫🔥: WHERE ARE YOU???

manager 😫🔥: WE’RE THREE HOURS LATE ALREADY!!!!

you: im On the Way!

you: gimme a bit

manager 😫🔥: dont lie. I literally see your location and it isn’t moving AT ALL.

you: okay im actually almost done.

you: seriously, the line’s almost over

you: [picture attached]

manager 😫🔥: fine. Come back faster! We need to hurry up to isac bc u guys already missed the track comp.

you: 👍👍

“Order 1140, Mr. Woonhak!” Called a server.

Nobody reacted to that call for a few seconds, before the 180-ish-cm man jolted, remembering that he was supposedly Woonhak.

(Ever put a name in your order and forgot about it? Yeah, it happens to me all the time.)

“Here!” He replied, coming to the counter in a hurry.

“Matcha cake with pink frosting and custom lettering?” They asked to be sure.

“Yes, thank you so much!” Replied “Mr. Woonhak” as he takes the takeaway-boxed cake and hurried out the door.

He practically jumped in the car (gracefully though) with how fast he was going.

“Yah!” shouted Woonhak, “why’d you take so long!?”

“Don’t you see the line?” Replied Taesan, his eye rolling as he holds the cake with care.

“Yeah but why do we have to go get this cake? Just get it at any other bakery so we wouldn’t be late to ISAC—we already missed the track race!”

Someone (Leehan) suddenly sat up from the backseat, glasses crooked on his head as if he just woke up (he did), “That’s because it’s y/n’s favorite cake.”

“Yeah Woonhak,” butted another menace (jaehyun), “It’s their 2nd anniversary— but of course youuuu wouldn’t understand since you’ve never had a woman’s touch before other than your mom and sister.”

“YAH!” screamed Woonhak.

Thus, another bonekdo quarrel emerge.

(Woonhak lost once again. Give me a dab in the comments; one dab = one hp for our maknae’s patience)

EXCLUSIVE: BOYNEXTDOOR’S TAESAN MISTAKES ISAC FOR WE GOT MARRIED?

In the ISAC 2024, k-pop boy band BOYNEXTDOOR (under KOZ) arrives 5 hours late to the venue, earning some attention from netizens. Onedoors (Boynextdoor’s fans) called them hilarious, especially with that spectacular entrance, consisting of the members wearing sunglasses and strutting in the building as if they won the games (they will then lose really badly in archery) in a proud manner.

Despite the many games and groups competing in the games, what went most viral was surprisingly not sports-related, and we’re here to tell you the scoop!

Boynextdoor’s Taesan is widely known for dating [reader] of [group name] since the very beginning of their debuts. They also went trending many times for that—like a fresh breeze in the very tense atmosphere of idol-relationships. This time, it seems that Taesan decided to take it up a notch with his display of public affection and prove to everyone that romance is very much not dead!

Running in the building—and then sliding on his knees to stop in front of [reader]’s view—before procuring a bouquet of pink lilies for her all the while his very supportive members threw confetti at them!? Gosh, me when! After that, he also gave [reader] an exclusive cake from [reader’s favorite cake shop] to celebrate what seemed to be their 2nd year Anniversary.

Other idols in the building such as ZEROBASEONE and THE BOYZ’s Younghoon gave their support by cheering on the couple—as well as many others. Later on, it was even said by Zerobaseone’s Gunwook jokingly in his group’s vlog that he was jealous of their relationship, haha!

When asked about it later on in a live, Taesan responded that it was simply because it was their anniversary, and he wanted to make it special for them. In addition, he said a catchphrase that went viral— saying “Happy wife, happy life”, despite them not being married yet. [reader’s group] have not yet responded to this statement.

Many netizens are reacting to this viral video, saying that it’s so fresh and sweet of them two—some even joking and saying that “I’m the guy h*nging in the lights behind them” (source) in Tiktok and Instagram. All in all, netizens seem to think that it’s extremely sweet and wishes them both to remain happy and strong in the relationship!

What do you think about it?

Comments (19.99) | open

More related searches… BOYNEXTDOOR comeback September 25 | Sungho’s so hot in the new concept photo: twenty ver.

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© astrae4 2024 | please don’t copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[lady-ashfade]

Lord Of The Tides

Yan!One-Eyed!Lucerys Velaryon x Niece!Reader

╰･ﾟ✧☽ the best girl @madame-fear requested this from me and I love the way her mind works. She’s my wife- so I hope I make her happy with this one.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 3k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: targ’cest, lucerys being a bit different because he’s older, he also losses a eye, yandere behavior, slight dark themes, and slight mature themes (sexual), but no smut, and if there is a mistake about him having two eyes—Shh.

“were you scared?” the spoon in your hand scratched the bottom of the cup in your hand, and the sound of your heels clinking on the floor boards below were soft but could be heard around the room. even if it was only the two of you, the room was full in your eyes. “greatly. I was young and naive but I loved my brother, but I was too slow to reach towards the knife. Aemond had me beat in length, and that’s how,” his fingers moved upward to the black patch on his eye. He didn’t look ashamed of it like he did all thoses years ago before you were born, his body grew and so did his mind.

“I remember the story sounding much more…action packed as a child. Don’t get me wrong, uncle, you are the bravest man I ever met,” his chest filled with pride as the words fell from your dusted pink lips, “but I do recall you saying you road in on a dragon?” The sly smile on your cheeks was the only thing he recognized about you now. It’s been a few years since he had seen you, or took notice really. he was trying to fulfill his duty to study on how to be the next “lord of the tides” and he took it seriously.

glancing upon you now for the first time in years, he could see the beautiful woman you’ve became. perfect body that filled out your dress perfectly while showing just the right amount of skin but enough to leave any eyes yarning for more. you had matured more then well. In this moment he couldn’t pull his eye away from you, he was desperate to look at you for as long as he could. you were magnificent. “Would that enthrall you?” his teasing tone and brow arch made you flush in embarrassment.

“Would make the story a lot better, uncle.” you raise the cup to your lips and took a quiet sip while holding eye contact with him. the few seconds of silence had your stomach tingling and blood pumping faster. there was no secret from a young age you had a crush on your kind uncle. He had given you attention and made you laugh while teaching you stories and knowledge. It was just a silly crush that had you staying up late at night thinking of his smile years later.

“I suppose your right.” he broke eye contact to chuckle and lean forward to grab a soft pastry from the table. “Tell me, what has it been like while I was away? Has my brother learned anything about being future king?” His tone was off. Almost sounding as if he was belittling your father, or making fun of him. You stood up straight and place the glass down on its plate.

“My father has been doing a great job. Our queen is training him well, or do you doubt your own mother?” his body stopped in time for a second with half his lips wrapped around the sugared sweet to stare at you. he couldn’t believe how fast you acted to defend your father and tried to make a fool out of himself. the look behind your eyes and the smile tugging at your lips he could tell you meant no true harm. only to play a little game.

“You have changed,” he tone shifted as his eye made sure to run its way up and down your body, making you squirm in your chair. “No longer a girl but a lady.” you hated how easy it was to feel drawn into him again. it was different now then it was back then, you had aches and desire only the dead of night could see and he was making it so hard to control them. “I was pleased when I got your letter even if I had little time to prepare for it. But there is one question on my mind: why?” the truth wasn’t something you could tell him in that moment. So you settled for something easy, and nothing like the full picture.

“I missed you. Castle life is wonderful, but you always showed me the fun of things.”

each day that went by he was drawn in closer by you, from your smell, to your smile, to the sound of your laugh that he caused. he tried to deny himself from the thought of you but you were already hammered into his mind once he saw you getting off your dragon merely days ago. It’s been a long while since he saw beauty like you, your intelligence mind and wit, or your able to be naive in hopes of a better world. the strength to hold himself back when you were just a few inches away from him was great. he wanted to hold you, to touch your soft kiss…to whisper into your ear—

“I don’t understand,” the sound of you voice awakened him from his day dreaming. you had not noticed his staring from being turned away from him. “This game is incredibly stupid.” the mallet in your hands swung a bit as you exhaled frustratingly. the colored balls scattered around the ground, non of them close to being where his were.

“I think you wanted me to fail,” you pouted you lips at the tall man. “It’s not my fault your losing my dear,” the nickname made your body clinch, “if you had listened to me-” the words shouting from your mouth interrupted him.

“I have been listening to you. But you’re somehow cheating.” it made him unbelievably amused to watch you huff and pout at losing a game you forced him to teach you. if he could, he’d steal that pout away from your lips and make you whine about something else. “Are you accusing me of something?” He leaned his arms on the mallet but leaning on his leg to stare at you with scrunched brows. you took a moment to find something to say but only muffled and gagged words came from your lips before you eventually gave up.  “No uncle, forgive me for my temperament.” You looked down at the yellow ball and glared down at it.

“It’s just utterly frustrating to loss when you’re already so far ahead of me,” you glanced back up and pointed to his, “I don’t like losing.” that was something you gained from both your parents if he was honest. jace never liked to lose a game or training, and your mother had a shorter temper he could only imagine how you’d act when you get heated. “Then we should keep playing until your good.” he turned back to hit the blue ball at his feet and cheers when he gets it through the metal bars. gods, he was going to kill you with his handsome smile.

It was heart wrenching to see his smile fade and his body tense days later, with his hand resting on the stone railing. it was a perfect day, the time you spent with him was still unmatched by the way he made you feel. the sun shining orange across the sky and bouncing off the both of you, making the other even more breathtaking to each other.

“What?” his voice rasped and dropped darker then you have heard it before. all ounce of happiness left his body and started to over flow with growing anger. “For how long?” the raise volume to his voice make you look down in guilt for some reason. he was mad at you for not telling him…but for reasons you did not know of. “Two months. Before I came he was set to stay in kindslanding to find our ground with one another,” you played with you finger tips. he took a deep breathe to stop himself from shouting at you any further. his sweet girl knew nothing of the pain it caused him to hear those words. to find out she was in fact not his.

“He’s sweet, and kind. A perfect match for the realm,” you look up at the orange sunset and feel the aching in your heart grow, “we are to be wed in three months.” grabbing the long glass of wine from beside you and bringing it up to your lips to take a big sip. you needed to drown out the doubts and fears you had somehow. lucerys fist tightened at the thought of another having you be their bride, to get to kiss you and share your bed every night. he was lord of the tides, he had the best fleet and army at sea, he could protect you, love you like you deserve- but this man got it just on a whim?

you are more precious to be sold for some on going alliance with a household- you deserved a prince.

“But,” you start again with hesitation and force yourself away from his eyes, “he is not the one I long for. Yes, he would be a good and faithful husband but my heart does not long for him.” the title belonged to the man you stood beside, the man who made your soul burn blighter. he stepped forward and your breath hitched and couldn’t keep your eyes away from him. the eyepatch on his face never made you fear him, not even once did the stories make you feel any less for him.

“Who does it long for?” He fell hushed as he stood even closer to you now, your bodies almost touching and you could almost feel the heat coming from him. you wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to belong to him- to marry him. but it was not to be so, your duty as the princess is to care for the kingdom the best you can and that is for your betrothal to the lord you barley knew to work. and not to the man you loved.

clearing your throat you step back away from him and force a smile your face. you clearly were imagining things and he was not pursuing your fantasies, or his own. “A chat for another time perhaps, it’s getting quite late wouldn’t you say? I need a good nights sleep for my travels tomorrow.” he had forgotten all about you leaving. time slips away with you here. how could he bring himself to part ways now after everything you brought him?

“Then I shall fair you goodnight,” before you could pull away his body moves forwards and his lips pressed against the hairline of your forehead. it was a few seconds long but the feeling made you overwhelmed in shock, you froze up. pulling away from you he took notice of your reaction and how tense you became, “slept well, my dear” he walked away with a curled smile towards his cheeks and leaving you standing there alone.

that night you toasted and turned in your sheets thinking of how his lips felt on your skin and your brain started to wander. how would it feel for him to kiss down your shoulder, or you lips and down your chest in his chambers at night. he had no wife to warm his bed, surely he must be lonely? but a man like him was definitely no stranger to the feeling of a lovers touch and you knew that for sure. the thoughts you had that night made you feel embarrassed to see him the next morning when you woke from the vivid dream you had.

you fixed your glove over your hands and made sure everything you need is tied on tight to your dragon. she squirms beneath your touch and if she could purr like a cat you know she would. lurcerys appreciates you carefully as your attention was not on him, he liked to see your face in shock because he found it adorable. “Leaving without a goodbye?” to his pleasure he was right. when you turned around at his voice spooked like a horse.

“I wasn’t sure you’d have time, it’s early.” you shifted awkwardly and covered yourself. he hummed along and walked closer and then inches by you. he stops before the scales of your dragon and slowly guides his palm over repeatedly along her body, makes her happy like it was you. even she enjoyed his company, much like her rider. “I’m sorry, I did not know how to say goodbye.” admitting the truth was harder once it was out for some reason. you didn’t want to look like a girl despite in love.

“This isn’t a goodbye, we will see each other again.” he gave one last pat and turned to face you again. he stood with his hands clasped together, his black outfit with golden accents shining in the morning sun, his dark brown hair reflecting just like the gold.

“I’m sure of it.”

Lucerys Velaryon was many things. a prince, a lord, a brave soldier trained, and powerful man with connections everywhere. he could pay his way through the slums and have anything he wanted done at the snap of his fingers. he never wished to see you in tears or upset, really, but that’s the way things happened. to even think of letting you suffer a marriage to— anyone but him was a taste worse then the gods could give. and it was tragic how the lord just ended up dead a few days later from being poisoned by one of his own cooks. he died in his mothers arms and his heart felt sorrow for her and only her.

you came running into his arms after you heard the news since he was the only one you could go to. of course you would, he planned it just right. so he kept you in a tight embrace as you cried into his chest while stoking your hair and whispering everything was going to be fine and you were too distraught to say anything. “just breathe sweet girl,” he whispered into your ear. you grabbed ahold of him and tried to calm your breathing but the hiccups messed you up. he hated seeing you like this but was overjoyed at the same time. he was with you, you were his now.

“I’m scared,” you sobbed as more tears rolled down your already damp cheeks, “he was kind- the next man might not be the same. I don’t want to be a miserable wife,” naive little you to think he’d ever let that happen.

“look at me,” he commanded but not harshly. his hands cupped the skin of your jaw and cheek to guide your face up to him. even now you looked as stunning as ever. “I’d never let you be miserable, you are too special,” his thumb traced shapes into your skin. he looked into your puffy eyes and drank them in, you looked so innocent and in need of his protection. and he loved that. “I shall confess I find myself thinking of you since you first arrived in driftmark as a new woman.” he watched your eyes widen in anticipation and surprise.

“my heart longs for you and only you. the minute you come the place lit up and worked smoothly with you around. driftmart needs a lady, I need someone by my side that is wise and has a soft approach.” your brain fogs up as he leans down near your face like he was going to kiss you but stops just before your noses touch. “I’d fill your rooms up with anything you ever ask for, show you love like you’ve never dreamed, or protect you from any harm that comes your way. you know I’m a better choice than the boys competing for your hand.” you hear the slight venom in his voice towards the mentions of other lords.

“my father, what would he say?” you whisper and he could feel your breath making him hold himself back. “I’m in need of a wife, he’s daughter is a reasonable gift. He knows I’d never mistreat you,” the other hand grabs ahold your waist and moves his hands up and down your dress making you shiver. “come on, sweet girl. say yes.” a simple nod of your head was enough of a answer for him to finally capture your lips like he had been waiting for. you felt so warm pressed up against him it made him feral inside.

the warmth inside became like a explosion when he kissed you, the way he’s holding onto you so tight and against him, his short breaths and gasp for air, the hunger makes you sore and aching for everything he had. he wanted to give you it all, but he couldn’t. not until he put a ring on your finger and that pained him. the hormones in his body were at its peak now.

slightly tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth he pulled away slowly with a husky growl. he held your hips in place to stop you from trying to get more. he listens to you pant while doing the same thing himself. you smiled up at him, “I’ve always wanted you to be mine,” you say blinking your eyes up at him teasingly, “I don’t think I can ever belong to another.”

his chest rumbles in soft laughter. “About my brother— I’ll make him see we belong together, he raised you well so he knows just how much I need you.” he was so good a flattering. you roll your eyes playfully at him, “you have honeyed words, my betrothed.” you needed no acceptance from your father. you’d run back to dragon stone and wed Lusercys there. you couldn’t be pulled away from him after this.

“Because you get the cutest look on your face, you haven’t been as secretive about your feelings towards me. Should we talk about the time you practically bursted into flames when you knocked yourself onto me?”

“You stoop so low, my lord.”

[abronzeagegod]

i'm posting some new Dead Letters, Missing Wife on my kofi if people are interested

they'll get cross posted on tumblr soon, i'm working on getting a slightly more professional/official site going but it's taking more time than i'd like

(and i'm starting to apply for writing jobs and they want portfolios and websites and shit, so maybe have the writings more easily found on something that doesn't have a bunch of truly weird memes might be the best course of action)

[stalkedbytrains]

Dead Letters, Missing Wife

First Letter

Dead Letter #2 The Vows of Children

Luckily, you hadn't moved at all since you moved into this house. Your parents moved out to the suburbs back when you were small, right before you met Siobhan actually.

That means that going to the pond is an easy affair. It is not far at all, but for an adventurous six year old it felt like miles away.

You're still amazing that your parents left you alone unsupervised for so long as a child. So many things could have happened to you, and a lot of them were not good.

The pond has largely remained the same over the years, but it feels smaller now that you are older. The water is high this year because it's been a wet summer. You find a nice fallen tree to sit on, not something super big but big enough to support your weight and something close to the edge of the water.

A loud croak interrupts the silence of the space, loud enough to be super close and big enough to only come from a large and ancient toad or frog (you can never tell the difference).

You sit and marvel at the scene around you, even if it is ruined a little by the proximity to a major roadway.

After you fail to push away the nervousness of the burning letter in your bag, sent to you from your wife from who knows where, you reach in and bring out the heavy piece of paper.

There's something about this letter that is different than the first.

This one feels like the precipice, the threshold you must cross to solve the mystery, to find Siobhan.

For a moment the doubt swell inside of you, threatening to take you over and turn you back, to turn you home.

However, you have never been afraid of the unknown.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely true since you seek out answers before you invest in anything.

Then you see Siobhan in your mind. The girl that you loved and the hazy thoughts that defined her.

You have to know, you have to see this through.

You break the seal of the letter and you can almost feel the subtle changes that happen in response. The world has changed slightly, and you change with it.

"My love,

There's an expression I heard once that I can't help but think upon as you go through this journey: look to the mouths of babes if you seek the truth.

I think there is some truth to that even if the religious aspects and the concepts that these distant gods hope to impose upon you is not something to lionize. With the words you said to me on the banks of the pond will always stick with me.

You told me that you would always be there for me.

You said that you would always love me, no matter what I wore or who I was.

You vowed to always help me with my homework. Even if I started hanging out with Clair more than you.

That last part always made me laugh. You were always so concerned and jealous that I might want to be friends with Clair more than you.

I can promise you that was never an option. She always seemed very aloof and like she was better than you and me. And I remember the time she threw your toy over the fence during recess. I got in a lot of trouble for getting it back for you, but it was worth it.

Like so many of the things I do for you.

I hope that you remember what I vowed to you. Because I still stand by it. If you asked of me the world I would give it to you. If you wanted me to give up all that I am supposed to be, it would be the easiest choice in the universe.

If you wish for me to keep on this mask and this veil that you know as me, then I would be happy.

Your eternal love,

Siobhan"

You read the letter once. Twice.

Again.

The words have a weight.

There's a shadow that this letter casts that extends back in time.

You don't know what your memories of Siobhan are. Are they rose colored? Good natured and child-like? Did you accidentally gloss over the bad things and the terrible events that a child didn't want to hold on to, keeping only the good? Or did you latch on to someone that you knew was interesting and different and strange and possibly dangerous because she was all of those things and your life was not?

There's something here that you can't quite figure out.

Despite the last lingering warmth of autumn and the sun shining down on you, you feel a chill.

The vow that Siobhan made you, all those years ago comes back.

The extremely serious six year old held your hands and told you, "I vow to protect you from the invisible and the hollows. I vow to care for you more than I care for myself. And I vow to always trade my pudding for your carrots at lunch."

You laugh to yourself as you remember how much you hated the carrots during lunch and always tried to convince Siobhan to trade them for her dessert. She never complained, or refused.

But now you can't help but think about things that are invisible and hollow. What are they? What is that supposed to me?

Clearly Siobhan and some strange government office thought that these vows were binding in ways more than just legal.

The frogs croak loudly at you as you sit and think.

There's a cold, empty space in your guts. A deep nervousness that has been growing since you opened the second letter.

You jump off the log and run back to your house.

You can't shake the feeling that you need to read the third letter as fast as possible.

You really should have brought it with you.

my kofi with all my other works

[stalkedbyplanes]

Dead Letters, Missing Wife; Letter #3

[Letter #1][Letter #2]

Salt and Siderite

Your parents call to you, "Are you alright?" as you sprint into the house and up to your room.

You barely manage to call out, "Fine!"

Letter number three was right where you left it and you immediately tear it open and sit on your bed.

"My beautiful spouse,

This ring is something I made for you."

"Ring?!" you shout as you realize there was nothing else in the letter.

The heavy paper letter gets dropped on the bed as you desperately start to search the floor for a ring. In the first few seconds you don't find it, the panic rises to a fever pitch and you forget to breathe.

Until you find the dull silver ring resting gently in the carpet.

You pick it up and look it over. It was really extremely unremarkable. Dull gray, not even silver, with a little clear vein of something that runs through it. There is a very small opaque white stone held in the middle.

As far as engagement rings go it is no diamond and is not remotely on the level of expensive looking. It kind of looks a bit cheap.

You can't help but feel a little disappointed, after all this work and mystery and stuff that you've gone through and you get a $10 metal ring.

Still, you slip it on your finger and it fits perfectly.

"My beautiful spouse,

This ring is something I made for you.

I know that it may not look like much, but I am no jewelry or forger. You should see my hands, I hurt myself many times trying to make this ring, but I think it is worth it.

While it may not look like much, it is made from siderite, a rare metal that has only ever been found within meteorites and occasionally found within some space debris like materials retrieved from the moon.

This celestial metal is said to have some unique and extremely helpful properties. Namely, it is something that can be anathema to creatures from outside the realm you are familiar with.

It has also been treated with salt, and I don't think I know that you need to be told what the folklore is around salt. I remember how obsessed you were around that show that had just started coming one when we were young.

This ring will keep you safe. I promise that. I swear on the life that I have.

Salt and siderite.

As long as you have this ring and you wear it as a representation of our wedding vows, you will be protected.

My love for you will out last this world,

Siobhan"

You look down at the ring on your left hand. It's dull and simple and beautiful. You can't stop thinking about Siobhan's hands.

She always had nice hands, always cold, but nice to hold. You remember always grabbing her hand to walk with her wherever you went. You told her is was because she was always so cold that you wanted to keep her warm.

You miss holding her hand.

This ring, how simple but complicated it is, makes you think even more about Siobhan. How much hurt did she put herself through, how much work did it take to make this ring by hand?

Now you feel a little bad. She has done all this work, all for you. And you haven't done anything for her.

All of this because of the things that you said and promised as a child.

Is she doing this for who she thinks you are? Who you were years ago?

Surely you've changed. Your interests and tastes have changed since you were a child. Haven't they?

What about Siobhan? Surely she can't be exactly the same?

It has been at least six years since you were together. Six years. That is a third of your life so far.

A third of her life.

What differences can happen in such a time?

Even the earth is moving to different places in outer space.

Things have changed. They've had to.

Without change can things ever really be said to be alive?

You think many big and deep thoughts as you idly play with the new ring on your finger.

Despite your curiosity, despite your desire to see Siobhan and reunite with her, you had to take some time and think before you open the next letter.

And sometimes life gets in the way.

The letters faded to the background as you had to get back to school and do your studies and work.

The piles of letters and boxes and everything became part of the background.

[Letters 4 & 5]

[lunarnightt]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⎯ Carl Grimes

WARNINGS! ⎯ there are none! Just pure fluff! SUMMARY ⎯ Your father, Daryl Dixon, always treated your mother like a queen before she died; now you want someone to do the same, and who better than your best friend, Carl Grimes. A/N ⎯ This is based on the song 'Like My Father' by Jax. I also want to thank everyone who LOVED my Carl Grimes x Gothic reader so much! I love you all!

For as long as you could remember; your father treated your mother like a goddess, like a queen.

Whatever she wanted, she got. whatever she asked for, she got. There were never any ifs or buts about it. Your dad worshipped the ground she walked and treasured her like any man should do a woman.

As you got older, you watched your father do everything he could for your mother. He would constantly have dinner dates with her, and take her on romantic walks in the middle of the night when they thought you were asleep. This never changed when your mom got cancer and started doing chemo.

Your father shaved his own head with her so she wouldn't be alone, held her hand during every treatment, and watched her throw up blood until her last dying breath.

Your mother died before the world went to shit so there you were, sitting at the query watching other kids play with their moms and dads, silently resenting them for having both. Your mother was dead and your dad was cold and couldn't care what you did anymore because he was still grieving the loss of his wife.

That was when that changed; a little boy walked up to you and practically forced you to play with him. You would learn that his name was Carl and he too lost his dad but of course, we all know how that went.

Eventually, you and Carl became best friends; going and growing through hell together. You both survived through so much and yet you helped him look on the brighter side of life.

Over time, as you two grew older, the two of you slowly fell in love with one another but never said a thing because one- you're either running from the dead, and two- neither one of you thought you liked each other back.

But one thing was for certain; you wanted a man who loves you like you're father loved your mom.

It was like any other day for you and Carl. You both sat in your bedroom reading comic books, the soft sound of Johnny Cash playing in the background filling your ears.

You looked over at the Grimes boy, looking over the handsome features you've grown to love over the last few years; to his long shaggy hair, his beat-up cowboy hat, and his missing eye something he was very insecure of but you thought was badass.

Before he could catch your gaze though, you looked down and the record stopped playing which made the both of you groan. "Great. Now one of us has to get up and flip it over." You whined, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at the record player in your room.

Carl sighed and pushed himself off the ground, walking over to the record playing and taking the record off. "What are you doing?" You asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Carl smiled and turned to you. "Putting on Abba. I thought Dancing Queen was your favorite and you want to listen to it?" He spoke and he wasn't entirely wrong.

"I do but I thought you wanted to listen to Johnny Cash?" You spoke softly and Carl just rolled his eye and turned to face you. "Does it matter what I want?" He spoke before turning to face the record player and placing the needle on the record, the song Dancing Queen filling the room as he made his way and sat back down next to you.

That day you knew that Carl was the type you wanted, the type you knew would love you like your father did to your mom.

So, you contemplated forever, debating on telling him how you felt but when you did; you wrote him a nice simple letter and left it on the inside of his hat. It took him a while but he finally found it, looking at it with confusion while the words "read me cowboy" jumped out at him in all capital letters.

He knew it was from you because only you called him cowboy and only you would do something like leaving a letter on the inside of his hat.

So, he read it as instructed and he became over the moon because not only did you tell him how you felt but you actually liked him back.

Carl rushed out of the house to look for you, going to all the places he knew you would be. He went to Rosita, to Maggie and Glenn's place because you loved playing with Herschal Jr before finally finding you training with Jesus.

"Looks like you're boyfriend is here" Jesus joked which made you roll your eyes and flip him off as you made your way over to Carl. "Hey cowboy" You spoke with a teasing smirk but your smirk was wiped clean off your face when he held up the letter.

"Are you telling the truth?" He asked, needing reassurance like he always did when he was unsure of something. You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. "Yes. Why would I lie to you of all people?" You asked and before you could say anything else, his lips were pressed against yours.

As the two of you kissed, your hand moved to the back of his neck while his hands moved to your waist. After a minute, the two of you pulled apart and he pressed his forehead against yours.

"You don't know how long I wanted to do that" He whispered against your lips and you giggled, moving to play with the soft locks of his hair. "It's about damn time, cowboy" You spoke back and he immediately pressed his lips against yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Ever since then, he truly loved you like your father did your mom and maybe even more than he ever did.

[animentality]

Ketheric Thorm should have a notebook full of letters to his dead wife that are like I miss you so much, I think of you every day, I hope Isobel will speak to me again. I do this all for you and her even though I know you would be ashamed of the man I am today.

My coworkers are so annoying. I want to kill them both but I can't, so all I can do is hope they kill each other. I think the Chosen of Bhaal can't love something without destroying it, though, so I remain optimistic.